The Immortal Doc Holliday: Hidden : (The Immortal Doc Holliday Series Book 1)

  Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2021

  Excerpt from THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT Copyright © M.M. Boulder 2020

  Excerpt from DARK AWAKENING Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2019

  Excerpt from THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY COUP D'ÉTAT Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2021

  All rights reserved. Published by Lone Ghost Publishing LLC,

  associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of

  Lone Ghost Publishing LLC.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted (vigorously).

  No part or parts of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (including via carrier pigeon),

  without written permission of the author and publisher.

  Author: Crumley, M.M.

  Title: THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY, HIDDEN.

  ISBN: 9798740527215

  Target Audience: Adult

  Also available in this series

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: COUP D'ÉTAT (Book 2)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: RUTHLESS (Book 3)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: INSTINCT (Book 4)

  Subjects:

  Urban Fantasy/ Horror Comedy

  This is a work of fiction, which means it’s made up. Names, characters, peoples, locales, and incidents (stuff that happens in the story) are either gifts of the ether, products of the author’s resplendent imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or dying, businesses or companies in operation or defunct, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by M.M. Crumley

  Urban Fantasy

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY SERIES

  BOOK 1: HIDDEN

  BOOK 2: COUP D'ÉTAT

  BOOK 3: RUTHLESS

  BOOK 4: INSTINCT

  THE LEGEND OF ANDREW RUFUS SERIES

  BOOK 1: DARK AWAKENING

  BOOK 2: BONE DEEP

  BOOK 3: BLOOD STAINED

  BOOK 4: BURIAL GROUND

  BOOK 5: DEATH SONG

  BOOK 6: FUNERAL MARCH

  BOOK 7: WARPATH

  Writing as M.M. Boulder

  Psychological Thrillers

  THE LAST DOOR

  MY BETTER HALF

  THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

  MY ONE AND ONLY

  WE ALL FALL DOWN

  FB

  https://www.loneghostpublishing.com/

  Book 1:

  HIDDEN

  M.M. Crumley

  For Doc...

  Because I still have a crush on you.

  Chapter 1

  "Wake up, you filthy hedonist!"

  Doc Holliday ignored the nagging voice because he was in the middle of a particularly nice dream. He'd just been dealt the winning hand; which he knew because he could always feel it when he was about to win.

  The man he was playing against was a hotheaded imbecile who didn't really understand how to play the game, and if Doc was lucky, which he usually was, the hothead wouldn't take losing well, especially since he was young and playing with money he'd stolen from his father. If Doc was very lucky, the hothead would pull a gun.

  "Wake up!" the voice snapped. "It's time!"

  Doc rolled away from the voice, controlling all his facial expressions as he threw in his chips and called the hand. The hothead was sweating now, chewing his lip anxiously. Doc held back his grin as he laid his cards face-up on the table.

  The hothead's face went white. He sputtered for a second before tossing his cards onto the table and demanding, "How'd ya do that? You're cheatin', ain't ya?" His face wasn't pale now; it was bright red.

  Doc smiled very slowly, leaning back in his chair as he did. "I don't need to cheat," he drawled. "I've the devil's own luck."

  "Gimme a chance to win it back!" the man suddenly pleaded.

  "No."

  "You gotta!"

  "I don't have to do anything. If you can't afford to lose, you shouldn't play. That's just a good rule to live by."

  The hothead's hand twitched, moving closer to his gun. Finally, Doc thought, smiling a little wider.

  "WAKE UP!!!"

  "Damn it!" Doc sputtered, sitting upright. "I was just getting to the good part."

  "Two women or three?" Thaddeus asked solicitously, accent making his words crisp.

  "No," Doc grumbled. "It wasn't that kind of dream."

  "Ah. The old 'I'm going to kill you to get my money back' dream?"

  Doc grinned lazily as he stretched. "Something like that. Where's Ana?"

  "How should I know? Fortunately, I'm not her keeper. Unfortunately, I appear to be yours."

