JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

       The woman slowed and faced Audrey, her expression unchanging. 'Persephone Remora,' she announced languidly, stretching out a limp hand toward Audrey, who shook it perfunctorily. 'And please pardon me for saying so, but I was not referring to the United States. That country is only our current residence, not our home. We can hardly be expected to represent it any more than you might be expected to represent this ship. No offense meant. The fact is: I and my friends are returning from a summer's exploration of our ancestral homeland. Perhaps you have heard of it,' she paused and narrowed her eyes slightly. 'It is called Transylvania.'

       'Indeed I have,' Audrey smiled. 'Why just this spring my husband and I had quince soup with the Archduke of Brasov and his wife. Have you met them? Lovely couple. She makes her own tzuika, which is quite good.'

       Remora seemed faintly disdainful. 'You'll excuse me for saying so, but we don't recognize the current Transylvanian ruling class. Our heritage is beholden to a much older historical aristocracy. I'm sure you haven't heard of it. It's rather a… secret society.' She sniffed and looked meaningfully out over the waves.

       'Ah,' Audrey answered nonchalantly. 'Well, I'm sure your secrets are best left uncovered. Far be it for us to pry.'

       Remora continued to stare out at the waves dramatically. After a moment, she seemed to realize that the pose wasn't having the effect that she had apparently hoped for. She coughed lightly and turned back. 'I'm terribly sorry,' she said faintly. 'The sunlight does take its toll on… such as ourselves.'

       'I have some Amberwycke's sunblock here in my bag,' Petra replied, glancing at Audrey. 'I'd be happy to share it around. It's coconut-scented.'

       'No,' Remora oozed, her shoulders slumping slightly. 'Thank you ever so much. I should catch up with my friends. If you'll excuse me.' She turned, began to walk away, and then looked back over her shoulder, making her eyes twinkle meaningfully. 'It's been… deliciously delightful to meet you,' she said in a low, breathy voice.

'Likewise,' Audrey said, smiling cheerfully. 'We'll see you this afternoon for tea, won't we?'

       'Are you sure you don't want some sunblock?' Petra said, proferring the bottle. 'You're looking a little peaked around the eyes.'

       Remora huffed and turned away, stalking toward the small throng that milled in front of the deckhouse.

'What was that all about?' James asked, frowning after the departing woman.

       Audrey sighed. 'Vampires,' she said lightly. 'So haughty and melodramatic. Ah well, whatever makes them happy.'

James blinked, looking back at the black-clothed knot of people. Remora had rejoined them, and they moved around her like a school of pale, sneering fish. James frowned. 'I didn't think there were any vampires in America.'

       Petra shook her head, smiling crookedly. In a low stage whisper, she answered, 'There aren't.'

       'Let's not be too hasty,' Audrey said, clucking her tongue. 'The United States is, after all the great melting pot. I do suspect, however, that if there are vampires residing in America… they are not them.'

       A man passed by in front of them, and James glanced up. He recognized the man as the ship's first mate, a burly, cheerful bloke named Barstow. He was wearing a floppy grey hat and whistling happily to himself, heading toward the bow. Over his shoulder was slung a very long, thin pole, fitted with reinforcing brass sleeves. James narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and then ran to follow.

       'Hey Barstow,' Albus called, grinning, as the man approached. 'When do we shove off, eh?'

       Barstow answered jovially, 'Depends on how well the fish are biting this morning, don't it?'

       'If you say so,' Albus shrugged.

       Izzy plopped onto the sunny deck and crossed her legs. 'What do fish have to do with anything?'

       'Oh, everything, love,' Barstow said gravely, adjusting his hat. 'You just watch and see. You might say they're the key to the whole affair.'

       'I don't like fish all that much,' Ralph admitted. 'I think I had enough back down in the Aquapolis. I was hoping for something a little more… terrestrial.'

       Barstow smiled and climbed the wrought iron stairs to the brass chair. It turned slightly as he sat down on it. 'This fishy ain't for eating, my friend. You just wait and see.'

       Everyone watched as Barstow settled himself into the seat, resting his feet on a pair of fitted pedals and turning the chair so that it faced backwards, overlooking the rest of the ship. Apparently satisfied, he lifted the strange pole straight up into the air. It wavered high over the deck, flashing darts of sunlight from its brass fittings. Carefully, Barstow began to swing the pole in a small arc, as if he were using it to draw a circle in the briny sky. The circle widened as Barstow swung faster, creating larger and larger arcs.

       'Look,' Izzy cried, pointing. 'It's a fishing pole! Just like Papa Warren used to use on the lake!'

       James squinted in the sunlight, trying to follow the movement of the pole's tip. Sure enough, a length of magical string spooled out behind it, pulling a very large ephemeral hook. Suddenly, Barstow heaved the pole back over his shoulder, stretching back so much that the hook swooped far behind him, past the prow of the Gwyndemere and out over the waves. Finally, in one swift, smooth motion, Barstow cast the pole forward, snapping the large ghostly hook through the air. It flashed past the masts, over the deckhouse and smokestack, and out over the stern, where it finally dipped into the waves. Barstow reached forward and fitted the handle of the fishing pole into the clasp that Lucy had mentioned earlier. It locked into place, making the pole an extension of the articulated brass arm. That done, Barstow relaxed, but only a little.

'What,' Ralph asked, his eyes wide, 'do you catch with a hook like that?'

       'There's no bait on it!' Albus suddenly said, looking accusingly up at Barstow. 'How do you plan to catch anything with no bait?'

       'Oh, it's baited, friends,' Barstow laughed, 'but not with food. The hook's made of a little magical concoction I've been working on over the last decade or so. It's not an easy thing, conjuring sea serpent pheromone, believe you me.'

       Ralph paled a little and peered out at the choppy waves. 'Sea serpent?' he repeated carefully.

       'Pheromone?' James added, standing on tiptoes to see over the stern of the boat. 'What's that?'

       Lucy seemed to be stifling a grin. 'It's sort of like a love potion. For fish.'

       'For a sea serpent,' Ralph clarified. 'I'm just trying to be sure I heard him right. That's what he said, isn't it?'

       A loud twang suddenly pierced the air. Barstow heaved backwards on the pole and its articulated arm, and James saw the magical thread trembling tautly over the boat.

       'There she is!' Barstow cried happily. 'Landed a big one! That's Henrietta, I'll wager! She's the best of the fleet! Hold fast, everyone!'

       James, Albus, Izzy, and Lucy scrambled to the ship's railing, craning down the length of the boat for a glimpse of the mysterious Henrietta. In the brass chair, Barstow grunted and cursed to himself, wrestling with the pole, which bent precipitously. 'Come on over, sweetheart,' he muttered through gritted teeth. 'Right this way,