[ WP ] A skull , a suitcase and a long red bottle of wine .

It looked like a bus. Really. One of those metal tubes that humans are shuttled about in when they travel through cities. Except, of course, it was clear and filled with red wine, and about the size of a breadbox but thinner, like perhaps a baguette box. If such a thing was made. Never mind that bottles of wine are supposed to be shaped like rocketships or torpedoes- if they are to be compared to any manner of vehicle in the first place- but my host was one for strange tastes. I certainly was n't going to mention it. 
 
 A few hours later I'm going through security at the Sea-Tac airport when a man who looks like he moonlights flipping flapjacks on the outskirts of the Russian part of the International District waves me aside. `` Sir,'' he says, with a disappointingly un-slavic accent, `` we have some questions about what appears to be a skull in your suitcase.'' Go figure. I get to the room along with the offending luggage and curse the part of the plan that says I've got ta babysit this thing. Some ancient precedent or whatever, the souls have to stay in contact... I sure was n't paying very good attention. 
 
 `` Sir,'' says another man whose appearance disappointingly dispelled my illusion that the Russian mob was puppet-mastering the Seattle branch of the TSA, `` can you explain the disembodied head in your carry-on?'' He waited. 
 
 `` It's not a whole head, just a skull,'' I say. `` It belongs to my father. When he died, we did n't have the money to take it to his family's cemetery, and this way everyone gets a part. Sounds morbid, but it means a lot to people.'' They do n't seem particularly moved by the speech. `` Here's the paperwork.'' 
 
 I've rented a car for the last stretch of the journey, and there's one thought running through my mind: *this is way too boring*. Sure, I knew it was a low profile job, but I'd hoped for a little more action than getting to test my German when I took on this particular client. I should've known how it goes after a literal *fairy princess* gave me the craziest case of a whole year. Next time you're in Wales, avoid the pink ones. 
 
 So I get there. Secluded spot in the woods, public land or something, and I break out the suitcase. Open it up, take out the skull, get my spell bag. The ceremony goes fine, and there he is standing in front of me, every bone in its place, just like in his office with the wine bus. 
 
 He looks at me, and I can see he's relieved even without facial muscles. `` Thank you,'' he says, `` your payment.'' His bony knuckles stretch towards me and there they are- an original copy of The Book of Breathings and an `` I Want To Believe'' poster signed by David Duchovny himself. I'm practically grinning. 
 
 `` So why did you want this so badly?'' I ask. 
 
 `` I've got a lot of heat these days,'' he says, `` and I wanted to shake them off for a few years. Give myself a break. I'm sure you can understand, new friend.'' 
 
 I nod. `` Well I had a spot open for skeleton and another one for trickster god, so I guess that's two birds with one stone.'' The humor is lost on him. 
 
 He vanishes. I stand for a moment before getting in the car. *I oughta retire for a few weeks, * I think. *You've had a good year, kid. *
