The Eclective: The Celtic Collection

by The Eclective

  Barth spun around and glared down at Lucky. “Do I know you?”

  “It’s me.” The leprechaun elbowed Barth in the leg. “Your old pal Lucky.”

  Barth arched a brow. “Aren’t you that leprechaun leg-breaker?”

  “He’s a bookie, Barth.”

  Lucky flinched at the sour tone in the dragon’s voice. The large beast’s skirt billowed in the draft while he glared down at Lucky.

  “Oh, yeah.” Barth pointed at Lucky with one hand and rubbed his nose with the other. “You broke my nose once.”

  “I told you not to bet on the hare,” the dragon laughed while batting his large, painted eyes.

  Barth spun around and glared at the dragon. “I still say it was fixed. The tortoise poisoned him.”

  Lucky cleared his throat. “Sorry about your nose. Business is business.” He thumbed at Drag. “Mind if I hitch a ride on your dragon?”

  The dragon arched his neck and wagged his head like a diva on crack. “I’m not a bloody charter bus!”

  “Yeah, he’s my friend.” Barth folded his arms across his meaty chest. “He’s got feelings.”

  Lucky plastered a smile on his face as he eyed the two with what he hoped looked like sincerity. He needed to play it cool with these freaks, just long enough to get the hell out of Dodge. Once they dropped him and his gold off in a zombie-free kingdom, he’d give those two losers a piece of his mind.

  “I’ll pay you two…er…one gold coin.” He jumped back on top of the counter and hoisted his pot of gold up against his chest. “Just get me outta here.” He grunted under the heavy weight.

  “I dunno.” Barth said as he exchanged a sly grin with Drag. “A dragon saving a magical creature by smashing through the glass ceiling of a goblin bank? I think this has already happened in a certain wizard saga.”

  “So what?” Lucky said while feigning indifference. Somehow he had a hunch these two were going to toy with him before agreeing to save his life. Well, if they wanted him to grovel, so be it, as long as he and his gold were safe. He had no shame, anyway.

  “Can’t you think of a more original way of escaping?” Barth chuckled.

  “Please,” Lucky cried out while falling to his knees, the pot of gold rattling with the movement. “I’m begging you!”

  “What do you think, Drag?”

  The dragon tapped his glossy red lips with one talon. “Well, there’s going to be fuel costs.”

  Lucky felt nervous tension coil up his spine. He had the feeling these two clowns were going to try to con him out of his hard earned money.

  “Fuel?” he spat. “You’re not an airplane.”

  Barth shrugged his shoulders. “A dragon’s gotta eat.”

  The ruckus outside was getting louder. Just then one of the windows shattered and a severed head came flying through the opening.

  Lucky screeched and nearly crapped his pants.

  “Fine,” Lucky grumbled while tossing the dragon a coin.

  “Really?” Barth smirked. “One coin is gonna feed him?”

  “Goddammit!” Lucky tossed them several more coins. He picked up his gold and rushed toward the dragon.

  “Don’t forget baggage fees.” Barth pressed his palm against Lucky’s forehead and squeezed his scalp, blocking his escape. “Fifty coins per bag, each way.”

  “Fifty coins!” Lucky gasped.

  He warily eyed the window. Several ghoulish hands were protruding inside. The opening began to widen as zombies pressed themselves against the shattered glass.

  Barth let go of Lucky’s head and made a face while picking grime out of his fingernails. “This is what it costs for convenience. If you want a cheaper way of travel, you can try to cut a path through the zombies and take the coach.”

  “Fine, goddammit! But this is robbery.”

  Lucky groaned as he heard all the goblins hit the floor behind him. He counted out fifty more coins and put them in Barth’s outstretched hands.

  “Climb aboard.” Barth flashed a shit eating grin and bowed. “I’ll get your luggage for you, sir,” he said in a mocking tone. Lucky climbed up the rope ladder leading to the dragon’s saddle and waited anxiously while Barth filled his pockets with the coins and then handed up the pot of gold.

  Barth climbed up the dragon and then seated himself behind Lucky. “Thank you for flying Dragon Airways. Please keep your seatbelt fastened at all times and keep your tray tables in an upright and locked position.”

