Elvis Gets His Groove Back (Moonchuckle Bay Romantic Comedy #5 Read online

  Elvis hung up. He’d never been good at relationships, something he hadn’t really realized until after he’d been turned. And that hadn’t improved with all that happened that week.

  He was working on being a healthier individual and a better person in his unlife than he’d been during his life. Back then, he’d been much more than just a singer, or even a celebrity—he’d been an icon. His charisma had drawn folks to him, and he’d accepted that as his due and had taken advantage of people.

  He didn’t want any of that now.

  He just wanted to be left alone to run his online business. He’d wanted nothing to do with his Elvis heritage when he was first turned in 1977, but after the internet connected the world, he’d started a business collecting and selling Elvis memorabilia. He’d even written a few books on himself and the history behind some of his memorabilia, along with some articles. All under the name E. A. Smith. Elvis Aaron Smith.

  Evelyn finished the last flat notes of her rendition and then popped into the room. “Did you like that song?”

  Peanut Butter and Banana Sandwiches

  “WHY DON’T YOU GET A decent car?” Walter Clemmons asked. “You can surely afford it.”

  Elvis shrugged. “I like Cadillacs. Always have. They have room in them.”

  “I like Cadillacs, as well. But I prefer them in their prime. This one is as old as I am.”

  “Hardly.” Elvis glanced over at the paranormal historian who’d been tugged out of his office by their alpha’s request, just as Elvis had been pulled out of his house. “And I’ve heard about your vintage chess set, so don’t give me any guff about my car.”

  Walter stretched out. “It does have room, I’ll give you that.”

  Elvis had a soft spot for Cadillacs. The first car he’d bought had been a pink Cadillac for his mother, and he’d given numerous cars away as gifts. Back when he was overflowing with money.

  It seemed a lifetime ago.

  It was a lifetime ago. He chuckled and glanced at Walter. “One of my cars went for eighty thousand dollars at auction. That’s crazy. That’s true Elvis vintage.”

  “You should take up singing again. You could bill yourself as the New Elvis.”

  “Nah.” Elvis shook his head. “Not until my ex-wife and daughter are gone. I’ve been forbidden to see them, and I’m pretty sure our paths would cross if I got popular again as an Elvis impersonator.”

  Sadness slid through him, like it did every so often. At first, the pain had been constant, but after forty years, it hit at random times. He’d give anything to spend time with his daughter and his grandchildren. He checked up on them on the internet — he didn’t believe the tabloid headlines he saw in the grocery story — but he continued to lay low and stay under the radar.

  Maybe in another hundred years, he’d take up singing again.

  “What about you, Walter? Don’t you have anything you used to do in your lifetime that you wish you could do now?”

  Walter laughed. “There are a few things I’d like never to do again. Garderobes, for instance. I think toilet paper is the most fantastic invention, ever.”

  Elvis chuckled. “I can see that.”

  “I was glad I was turned before the Black Plague hit in 1350. Those were ugly times.”

  Elvis glanced over. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Old enough to know better, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Then why are you sitting in my Cadillac on this fool’s errand?”

  “Because I know everything except how to say no to my alpha.”

  Elvis raised his brows and nodded. “That’s why I’m here, too.”

  He drove in silence for a while. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, but luckily it wasn’t in their eyes.

  They passed the Las Vegas city limits.

  “Where are we picking up this Charlie?” Walter asked.

  Elvis said, “The Nightshade parking lot.”

  “I’ll drive his car.”

  “You bet you will. Nobody drives my Caddy but me.” He patted the dashboard.

  “Great.” Walter laughed. “And you can visit with him all the way back to Moonchuckle Bay.”

  “Hey, wait a darn minute now,” Elvis said, driving past the rival hotels Stratosphere and on toward Treasure Island.

  “Winston did assign him to you, after all. I’m just here to drive his car back.”

  “That’s not all I’m supposed to do. I have to board the guy for a few weeks.” Elvis shook his head. “Why me?”

