If a DEMON wanted you dead,
would you have what it takes to survive?
Cate Forsythe & Michael Casey are about to find out.
THE
GUARDIAN’S
PLAYLIST
J. POWELL OGDEN
Book One
The Guardian’s Playlist Trilogy
Quoted Lyrics by J. Powell Ogden & Joseph Tupa
Cover by https://www.coverkitchen.com/
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SPARKSTREET Media, LLC.
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“Spellbinding! How can anyone not fall in love with the ghost of Michael?”
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“The realities faced by teens are not glossed over, but faced head on.”
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Let Michael Casey, the ghostly rebel of THE GUARDIAN’S PLAYLIST, tell you how the last four days of his life and death went down. He’s ready to come clean…sort of.
**Includes some TGP SPOILERS**
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PROLOGUE
The Guardian’s Playlist begins…
THE BRILLIANT LIGHT faded, and the bedroom was soon dark again, but not peaceful.
“You know I’ll be back. I can’t let this one survive,” purred the beautiful demon standing beside the bed.
The Guardian on the bed looked down at the small child tucked securely against his chest. She was asleep, finally. It had been a long night.
The demon creature eyed the child curiously with black eyes that seemed to expand within his face. He moved a millimeter closer, but found his nose instantly breathing down the scalding tip of a slow-burning sword. The light flashed anew in the room.
“One step closer, and you’ll fly apart like the rest of them!” the Guardian warned. He was young, just twenty-one, but he’d already brought down creatures such as this one who were millions of years old. “Bring an army,” he taunted, flipping his blade up and under the creature’s chin. “I’ll take them all down.”
The demon smiled and backed up, his thorny black veins revealing themselves through his incandescent skin.
“Ah…but it’s not you who needs to make the choice to resist, is it?” he said.
The Guardian’s jaw twitched, and his eyes flicked down to the face of the sleeping child. When he looked up again, his eyes flashed silver. “She has ten times more faith in her pinky finger than you have in your entire soul.”
The smile on the creature broadened. His eyes grew larger. “You’re right.” A sinister laugh slipped from between his lips. “But she won’t see me coming next time.” Then he became like smoke and faded away like the light into the night.
The Guardian sighed and bent his head to kiss the child’s smallest finger. He smiled down at her and then tipped his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. He knew he needed to take his rest when he could. He needed to be ready. Always ready.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COVER
Title Page
5 STAR reviews for TGP
FREE Book Download
PROLOGUE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART ONE: The Real World
ONE: Turn the Page
TWO: The Boy in the White Converse Shoes
THREE: The Claddagh
FOUR: The Left Path
FIVE: Waking the Dead
SIX: Cletus, the Ax-toting Freak
SEVEN: The Curse of the Camels
EIGHT: The Ghost of Lewis Woods
PART TWO: Michael
NINE: Fight or Flight
TEN: Something to Wrap Your Head Around
ELEVEN: The Hitman
TWELVE: Coincidence
THIRTEEN: Diary of a Cliff Dive
FOURTEEN: The Ghost, the Witch & the Jack-o’-lantern
FIFTEEN: The Death of an Innocent
SIXTEEN: Cherish
SEVENTEEN: Every Part of Me
PART THREE: The Snare
EIGHTEEN: The Amateur Healer
NINETEEN: The Messenger
TWENTY: The Gift
TWENTY-ONE: The Tattoo
TWENTY-TWO: Missing Christmas
TWENTY-THREE: Catastrophic Failure
TWENTY-FOUR: Permanent Pain Relief
TWENTY-FIVE: The Ubermensch
PART FOUR: …or something
TWENTY-SIX: Paradise Lost
TWENTY-SEVEN: The Guardian
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Book 2 of The Guardian’s Playlist Trilogy
The Guardian’s Playlist – 2018
Song Lyrics
Dedication
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Bibliography
Publisher
Copyright & Lyric Permission
PART ONE
The Real World
ONE
“TURN THE PAGE”
I THINK GOD speaks to me through the radio.
Right. Sure. That’s crazy. Which is why you’ll never hear me admit that out loud. My family may be Catholic, we may go to church every Sunday, and we may even be known to pray the entire Rosary when someone dies, but I know without a doubt that an admission of that sort was certain to earn me an extended vacation on a therapist’s couch.
Nonetheless, my Playlist grows. And it never ceases to amaze me. I don’t ask for the song selections, don’t pray for them, but just when it seems like my whole world is crashing down, and I’m ready to hide under my bed—that is, if there’s not too much stuff under it—a song will come on the radio that’s the perfect antidote for whatever’s plaguing me.
Between you and me, sometimes I think an Angel picks them.
For instance, this morning I was dreading the first day of my sophomore year, because I knew I’d finally have to face the fallout from my hugely embarrassing public fight with my boyfriend, Jason. I still couldn’t believe I’d done what I’d done to him. Neither could anyone else. I mean, everybody loved Jason, so of course, he was the injured party. I’d managed to avoid him for the last seven days, but today that ended. Today, Jason would be waiting for me in the honors classes we were sure to share. And the rest of the kids? They were just waiting to see what happened next.
