by Nathan Roden
That shirt might be worth a lot of money one day—especially if that tour lasts no longer than our one show.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi, yourself,” Holly said.
I jerked my thumb toward the door.
“I’m gonna cut out. I need to remind Toby where we live, and make sure that everything still works.”
Holly stretched and yawned. She smiled at me, and her eyes twinkled in the light of the wall sconces.
“And I think I’ll sleep for a little bit,” she said. “Maybe a week or so.”
I crossed the floor and held out my hand.
“What?” she asked.
“Dance with me,” I said.
Holly snorted.
“I don’t dance.”
“Sure you do,” I said. “Even babies dance.”
“Oh, sure,” Holly said. She crossed her arms. “I danced all the time. Yep. I grabbed all those boys by the hand and we danced and danced—after I introduced them to the ghosts, of course.”
“Crap,” I said. “I forgot. Sorry.”
Holly grabbed my hand and pulled herself up.
“I get to pick out the music,” she said.
“Absolutely,” I said.
Holly went to the stereo and put on a CD.
She walked back in front of me and held up both of her hands.
“Here,” she said. “I wasn’t foolin’. I’ve never danced with anyone other than my Uncle Seth. He wouldn’t have told me I was a bad dancer if I danced like a drunken sow.”
I took her hands.
“Neither will I.”
The music began to play.
I laughed.
The song was Skyler’s and my duet—the ballad that was the number one song in the nation for the fifth week in a row.
“Really?” I said.
“It’s a very pretty song,” she said.
I slipped my hand around her waist.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll do my best.”
I moved us back and forth. It seemed to me that Holly was a natural dancer, or maybe I just didn’t care. We wouldn’t be winning any dance competitions soon, but it sure did feel right.
Holly McFadden’s touch had proven to be magic for me. That night was no exception. Her skin was cool. Her touch was alive and vibrant. She filled me with electricity, but her touch also made me feel peaceful.
Holly laid her head on my shoulder as the first verse of the song led into the pre-chorus. And then at the chorus, I heard something amazing. Holly sang along with Skyler’s part.
I stopped.
I held Holly at arm’s length.
“You can—you didn’t tell me you could sing!”
“You never asked,” she said. “Just like you never asked if I could dance before.”
I put both hands around her waist and pulled her close.
“Can you kiss me—for a long time?”
“I don’t know,” she grinned. “I may not remember how.”
“Let’s try.”
“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” she said.
“Are you going to bite me?” I asked.
“Of course, I am. You might taste good.”
“We’ll talk about it. Later.”
Holly and I fell asleep on the big comfortable sofa in the great room. Duncan nudged me awake just before midnight.
“I thought you were going to your house tonight,” he whispered.
I eased my way off of the sofa and put a blanket over Holly. I opened the door to the patio. Duncan followed me out. We sat down on a pair of lawn chairs.
“So, you’re going back on tour?”
“It looks that way,” I said. “But I have to tell you, I’m starting to feel too old for rock-and-roll.”
“I’m too old for demon-fighting,” Duncan said.
“I second that.”
“There’s one subject we haven’t discussed,” Duncan said.
“Yeah,” I said. “You and Nora. Are you guys okay now?”
“Yeah, we’re good. But that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Are you talking about that little thing with the chain?”
“Little thing with the chain? How about, growling at a chain and turning it into dust! Or picking up a two-hundred-pound man and carrying him like he was a baby!”
“I don’t know what got into me—”
“She kissed you! Tara kissed you! I saw it with my own two eyes,” Duncan said.
“And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it,” I said. “I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried.”
“What do you think that means?” he asked.
“What does it mean? I don’t think it means anything! I was right there when she was dying. I was the only one she could reach!”
Duncan shook his head.
“I don’t think it’s that simple Wyles. And neither does Nora. She said—”
“Is Nora your girlfriend?” the voice asked.
Duncan and I froze. We turned our heads slowly, and at the same time. We turned and looked into the translucent face—
Of Tara Jamison.
Forty-Four
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri
I woke up the next day in my very own bed. Toby was sleeping on his back next to my leg. He was snoring. I’ve always loved that sound. I checked my watch and smiled.
Just like mine and Toby’s sleep marathons in the good old days. Five P.M.
I was feeling nostalgic. I drove to the building where I used to work—the building that used to be Branson Music. Now, it was divided into four different business offices. That made me sad. It made me think about my old boss, Mr. Plimpton. He had loved Branson Music like it was one of his children.I felt bad that I hadn’t looked him up lately.
