Seizure(31)

Bates went back to counting.

Noticing movement, I glanced to my right. Hi was rubbing his dome with both hands. Not exactly subtle. We all closed in.

Hi pointed to a crate on a wall-bolted shelf. We scanned the jumbled contents. Dusty papers. A souvenir eye patch from the Pirate Aquarium. Costume jewelry. Two three-corner hats. Replica flintlock pistols. A torn Jolly Roger flag, made in China.

“Garbage,” Ben whispered. “Useless crap.”

“I see you’ve located some of my valuable antiques.” Bates slipped from his stool and waddled toward us. “Priceless heirlooms.”

Shelton snorted. “You could buy this junk at Party City. In better condition.”

“Not true.” Bates yanked the box from the shelf. “Some crap was added later, but this crate is full of historical documents. Blackbeard’s personal shit. Some Anne Bonny stuff, too.”

Beefy hands eased a stack of papers from underneath the kitsch.

My pulse cranked. Bates was right. The documents were either very old or very good fakes. If the former, they might actually be worth something.

“I’d need to have these appraised,” I said. “Verify they’re real.”


“Sorry, paying customers only.” Bates held the papers to his chest. “I can’t risk ya’ll damaging historical treasures.”

Crap! I needed to check for the symbol. To be sure. That meant haggling with this greasy con man.

A crazy idea crossed my mind. Dangerous. Irresponsible.

It worked before. Let’s put my nose to the test.

I’d promised not to do it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We needed an edge. I spoke before I could chicken out.

“Do you have a bathroom?”

“What am I? A spa?” Bates cocked his head. “Use the Laundromat next door.”

“All by myself? Can’t I please use yours?”

“Unbelievable.” Eyes rolling, he pointed. “Through the beads.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t touch nothing! I got cameras back there, too.”

My eyes widened.

“No, I don’t mean—not in the damn bathroom!” Bates rubbed his forehead. “Just keep your hands in your pockets, you hear?”

I hurried through the curtain, then listened to make sure Bates hadn’t followed. No way. He was busy pumping up the collection’s inestimable value. I locked myself in the bathroom.

Ready? Not really.

I shook out my limbs. Took several deep breaths. Closed my eyes. Reached.

SNAP.

The flare came easily, as if the wolf had been lurking just beneath the surface.

But not without pain.

My arms and legs quivered as the fire flowed through me. Lights strobed behind my eyeballs. I wanted to whimper, but clamped my jaw shut.

In silence I rode the wave of primal energy. Suffered the transformation.

My eyes snapped into hyperfocus. My body burned with visceral force. My ears hummed like a tuning fork.

Ready to rock.

Slipping on my sunglasses, I flushed the toilet and strode back through the beads. Nonchalant, but my heart was racing.

Bates was still working the boys. They seemed overwhelmed by the onslaught.

Seeing my shades, Shelton frowned. Then his eyes went saucer. He elbowed Hi, who elbowed Ben.

They knew.

“It’s way too bright in here,” I said.

Bates looked at me funny. His shop was lit like a cave.

Now! Before you lose control.

“Mr. Bates, I don’t think these are authentic,” I said. “Interesting, sure, but not worth much.”

“Child, please. These are rare, precious artifacts,” Bates insisted. “Extremely valuable. I bought ’em from a serious collector.”

“Really? Who? I think you got taken.”

“That’s my business, not yours.” He crossed arms the size of telephone poles. “Five hundred bones. Not a penny less.”

Bates’s poker face was impressive. I couldn’t get a read.

Luckily, I had other tools.

As discreetly as possible, I drew air through my nose. Sniffed. Sifted. When I found his scent, I nearly staggered backward.

Onions. Coffee. Garlic. Sweat trapped inside rolls of flesh. Cheap drugstore aftershave.

I coughed, violently, nearly losing my eyewear.

“You sick, girl?” Bates squinted.

Hi provided a distraction.

“Can you prove these papers are real?” he asked. “Show us some evidence? You keep documentation, right?”

“I don’t have to prove nothing, boy.” Impatient. “Buy ’em or not. If ya’ll don’t, somebody else will.”

Bracing myself, I inhaled again. The funk sickened me anew, but I kept control this time. My nose sorted, divided, categorized.

From beneath the stench, earthier scents emerged. One odor outweighed the others, salty and acrid, like a towel soaked in cat urine.

I named the smell, though I couldn’t say how.

Deception. Bates was lying.

“You believe this box is valuable?” I asked.

“Young lady, I know it.”

The acid reek increased.

Lie.

And now, another smell. Rank. Sickly. A little sweet.

Worry.