So…I was yanking a brush through my hair, working myself into a fit, worrying about what people would say and what Jason might do, when my younger sister, Cici, switched on the radio we shared, and I heard Blue Pantaloons’ “Turn the Page.”
Your fairytale’s not gone as planned
Your hero’s damned
The sky opened up but you smashed your cup
Then buried it in the sand
Hey, it’s gonna be okay
Turn the page
Take my hand, and we’ll believe
It’s gonna set you free instead
Yeah, it’s gonna be okay
Trust me, turn the page
Baby, take my hand, and we’ll believe
It’s gonna set you free instead
I stared at the radio. Coincidence? Delusion? Chill pill from God? My perception mostly depended on my mood, which often changed every five minutes.
Faith is a slippery thing.
Fine, I thought, calming my frenzied stroking, and then: hopeless.
The more I brushed my curly hair, the frizzier it got. I looked sideways at my little sister, who was carefully putting the final touches on her shiny bangs. Cici was a freshman and wanted to look perfect for her first day. I felt for her. I really did. But there was no point. Identical gray plaid skirts. Identical white, shapeless blouses. Knee socks! Whatever we did, we were still teen girls with growing curves forced to dress like kindergarteners. Maybe the administration felt safer that way.
I surrendered, set the brush on the dresser, and pulled my rebel, honey-blonde hair up into a ponytail. Cici smiled at herself in the mirror.
“How do I look?”
“Stunning.”
She beamed. I rolled my eyes.
My dad shouted up the stairs, “I’m leaving! You girls want a ride?”
I opened my mouth to shout back.
“Don’t hurt his feelings!” Cici pleaded.
I paused and walked to the top of the stairs. My dad, who’d just turned fifty, waited at the bottom with his car keys dangling from his hand. He was a mechanic at the auto repair shop near our school. Those keys belonged to his latest “project.” He’d just gotten it running. Cosmetic improvements were a long, long way off. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “But Cici and I want to talk to our friends on the way to school.”
His face fell a little. “Does Claire?”
“Claire’s gone. She left five minutes ago.”
“Really? Well, have a great first day!” He blew kisses up the stairs. Then he was off.
Cici nudged me from behind. “Let’s go! We’re going to miss the bus.”
“If only I could be so lucky.”
“It won’t be so bad,” she said. Cici knew all about Jason. She’d been there. “I thought what you did was hilarious!”
“That @TheInfernalBonfire kid is calling me #TantrumQueen.”
“So? He’s a brat.”
“It’s trending.”
“Oh.”
I sighed then doubled back, grabbed my backpack, and glanced in the mirror. Not bad. My hair needed work, but at least I’d lost the glasses and braces in the past week.
As we loped down the threadbare stairs of our tiny bungalow, we heard what sounded like a chainsaw revving up in the garage. My dad’s “project.” Did that thing even have a muffler yet? I swept through the kitchen, grabbing two snack bars and tossing one to Cici. My mom was on her phone. “Bye, Mom!”
She held up a finger, wanting me to wait. “Call me next time,” my mom said into the phone. “We can get you help.” A voice squawked back. My mom pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes. “Okay. Fine. Love you, too.” She hung up.
“Mina?” I asked, worried. I knew my Grandmother Philomina’s health had worsened over the past few weeks.
“She couldn’t make it up the stairs last night. She slept on the sofa. I really need to get down to Bluefield to check on her soon.”
I hugged her. “I hope she feels better this week.”
She squeezed me back. “Me, too.” I headed for the door, but her voice smacked me in the back. “Do you have your inhaler, Catherine?”
God, did she think I was two? I went nowhere without my inhaler. “Yes, mom,” I groaned, adding, “Love you!” as the door swung shut behind me.
Cici and I hurried down the front porch steps and out into the pink, morning sunshine. We arrived at the corner just as the wheezing city bus pulled up to the curb. Our older sister, Claire, with her brown ponytail curling down her back, was already there, busily texting on her phone.
The folded bus door swung open. I had a beautiful vision of me shoving Cici up the steps then bolting to hide at the local coffee shop, or Huntington Beach, or anyplace but school where Jason waited for me. But I wasn’t that kid. I was the kid who got decent grades, dreamed of going to vet school, and at least tried to stay out of trouble. Jason wasn’t a monster, and that song this morning said—
Claire poked me in the back. “Get on the bus, moron.”
I got on the bus.
Cici and I grabbed a seat about halfway back. Claire sat with her friends near the front. The bus lurched ahead. Minutes later, it slowed for the next stop where my friends, Meri and Grace, waited with Meri’s older brother, Leo. Off to the side stood Shawn Fowler—a waifish, mousy-haired sophomore I detested—and a boy I hadn’t seen before. Both wore ties and pressed uniform pants. The two were smoking, and a bluish haze drifted away from them in the late summer breeze. As the bus approached, they casually flicked their cigarettes to the ground, not bothering to stamp them out.