  Drag turned his head and smirked. “And try not to let go or fall off.”

  “In the event of an emergency,” Barth added, “feel free to shit your pants.”

  “Bye goblins!” the dragon snorted as he pushed off the ground and began flapping his enormous wings. “Try not to get eaten.”

  Just then the zombies broke through the glass and poured into the lobby.

  “You’re just going to leave us with these zombies?” Hobnobbin jumped on top of the counter and threw computer monitors and calculators at the advancing horde.

  “I’m on my lunch break,” Barth yelled down to Hobnobbin, nearly shattering Lucky’s eardrums in the process. “The Knights’ Union says I get an hour each day. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  The dragon continued his ascent upward, nearing the opening of the vaulted dome ceiling.

  Lucky couldn’t help the fit of laughter that overcame him. He watched screaming goblins run from the zombies while he sat safely perched on the dragon’s back.

  Cupping his hands around his mouth, he called out, “lock yourselves in the safe until help arrives.”

  Drag craned his neck and eyed Lucky. “Won’t they suffocate in the safe?”

  “Drag!” Barth gasped. “Watch where you’re going!”

  They all shook with jarring force as Drag’s wing clipped a beam near the top of the ceiling.

  “Ouch!” Drag wailed. “Stupid beam.”

  Lucky screamed and reached out, horrified as his precious bucket of gold tumbled off the dragon’s back and landed with a crash on the floor below.

  Gold coins scattered everywhere.

  Numb from shock, Lucky could only watch in horror as the zombie horde fell on top of the gold and began stuffing their faces with the precious metal.

  “My gold!”

  “Oh, wow!” Barth exclaimed with an edge of wonder to his voice. “I thought zombies only ate brains. I didn’t know they could chew through gold.”

  “That’s some tough luck, Lucky,” the dragon chortled.

  Barth shook his head. “Talk about irony.” He turned toward Lucky. “Do you want to climb down and get it?”

  Lucky covered his face with his hands and wept. “No, unfortunately, zombies eat leprechauns, too.”

  * * *

  Prior to becoming a full-time chair warmer, PJ Jones not-so-enjoyed a short stint as a journalist and then seven agonizing…eh blissful years as a high school English teacher.

  Find her online at https://pjjoneswrites.com/

  Follow her on Facebook and Twitter

  As the official Royal Dragon Slayer of Fairytale Kingdom, Barth descends from a long line of monster-killing knights. There’s only one problem: Drag, the kingdom’s resident cross-dressing dragon, is also Barth’s best friend.

  When the King orders Barth to kill Drag, Barth knows they have to flee the kingdom or else another knight will do the job. But after a beautiful witch begs Barth to stay and help rid the kingdom of a dreadful zombie curse, Barth discovers he may have found his true calling. Is he knight enough to stop the zombie outbreak, save his best friend and get the girl?

  Coming April 2012!

  Other books by P.J.:

  Driving Me Nuts!

  Romance Novel

  The Vampire Handbook

  Melvin the Dry Cleaning Zombie and Vampire Shoe Warehouse

  Five Shamrocks

  Alan Nayes

  “He’s dying.”

  “When?”

  “Po
ssibly tonight.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The oncologist’s expression remained somber. With a barely perceptible nod, he replied, “There’s nothing else we can do. I’m sorry.”

  Mattie O’Malley gazed into space. “Visiting hours are over. I know it’s late, but I plan on staying with him all night.”

  The physician offered a rueful grin. “Being married for twenty-two years awards a spouse certain privileges. Take as long as you want, Mrs. O’Malley. No one will bother you. Besides, the hospice ward has no visitation limits.”

  “Thank you for making him comfortable.” Mattie took a slow deliberate walk toward the room at the end of the corridor. Which each step, images bounced in her mind—her and Joe’s wedding day in a small church in Laguna Beach, California on a sunny balmy St. Patrick’s Day, flashes from their fun times in Hawaii even though their luggage arrived a day late—she smiled sadly—she had been so upset until Joe had done what he had done so many times over the years to make her feel better—made love to her. One of her favorite images though was, after so long trying to conceive a child of their own, finally being able to announce to him, “I’m pregnant.” That was seven years ago and though she thought her life couldn’t get any better, carrying a baby inside her—their first and only—gloriously magnified how thankful she was for what she had. Having Emily was a miracle she thought she and Joe would never experience after so many attempts at trying.

