Free Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos by Donna Andrews

already met Spike.
    "Don't worry," I said, shortening die leash to keep Spike away from them.
    "Meg!" Dad said, appearing in the opening of the tent. "What's up? Another nosebleed?"
    I sighed. In just a few hours, he'd managed to give his new colonial costume the same well-worn, rumpled look as all the rest of his clothes. And while he'd carefully grown his hair long enough to tie back in colonial fashion, he had so little hair left that the black velvet ribbon almost hid it. From a distance, it looked as if he'd glued the bow to the back of his largely bald head. Ah, well.
    "Could you take a look at Spike?" I asked. "I'm not sure whether Benson actually kicked him or just tried."
    "Certainly!" Dad said, taking Spike's leash and leading him into the tent. I followed, ignoring the muted cheers for Benson from the two reclining patients.
    I looked around. Dad had been improving on the decor inside, too. I'd already seen the ramshackle operating table, the side tables piled with reproductions of period jars and bottles and flasks, and the artistic arrangement of scary-looking metal instruments. The skeleton dangling from the top of the tent was new. And he'd brought in several jars of leeches. His booth was probably the only one in the fair that the Anachronism Police hadn't complained to me about. I wondered if they were impressed by its authenticity or just too horrified to come in.
    "Isn't it grand!" he exclaimed, seeing me look around.
    "Lovely," I said, glancing down at the sawdust coating the ground around the operating table. "Please tell me those aren't real bloodstains."
    "Of course they are," he said. "Real chicken blood."
    "I should have guessed," I said, dragging Spike back from some blood-soaked sawdust that he'd decided looked tasty.
    "Let's get the patient on the examination table, shall we?" Dad said, moving several glittering surgical knives aside to make room.
    "We?" I said. "You mean you're going to help me pick him up?"
    "Well, maybe you should do it," he said. "I don't want to alarm him."
    Didn't want to get bitten, more likely. Because I'd once saved Spike's life, he'd developed an inexplicable and unrequited fondness for me, which meant that my odds of getting bitten were much lower than most people's. Although trying to hold him while Dad performed his examination would normally have leveled out the odds again.
    Fortunately, Spike was too busy trying to spit out the blood-soaked sawdust to bite, though keeping him still was a lost cause.
    "I can't check his heartbeat unless you can get him to stop growling," Dad said.
    "Fat chance," I said. "Besides, it's his ribs I'm worried about, not his evil little heart."
    "Doesn't seem to be anything wrong with his ribs," Dad said. "I don't think he's injured at all – just mad as hell."
    Which was normal for Spike. If he'd begun acting angelic, I'd have told Dad to check for a concussion. After a little more poking and prodding, Dad gave Spike a clean bill of health and I took him back to my booth where, to my astonishment, Rob eventually showed up to claim him.

 
    "What a horrible day," Rob said, "and more to come. I'd better take Spike back to Mrs. Waterston's house and feed him."
    "Fine," I said. "You didn't leave Mr. Benson alone, did you?"
    "He went back to his motel," Rob said, sounding tired.
    "Are you sure?"
    "I watched him drive off."
    "Good riddance," I said. "I hope that's the last we see of him."
    "Well, actually, I think he's coming to Mrs. Waterston's party," Rob said.
    "Are you sure?"
    "He rented a costume," Rob said, with a shrug.
    "Oh, great," I said, as Rob ambled off with Spike. "That should be a laugh a minute."
    I sighed, plopped my haversack on the ground, and sat down, feeling suddenly tired.
    Two members of the Anachronism Police came in, carrying a birdbath, accompanied by a potter, presumably its maker. I wasn't in the mood, but I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again, and smiled as sweetly as I could manage.
    "Can I