  “I believe it’s because Gene believes you need to be un-reclused.”

  “That’s not even a word, Mr. Professor.”

  “These days, anyone can make up anything. If you’ve seen it on Facebook, it’s real.”

  “I don’t do Facebook. Someone else does my Elvis page for me. Runs Graceland for me, too.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Who does yours?”

  “I do.”

  “I don’t care for online social media, and I can’t post a picture of myself,” Elvis admitted. Too many memories for him there, but enough of that maudlin stuff. “So we’ll be caravanning back, I take it.”

  “No. I’m staying an extra day or two. I’m meeting a potential client here.”

  “Impressive.” Elvis chuckled.

  “If it works out, I’ll be doing a lot of work for them.”

  “So does Gene think you need to be un-reclused, too?”

  “Probably. And he’s not the only one.” Walter chuckled. “Mara threatened to start Operation Nerd Girl to find me a date.”

  Mara was the dragon’s new wife, a pretty Swan Maiden. “How are they doing?”

  “Mara and Ty?”

  Elvis nodded.

  Walter had been the dragon’s best friend forever. “They just announced — so I can tell you now — that their first egg has been laid. A week ago.”

  “Really? That is good news.” He pondered it for a moment, then asked, “Will it be a swan or a dragon?”

  Walter shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out over the next couple of months.”

  “It would serve Ty right to have a little girl to wrap him around her finger.” Elvis laughed.

  “It would. It would also be awesome to have a second dragon in the world.”

  “Right. I hadn’t thought of that. He’s the last one.”

  “Maybe.”

  They passed the Mirage and the Bellagio. Taking the exit, he pulled off the freeway and away from The Strip and the casinos there — the Excalibur, New York-New York, MGM Grand, and Tropicana.

  He drove another ten minutes into the older casino section of town. When he found the huge castle that was the Nightshade, he turned in and cruised slowly to the parking lot. This Charlie guy was supposed to be ready and waiting for them at his car, parked directly outside the main doors of the casino.

  Miracle of miracles, a truck pulled out of a slot right by the main doors, and Elvis pulled his land yacht into the spot and turned off the engine. “Watch for a red Jeep Wrangler.”

  “I see a red Jeep Wrangler,” Walter said, looking around, “but I don’t see a guy waiting for us.”

  Elvis got out of his car and checked for himself, scanning the area. There was, as Walter had said, no guy who looked like he was waiting for someone.

  A woman wearing tight black pants and a pink sparkly shirt that matched the tips in her blond hair approached him. He wasn’t surprised when her eyes widened. He had this happen all the time. An Elvis sighting. Even with his beard. He braced himself for the inevitable question.

  He’d sworn off singing — and women — so he wasn’t going to be swayed by the shapely figure and pretty face to go back on either vow. Still, his mama had raised him right, so he smiled at her and nodded.

  “Elvis?” she asked. Her voice sent little shivers down his spine.

  “That’s who people say I resemble.”

  She put out a hand. “Charlie Melodi. Thanks for driving me to Moonchuckle Bay.”
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  Shocked, he asked, “You’re Charlie?”

  “Why, yes, I am.” She nodded, then quirked one corner of her mouth into a half-smile. “And you’re Elvis Smith.”

  He nodded. “Smith is my mother’s maiden name.” Not that he had to explain that.

  A woman walking by gasped. “Elvis!”

  “Let’s get your stuff into my trunk and get out of here. Vegas isn’t a good place for me to be for long.”

  She motioned behind her to two large suitcases — and a large wrought-iron cage covered with a towel.

  Elvis narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like cages. He’d spent too much time one. “What’s in there?”

  “My parrot, Lorito. I keep him covered when I travel.” She looked at his Cadillac. “Gene said you’d be bringing a truck.”

  “Gene mentioned luggage, but not a cage.”

  “The top part of the cage comes off the legs so we can set it in the back seat just fine.”