Meri’s brother, Leo, shot them a disapproving look before ushering Meri and Grace up the steps. As soon as Shawn and the new kid cleared the door, the bus lumbered forward, and the two boys grabbed the backs of the seats for balance as they stumbled past us. Glad for something besides Jason to think about, I glanced up into the new kid’s face. He was of average height and build, with dark blonde hair that waved haphazardly well past his ears and collar. His slate gray eyes remained focused on the back of the bus as he passed. He looked familiar, but my attention was broken when Meri, who had plopped down on the seat across from mine, turned and shrieked, “Where are your glasses, Cate?”
Almost everyone but my mom calls me Cate—with the exception of my dad who calls me Caty, sometimes adding the endearing but embarrassing “Bug” to round out my name. Self-conscious, I blinked while my friends asked about my new contacts.
“When did you get them?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Your eyes are so blue without your glasses!”
“Jason’s going to kick himself.”
“What’s with your hair?”
“Why didn’t you fix it?”
“Because she got up only thirty minutes ago,” tattled Cici.
All three of them stared at me, aghast.
“This will not do,” Meri said. “Break out the first aid kit, Grace.”
Grace shoved a white plastic box with a red cross on the lid onto Meri’s lap. Meri dug through it, her glossy black hair obscuring her face.
“Who am I trying to impress, anyway?” I whined.
Meri paused to glare at me with her pretty, almond-shaped, Filipino eyes. “You never know who you’re going to meet.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “Like that new kid who just got on the bus. He’s cute.”
“You have got to be kidding,” I said. No friend of Shawn’s would be a friend of mine. Shawn had hated me ever since I got him in trouble for smoking on the bus freshman year.
“Whatever,” she said. “You never know.” She pulled out a sable-brown eye pencil, mascara, a compact of light shadow and some bronzer.
“All that?” I asked, considering mutiny.
Meri and Grace raised their brows simultaneously. Even Cici looked on with interest. I realized I was outnumbered.
You know you trust your friends when you let them wield a sharp pencil to line your eyes while riding in a swaying city bus. Meri applied the makeup with a light touch so the nuns wouldn’t freak, then handed me a mirror and some lip gloss. I was stunned. For the first time, my eyes were the stand-out feature of my face. I actually looked sort of…hot.
“Like it?” asked Meri.
“I suppose.”
Meri scowled. The bus bounced in a deep pothole, and the makeup box flipped off her lap, spilling its contents down the aisle. I hopped up to help retrieve it, chasing the mascara all the way to the back of the bus where I watched with dismay as the pink tube rolled right between the new guy’s beat-up, white Converse tennis shoes and disappeared under his
seat. I hesitated, not sure if he’d noticed.
“Um…” I mumbled, squatting down awkwardly in front of him and pointing toward his feet. When I glanced up, he was leaning forward on his elbows and looking down at me, his tie swinging crookedly back and forth between his knees. The corners of his lips twitched with amusement. He glanced away toward Shawn, who was ignoring him, then down at his hands, which were twirling his headphones, and then back at me. His face had a roughened, streetwise look about it, but his steel gray eyes were bright.
“So…what are you going to do now?” he asked me, looking away again but not moving his feet.
“Um…threaten to tell everyone you stole my mascara if you don’t give it back?”
“Now, that wouldn’t be true. I don’t think that is your mascara,” he pointed out, looking back. So, he’d been watching my personal makeover session. My face flushed with heat.
“Okay…tell everyone you stole Meri’s mascara?”
“Now that would put a dent in my reputation,” he agreed. He bent over to pick up the mascara. As he reached under his seat, his short white shirtsleeve pulled back to reveal the tip of a black sword tattooed on his right bicep.
I averted my eyes and masked my shocked expression before he looked up again and held out the mascara. I’d never seen a tattoo on the arm of one of my Catholic high school classmates. In fact, they were forbidden. I was about to ask him what exactly his reputation was when the bus suddenly slowed, and I was thrown face first into his lap. He reached out to grab my wrists to prevent me from falling backward when the bus came to a complete stop. His touch was faintly electric, and I looked into his face, my heart rate spiraling upward.
His eyes were such a soft…soft gray.
“Whoa…” he said, holding my wrists safely in his warm hands.
“Sorry,” I said, flustered. I tried to pull away, but he held on for a few seconds, his eyes searching my face, before letting go.
I took the mascara. “Thanks. See you around?” He nodded, then shrugged, like he couldn’t care less, like his aforementioned teasing hadn’t happened at all. Shawn smirked beside him. Behind me, Meri and Grace giggled. And in my head, I was like, okay, what just happened?
The Guardian's Playlist Page 1