  "I think you have that backwards, Thaddy, old boy." Doc stepped from his bed, picking up his silk robe and slipping his arms through it. "Which reminds me, have I watered you lately?"

  "Have I watered you lately?" Thaddeus mocked softly. "Why let me think. It's been approximately five years since you invited Ana to come have a stay. In all that time you've watered me... Wait, it'll come to me. That's right, twice."

  Doc chuckled as he ran a finger over one of Thaddeus's shiny green leaves. "Thank god you're so low maintenance."

  "Thank god for the maid who waters me regularly! If it wasn't for her I'd be dead. She's quite frightened to come into your bedroom, you know. She believes you're a Tlahuelpuchi."

  "Really? Now, how ever could she have gotten that idea?"

  "I do get bored," Thaddeus grumped. "And I may have told her a fairytale or two."

  "I hope you educated her, instead of feeding her prejudice," Doc said softly. "I once spent a very pleasant summer with a Tlahuelpuchi."

  "You're not an infant, are you?"

  "That's just a myth," Doc said, stretching his neck. "Any type of blood will do."

  "Oh, well, that's certainly less frightening!" Thaddeus snapped.

  Doc shrugged and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

  "It took me two years to get Rosa to even talk to me," Thaddeus muttered. "She's extremely superstitious." He was quiet for a mere second before he added, "It's not easy living as a plant, you know. Especially when my only source of conversation decides to take a five-year, vampire-induced hiatus."

  "My, you are grumpy." Doc poured himself another shot of whiskey, then tipped some into Thaddeus's pot. "Maybe some whiskey'll take the edge off."

  "Goddamn it, Doc! You know I can't handle whiskey!"

  Doc's eyes widened innocently. "You can't?"

  "I don't know why I try. You're not worth it."

  "That's what they all say. Are you going to tell me why you ruined my dream?"

  "You told me to, you worthless wretch." Thaddeus's crisp words were starting to soften. "It's time. Señora Teodora."

  "Oh." Doc blinked, and his plush hotel suite was gone, replaced by a different hotel room. Not as plush, not as clean, and filled with the scent of death.

  He was lying in the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, coated in sticky sweat, sheets soaked from his constant perspiration. He hadn't planned to die this way, not like she had, drowning in her own blood in a filthy bed. He'd planned to go out in a blaze of glory. One card game too many. One card sleight too obvious. But he had the devil's own luck. Except in anything that mattered.

  Another cough racked his broken frame, and he welcomed it. Welcomed death. Asked it to come, but it didn't.

  "Whiskey," he rasped.

  Kate shook her head, sorrow making her eyes huge. "Whiskey isn't good f
or you. You know that."

  "I'm dying. What the hell do I care? Get me some damn whiskey!"

  She must have taken pity on him because she stood and left the room, hopefully in search of the best whiskey they had to offer. Not that he'd be paying for it.

  He rested his hand on the cool ivory handle of his six-shooter. It would be faster to just eat a bullet, but he rather liked his face and he didn't want to ruin it. No one would attend his funeral if his face was a bowl of mush. He laughed softly, trying not to trigger another coughing fit.

  The door opened, but it wasn't Kate; instead a rather old woman entered. She didn't particularly look old. Her face was lined, but not wrinkled, and her hair was thick with only a few streaks of grey. Her eyes were sharp as a hawk's, and he knew her hands were strong enough to squeeze the life from a man's neck, not to mention his other parts.

  "Señora Teodora," he wheezed, "come to make sure I die?"

  "No." She sat beside him and studied him with the eye of a woman used to death. "You haven't much longer."

  "I should expect not," he chuckled, gesturing towards a pile of bloody linens in the corner. "I can't imagine I have much blood left."

  "You still do not take life seriously."

  "Why would I?"

  "I have forgiven you for seducing my granddaughter."

  "Really? Is that why you're here? To absolve me of my sins?"

