An Apple for the Creature

by Harris, Charlaine

  “And how many vampires have you met?”

  “I’ve never met any, unless you count being murdered as a social event.”

  “People get murdered every day, and nobody blames all humans. So is it too bizarre to accept that some vampires are nice?”

  “How many vampires have you met?”

  “Just one,” I admitted.

  “And that makes you an expert?”

  “I don’t claim to be, unlike some people.” I got up, and when Captain Bob followed me, I said, “What are you doing?”

  “Sticking around until I can talk some sense into you.” He grinned. “Call it a haunting.”

  The day could not get any better. “Do you mind if I go to the little werewolves’ room by myself?”

  “Go ahead—I’ll wait.”

  And he did. When I came out of the restroom, he followed me to the auditorium and sat down in the empty chair next to mine. Since nobody had taught exorcism, I knew of no way to get rid of a ghost and had to settle for ignoring him.

  The afternoon session was a lot drier than the morning ones. Apparently Dr. Hogencamp and her late husband had researched all kinds of supernatural bloodlines, not just werewolves, and had investigated whether witches’ power was inherited and why some people became ghosts after death. Their conclusion was that supernaturals had something extra in their genetic makeup, which she referred to as the “arcane gene.”

  She got more technical after that, talking recessives and dominants and trauma-induced phantomization, which apparently meant that a person who died horrifically had a better chance of becoming a ghost. After the first hour, I zoned out and started playing solitaire on my iPad. Only I couldn’t even enjoy that because Captain Bob kept pointing to cards to show me what I should play. Nor could I doze off because every time I shut my eyes, the ghost noisily cleared his throat, which both woke me up and left me wondering what he had in his throat to clear.

  Finally the session ended, and we went to dinner. It was just a quick bite because it was the night of the full moon. Unlike in the movies, werewolves can Change anytime, and into any number of forms. I personally can’t manage anything that isn’t canine, but before I’d become lupine non grata, I’d heard a funny story about a kid who Changed into a reindeer. Technically, we don’t even have to Change on the full moon, except the first time. But it is traditional, so the seminar’s activities included a fun run through the resort’s extensive grounds.

  After a cozy dinner alone with Captain Bob, I ducked into the bathroom, waited until the ghost was momentarily distracted, then snuck off to my cabin to Change. I usually run as a dog to avoid arousing fear, loathing, and wildlife control officers, but this time I went with a classic wolf. It’s good for all seasons, it’s slimming, and I’d be able to blend in with the other wolves.

  That was the plan, anyway. Except that when I joined the wolves frolicking on the front lawn, it took about three minutes for the captain to figure out which wolf was me—I wasn’t sure if it was a ghostly talent or if another wolf squealed. Either way, as soon as he latched on to me, the other wolves found other places to be.

  I ran into the forest as fast as I could, but Captain Bob had no problem keeping up, and when I ducked between trees and through underbrush, he went through it all as if it weren’t there. Or as if he weren’t there. Basically he sucked the fun out of the run, so after a frustrating hour, I decided it was time to give up.

  Since the last thing I wanted was to lead him to my cabin, I doubled back twice and shifted forms three times to be reasonably sure I was safe. Once I was again among the two-legged and dressed I called David, and tried to convince both of us that I was having a good time.

  —

  After I hung up the phone, I tried to decide if I should go to bed and skip the buffet, go to the buffet and eat so much food that there wouldn’t be enough to go around, or just pack up and go home. I hadn’t made up my mind when there was a knock on the door. At first I was afraid it was Captain Bob, but I then remembered that he couldn’t touch anything and opened the door to find Dr. Hogencamp.

  “Hi.”

  “Joyce, isn’t it? I don’t know if you remember me from today’s presentations, but—”

  “It’s not a session I’m likely to forget.”

  “I suppose not. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sure, come on in.”

  This was the closest I’d been to the woman. She had a sturdy build and tight gray curls, and she was wearing glasses, which was unusual for a werewolf. The Change cleaned up a lot of health issues, which is part of why we live so much longer than humans. Now that I noticed it, she didn’t smell like a werewolf, either.

  “Dr. Hogencamp—”

  “Call me Angie.”

  “I’m probably being inexcusably rude, Angie, but I don’t know the proper way to ask this. What are you?”

  “Just human.”

  “Isn’t that against the rules?” One of the first things that had been impressed upon me when I was Changed was the importance of keeping the existence of werewolves secret. American society was still coming to terms with gays and lesbians—throwing werewolves into the mix would have been a bad idea.

  “I’m in a unique position. My husband, Carl, and I were bitten by a rogue, just as you were, and the local pack found us and told us about werewolves and the other supernatural beings. But only Carl Changed. We didn’t understand why and that led us to discover the arcane gene. We found that Carl had an incomplete penetrant.”

  “That sounds painful.”

  “An incomplete penetrant of the arcane gene. He barely survived the Change.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t have the gene at all. Still, I can continue the research, even now that Carl has passed away.”

  I wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, so didn’t know if I should express sympathy or not, so I went with a noncommittal nod.

  “I imagine you noticed that in my discussion of the arcane gene, I didn’t mention vampires.”

