Wraiths and Warlocks by Theophilus Monroe EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Theophilus Monroe
- Language: English
- Genre: Coming of Age Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I GRIPPED MY PUTTER with both hands. I tried to hold back but
vampiric strength was hard to control. I hit the ball. It bounced off a
spinning windmill and came right back to me.
Holland chuckled. “You suck at this.”
“Be nice!” Ellie piped up. “These obstacles are meant to be challenging.”
“Shut up Pepto. It’s called talking shit. It’s all a part of the game.”
“Talking shit in miniature golf?” Ellie rolled her eyes.
I chuckled. “It’s alright, Ellie. Holland isn’t wrong. Don’t worry, though.
Sucking at putt-putt golf doesn’t break my cold vampiric heart.”
Ellie giggled. “I suppose as a vampire you’re used to sucking.”
I sighed. “If I had a dollar for every ‘vampires suck’ joke I’ve heard over
the last eight-plus years since I was turned, I’d be rich enough to purchase a
small country.”
“Watch and learn.” Holland placed her black golf ball on the tee—if you
could call the little green pad where you were supposed to set the ball a tee
—and widened her stance. She tapped the ball. It also struck the windmill.
“Now who sucks!” Ellie piped up.
Holland narrowed her eyes at Ellie, but said nothing. As a Mambo who
specialized in the Ghede, who had the aspect of Baron Samedi, being on the
other end of her piercing gaze was bone chilling.
Ellie took her shot. Her pink golf ball passed through the damned
windmill, bounced off an angled barrier, and landed about two inches away
from the hole. “Almost!”
“Nice shot, Pepto.”
I took me three tries to get my ball past the stupid windmill. It wasn’t a
real windmill, anyway. Wind wasn’t turning it, but electricity, which was
exactly the opposite of what real windmills were supposed to do. This
windmill existed for the sole purpose of being a pain in the ass. When I got
it into the green surrounding the hole, I kept overshooting the damn thing. I
lost count of my strokes. Ellie didn’t. Eventually I got my red ball in the
hole.
“Eleven strokes!” Ellie marked down my score on a small card.
Ellie made it in only two. Holland in four. It was only the first hole, and I
was going to spend the next seventeen holes trying to catch up. More likely,
I’d only solidify my status as the resident putt-putt loser.
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