The Fangover (The Fangover 1)

“You know, maybe I should go find Cort,” she said suddenly, feeling like a childish fool for running off like she had.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Nigel said. “I’m sure he’s fretting about you.”

“Maybe,” she said, allowing herself to believe Cort could have feelings, true romantic feelings.

She stood, then suddenly remembered she didn’t have her wallet.

“I’m sorry,” she started, but Nigel cut her off.

“The beer and conversation are on me tonight. I’m just glad you are still with us, girl.”

Katie grinned. “Me, too.”

She headed to the bar door, only to have it open before she could do so herself.

In front of her appeared the Dancing Vagrant, and as usual her natural instinct was to back away. That smell really was too much. Maybe when she returned the man’s parrot, she should also give him a bar of soap. The poor guy probably had no idea how he smelled.

He smiled widely when he saw her, revealing her assessment was very likely correct.

“Here you are,” he said, then looked past her into the bar. “Do you have Winston?”

“No, not yet.”

His face fell, but almost immediately lifted back into a smile. “I got ahold of Annalese for you.”

“You did?” Katie wasn’t quite sure if she should believe this man. He seemed perfectly harmless, but definitely a little out-there.

“Yes, she’s going to meet us. At Erin Rose.”

Erin Rose, another of the band’s usual hangouts. That made her feel better about leaving with him. He wasn’t taking her somewhere she’d never heard of. Of course she could defend herself anyway.

“But we could stop here for a minute,” he said, cocking his head to the side, listening. His hips began to move a little, along with his feet. “I love this song.”

He started to step into the bar, but Nigel’s voice stopped him.

“We’re not having any dancing in here tonight, buddy. Sorry.”

Katie glanced at Nigel, who gave her a pained shrug. She understood Nigel’s stance. No matter how nice and jovial this guy seemed to be, he was still a dirty, stinky homeless guy and his presence would affect business. A harsh truth, sadly.

“Katie, could you come here for a moment?” Nigel said, waving to her.

Katie raised a finger, then turned to the Dancing Vagrant. “Wait right here.” She started over to the bar, then turned back to him and added for good measure, “I’ll have Cort meet us at Erin Rose with Winston.”

She didn’t want him dancing off again.

He nodded, perking up again at her mention of his best friend.

“I know this guy is harmless, but please be careful,” Nigel said as she approached the bar. He pushed a plastic cup of beer toward her, nodding to the vagrant. “Give that to him.”

Katie took the cup. Nigel was really a nice guy. So much for this whole “vampires being monsters” thing.

“I will be careful,” Katie assured him. “I just need to find out if Cort and I actually got married last night. And this guy says he knew the person who married us.”

Nigel looked surprised, then impressed. “Attending a wake, having a fatal accident, crossing over, discovering you are in love, and a marriage all in one night. And none of you remember it. That has to be a record, even for Bourbon Street.”

Katie laughed. “Definitely not the work of your average girl next door.”

“Ah, Katie-Katie,” Nigel said, patting her hand again. “I definitely don’t think anyone would ever consider you an average girl next door. You’re a stunner.”

Katie beamed. Maybe she really was. Maybe she always had been and just didn’t know it.

“This is good,” the Dancing Vagrant said, grinning down at his beer, any hurt feelings soothed by free alcohol. “That bartender never lets me in the bar, you know, because of Winston. Some bars have really strict policies about animals.”

Katie and Cort certainly hadn’t helped this man’s chances of getting into bars with that bird. Or rather, the bird had hurt his own chances.

But in this case, since Winston wasn’t even with him, she didn’t think the bird was Nigel’s issue. But since the man was happy with his beer and his rationalization, Katie wasn’t about to ruin that for him by pointing out the truth.

“So how do you know Annalese Bonvieux?”

“Everyone knows Annalese.” He frowned as if she was mad. Maybe she was, and he was the sane one. Who knows.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“She married you and your man last night. Of course you know her.”

He had a point there. She should know her.

“Well, I was so excited, I guess everything is a bit of a blur,” she told him.

He nodded. “Life is exciting.”

Katie had to give this guy credit, he did put a good spin on everything. Then again, he was the Dancing Vagrant.

They reached Erin Rose, pushing aside the plastic strips that covered the doorway to keep the air-conditioning in and the humid, Louisiana air out of the bar.

“Hey,” the bartender at the front bar called immediately as soon as he saw them enter. The burly man with a goatee and tattooed sleeves covering his bulky muscles pointed at the vagrant. “You can’t come in here.”

Dancing Vagrant gave Katie an “I told you so” look. “See, Winston again.”

And again, Katie accepted his rationalization with a smile and a nod.

“Annalese is probably in the back bar. If not, I’ll send her back there when I see her.”

Katie nodded again. The Dancing Vagrant waved quite merrily to the grouchy-looking bartender and slipped back out of the bar.

Katie sighed, wishing she had her purse. She’d buy the poor guy another beer and bring it out to him, so he at least had something to do while he waited around outside. She supposed that he might wander off to enjoy more music and dance, but she also knew he did love his bird, and he was waiting for Winston as much as she was waiting for this Annalese Bonvieux.

And maybe this lady was already there. She glanced back once more to see the Vagrant Dancer just outside the window. He’d bummed a cigarette, or at least she assumed he’d bummed a cigarette off someone, and he was jigging slightly to some of the music that wafted outside from Erin Rose’s loud jukebox.

She shook her head, again amazed at what a truly happy guy he was, and she headed into the back room.

The back bar of Erin Rose was a small square room, two of the walls lined with a nicked, worn bar and equally worn wooden stools. A few tables littered the limited floor space, but for some reason, Katie had always found the place more homey than cramped and shabby.