Charlaine Harris: Death's Excellent Vacation

It wouldn’t have surprised my former psychologist a bit when I decided to retreat further into my past, which is how I found myself at Pirate Dave’s Adventure Cove.

The amusement park was as campy as ever, starting at the gate with the ticket taker’s red-and-white striped shirt and the jaunty kerchief on his head. The entrance to the park was a giant pirate ship shaped out of concrete, with sails permanently hoisted and a Jolly Roger flying proudly above. The graffiti on the sign was new, though. Though an effort had been made to remove the spray-painted words, it was still easy to see that somebody had X’ed out the word Adventure and scrawled Haunted instead. I briefly considered texting the woman who’d presented the “Other Supernatural Species” slideshow at Werewolf Orientation to ask if ghosts were real but decided it might lead to a support group rushing to Lake Bartholomew to be there for me.

The posted park rules—no running, no bad language, no cutting in line—were the same as always. Well, nearly the same. For one, they’d added a rule about turning off cell phones during performances and, for another, instead of “Ship’s Articles,” the list was labeled “Keep to the Code.” I wondered how much the Pirates of the Caribbean movies had added to the park’s popularity.

The influence of the movies was even more obvious when I made it inside the park, where Pirate Dave himself was standing atop an ersatz crow’s nest to greet arriving guests. In my day, Pirate Dave had been a dapper Captain Hook type, with a red coat and abundant black curls. This version was an homage to Johnny Depp, complete with guyliner and scruffy braids. He even wobbled a bit as he bowed to the ladies, though that might have been because the platform was getting a bit rickety.

Still, I waved and enjoyed the appreciation in Pirate Dave’s eye when he bowed in my direction. After all the diets I’d endured and the exercise regimens I’d abandoned, it had taken being turned into a werewolf to give me the figure I’d always wanted. Though my denim shorts weren’t outrageously short and my tank top showed only a modest amount of cleavage, I knew I looked good. So it was gratifying to finally be noticed by Pirate Dave.

I’d had crushes on quite a few Pirate Daves over the years, particularly the one who’d worked the late shift when I was in my teens. Neither a clone of Captain Hook nor of Captain Jack Sparrow, the nighttime Pirate Dave had worn a snowy white shirt with tantalizingly tight breeches. His auburn hair had been just long enough to pull back into a ponytail with a leather thong, and he’d had a way of looking at me that had made my teenaged hormones rise like a stormy tide.

The current Pirate Dave just didn’t compare. In fact, as I wandered through the park, I decided that very little in the place compared with my memories. Admittedly it was larger than it had been, with several roller coasters and thrill rides added, but two of the biggest draws were closed for repairs, and most of the others could have used a fresh coat of paint. The crew members were cranky, and the place just looked grubby. No wonder the crowds were smaller than I’d expected at the height of the season.

Still, I enjoyed not having to stand in long lines for rides, and the games were a lot more fun now that I had werewolf strength and speed. Though I didn’t particularly need a plush sea monster or mermaid, I couldn’t resist the temptation to shock the stuffing out of the pirates manning the games when I repeatedly knocked the milk bottles off the table and hit the gong at the test-your-strength booth seven times in a row. When I got bored, I handed my prizes to the nearest little girls and went in search of junk food.

As the day wore on, I told myself that the only reason I was sticking around was to watch the parade at dusk, with its fanciful floats, appropriately attired musicians and dancers, and cheap plastic doubloons thrown to the crowd. It had nothing to do with a yen to see if the night shift Pirate Dave was as good-looking as the one I remembered.

In years past, the parade had paused in front of the Shiver-Me-Timbers Ice Cream Shoppe, which was about halfway through the route. That’s when Pirate Dave would announce that it was time to choose a Sea Queen to join him on his voyage. Candidates would gather in front of the float, and he would toss a bucketful of coins. Most of them would be plastic, but one was supposedly an actual doubloon, and the girl who caught it would be crowned Sea Queen and get to ride on the float with Pirate Dave for the rest of the parade. Though it was supposed to be random, the Sea Queen was invariably a toothsome wench, as Pirate Dave would proclaim, never a gawky teenager in braces like I’d been.

I also told myself that I’d only stationed myself at Shiver-Me-Timbers because it was the best place to see the parade, but I couldn’t help noticing that quite a few other women were hanging around nearby. Maybe this meant that Pirate Dave was worth waiting for.

As night fell, the parade started and I got my answer. As I’d remembered, there were elaborate floats, dancing wenches, and a pirate band. Plus they’d added a lively calypso group. I enjoyed it tremendously, despite the delay when one of the floats broke down and a new tractor had to be brought out to tow it for the rest of the route. Finally Pirate Dave arrived in command of a spectacular reproduction of his ship, the Brazen Mermaid .

I think my heart actually stopped for a second. Unlike the rest of the park, Pirate Dave was just as gorgeous as ever. Maybe more so—surely he hadn’t dared to wear breeches that tight before. When the float stopped and he announced that he was seeking a Sea Queen, I joined the throng of eager women without thinking.

I was watching his every movement, as were all the straight women in the crowd, but now I had werewolf-sharp senses, so when Pirate Dave held up the coveted golden doubloon, I could tell he was only pretending to toss it into a bucket of plastic coins, when he’d actually palmed it. I could also catch the way his eyes scanned the available women, and that tiny hesitation when he chose his target. The lucky gal—a tall, buxom blonde in a halter top—was just behind me. Knowing that, I knew exactly when he threw the doubloon toward the blonde and used my better-than-human reflexes to jump at just the right moment to snatch it before she could.

I held it triumphantly over my head, smiling when I heard the blonde mutter, “Bitch!” After all, it was truer than she knew.

As for Pirate Dave, he was shocked but hid it quickly and said, “Arr, a toothsome wench indeed. Join me, my Sea Queen!”

The crowd cheered as I made my way to the float, where a pirate flunky waited to help me up the rope ladder.

“Permission to come aboard?” I asked.

“Oh, the boardin’ will come later,” Pirate Dave said with a roguish grin, and the crowd roared.

Once I climbed the ladder, Dave put his arm around my waist and pulled me to the front of the float.

“And what be your name?” he asked.

“Joyce.”

“Queen Joyce, then.” To the crowd he proclaimed, “All hail Queen Joyce, the fairest maiden to ever sail the seven seas!” The flunkies led the crowd in a chorus of “Arr!” and the float started moving again.

As we waved to the crowd, Pirate Dave said, “That were a worthy catch you made.”

“I bet you say that to all the Sea Queens.”

He laughed and dropped into the kind of small talk he probably made with all the Sea Queens. What was my home port? Was I traveling with a crew, or was this a solo voyage? Had I ever seen a port to rival the Adventure Cove? I answered appropriately, but I was finding myself increasingly distracted. It wasn’t because Pirate Dave wasn’t even better-looking up close—he was, with charisma to burn. But there was something odd about his scent. It wasn’t a hygiene issue or overdependence on men’s cologne, though I’d halfway expected Old Spice. It was strangely exotic, with a metallic tang. Short of sniffing him openly, I couldn’t figure out any more than that.