  Mattie stopped outside the closed door as another image momentarily shoved all the other ones aside. This time she couldn’t resist a long smile. The Lucky Charm. This was the name of the quaint Irish pub in Kinsale where she’d first seen Joe. She had traveled to Ireland with a girlfriend to celebrate graduating from nursing school. She could still recall what she’d been drinking—a shot of Tullamore Dew with a side of hot Irish coffee, damn it’d been cold that night—when Joe and some buddies walked in, noisy, drunk, boisterous and singing off key. It was St. Patrick’s Day so everyone was getting plastered. She’d turned when she heard a loud voice and instantly her gaze had settled on the tall young man with reddish blond hair. He was wearing a green leprechaun hat with a yellow bandanna and smelled of Creed Irish Tweed cologne. He looked at her, she at him, and they’d been together ever since.

  She sighed. “Dammit,” she cursed softly. Be strong. Their life had been so wonderful. Until…

  Mattie gently pushed the door open and stepped in, immediately noticing the faint scent of Joe’s Creed Irish Tweed. Even dying, he knew it was her favorite.

  Joe was awake, eyes open, directed at the ceiling. He knew it was her because he murmured, “Hey, beautiful.”

  She approached the bed and took his hand. God, his skin felt so cold and paper thin. “Hi, baby, you in any pain?”

  He smiled weakly. “Doc promised me enough morphine to anesthetize a rugby team.” He shifted his frail body in the bed so that he faced her, though his pupils remained unfocused. “You smell so good, baby.”

  Mattie dabbed at a tear on her cheek, thankful he couldn’t see her crying. He wouldn’t want to see her so sad. Six months had passed since the diagnosis and they both knew this day was coming. Even though a metastatic glioblastoma was a death sentence, she and Joe had given the fuckin’ brain tumor a run for its money, that was for sure. But medicine could only do so much. First the headaches, followed by the seizures, then going blind and finally the damn metastases. She wiped the moisture on her sleeve and grasped his hand again. How she was going to miss his touch. What the hell was she going to do without him? “You don’t smell so bad yourself, Joe O’Malley.”

  This elicited a strained chuckle. “What time is it, sweetie?”

  “Almost midnight.”

  “Emily?”

  “With you mom. I’ll bring her by for breakfast.”

  He inhaled and Mattie heard a low rattle in his chest. “You need to cough?” she asked.

  Joe shook his head. “You know what day tomorrow is?”

  Mattie sniffled. “Of course, baby. St. Patrick’s Day. I’ll never forget.”

  “The Lucky Charm. Wonder if it’s still there.”

  “It was two years ago.” For their tenth and twentieth wedding anniversaries, she and Joe had flown back to Kinsale and visited. It’d been so much fun. It was on this last visit they’d vowed to visit every ten years. They had planned on watching the nostalgic pub grow old together. Not any more, not ever. Mattie gazed at this man she’d so fallen in love with and this time she was helpless to stem the tears. “Oh Joe, I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “Baby, don’t cry. We have some great memories.”

  “That’s not the same. I want you here.” Mattie was weeping now as she slid the sheet aside. “Can I?”

  “You know I love having you close.”

  Mattie slid in beside him, pulling his frail body next to her. Once over two hundred pounds, he weighed less than a hundred now. “God, Joe, don’t leave me and Emily.”

  “Mattie, I don’t want you to remain alone.”

  “I have Emily.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Shush, baby. They’ll never be anyone but you.”

  His voice was barely a whisper, the rattles sounding louder with each exhale. “Remember what we promised each other?”

  Mattie placed his palm on her cheek and nodded. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  She sensed him relax some as he spoke. “You’ll be around long enough to hold our great grandchild, promise me.”

  “Damn, Joe, we were both supposed to be there together.”

  “I’ll be there in spirit. Now promise.”

  “I promise sweetheart.”