  She spat contemptuously to the side, then said, "Do not speak to me like I am one of them. They destroyed my culture, my people, and if they knew what I was they would burn me and think nothing of it."

  "Then why are you here, Señora? I'm dying, and I'm afraid I don't have time for games."

  "You've never had time for anything but games."

  "True enough," he chuckled.

  "Do you regret it? Do you wish you'd done something else?"

  "You mean marry like my brother did? Have children, then die, leaving them grief stricken and fatherless? I'd rather relive my own life over and over and over again." His heart clenched, thinking of Francisco. He hadn't been with him when he died, and he should have been. He didn't have many regrets, but that was one.

  "If you lived past today, would you choose a different path?" she asked.

  "No."

  Doc blinked and looked around his elegant suite with a grin. He was Doc Holliday. There was no other path.

  "Why can't you drink brandy?" Thaddeus slurred.

  Doc laughed heartily. "Because I'm a whiskey man, Thaddy. Always have been."

  "I utterly despise you."

  "Shall I lose you in my next game?"

  "Only if you lose to a nubile young nudist."

  "Male or female?"

  Thaddeus made a strange noise which Doc assumed was a growl. Sometimes he wished Thaddeus at least had a face. It wasn't easy reading a plant's moods.

  "I'm back," Ana sang cheerfully as she sauntered into the bedroom. "Doc!" she exclaimed. "You're upright!"

  "Yes. I'm afraid our staycation has come to an end." He kissed her fondly, grazing his hands over her slim form.

  "But we were just starting to have fun," she pouted. "One more night?"

  He pushed her away gently, stepping backwards so her fangs couldn't touch his skin. "A night with you, my dear, turns into a hundred."

  She smiled widely, fangs glinting for a second before receding into her gums. "I will miss you," she said, licking her lips seductively.

  "It's never a goodbye, Ana," he said, yearning to sink into her arms for just another minute or two. He couldn't though. The time had come, and he needed to be clear headed, not drugged into lust and happy dreams by the lovely sedative she injected into his veins every time she was near him.

  "Go," he insisted. "Before I give into temptation."

  "Call me anytime," she murmured throatily, tracing her fingertips over the tattoo covering his naked chest before turning and leaving the room.

  "I'll miss her," Thaddeus muttered drunkenly. "Her hips were perfect."

  "Indeed. But we have work to do," Doc said.

  "You have work to do. I'm taking a nap."

  "Sleep well, old boy," Doc whispered, pouring another bit of whiskey into the clay pot before throwing open his heavy brocade curtains and gazing out at the city beneath him.

  He hadn't been outside his suite in five years, but at a glance, not much had changed. Another building or two perhaps, but it still looked like Denver. Modern Denver, not Denver as he'd first seen it. That was an entirely different thing. He couldn't have imagined back then that Denver would ever turn into this sprawling, towering mammoth.

  He opened the window, letting the breeze brush over his chest. He hadn't been hiding so much as taking a break. Every now and then he needed a break to remind himself how much life there was left to live. There were more hands of cards to be played. There were more women to be thoroughly bedded. Hell, there's more whiskey to be drank, he thought as he took a sip and breathed deeply.

  If living forever meant he had to take a breather every now and then, it was a small price to pay. Thirty-six years just hadn't been enough. Now that he was heading towards two hundred, he could honestly say he'd lived. If Death came to collect him tomorrow, he might not even fight it. Well, not tomorrow. He had to take care of something first; then he wouldn't fight it. Maybe. He'd just have to see.

  Doc chuckled softly, amused at himself, and then indulged in a leisurely shower. After he'd dried, he studied his clothes and carefully picked a white shirt, dark grey vest, and black trousers. As much as he'd enjoyed being naked for the last several years, it felt good to get dressed.

  He'd missed his knives. He strapped a small knife around his ankle and one around his thigh that he could access through his pants pocket. After he'd donned his shirt, he buckled his special knife harness across his chest. His vest hid it completely, but he had easy access to both knives, the one under his shoulder blade and the other one in the center of his chest.