  Elvis crossed his arms and dug in his heels. There was no way a bird cage was going in his Caddy. “In my car? I don’t think so.”

  She rushed to pull something out of one of her bags. “I have a blanket to put underneath so there will be no damage to your car.”

  “I have a blanket in there already,” he admitted, having followed Gene’s advice.

  “Great! So there’s no problem!” Considering the issue resolved, she moved on and motioned to his Cadillac. “What is this, anyway? A 1956 Fleetwood?”

  “1955.” Surprised, he looked at her more closely. “You know your cars.”

  “I lived through the era and liked muscle cars and big luxurious rides. It’s not just a guy thing.”

  Someone took a picture of him.

  He unlocked his trunk and pushed her two bags in with plenty of room to spare.

  Walter came around and introduced himself to Charlie. He shot an amused look Elvis’s way. “Enjoy the drive home. It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Melodi.”

  “Please, call me Charlie.”

  Walter actually took her hand and kissed it. “Charlie.”

  She smiled, but there was a hint of stress around her eyes. He wondered what had caused it. Gene hadn’t told him why she had to get out of Vegas, just that she did.

  Elvis let the trunk drop shut, and then he lifted the cage off its legs and worked it into the back seat on top of the blanket.

  Curious, he lifted the towel up until he could see the bird, a beautiful green and blue Amazon parrot. “Sorry you have to be imprisoned, dude. What’d you do?”

  The parrot surprised him by saying, “My mom is Charlie.”

  “Your jailor, more like.”

  The parrot screeched loudly and then sang out, “Lo-reeeee-to.” Loudly.

  “Pleased to meet you, Lorito.” And he covered the bird up again.

  Much as he hated the idea, the woman was right. An enclosed car was no place for a very loud parrot. He patted the top of the cage and whispered, “I’ll help you break out of there, Lorito. I promise.”

  Gene really owed him after this.

  Walter and Charlie were still chatting pleasantly as Elvis put the cage legs on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

  He couldn’t help but feel like Gene had tricked him a bit by letting him assume that Charlie was a guy. He’d drive her to Moonchuckle Bay, but not to his house. There was no way he was letting this beautiful blonde woman stay at his place. He’d take her straight to Gene’s house and tell him the deal was off.

  There was no way he could let a woman stay with him.

  Especially not this woman.

  Of all the things she thought she’d notice about Elvis if she ever met him in person, it wasn’t his shoes. They weren’t blue suede, but they were large. A size twelve or thirteen, she’d guess.

  No, that wasn’t really the first thing she’d noticed. It had been his smile. That was the smile that had made girls lose their minds all those years ago.

  She’d been one of them.

  And now here she sat with the legendary King of Rock and Roll. Elvis Freaking Presley. Smith.

  Life truly was stranger than fiction.

  She sat beside him quietly for the first half hour. It took her the full thirty minutes of quiet to realize what was happening. She was pleasantly surprised to feel herself relax the farther they drove from Vegas, and the longer she was in the car with him. Charlie took a minute or two to examine him out of the corner of her eye, before saying, “You remind me of someone.”

  “Great. Here it comes.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t go anywhere.”

  Even with his testiness, she still felt it.

  Calm.

  The chaos of her power, her Song, swirling around in her, wanting her to sing, had settled down.

  Peace.

  And that’s when she realized who he reminded her of. “Hank,” she said softly.

  He glanced her way. “Hank?”

  She looked over at him and spoke up, though he was a werewolf, so he could hear well enough. “Hank was my manager for years. He just died. That’s who you remind me of.”

  He looked surprised. “Not me?”

  “You?” She was confused. “What do you mean?”

  He chuckled. “When you said I reminded you of someone, I figured it was, well, me.”

  She got his drift and smiled. “You do also remind me of a certain popular singer of the last century.”

  “Ouch. You make me sound so old.”