I’ll look him up tomorrow, I told myself.
One of the tour guides at Elvis Rushmore’s Haunted Tours was loading a group onto one of their busses. That was something else I hadn’t done in a long time. Maybe I would take Holly on one soon.
I drove to the castle. There was no one there. I guessed that Quentin had everyone out for dinner.
There was about a half-hour of daylight left. I grabbed Toby’s leash and we walked down the hill to the golf course. I didn’t attach Toby’s leash. He likes to chase the ducks. I’m not sure how the ducks feel about that, but we don’t come here often.
I could see the backs of a foursome on the next hole. It was too late in the day for any more players to be coming up the fourteenth fairway. Toby and I walked toward the footbridge that crosses the pond in front of the fourteenth green.
I brought along a sack of dry cat food to feed the catfish. I sat down on the edge of the boards with my feet dangling above the water. Toby watched us for a little while before he walked across the bridge to say “hello” to the ducks.
I heard him bark once.
“Toby,” I called. “We’ll have to put your leash on if you can’t behave yourself.”
“That’s the same thing Violet says to me.”
I jumped when I heard the familiar voice. I looked up.
There, with the setting sun behind him, stood Mr. Herbert Plimpton. I jumped to my feet.
“Wow! Mr. Plimpton!” I grabbed his hand and shook it. And then I hugged him. He was decked out in some of the most ridiculous golf clothes I had ever seen.
“You look great!” I said.
“So do you, my boy!” Mr. Plimpton said. “Still the same good-looking boy! I see that you’re even growing yourself one of those trendy little beards.”
I laughed.
“I’ve been too lazy to shave for the last couple of days, Mr. Plimpton. Are you playing this hole?” I looked around.
“It’s so late in the day—I didn’t think I would be in anyone’s way.”
He patted my shoulder.
“You’re just fine. We’re not playing—we just dropped by to see some old friends—and one mighty young one!” He winked at me.
“Who are you wi
th?” I asked.
Mr. Plimpton looked over my shoulder.
“Ah, here we are!”
Violet Plimpton stood next to two elderly ladies. They were all dressed pretty much the same. Golf sweaters and skirts—popular styles from the 1960’s.
I could see through all of them.
Not the clothes. The women.
I turned around.
“Mr. Plimpton? I don’t…are you….?”
He smiled sadly.
“I’m afraid that I’ve played my last round, my boy. I held on through most of last night, but I just had no more fight left in me—nor any real reason to hang on. Now, I get to walk every day with the love of my life.”
“I…I didn’t know. You seem so—” I said.
Mr. Herbert Plimpton held his hand in front of his face.
“I guess we fade away over time. I could even fool myself, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to remember this, Wylie, because this is the future for us all. In this very instant, I feel like I’m ten years old again! Each moment is precious and full of promise—and the future knows no end.”
“That sounds fantastic, Sir. I’ll remember that. I couldn’t be happier for you.”
He put his arm around my shoulder.
“Marry that feisty young girl and have some babies. She’s good for it. She’s got good hips.”
I laughed.
“Have you been talking to my mother?”
“I’ve never had the pleasure. But perhaps, one day, I will. Goodbye, Wylie. You’ve always been like a son to me.”
I hugged him.
“Goodbye, Mr. Plimpton. Dad.”
Violet blew me a kiss while her friends giggled. Mr. Plimpton joined them and said something that made them all laugh. They turned and strolled away—until they faded out of sight in the middle of the fourteenth fairway.
I hope that you have enjoyed the third book in the Wylie Westerhouse series. If you did, then please consider leaving an honest review at Amazon. The link to the book is here:
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Book Four of the Wylie Westerhouse is in the planning stage.
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Nathan Roden lives in South Central Texas with his wife and two in-and-out sons, and more dogs and cats than is necessary.
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Keep reading for a sneak peek of
My Name is Simon
Book one of the new
I, Dragon
Medieval Fantasy Series
Coming September 2016
Preview of I, Dragon Book One
My Name is Simon
One
Simon’s sixth name day was the greatest day of his life.
Prince Simon Morgenwraithe fidgeted as he waited in the hall outside of the throne room. The new robe that had been made for the days’ ceremony made his skin itch.
It was customary in the Kingdom of Morgenwraithe that the heir to the throne was announced before the people on his seventh name day. But King Bailin took particular joy in creating his own traditions. And in his mind, his son was so gifted beyond his years that there was no need to wait.