  I hadn’t, actually—I’d been too busy wondering if I could use an electric fan to try to blow Captain Bob away.

  “The fact is,” Angie said, “I don’t know much about vampires. Nobody does, except presumably other vampires.”

  “You could ask Captain Bob. He seems to know it all.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I had no idea he would take your living arrangements so personally.” She did look honestly embarrassed. “I consider your relationship with a vampire a valuable opportunity. I’ve studied werewolves, and have spent considerable time with witches and ghosts, but I’ve been unable to make any kind of connection with a vampire. I was wondering if you could tell me about your experiences.”

  “I guess. What do you want to know?”

  “I’m most interested in reproduction.”

  “When a Mama vampire loves a Daddy vampire very much . . .”

  Angie blinked.

  “Just kidding,” I said. “I assume you mean how to create another vampire, not vampire sex.”

  Again she blinked. Apparently she was also missing the sense of humor gene.

  “Basically, the vampire drains the human almost to death before allowing the human to suck on him. His blood, that is. The human then dies, but after three days, rises as a baby vampire.”

  “Very much according to legend,” Angie said. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

  When I shook my head, she pulled paper and pen out of her shoulder bag and scribbled intently. “How does the vampire choose the human who will become his offspring?”

  “I really couldn’t say. The relationship is pretty intense, like a marriage or a parent-child relationship. Even when they go their separate ways, there’s always a connection.”

  “I assume the human has to have the arcane gene.”

  “I don’t know. From what David has said, vampires can bring over anybody they choose. He thought it was odd that werewolves can’t.”


  “But surely the gene is required,” Angie said, more to herself than to me. “What about the vampire’s nutritional needs? How often does he need to feed? How does he approach his food sources?”

  That was the start of a supremely aggravating hour. Angie wanted to know how much David drank at a sitting, whether he preferred a given blood type, how long he slept, whether he was affected by silver, if garlic bothered him, if he could see himself in mirrors . . . All the old vampire tropes and a bunch that were just silly. Sparkles? Really?

  The worst part was that I didn’t know half of what she wanted to know. David and I had never focused on our biological details, other than recreational ones.

  Finally Angie shut her notebook, clearly not satisfied. “I really need to talk to a vampire myself. Could you ask your boyfriend if he’d meet with me? Do you two live nearby? I could go home with you after the seminar.”

  “I’ll ask, but I can’t guarantee anything. He’s a private kind of guy.”

  “This is for science!”

  Since David predated most of what we knew about science, I really didn’t think that would be a compelling argument to use on him.

  There was another knock on the door, and I jumped again. “Ghosts don’t knock, right?”

  “Captain Bob can’t,” Angie assured me.

  “Excellent.” I pulled open the door and there stood the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. Tall, incredibly well-built, piercing blue eyes, with gorgeous red hair pulled back in a short ponytail. In other words, it was Pirate Dave, and there was only one appropriate way to greet him.

  “What in the hell are you doing here? I wasn’t even supposed to tell anybody where it is because it’s only for werewolves. And Captain Bob and Angie, but they’re invited! I am going to get in so much trouble.”

  In response, he took me in his arms and made me forget the seminar for a good five minutes. A very good five minutes. We might have gone for half an hour if Angie hadn’t cleared her throat.

  “Oh, sorry.” I waved David inside the cabin and said, “David, this is Dr. Angie Hogencamp. She’s been researching supernaturals, and spoke at the seminar early today. Angie, this is David Freeman, the owner of Pirate Dave’s Adventure Cove.”

  “Dr. Hogencamp,” David said, bowing over her hand.

  “I cannot tell you what a treat this is,” she said, blushing. “Joyce has been telling me all about you.”

  He raised an eyebrow in my direction.

  “She’s only interested in your genes,” I told him. “Not the pants, the genetic kind.”

  “I have so many questions,” Angie said. “Do you suppose—”

  “Another time, perhaps. I’m here to take Joyce home, and since we need to be back before dawn, we should leave right away.”

  “Oh, you can’t leave now!”

  “As Joyce pointed out, I wasn’t invited. Even if I had been, I wouldn’t stay at a gathering where she’d been made to feel unwelcome.”

  “I never said I felt unwelcome,” I protested.

  “You didn’t need to,” he replied.

  Angie said, “I know there have been some problems, but please, let me talk to the Council. I’ll convince them to let you stay, and to make sure the other wolves mind their manners.”

  “What about Captain Bob?” I asked.

  “I’ll talk to him, too. I’ll fix everything. Please, don’t leave!” She nearly ran out of the cabin.

  “Do you want to stay?” David asked me.

  “I’m not sure. I really was having fun at first, but then Captain Bob showed up, and—”

  “Who is Captain Bob?”

  “That’s going to take some explaining.” I’d just finished when Angie showed up at the door again, beaming.

  “It’s all arranged. The Council invites you to join them in the dining hall so they can introduce you as an honored guest.”

  David lifted his eyebrow again, which meant it was up to me. I was torn between wanting to make a dramatic exit and wanting to make friends. Remembering the boring days I’d spent alone while David slept decided me. “We’d love to come.”

