Chapter 1

Manrick

His golf game had been off for a good month or so. That old ache in his hip had flared up again. Manrick needed to get to the chiropractor and have it taken care of. The trouble with that—only one good chiropractor in all Whynot. Dr. Papadopoulos was currently on vacation in Europe; as far as Manrick knew, he would be there with his wife through the end of July. The other chiropractor in Whynot—Dr. Adams—ran her office more like a watering hole in the old west. Creatures went to Dr. Adams for a gossip fix, not a spinal fix.

Manrick didn't love golf enough—okay, truth, he wasn't a good golfer even when his back and hip were top shape—to drive to Why or Because to see anyone else. Not to mention if he did and anyone found out about it, there would be hell to pay. Residents of Whynot didn't just drive to Why or Because for products or services, ever. The three little towns were in constant competition, whether it be economics or academics or sports.

Nope. He propped his butt back on the seat of the golf cart and watched Archer tee up his next drive. Then he thought better of it. Sitting like that was probably not good for his back. He stood, instead, and watched Archer's backswing. The moonlight glinted off his driver as he swung through, and the bright orange ball sailed through the inky black skies.

"Nice ball," he said with a nod when the ball dropped right in the middle of the fairway. Archer would be on the green with his second shot and sink the putt, no matter the distance. Manrick's master was a talented golfer.

Luck had nothing to do with his golf game.

Everything to do with the new love in his life, though. Even Archer would admit that. Archer Radcliffe had scoffed at his deceased, old friend's son months ago when Julian had appeared at the estate and rattled off a bunch of nonsense about a dating app and needing the job. Blah blah blah. Manrick had no patience for the kid. Maybe everyone thought he was deaf; he was older than time, that was for sure. But due to his maker, Manrick Allensworth the vampiric ghoul, had most excellent vision and hearing. He had heard the whole exchange between Archer and Julian; he knew about Julian's debt with Ralphie Sagamore and the Gannady family. Frankly, if it were up to him, he would let Ralphie Sagamore do his worst and then let the Gannady family demons toss what remained of Julian on a sacrificial pyre.

Julian Bigelow was so rotten, not even a ghoul wanted to eat him.

Archer dropped his driver into his bag, and the two of them climbed into the golf cart. Manrick drove to the spot where he figured his ball had landed, selected an iron, and then waited while Archer moved the cart out of his way.

From the hole behind them, Manrick heard someone bellow "Fore!" He looked around from the right side of the fairway and watched the errant ball crash through the trees over Archer's head.

"Must be Eileen and Max Durand playing," Archer mumbled.

Manrick chuckled as he lined up his shot. He took a practice swing and then hit a decent shot that put him on the green. Just on the green. And no matter how often he practiced, Manrick could not out putt Archer.

Julian Bigelow was a loser with a capital L. But somehow, he managed to botch Archer's match at Love Bites—the dating agency in Whynot—perfectly and connect him to Trixie Jones. Manrick hadn't been sure that would go anywhere that first day Trixie had shown up at Archer's estate. She was cute, but nothing like his master's usual preference in women.

Still, Manrick had been happy Archer let her stick around. He had heard the first bits of their conversation, but he had turned on the stereo in Archer's den to drown it out. Expecting Bach or Beethoven, the weird Indie folk rock noise that started playing startled him. But he listened patiently and decided he liked the music. He had even looked at the CD—how delightful that Archer had a compact disc!—and learned the group was called The Lumineers.

Archer and Trixie had only gone on a few dates before falling fast and hard for each other. So, even though Julian had mucked up their match from the very beginning, including publishing all of Archer's personal information without his knowledge or consent, Archer was happily in love with the young witch from the other side of the Bledsoe Drye Railroad Tracks.

Archer put his second ball on the green about a foot from the hole. Manrick ambled that way, moving slowly. He would need to use a heating pad when they got back to the estate. Healing magic didn't work on ghouls. Maybe because most ghouls fed off living creatures and were therefore the scum of all scum. The bottom feeders.

Manrick had lost at love a time or two through his hundreds of years on earth for that very reason. He was never good enough for anyone. He doubted even a woman from the wrong side of the Bledsoe Drye tracks would give him the time of day if she knew what he really was. Thankfully Archer kept him well-cared for and busy. They had developed a good friendship through the years.

Manrick didn't hold it against Archer that he was in love and often too busy with Trixie for a lot of the things they used to do. But he didn't love the downtime.

Archer tapped his ball in and waited while Manrick finished the 18th hole with two putts.

"Beer?" Archer asked him as they both climbed back on the golf cart, Archer in the driver's seat this time.

"Eh." Manrick shook his head. "Let's go back to the house."

"Ah." Archer laughed as he dropped his lead foot on the gas pedal and the golf cart raced up the small hill to the cart path back to the clubhouse. "You want to hit the bourbon, right?"

Manrick turned his head slightly and offered his friend a little grin.

"Why not?"

Archer nodded.

They loaded their bags into the back of Archer's Escalade. Manrick changed his shoes while Archer drove the cart back to park it at the clubhouse. The drive to Radcliffe Estate was short; Archer put the windows down. Manrick turned his face to the window, enjoying the wind on his old skin. He sniffed something rotten, probably roadkill, maybe something in the woods that surrounded the highway. His stomach growled.

At the estate, they retired to the whine cellar, which was actually Archer's bourbon room—next to the wine cellar. Before Trixie, Archer could be a bit gloomy, sometimes downright grumpy. Manrick had taken to calling the bourbon room the whine cellar, and it had stuck.

Rather than mess with cocktails, Archer poured an old bourbon in two glasses and pushed one over the bar to Manrick.

"If you wanted to drive to Why or Because to see a chiropractor, I wouldn't say a word to anyone."

Manrick looked at Archer, surprised at his friend's suggestion.

"Nah." He shook his head and sipped the bourbon. The liquid bit his tongue and throat as he swallowed. High proof, just the way Manrick liked it. "I'll wait for Papadopoulos. Not like it makes a difference in my game."

"You know what you should do?" Archer tipped his head and narrowed his eyes at him.

"What?"

"Get on the app."

"What app?" Manrick shook his head. He didn't have a Diphone. He didn't have a dRoid. He didn't even have the old flip phones that were the rage before smart phones. Manrick wouldn't know what to do with it if he did have one. He wouldn't even make a call. Archer was his only family left.

"Love Bites."

Manrick roared with laughter and took another drink. When he lowered his glass, he found Archer was still staring at him.

"You can't be serious."

"Why can't I be?" Archer shrugged.

"No one wants to date a ghoul."

"You're not just any ghoul, though." Archer pulled his Diphone from his pocket and tapped the screen. "Besides, look. There are six ghouls right there within the first four pages."

"Why do you still have the app? If you're happy with Trixie?"

"Because Julian can't figure out how to delete it from my phone."

"And you think I need to use it? I should trust Julian?" Manrick scoffed. "No, thank you."

"It's an order, Manrick."

Eyes locked with his master's, Manrick drew in a deep breath and sighed hoping his frustration was loud and clear.

"I don't have a Diphone."

"You'll have the newest model tomorrow morning. I'll send Julian a message and have him come by tomorrow when he's off work."

Manrick couldn't argue with Archer. The laws of their bond, the magic in Whynot—all of it bound Manrick to Archer. Both as his butler and his slave.

"Very well." He nodded, wondering how he could worm his way out of it.