“And nobody has been bothering you about that?”
“No, they’re all on their best behavior. With representatives from so many packs, they kind of have to be. Anyway, I haven’t had a problem with a single wolf.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. But I need to get going. There’s going to be a midnight buffet—”
“It’s only eight.”
“But sometimes they run out of food.” With werewolf metabolisms, especially when said werewolves had been on a run, that was definitely a possibility.
We exchanged mushy words, then I hung up with only the slightest twinge of guilt. I hadn’t exactly lied to David—the other werewolves really had started out friendly. It was the ghost of Captain Bob who didn’t like me, and it was only a matter of time before he found my cabin so he could haunt me some more.
The week had started out well, despite my initial qualms. Though I’d been a werewolf less than a year, I was already making waves in the Lupine-American community: I’d survived a bite, which was unusual; I’d refused to affiliate with a pack, which was unheard of; and I was living in glorious sin with a vampire, which was appalling. Given that, it hadn’t been easy to meet other werewolves.
And as much as I loved my red-hot, red-headed lover, I did occasionally want somebody else to talk to. Sure, I had human buds back in Boston, but there were so many things I couldn’t discuss with them that it was hard to keep a real relationship going. Plus I’d nearly starved when I tried to go out to brunch with some girlfriends—even at an all-you-can-eat place, they’d eaten next to nothing.
So when I got the letter inviting me to the Talbot Seminar, I didn’t hesitate. The annual weeklong event was sponsored by the Pack Council to help interpack relations and share what they called “wolfen wisdom,” so all packs were asked to send representatives. It had been decided that I was a pack of one, so I was representing myself. The politics didn’t interest me. What did was the chance to meet other werewolves, go on runs, eat without worrying about how my appetite looked to normals, and learn more about the supernatural world in which I’d found myself. Plus it was only a two-hour drive away, in Pine Tree, Vermont.
The venue was the Cahill Resort, an isolated, werewolf-owned operation. There was a big main building that held all the public spaces, and guest cabins nestled in the woods. The decor was big on logs and faux rustic accents. I had a cabin to myself, but didn’t plan to spend much time in it. I’d come to socialize. And at first, the seminar was everything I’d hoped it would be.
Sure, there was some curiosity from the other wolves, but it wasn’t overly rude. I didn’t mind talking about David, and when I pointed out the advantages of dating a man who’d spent centuries perfecting his techniques, some of the other wolves looked intrigued.
With that out of the way, we wolves compared notes, gossiped, and ate massive amounts openly. It was great. At least it was until the second day, when Dr. Angie Hogencamp took the stage in the auditorium.
Her program bio described her as a supernatural researcher, though I didn’t know if that meant she researched supernatural creatures, conducted research by supernatural means, or both. The first presentation was the aforementioned discussion on why some biting victims became werewolves and some didn’t, which was interesting, and the nasty slideshow didn’t stop us from enjoying a hefty mid-morning snack.
Then Dr. Hogencamp took the stage again for the second session. “We have a very special guest today. Captain Robert Antonelli, a former ferryboat captain from my hometown, is going to talk about his experiences.”
She stepped back from the podium and waved her hand, inviting the speaker to come forward. At first I thought the man had walked through an entrance in the back wall I hadn’t seen, but no, he’d walked
“Jesus,” I heard somebody behind me say. “It’s a ghost.”
I tried to look blasé, as if I encountered ghosts all the time, but the fact was I hadn’t even known there were ghosts. I was too new to the werewolf world to know which other supernatural denizens actually existed.
The ghost was tall, though hunched with age, with a weatherworn face and a bit of a potbelly. Though the nautical cap on his scraggly gray hair could have been from any age, his khakis and polo shirt were modern, so I guessed he hadn’t been dead that long.
“You can call me Captain Bob,” the ghost said, his voice surprisingly normal. He surveyed us as if looking over a particularly unimpressive batch of naval recruits. “The doc here invited me to come tell you what it means to be a dead man walking. Or floating.” He slowly lifted from the floor until the tips of his deck shoes were at the height of the microphone.
When he was satisfied he’d caused enough of a stir, he settled back down again on the floor of the platform and went on to describe his life after death, or maybe
Ghostly abilities were pretty much as advertised: floating, walking through walls, making unearthly noises, appearing and disappearing. Some ghosts were big on haunting, ranging from being tied to a location but able to interact with people to just replaying a moment in time. Captain Bob seemed disdainful of what he called anchored spirits—he said he went wherever he wanted and could even appear however he wanted, as long as it was a look he’d had in life. He demonstrated by changing shirts and pants. On the other side of the spectrum, he seemed embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t affect the physical world the way some ghosts could—I had a hunch he would have enjoyed playing poltergeist-y tricks.
After he covered the basics, he invited questions, the first of which was from wolves afraid they were being secretly spied on by ghosts. Captain Bob leered a bit for form’s sake, but pointed out that werewolves could see ghosts and that there weren’t many free-range ghosts around.
Then came the question that caused me so much trouble. Shannon, a gal who liked the same TV shows that I did, said, “Can you tell us how you died?” I’d been wondering the same thing, but thought it might be impolite to ask—supernatural life has situations that aren’t discussed by Miss Manners.
Captain Bob said, “I’m happy to tell you—I want to put it out as a warning.”
The ghost’s appearance shifted, and instead of a normal see-through man, he looked like something out of a splatterpunk flick. His throat was so thoroughly savaged that his head was barely attached, and gore drenched his clothes. Only the lack of scent kept the auditorium full of werewolves from reacting to that much blood.
Captain Bob spoke, which just seemed wrong given the horrible damage. “This is how I looked just before I died. If you don’t remember anything else about this session, I want you to remember that this is what a vampire does to people.”
I froze, and I could tell most of the eyes in the auditorium were on me.
Being dead didn’t mean that Captain Bob couldn’t sense awkwardness, and when he looked at Dr. Hogencamp for an explanation, she whispered something in his ear. “For the love of God, what kind of woman would live with a vampire?” he demanded.
“That would be me,” I said.
The people to either side shrank away as Captain Bob wafted in my direction, his head bobbling along. I wouldn’t have expected werewolves to be so squeamish.
“Are you insane?” he asked.
“Is that a rhetorical question? Because if I were, I probably wouldn’t know it.”
“Then why are you living with a monster?”
“I’m a werewolf and you’re a ghost. It’s pretty much monster central casting around here.”
“There’s monsters, and then there’s monsters,” he said, as if that meant something. “How long do you think it’ll be before that bloodsucker does something like this to you?”
What was I supposed to say? A week from next Friday? “I’ve already been bitten almost that badly.”
“You see? Vampires are killers!”
“Oh, it wasn’t a vampire who bit me. It was a werewolf.” The wolves around me suddenly found other places to look, and in retrospect, I realized it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to bring up. It wasn’t as if the other werewolves didn’t know that I’d been mauled by a rogue, but they didn’t like to have their noses rubbed in the fact. It embarrassed them.
I don’t know what stupid thing I’d have said next if Dr. Hogencamp hadn’t come fluttering down the aisle. “Captain Bob, please come back to the platform.” She was waving her arms as if she could blow him in the direction