  “Since you’ll likely still be around in a couple hundred years, you’re a mere pup.” She shrugged. “And your legend will endure forever.”

  “Yeah. Much good that does me now.” But he gave his trademark crooked smile as he said it, and she understood why women of all ages had swooned when he sang, or even made an appearance.

  “What do you do now?” she asked. “Do you still sing?”

  “No, ma’am.” He shook his head. “That’s part of my past. I have a new lease on unlife now.”

  She was silent for a long moment before saying, “That’s a shame. I enjoyed your singing.”

  “A young thing like you?”

  “I went to one of your concerts back in the sixties.”

  “No.” He glanced her way again. “You can’t be that old.”

  She shrugged again. “I take it Gene didn’t tell you much about me.”

  “No, ma’am. But I admit I’m intrigued.”

  She didn’t want to use the word siren as people reacted so poorly to it. “Let’s just say that I used to sing, too. And, like you, it’s part of my past, now.”

  “That’s a shame, too. I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

  “Back atcha.”

  “Won’t happen.” He gunned the Cadillac and it jumped ten mph.

  “So you’re the real Elvis. The one women threw themselves at?”

  He snorted. “Stuff like that will go to a man’s head.”

  “Yeah. I understand.”

  She leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. This drive would be several hours, and then she’d be staying at the house of Elvis Presley a.k.a. Elvis Smith. And he didn’t sing.

  “So your house has never heard your music? Do you ever play your old songs?”

  “Sometimes,” he admitted, and then chuckled. “I do have a houseguest who likes to sing them. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten to hear thirty-five years of off-key Elvis songs.” He shook his head ruefully.

  She laughed, the sound clear and melodic. “I can hardly wait to hear that.”

  He frowned, but didn’t say anything.

  And now, even when he was frowning, being around him calmed her.

  Quiet.

  For the first time since Hank died, her insides were quiet. “Ever think of being a manager to a former singer?”

  “No.”

  “Thought not.” It was worth a try. “So, Mr. Smith, do you still like fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches?”

  “Yes.”

 
; His tone of voice said that he didn’t really want to talk, and that made her want to get him to talk. Hank had always told her she had a contrary streak.

  She wondered if she could get him to smile. Maybe even laugh.

  That was worth a try, too.

  It would be good for her to stay with him. Time to calm back down, get control of her increased power. Maybe then she could at least be around humans without being dangerous.

  She received a text from Gene that said, simply, “The man’s name is Liam Gibson and he’s still in ICU at Desert Springs Hospital Medical Center. The warlock is onsite and working on healing him, though he says it may take a few days, if it happens at all.”

  Her heart heavy, she texted back, “Thank you.”

  She slid her phone back in her purse, then snuggled into her seat and closed her eyes, especially thankful for the calm emanating from Elvis.

  An Elvis Sighting in Vegas

  ELVIS GLANCED OVER AT CHARLIE. Her eyes were closed and he wondered if she was sleeping. Her heart rate and breathing were even, but he couldn’t tell.

  As if she could tell he was checking on her, she said, “Talk to me. Tell me about this town, about your life here. Your house. How long have you lived here?”

  He wasn’t sure if he was glad she was talking again or not. She’d chatted with him for a couple of hours, but had been quiet the last hour. Now, as they neared Moonchuckle Bay, she wanted to chat again.

  “I’ve been here for thirty-five years.”

  She counted off on her fingers. “Where were you the five years before that?”

  In a cage. But he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Does your parrot like being in a cage?”

  “I leave him out most of the time, so I don’t think he minds at other times.” She looked at him. “You avoided my question very nicely.”

  He smiled. “I had a difficult transition between my Graceland years and my Moonchuckle Bay years. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Okay.” She hummed a few hauntingly melodic notes, and then seemed to catch herself and stopped. He wished she’d continue. The notes of her humming were pleasant and enticing and somehow familiar. “What should we talk about next?”

  “Do we need to talk?”