  I took a few minutes to change into something nicer and fix my hair—a gal can’t show up in a ratty sweat suit when she’s accompanying a gorgeous pirate. Then David tucked my arm inside his, and let Angie lead us to the dining room.

  I think it safe to say that we were the center of attention when we walked in the door. The Pack Council was waiting to greet David with the solemnity and nervousness I’d always imagined that government leaders feel around ambassadors from hostile countries.

  Once introductions were made and hands were shaken, they invited the three of us to join them at the head table. David didn’t eat, of course, but he sipped some wine to be polite. Conversation started with small talk, then moved on to admiration for their respective kinds. It was all very civil, and nobody bit anybody else, and I was bored stiff.

  So I ate. Being at the head table meant that we got a waiter instead of having to go through the buffet line, but I headed for the line anyway when the waiter was too slow with third helpings.

  A group of my buddies from earlier hailed me on the way back, so I ended up at a table with them. It wasn’t quite as relaxed as it had been before, but they were trying. And Shannon caught me up on Project Runway, which I appreciated. When I suggested some of them might want to make a trip to the Adventure Cove the next summer, they looked enthusiastic even before I promised free passes.

  The group in turn invited me to join them in the bar, but I decided to stick close to David. So I was enjoying a final dessert and checking email on my iPad when Captain Bob floated over. At least he looked normal, and not like an extra from The Walking Dead.

  “I guess I should apologize,” he said.

  “Don’t bother. You wouldn’t mean it, and I wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Fair enough.” He looked toward where David was still schmoozing with the Council. “I can’t believe they’re allowing a vampire around civilized people.”

  I wasn’t sure if either werewolves or ghosts really counted as civilized, but since my cheesecake was really good, I could be magnanimous. “It was Angie’s idea, not mine.”

  “I know—if anybody but the doc had asked me to stop bothering you, I’d still be at it.”

  I owed Angie a drink. To distract him from haunting, I asked, “How did you two meet anyway?”

  “She and Carl were the first people to spot me after my death. They were in the cemetery looking for ghosts when I rose.”

  “And you were the new ghost on the block?”

  “I was the only ghost on the block. We’re rare—we have to have the arcane gene and either suffer a traumatic death or die with some sort of unfinished business. Weren’t you listening during the doc’s talk today?”

  “Yeah, not so much.”

  “Wasting time playing games,” he said in disgust.

  “Hey, you were the one telling me which cards to put where.”

  “Is it my fault that you couldn’t see moves that were right in front of you?”

  “Did you ever consider playing your own game?”

  “I would have if I could have.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” I didn’t want to feel bad for the old so-and-so, but I sort of did. How sad was it when a guy couldn’t even play solitaire? The other werewolves weren’t exactly eager to hang with him, so Angie and I seemed to be the only ones who talked to him. “Hey, how does Angie see you anyway? I thought you needed the arcane gene to see a ghost.”

  “If that were true, why would there would be so many ghost stories? Any human can see me if in a receptive frame of mind.”

  “Like at a séance?”

  “Or in a house believed to be haunted, or late at night.”

  “Or in a cemetery.”

  “Exactly. Plus the doc got a witch to make her an amulet to help her see ghosts.”

  I wondered if I could get an amulet to keep me from seeing ghosts. Then I had a t
hought. “Hey, Bob—”

  “Captain Bob!”

  “Captain Bob. You said you can appear in any of the forms you had in life, but how do you know what you looked like when you were dying? Were you attacked in front of a mirror or what?”

  He squirmed a bit. “No, it was dark and I didn’t see anything. I don’t know how I can take that form without actually having seen it. The doc can’t figure it out, either.”

  “I guess it’s no weirder than me being able to Change into any breed of dog. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

  “My name isn’t Horatio!” he said, but I was fairly sure he was kidding.

  “So why do you look so old?” I asked.

  “What do you mean? This is how I looked before I was killed.”

  “I get that, and you look pretty good for a man your age. What were you, seventy-something?”

  “Sixty-six,” he said, glaring.

  “And you didn’t look a day over sixty,” I lied. “It’s just that if I could control my appearance, I’d go for something younger.”

  I saw the wheels turning, and he started shifting outlines. The result was a lot more scenic. He was still tall, but no longer stooped. The potbelly was gone, and his barely-there gray fuzz had become a full head of dark brown hair. Without the wrinkles, I could tell that he had cheekbones to die for.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  “Whoa! Captain Handsome!”

  He looked absurdly pleased, but when he saw David and Angie coming toward us, switched back.

  Angie was chattering away, and I could tell David was just managing to stay polite.

  He said, “I will try to make time to answer more of your questions, but it’s time for Joyce and me to retire for the night.” He gave me a look that I had no trouble interpreting.

  All thoughts of cheesecake fled, replaced by anticipation of beefcake, and we beat a hasty retreat to our cabin. It turned out that David had missed me as much as I’d missed him.

  Afterward, we got David safely ensconced in the cabin’s closet. It was a good-sized one, and after I took my stuff out and found him a pillow and blanket, he said it was perfectly acceptable. He used a bit of rope I’d had in my car to tie the door shut from inside, just in case somebody got the bright idea to open it in the middle of the day.