Never Cry Werewolf by Heather Davis Read Free Book Online

each other a sorry look, realizing we’d jinxed.
    “What were you two thinking?” said Mr. Winters, limping toward us. “What in heaven’s name got into you kids?”
    Austin said, “I was after Charles.”
    “And I chased after Austin, because…well, it’s a long story,” I added.
    “Well, good intentions or not, you’re both in hot water,” said Mr. Winters, huffing up to the log and sitting down with an audible sigh.
    Charles smiled broadly at me. A big gloating ha-ha smile.
    That did it. “What about him ? Charles is a thief!” I snapped. “He took Austin’s stuff.”
    “And how does that involve you?” asked Mr. Winters.
    “Oh.” I chewed my lip for a half sec. “Well, honestly, I was just trying to help find them because that crazy Guitar Lady wasn’t doing jack.”
    Mr. Winters gave me a thoughtful look, and then said, “We’ll sort it out back at camp. Put out the fire. We’ll use my GPS to find our way back to the road and then I can radio for the camp van.” He rose shakily to his feet and took a few steps, wincing. “Let’s go. The cook’s making the best blueberry cobbler you ever tasted and we’re missing it.”
    “Blueberry cobbler?” said Charles. “Yumm-o. I can’t wait to get to camp.” He was suddenly all calm, and that completely irked me.
    “First things first. You can give Austin his stuff back now,” I said, yanking the black backpack from Charles’s hands.
    “Not so fast. How do you know it’s his?” said Charles, jerking the bag back by the zipper pull.
    “Hand it here.” Austin reached for it just as Charles let go.
    In the struggle something tumbled out of the backpack, clinking like glass on glass. Mr. Winters’s flashlight beam zoomed to a bunch of clear vials rolling into a loose pile in the sand.
    People probably try to smuggle booze into camps like this, but the vials held less than a swallow.
    They were even smaller than bottles from a hotel mini-bar. Maybe they weren’t alcohol at all. Oh, man, I
    ’d found out the reason he was here—British bad boy had a drug problem. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood staring at the glittering pile.
    Austin tried to scoop his vials up discreetly, but Mr. Winters hobbled over and stood over him with his hand out. Ignoring the old man, Austin went on collecting the vials and placing them in a plastic bag.
    “Austin, give me your backpack,” Mr. Winters said. “We would have confiscated your stash at camp anyway.”
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    “It’s not what you think. This is a prescription,” Austin replied, hugging the pack to his chest.
    “A prescription?” Charles chuckled. “I don’t know about that. I drank one of those an hour ago and I feel pretty buzzed.”
    “You drank one of my doses? Are you daft?” Austin stepped closer to Charles, looking ready to knock him out.
    Charles smiled defiantly. “If the old man hadn’t shown up, I would have had more.”
    “Charles! Start throwing dirt on the fire,” Mr. Winters snapped, and then turned to Austin. “Son, when we get back to camp, we’ll phone your father and sort this problem out.”
    Austin kicked a rock into the smoldering fire. “You can’t ring him up,” he said.
    Mr. Winters shook his head as if he’d heard it all before. “I’m sure there’s a way.”
    Austin bit his lower lip. “He’s on holiday in remote Africa. No phones. No television. No contact.”
    “Of course.” Mr. Winters sounded unconvinced. “Well, if it is prescribed, it’ll be on your medical form in the camp records.”
    “What about his manager?” I said, trying to be helpful. “I mean, he has one, right?”
    “Graham doesn’t know anything about this,” Austin hissed. “He’s only just started working for the band. He’ll be sacked when my father learns I was sent here instead of on holiday like I’d planned. I’m not supposed to be here at all.”
    There was pain in