You might be asking, “What does a warlock do once he has sold the soul of murderer to an all-powerful entity from another plane of reality?” If you then guessed, “Go on vacation,” I'd ask you for lotto numbers.

Or maybe not. Maybe you think being a warlock is like an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. You'd be wrong. At least, about me. I haven't met any other warlocks, and the ones I've read about had been too busy being evil assholes to do things like drink a margarita.

I, however, have been working 18-22 hour days for the last six years, with occasional days off when I collapsed. I had... I guess you can say "stumbled" onto a loophole in the typical warlock agreement that allowed me to sell other souls besides my own, but the idea of essentially selling immortal souls into an unknown fate that was likely eternal slavery/torment didn't sit well with me. To make a long story short I eventually settled onto targeting murderers (I had a unique gift that gives me an edge in solving cold cases). This didn't solve all my problems, of course, as even with preternatural abilities, solving cold cases is incredibly difficult.

But I had hit a windfall recently. You see, lucky #13 didn't work alone. He had three accomplices. One was dead, which is a waste, but the two others lived 15 minutes apart in Nevada. I already had two locations prepped for payments and with the adjustments I had made to my summon circle, I had way more wiggle room than I ever had before.

So it was time to take a cruise.

Six weeks after #13 involuntarily agreed to surrender his soul, I was in the “embarkation center” of the small cruise line I had booked passage on. I was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, a loud pair of flower print shorts, bright orange Crocs and a large barrel bag with my stuff in it hung on my left shoulder. My hair looked like it was trying to lift the LA Dodger's hat off my head, like a black Muppet hand that resented being restrained. A pair of thick rimmed, dark sunglasses rested on my nose, which was liberally coated with sunscreen. With my corpse-like complexion, thousand watt smile with slightly oversized canines (a side effect of my second bargain), I looked like a vampire that had just discovered it could walk in the sun after all this time and had decided to make the most of it.

I crossed the area at a leisurely gait, politely making way for a family moving faster than me with that “we are going to have fun goddamnit” energy of a parent stretched thin. The young teenager in tow—I wanna say 14 or 15—glanced up from his phone long enough to spot me, his expression clearly communicating bewildered disgust. I couldn't tell if it was my dress, my complexion, my evident joy or a combination thereof that got the reaction. I pointed my free hand at him with a finger gun and tilted my face down so he'd just be able to see my eyes over the rim of my glasses and winked. He looked like he just remembered every story about abductions, pedophilic grooming and murderers and drew closer to his parents, casting worried glances my way.

Oh yeah, this is fun already.

I hadn't traveled by any means except by bus and car since I was living with my folks, on the last vacation we took together to Hawaii. I regretted not being a better sport about the trip at the time, knowing now what a pain in the ass it is to organize one. But I had been a teenager, and as everyone learns at one point, some sooner than others: teenagers are extremely dumb.

I sidelined that thought process, as thoughts of my parents and childhood often left me maudlin. I let my eyes wander to a shaved ice stand, a stand selling luggage (just in case you decided you wanted different luggage last minute? What?), a stand selling what looked like a bunch of technological paraphernalia like chargers and such. I stopped by the tech stand and bought another charge for my phone and tablet, just in case.

(I was still stuck on the luggage stand. It can't be for people who lose their luggage, because now they have nothing to carry, because logically their stuff was in their luggage. Maybe people would see this new luggage, and compare it to their own old, shitty luggage, and think: “Hey, maybe it's time to upgrade? RIGHT BEFORE A VACATION?”)

My mind rolled over the variables as to the business model of selling luggage in a place where people were 99.9% likely to have luggage as I walked down to the... pier? Dock? I pulled out my ticket and looked where I was supposed to go. Dock 8. I glanced around until I found a standing map with a helpful “you are here” dot. Dock 8 was a goodly walk away, judging by this map, but I was in no hurry. I had arrived three hours early to reduce any potential anxiety that seemed to plague my parents during our vacations.

“Do you need help, sir?”

I turned and found a young woman, maybe approaching twenty-five, in the uniform I associated with the travel... thing I was in. My terminology kept floundering as this was my first cruise and I kept wanting to default to air travel words. Anyway, the cruise version of an airport employee was standing next to me, smiling helpfully.

“Dock 8's that way, right?” I said, jerking my thumb in the direction I thought Dock 8 was.

“That's right!” She said brightly. She was either new, medicated or one of those odd people who actually enjoy their work. She turned and pointed down the same direction I had indicated. “You can actually see it from here, just past that juice stand with the big pink sign waaaay down there.”

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I squinted, lowering my glasses to get a better look. Her eyes must be better than mine. I smiled and gave her a little nod. “I'll yell if I need help.”

She laughed that laugh you do when you want to believe the person in front of you is joking. I nodded again and headed down to Dock 8, hopefully.

