Charlaine Harris: Death's Excellent Vacation

“What the devil is your game, wolfling?”

“Shouldn’t that be Queen Wolfling?”

“You should be keelhauled after what you did to those children last night.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” I snapped. “Which should be clear even to you by now.”

“What’s clear is that you’re playing some kind of game with people’s lives.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m just here on vacation? I don’t want the park to close. Why else would I spend the entire freaking day sniffing around for whoever it is who’s trying to ruin you?”

He waved in silence for a moment. “You’re telling the truth? You really did that?”

“Can’t vampires sense lies?”

“That’s witches,” he said. “All I can do is glamour humans into telling the truth.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“But I do read body language, and yours . . . I believe you.”

“Finally!”

“Please accept my apologies for abducting you,” he said awkwardly.

“And for hitting me over the head?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then,” I said magnanimously. “Apology accepted.”

We waved more amiably for a minute, and then he said, “You must admit that having a werewolf show up is a remarkable coincidence.”

“I suppose. I don’t know how many of us there are.”

“None of the supernatural races are numerous—most of our numbers are in decline, and naturally women are particularly sought after.”

That certainly helped explain why all the packs were so interested in me. Fresh blood and all that.

“Well, I didn’t find anybody supernatural in the park today. Not that I’ve met enough to know what they’re supposed to smell like, but everybody I sniffed today was normal. Of course, that kind of thing is harder to do when I’m in human form.”

“I can imagine.”

“Why would somebody be so set on putting you out of business anyway? Is it vampire politics? I’d heard the infighting can get pretty nasty.” I was basing that more on books I’d read than on the orientation I hadn’t paid attention to.

“So I understand, but that doesn’t affect me.”

“Oh?”

“I have very little contact with my own kind.” I didn’t have to be an expert in body language to know he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not werewolves—that’s the one scent I know well. Witches? Ghouls? Space aliens?”

“Space aliens? This may be a joke to you, but I’m in danger of losing the park.”

“Sorry. I’m new to this. I’ve only been a werewolf for a few months. I’m not even in a pack yet.”

“I thought you’d belong to the pack that Changed you.”

“I was bitten by a rogue,” I said, though “bitten” was putting it mildly. “That means I get to pick a pack at the Gathering next month. That’s why I took this vacation—the packs have been courting me relentlessly.”

“Naturally,” he said.

I looked up at him in surprise. Had that been a compliment? I pushed the idea away. “But back to your problem. You said you have no enemies?”

“Of course I have enemies. I’m over three hundred years old.”

“You’re how old?” I did some figuring. “Jeez, were you really a pirate?”

“Not by choice,” he said softly. “So I sympathize with your curse.”

“My curse? You mean being a werewolf?”

He nodded.

“It’s not a curse—I love being a werewolf.” I loved roaming the woods with every sense on overload. I loved the strength in my body, the power in my movements. And God knew I loved being able to eat whatever I wanted and then run it off effortlessly. “The pack lifestyle is going to take some getting used to,” I admitted, “but being a werewolf rocks.” I was about to ask how he felt about being a vampire, but the float had come to the end of the route.

Pirate Dave helped me descend much more gently than he’d helped me ascend.

“I am sorry for suspecting you,” he said, “and when this is all over, I would very much like to spend more time with you.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve a cage.”

“Not until we know each other better,” he said with the wicked grin that I’d dreamt of.

It was the grin that made me reluctant to leave. “Isn’t there anything else I can do to help?”

He cocked his head to one side. “Not that I don’t appreciate your concern, but why? We’ve barely met.”

“True, but in a way I’ve known you for years. My family used to come to Lake Bartholomew every year, and coming to the park was the best part.” I left out the part about praying I’d catch the golden doubloon. “I love this place.”

He smiled incredibly sweetly. “Thank you.”

Dave leaned forward, and I was sure I was about to have another part of my dream come true, but an employee came running up. “The Octopus is making funny noises!”

With a quick squeeze of my hand, Pirate Dave took off, with the flunky trying in vain to keep up.

I started to follow, then stopped to think about the possibilities. If the sabotage had just happened, then the saboteur might still be around, which meant I might have a shot at sniffing him out, but it wouldn’t hurt to improve my chances. I went to a nearby souvenir booth, grabbed what I needed, and threw money at the cashier on my way to the closest ladies’ room. It took only a minute to strip and stuff my belongings into the tote bag I’d just bought—a canvas number with Keep to the Code! emblazoned across it. After a moment’s consideration, I Changed into a Scottish terrier so as not to look threatening, then zipped out of the bathroom, dragging the bag behind me. The only one who noticed me was a little girl waiting while her parents argued over whether or not to stay for the fireworks.

First I found some bushes to leave the bag under, hoping that nobody would find it. Then I pranced into the park, acting cute and friendly and perky as hell while I sniffed everybody I passed. I got whiffs of grape slushie, chocolate ice cream, numerous brands of sunscreen, and of course, body odor. I smelled smoke—both tobacco and other, beers that were being concealed in water bottles, and one diaper that really needed to be changed. But it was all human.

A small crowd was gathered at the Octopus, but I didn’t smell any blood, which was a good thing, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of panic, just major annoyance. Dave was speaking earnestly to a barrelchested man with a sour expression, but the expression gradually turned almost jovial, and I had a hunch Dave was using the glamour that hadn’t worked on me.

I’d always heard that criminals can’t resist returning to the scene of the crime, so I took my time sniffing all the people clustered about. I got popcorn and soda from the guests, and various metallic, oily, and acrid scents from the employees, presumably from running rides. But again, nothing supernatural.

Eventually Pirate Dave saw me and did a double take. I wagged my tail furiously, hoping he’d realize it was me and not some random pooch. A couple of guests noticed me, too, and I heard a little boy say indignantly, “Dad, you said I couldn’t bring Hershey to the park! You said dogs weren’t allowed!”

“That be my dog,” Pirate Dave said. “Ye must have heard tell of old sea dogs! That’s Salty, the Sea Dog!”

Okay, the “old” part didn’t thrill me, but I barked appealingly and came to rub my head against Dave’s leg until he patted me. The kid seemed satisfied, and though I saw a couple of employees looking confused, apparently a brand-new mascot wasn’t enough to worry them in the middle of other concerns.

Dave continued to appease the guests, using a mixture of glamour and comp tickets, while I worked the crowd. It took a good half hour for Dave to make everybody happy, and then he clapped the employees on the back, told them to keep up the good work, and whistled for “Salty” to come along.