Mark stood at the edge of the dock the next morning, arms crossed, muzzle twitching, glaring at the heap of pirate costumes piled on a rolling garment rack. Beside him sat a tattered trunk containing hats, boots, swords, a busted telescope, and — for reasons he could not begin to explain — three extremely suspicious bananas.
The pirate ship gleamed in the sunlight, crew already up and scrubbing the deck. The captain was waiting. So were two crew members with clipboards and a polite but very tight-lipped expression that screamed we’re billing you for everything.
Mark sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, “Okay. Here’s the stuff. Some of it’s damp. All of it smells like Gabriel. Good luck.”
The first crew member lifted a shredded velvet coat, frowning. “This has glitter in it.”
Mark didn’t even blink. “I don’t want to know why.”
Then came the big one.
“Uh… sir?” the second crew member called, squatting beside the bottom of the crate. “Did… did one of you take a cannonball?”
Mark blinked. “A what now.”
“We’re missing a twenty-pound decorative iron cannonball. We use it in the rigging display.”
“Why would anyone take a —” Mark stopped. His ears twitched. His brow furrowed. “Gabriel.”
He turned and stormed back up the dock, pulling out his phone with pure murder in his eyes.
Back at the hotel, Thane opened the door to the suite just in time to hear a loud clang from inside. He turned the corner and found Gabriel, still in pajama pants, crouched behind the couch and whispering, “Shhhh, you’re my emotional support cannonball now…”
Thane stared. “Gabriel.”
The black-furred werewolf’s ears slowly drooped. “…Don’t be mad.”
“Did you seriously steal a cannonball?”
“It’s not stealing if it loves me back,” Gabriel muttered, cradling the thing like a lapdog.
Mark appeared behind Thane, radiating unholy fury. “PUT. IT. BACK.”
Gabriel yelped and bolted, cannonball tucked like a football under one arm.
Thane and Mark gave chase.
Fifteen minutes, three broken lamp shades, and one dented doorframe later, they finally cornered Gabriel in the laundry room. Thane gently pried the cannonball out of his claws, while Mark fumed and called the pirate ship company.
“Damage fees,” Mark growled. “Costume repairs. That cannonball. Twenty-five grand.”
“Can I Venmo it?” Gabriel asked sheepishly.
“No,” Thane muttered. “We’re paying it.”
By mid-afternoon, the pack was back on the road, loaded up in their red tour bus as it ferried them to the docks. The next stop: Ireland.
Gabriel sat on the couch, sulking slightly.
“You okay?” Thane asked, sitting next to him.
“I just thought it was cool.”
“It was cool,” Thane replied. “But maybe don’t bring weapons home next time.”
“Fine,” Gabriel mumbled, then brightened. “Wait — what about swords?”
“No.”
“What about —”
“No.”
Gabriel sighed, flopping dramatically. “You guys are no fun.”
Mark, from the kitchenette: “Tell that to the cannonball-shaped hole in the drywall.”
Rico leaned over from the front lounge. “So what’s this next venue?”
“Ireland,” Thane replied. “Big outdoor venue just outside of Dublin. Sold out.”
“Ooooh,” Jonah said, perking up. “Please tell me there’ll be beer.”
“Only if Gabriel promises not to steal a keg,” Thane said dryly.
Gabriel grinned. “No promises.”
As the ferry pulled away from the British mainland, the red bus nestled below deck and the pack gathered on the top deck to feel the wind in their fur, Gabriel leaned against Thane and whispered with a grin, “Still worth it.”
Thane shook his head… but he didn’t disagree.