It took another 30 minutes of sedately walking, but I found Dock 8 easily enough. I left the covered “Public” area or whatever you called it and the smell of salt water grew stronger as the sun bathed me. I paused and took in the scenery, which mostly comprised of a wooden walkway wide enough for two cars, with rope everywhere and a lot of large ships. On the right side about three hundred feet down was a smallish ship (compared to some of these larger cruise ships) that looked to be about the right size for what I was looking for.

As I drew closer I saw signage for the esoterically named “Adventure Cruise,” which is the cruise I had booked. I guess if you thought two weeks at sea and kayaking were adventures, the name applied, but as someone who had a higher bar for what rated “exciting,” the name was a bit of a misnomer for me. I was hoping it would offer just the right mix of distraction, solitude and booze that would allow me to recharge my batteries and resume my work without going insane.

There was a line, and I was pleasantly surprised to see the same family from earlier in it, with the same teenager I had..scared? Traumatized? He hadn't noticed me as he had resumed being engrossed by his phone, but I hoped he noticed me soon. I was getting bored.

I don't mean to be mean to the kid. For me it was a simple matter of choosing reactions to have to his reaction to me. I could be upset, irritated, humiliated, etc., but I had chosen to be villainously entertained by his disgust and so far it was an A+ option.

There were a few people between me and the family, however, so I doubted he'd notice me unless I went out of my way to draw attention. I felt a small impulse to do just that, but decided against it. I already looked weird enough without adding weird actions to the list of my oddities. At least, not this early in the cruise.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover they were letting people board, which I guessed makes sense. I waited as the line progressed, wishing the teenager would notice me again (he didn't) until it was my turn to turn in my ticket pass thing.

“How's your day been so far, sir?” The young man behind the counter asked.

“Fantastic,” I said. “To be honest, it's been the best day I've had for the better part of a decade.”

He smiled as he stamped something and ripped something and stapled something to my ticket. I passed over my ID which he compared with my ticket and handed it back, along with the ticket. “I hope it gets even better.”

“Same here,” I said, awkwardly putting my ID back in my wallet while balancing my bag and ticket.

“Have a good one,” I said with a wave.

I was directed up the ramp (gangplank?) to the ship and followed the signs to my room. I went up two flights of stairs to top floor (deck?) which only had four cabins and a lobby for events. I located the cabin that belonged to me—#3, which I liked as I had a fondness for the number 3 for no reason I can think of—and was stumped when I found it locked.

It took an embarrassing amount of time to think that maybe the paperwork ninjitsu the young man had been doing had also slipped my key into my pass and, yup, there was a pair of keycards in a little pocket in the pass designed for them.

I opened the door and stepped into the room, pleased with what greeted me. A queen bed dominated the space, with a little study table on the other side of the room. Across from the bed was a TV mounted to the wall. In the corner to my right was the bathroom, sink shower toilet, and to my left was the small kitchenette with a microwave, sink, coffeemaker and a comically small fridge. I could maybe fit a turkey in it, or two chickens. I opened it and saw it was half stocked with small liquor bottles and bottled water.

“Alright," I muttered. I dropped my bag, pass and hat on the bed. My glasses followed and I dug into the side pocket of the bag, where I had a case of grease pencils stashed. I cracked it open and pulled one out. It was the type that had the little tap bit you could pull to expose more of the “lead.” I really should look at what things are properly called these days.

I crossed back to the door and began drawing a specialized attention ward on it. It wouldn't stop anyone who was specifically looking for my room, but it would divert all curious, wayward or idle attention away from the door and give me an extra layer of privacy.

About an hour into it I was interrupted by a knock on the door, which startled me so much I made a big line in the middle of the ward that ruined the entire thing. I took a breath to calm myself and checked the peephole. A crew member was standing outside. I opened the door and stared down at him.

I had mentioned that I was taller than average, which is a bit of an understatement. I am quite tall. Some would say very tall. In high school I was approached twice by the basketball coach to join the team. I have to be careful in old houses because they tended to be built with lower doorways and ceilings. The crewman's eyes widened as he tilted his head back to look at me.

“Yes?” I said, keeping the irritation out of my voice with great effort.

He must have realized something amiss, or just assumed I'd be irritated, because he smiled apologetically. “Sorry to disturb you sir, but I'm just going around and letting everyone know about the briefing that will be held at 4 o'clock on deck 2.”

“Briefing?” I asked.

“Just the cruise briefing, sir, which will list meal times, where you can and can't go, how long we'll be at sea and what activities to expect. It's not mandatory but highly recommended.” His smile had taken on the quality of someone who was used to smiling with no reason to do so.

“Thanks, I'll see if I can make it, though I might just pass out,” I said.

He nodded in understanding. “The details can also be found on channel 2 on the TV in your cabin, and a brochure can be requested from the information desk on Deck 1.”

This got a smile out of me. “To be honest, that sounds much more appealing.”

His smile grew more genuine. “I understand, sir. Have a good day.”

“Back at ya,” I said and closed the door.

I waited for the crewman to leave. Once he had I looked at the ruined ward, sighed and went to find a cloth to wipe it clean and start over.