  He buttoned his vest, enjoying the feel of the buttons between his fingers, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and slipped on his bracelets. He had five for each wrist, and each one was made of horse hair, or something more exotic, and held a stone meant to block psychic or magical attacks.

  He hadn't lounged around doing nothing the last hundred and fifty years. He'd acquired knowledge, he'd found friends, lost friends, and collected more than a few enemies. He'd honed his skills; he'd learned new skills; and he'd endeavored to understand the world in which he lived. Both worlds, the regular one and the Hidden one.

  But unfortunately, he still wasn't ready. For everything he knew, there were a hundred things he didn't. A hundred and fifty years, and he'd only scratched the surface.

  For the first time in decades, there was a very small part of him that was nervous. Señora Teodora had entrusted him with a task, and he was very much afraid he was going to fail.

  Chapter 2

  Doc stepped from the elevator into the hotel lobby, glancing around and noting the small changes. The rugs had been replaced, there were a few more exotic potted plants, and the front windows had been switched out with stained glass.

  The lobby was busy, which was good. More clients meant that Doc could continue to afford his ridiculously expensive manager, Jervis. Speaking of Jervis.

  "Delightful to see you, sir," Jervis said dryly as he approached Doc on silent feet.

  "No need to lie on my account," Doc chuckled.

  "I don't believe I was lying," Jervis said stiffly.

  "Of course not," Doc said, swallowing a laugh. Jervis had no perceivable sense of humor. It was a shame, really. Why bother living for so long if you weren't having fun?

  Fortunately, what Jervis lacked in personality, he made up in efficiency. When you were as old as Jervis, you knew how to be efficient. And what made Jervis especially handy was that he was a shapeshifting vampire. He didn't change into another creature; he just changed. Jervis could change his face and form by the minute if he wanted to. Exceedingly rare. Ex
ceedingly sought after. Which is why Doc paid him an enormous sum of money to run Dulcis Requiem, as well as, granting him feeding rights to all the norm guests, provided he didn't kill them. And every fifteen years or so, Jervis changed faces and names, and no one noticed. Norms were terribly unobservant.

  "How are things?" Doc asked.

  "If there was a problem, I would have let you know." Jervis replied. "However, I should mention that Mr. Jury's been by."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Every week for about a year now."

  Doc grinned slightly. "I'm sure he told you not to tell me."

  "Most emphatically."

  "My lips are sealed," Doc said cheerfully. "Jervis, good man, give yourself a raise."

  "I already did, sir."

  "Excellent. You certainly deserve it."

  Jervis studied the lobby with a critical eye. "I certainly do."

  "Keep up the good work," Doc laughed as he walked out the door and into the sunshine.

  When he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the sound of passing traffic was a little overwhelming for a second. It probably wasn't any worse than it had been five years ago, but he'd been ensconced in his soundproof suite for so long, away from the noise and chaos, that for a moment it was staggeringly loud.

  Modernity was nice in its ways, but sometimes he missed the relative simplicity of his mortal days. Each advancement seemed to come with twice as many complexities and irritations. He'd trade his cell phone for the right to walk around with his guns on his hips. He'd trade his indoor plumbing for a high-rolling, gun-filled, whiskey-soaked saloon. But it was what it was, and there was no point in wasting his time mourning what wasn't.

  He meandered along the sidewalk, observing the store fronts, the traffic, the people. Not much had changed. One restaurant had been replaced with another, the cars were even more generic, if such a thing was possible, and the fashion had shifted again, and not for the better. He'd rather enjoyed the fashion of the twenties and the fifties.

  He subtly observed a pair of women stride down the sidewalk towards him. They may as well have been naked. Even dance hall girls and prostitutes had worn more clothes. He supposed it was all right on a purely visual level, but he preferred a little mystery in his partners. He liked the unexpected; he enjoyed making calculated guesses; he reveled in both the win and the loss.