“Be still, young prince!” his mother’s handmaid whispered into Simon’s ear. ”You will soon wave from the balcony to the people who will bend their knees before you. If you spend the entire time scratching, that is all they will remember.”
“If I had known the robe was going to itch so badly, I would have washed it myself,” Simon said.
“There was no time,” the handmaid said. “The King gave us little warning that he planned to make your announcement today. It is so exciting!”
The handmaid squeezed Simon’s shoulders.
“We are so proud of you!”
Simon smiled, but his happiness was incomplete. He wished that these words came from his mother. But it had been so long since his mother had shown him any affection that he could hardly remember it.
Simon looked around the room.
“Where is Lucien? Will he not be coming to watch?”
Three-year-old Lucien was Simon’s only sibling. Yet, Simon hardly saw Lucien at all.
Lucien cried almost constantly, and spent most of his days attended by nursemaids. Simon had never seen the King hold the baby. The King and Queen spent virtually no time with their youngest son.
Simon had heard the stories, whispered among the castle servants.
The Queen was feeding the infant Lucien one day, when the King’s beautiful young seer walked past. The girl smiled shyly at the Queen. The Queen flew into a rage.
The story whispered among the nursemaids was that the Queen had thrown baby Lucien across the floor. She never nursed the baby again.
Simon watched his mother as she crossed the room. He studied her eyes, as he always did, hoping to see something other than madness and hate. But that was all that he saw.
He watched her slip away from the frantic servants. She walked to a far wall and stood next to a dark and mysterious lady. They exchanged whispers and the Queen walked into the throne room.
Simon stared at the dark lady. She did not look at him. The woman was tall and thin. Her shiny black hair flowed into a lacy black dress that trailed the floor. Simon had never seen her dressed any other way. She had very long fingers, with long nails. And there was something about the woman that Simon did not like. She had never spoken directly to him. She smiled at him in passing, which always made his skin crawl.
Simon had seen his mother with the dark lady several times of late. This disturbed him greatly.
The dark lady’s name was Magdalena. Simon did not believe that she deserved such a beautiful name. He thought it more fitting that she be called “spider” or “witch”.
Simon heard his father before he saw him. King Bailin had the perfect voice for a King. From his balcony, he could speak to thousands without even shouting.
Simon’s heart leaped when he saw his father.
When he saw his father’s brother, his heart sank.
Simon had been determined to gain his father’s love and affection for as long as he could remember. It fueled his every desire: his desire to walk, to talk, to master language, to master reading and writing, and to learn the history of the Kingdom. His earliest memories were of his desperate desire to gain his father’s attention.
And his efforts had worked.
But the King’s brother, Lord Sterling, also coveted the King’s attention. Sterling always had a cup of wine or ale in his hand, and he was forever putting a cup into the hand of his brother.
And so, on Simon’s sixth name day, Bailin and Sterling were reeling from the last night’s drink.
Simon rubbed his sleeves briskly one more time. He stood straight and tall.
King Bailin walked toward the balcony. He waved and addressed the people. He turned and held out his hand for the Queen to join him—
And then hell itself descended upon Morgenwraithe Castle.
A dagger flashed—a young girl’s throat exploded in an eruption of blood. People ran in every direction,
screaming. The servants that had surrounded Simon were gone. He tried to see what was happening. He heard his father bellow in agony. His father came toward him—
But then the King’s eyes grew wide and blood gushed from his chest.
Simon looked into the far corner where the dark lady had stood. She was still there.
And staring directly at him.
The dark lady held her fingers in the air and pointed at him. Her hair swirled around her head, crackling with light, without the aid of any wind. Her eyes flashed with the same madness as the Queen’s. Her lips moved, but Simon could not make out any words.
The itching became intolerable. Simon tore off his robe. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound that escaped was like nothing he had ever heard before.
The rush of screaming people halted and the screams died down. The crowd of people in front of Simon backed toward the walls, leaving Simon the view of a lone woman on her knees in the middle of the room.
His mother.
She was covered in blood from her hair to her feet. She clenched a dagger in her right hand. Her eyes were filled with ultimate madness. She pointed at him.
“Behold! Your new King!” she screamed—
Before she plunged the dagger into her heart.
Simon had no time to react. The screaming began again, and men ran at him. The King’s Guards charged him with hate-filled eyes and raised swords. Others reached to pull arrows from their quivers.
Simon turned to the side to seek his escape. He lifted his arm—
Only, it was not an arm.