"I can, but I've shared blood with him," I told Hank.
Dwayne hovered above us and flapped his arms like a bird.
"Do you have to do that to fly? I didn't think… oh my freakin' hell, Dwayne! Button the bottom of your coat. Your man bits are blowing in the wind." I groaned as I buried my muzzle in my paws.
"When did you become such a prude?" Dwayne huffed as he adjusted his coat.
"I'm not a prude," I snapped. "It's just alarming to look up and see my BFF's weenie and friends bouncing in the breeze."
"Fair point, well made," he said. "I would find it disturbing to glance up at a faceful of your knockers too."
"As appalling as this conversation has gotten, I still want to know how I'm communicating with Dwayne," Hank said.
"I can only guess that because we've both shared Essie's blood we can hear each other," Dwayne surmised.
It was the only explanation that made any sense. Dwayne floated down and landed gracefully in front of us. Hank was correct. The coat was awful.
"Did you really pay six thousand dollars for that?" I asked.
"Hell to the no!" Dwayne laughed as he modeled his scary fur. "Got it at the thrift shop for thirty-two dollars and seventy-five cents."
"I still say you overpaid," Hank said as he sat down on his haunches and stared at Dwayne. "As bizarre as this communication thing is, it may come in handy in Chicago."
"Hey now," I grumbled as I butted Hank with my head. "We still have about ten hours of vacation left. No talking about our impending deaths."
"You're right baby. I have a better idea anyway."
"What's that?" Dwayne asked as he picked twigs and leaves out of his hairy mess of a wolf costume.
"How about we go scare the hell out of the Pack with the flying mangy Werewolf?" Hank's wolf grinned, which would look frightening if you didn't know him.
"That is fabulous," I squealed.
"While I wholeheartedly agree with the devious activity," Dwayne said with a hand on his hip and his brows raised high, "if you call me mangy one more time, I will fly over your head and pee on you."
"Okay, that's just gross," I said as I shuddered. "What if we just call you nappy?"
"I prefer kinky," he informed us with a grin.
"Of course you do." I rolled my eyes and chuffed. "Alright, kinky Vamp, you ready to go have some fun with the wolves?"
"Oh my god," Dwayne shrieked as he levitated and did flips in the air. "I haven't had this much fun since I went fishing naked in the Bermuda Triangle with Hemingway, some Pygmy fellas and a Were Skunk named Herm."
Both Hank and I were smart enough not to touch that one. However, even if we wanted to we couldn't. Dwayne had taken off screaming like a banshee to terrorize the Pack. I realized I hadn't told my BFF about the Were Cows knowing about him, but I didn't want to ruin his fun.
Tomorrow was back to reality. Tonight was for fun.
"You ready to watch Dwayne make a mockery of our scared rituals?" Hank inquired as he nipped at my ear.
"Yep. This will be a night that will go down in history."
"God help us all."
Chapter 7
"Well, would you look at that?" Granny gasped and pulled out her new cell phone that I had gotten for her… the one I swore I wouldn't buy. "When Dwayne sleeps he looks dead."
She started snapping pictures.
"He's always dead," I said as I glanced over my shoulder at my best bud.
Good lord, Granny was right. He was laid out on the backseat of the Hummer like a cadaver without rigor mortis. Dwayne had worn himself out last night. Junior's induction would live in infamy due to the kinky Vamp scaring years off of most of the Pack's lives. A group of teenage boy wolves had taken a chunk out of Dwayne's hind-quarter before they realized he wasn't a hairy flying Demon from Hell. They were mortified and extremely apologetic, but Dwayne brushed it off and healed right back up in less than five minutes. He then entertained the Pack with songs and stories from his time as a pirate. A debilitating and educational time was had by all.
Mrs. Wilson even offered to put Dwayne's faux fur in storage for the next time he wanted to join in on a Pack shift. Needless to say my fellow Werewolves were appalled, but no one questioned Mrs. Wilson. No one.
"I know he's dead," Granny said, "but he looks really dead."
"Is he?" I asked, alarmed. He couldn't be. I was almost certain Vamps turned to dust when they died. However, since I'd forgone most of my paranormal education because I skipped all my classes, I wasn't entirely sure.
"How in tarnation can I tell? It's not like the boy has a pulse." Granny got up in his face and blew on him.
"What in the name of Christina Aguilera are you doing?" a drowsy Dwayne mumbled as he swatted at Granny's head.
"Making sure you weren't dead, bloodsucker," she answered as she popped him back.
"Considering that I am, I don't really see the point. And you seriously need a mint," he said as he pinched his nostrils closed. "Hank, are we there yet?"
Hank's lips compressed in annoyance and he said absolutely nothing as he maneuvered the Hummer in and out of traffic on our way to Chicago. Of course, before Dwayne had passed out he'd asked the same question of Hank at least thirty times.