  She heard his respirations become irregular. “Joe, wait, don’t go yet. Emily…”

  “I said good bye to Emily this afternoon. She’s so beautiful. And strong.”

  “She’s just a child.”

  “She’s special, like you.”

  Mattie clung to him. This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. They’d prepared for this time and now she was falling apart. “No, Joe. Not yet. I’m not strong. I need you. Wait until morning. You can do it. Please, baby…”

  Outside, Mattie heard the distant ding-dong of church bells. She felt Joe grow tense.

  “I’ll always love you. Always,” Joe whispered.

  She heard him gasp. “Joe! No!” she pleaded. “Joe…”

  He lay still. Eyes closed. “Joe, baby.” She pulled him against her. Damn you, fuckin’ tumor. Damn. Damn

  “Mattie…”

  He wasn’t gone. “What Joe. I’m here.” She stared into a face, ravaged by a tumor run amok. Only she saw nothing of the horrendous disease, only the handsome twenty-five year old man she fell in love with twenty-two years ago.

  His lips trembled, then moved. “It’s midnight, honey.”

  She could barely hear him. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s midnight.”

  “Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Mattie O’Malley. I love you.”

  “Oh, baby, baby, I love you more.”

  “Our love will never die.”

  “Never, Joe.”

  “When you’re…” He grew silent

  “What, Joe. When I’m what?”

  A long audible gasp. “Mattie, when you’re ready, I’ll… come… back… for… you.”

  She clutched him. “Back for me? I don’t understand…Joe…Joe!”

  Joe O’Malley died in her arms a few minutes into St. Patrick’s Day at 12:02 AM.

  He was forty-seven and Mattie O’Malley forty-five.

  ***

  “Emily, honey, we’re going to be late.”

  “Will you relax some, Mom?” a teenager’s voice shouted downstairs. “High school graduations never begin on time. Did yours?”

  Mattie waited near the foyer of their well-kempt two-story home. “I don’t recall—that was too long ago.” She checked her purse. The invitation and ticket into the assembly area afterwards was all there. All that was missing was
her daughter.

  “Mother, you’re not that old.”

  “Right, only fifty-six,” she mumbled.

  Mattie heard a bedroom door open and looked up, feeling something catch in her chest. Oh, Joe, if only you could be here…

  Emily bounded down the stairs in her taffeta graduation gown, holding a cap and purse in each hand. She stopped when she saw Mattie staring. “What…?”

  Mattie smiled. “Come here, let me look at you.”

  Emily placed her cap on her head. “Is it straight?”

  “Perfect, baby.”

  Mattie embraced her daughter. She couldn’t believe eleven years could fly by so fast. Was it only yesterday her little girl was seven saying good bye to her father?

  Emily stepped back. “Mom, you’re crying. You’re supposed to be happy. I’m graduating from high school. Yay!”

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

  Mattie allowed Emily to take her hands. “You’re the beautiful one, Mother. And thank you for letting me be me even when I know at times it must have been really difficult.”

  Mattie simply savored having her only child so close. Sure, there were a few tumultuous situations, but what parent doesn’t encounter those bumps in life’s road when raising a teenager? Emily was a great kid, having inherited the best of both traits from her and Joe. If only he could see his little child now on the verge of entering the real world. God, our girl was collecting her high school diploma. Then off to Stanford. She just shook her head in amazement.

  After some photos, they drove to the auditorium in relative quiet.

  “Mom,” Emily said as they drove into the packed lot. “Mr. Bensen, the assistant principal will be there tonight.”

  “And…”

  “Well, he is single and I just thought—”

  “Emily, we’ve been through this many times. I’m just not ready to date anyone.”

  “But it’s been over ten years.”

  “Emily…”

  “I was just thinking…I’m going to be leaving for college at the end of the summer and with me gone, you’ll—”

  “And I’m going to miss you tremendously but your mother will be just fine.”

  “I know.” Emily leaned over and kissed Mattie on the cheek before staring at her purse. “Mom?”

  Mattie found a spot and parked. “Yes, honey.”

  “Can I show you something and you won’t cry?”

  Mattie faced her. “Emily.”

  “No, it’s nothing serious or anything.” She removed something from a side pocket in her purse and opened her palm. “Look.”