The Half-Assed Wizard: The Complete Series: Books 1-4: The Half-Assed Wizard, The Big-Ass Witch, The Dumbass Demon, The Lame-Assed Doppelganger

by Gary Jonas

  And they walked away.

  Kevin opened the passenger door and stood on the seat to peek over the car top at me. “How’d it go?”

  “It went,” I said and slid into the driver’s seat.

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Helen had told me my talent as a guitarist was all I brought to the table.

  Unfortunately, my talent was supplied by a magic pick.

  Ergo, I brought nothing to the table. Well, that wasn’t quite true because I did have three chords and an attitude, but the attitude was a bit lacking these days.

  “We gonna go, or what?” Kevin asked.

  I didn’t look at him. I kept tapping the steering wheel with my thumbs. Helen knew about the pick, so she saw me as being beneath her. This was why I preferred being a slacker. Low expectations are easy to meet. If you try to do well, people look down their noses at you because you’re never good enough. Doesn’t matter what you do or whether or not they could do it. And some of that is a question of perception, too. Aside from being hot and having a magical voice, what did Helen bring to the table? Did she give a shit about anyone else?

  “Earth to Brett,” Kevin said.

  “I’m thinking,” I said.

  “Don’t hurt yourself. The car won’t start unless you put the key in the ignition. Then you have to twist the key. It’s not rocket science.”

  Even the shit-talking dumbass demon thought he was better than me.

  I sighed.

  Trying to do anything was overrated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Can I come to the studio with you?” Sabrina asked. “Pretty please with chocolate syrup on top?”

  “No,” I said. “How many times do I have to say this? Just Michael.”

  The argument had gone on for hours from the time I got home from Lakesha’s Tuesday lesson until now that it was time to leave. I wanted to take a nap, but Sabrina followed me around the house to the kitchen where I got a drink, then up to my bedroom where I tried to close the door. Kevin stayed one step ahead of me, grinning the whole time.

  My mistake was telling her I had to go record a song with Apollo.

  “Apollo is the dream,” Sabrina said.

  “Apollo is an asshole,” I said. “Wait a minute. How do you know about Apollo?”

  “He’s been all over Instagram, Snapchat, and YouTube this weekend talking about how his new single is going to come out Wednesday and how much he loves it.”

  “He hasn’t even recorded it.”

  “Oh, come on, Brett. If it’s coming out this week, it’s been done for a while.”

  “Right.”

  “Your friend Helen sings on the track, too.”

  “She’s going to.”

  “I can’t believe he wants you to play on a record.” She gave me a wink. “Maybe magic does matter because without that pick, you’d never get in the same room with him.”

  “Back off, Sabrina,” I said, still trying to close the bedroom door. “I want to take a nap.”

  “How can you possibly sleep when you get to play with Apollo?”

  “By closing my eyes.”

  “The bed is mine, Brett,” Kevin said.

  He wasn’t visible to Sabrina at the moment, and the way he stretched out diagonally across my bed irritated me. But I could shove his sorry ass off onto the floor if Sabrina would buzz off.

  “Go away, little girl,” I said.

  “That’s a Donny Osmond song,” Sabrina said. “My mom used to have a crush on him.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” I asked. “This isn’t like you. Why should you give two shits about Apollo?”

  “He’s dreamy.”

  “Just how many TV segments have you seen about him?”

  “Not enough. I would have his babies.”

  “He’s a Greek god.”

  “Don’t I know it!”

  “No, I mean literally.”

  Her eyes twinkled and her smile reminded me of videos I’d seen of the teenage girls who chased the Beatles and David Cassidy around in the sixties and early seventies.

  Apollo’s magic was prepping the world for the release of his single. It didn’t matter if the song was good or bad; it would be a hit.

  On and on she went about how dreamy Apollo was, about how she’d do anything for him, about how he kept steaming up her glasses every time he came on the TV. Maybe I should rephrase that to every time he showed up on the TV because I certainly didn’t want to have to clean up after him.

  I managed to get the door closed and locked. I shoved Kevin aside so I could stretch out, but Sabrina used her magic to unlock the damn door.

  “Please let me go to the studio,” she said. “You can cancel the maid service and I’ll clean the house every day for a year.”

  “Go away.”

  “Come on, cuz. I have to meet Apollo! I can’t believe he’s here in Galveston. It would be criminal for me to not get to be with him.”

  “He has a tiny dick,” I said. “You wouldn’t want him.”

  “Like you’ve seen his dick. Give me a break, Brett.”

  “He thought he had a hair on his crotch once, but he shaved it and it bled.”

  “Get real.”

  “If you want to jerk him off, you’re going to need some tweezers.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Oh, and I was just about to cave and let you go, but you had to insult me so forget it.”

  “I take it back. You’re amazing!”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “What can I do for you in order to go to the studio tonight?”

  “Have her dance naked,” Kevin said.

  I ignored him.

  “Teach me all the demon banishment spells you know.”

  “That’s not funny,” Kevin said.

  “I only know two of them, but I’ll happily teach them to you.”

  “They have to work or the deal is off.”

  “They work.”

  “Have you ever banished a demon?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Then you don’t know if they work.”

  She sat on the bed and gave me a shrug. “True enough.”

  “Let’s try it and see.”

  “Try it on what?” she asked.

  Kevin made himself visible and Sabrina almost jumped out of her skin.

  “Hey, hottie,” Kevin said. “Wanna do a dance for me?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Do it anyway.” He snapped his fingers and a song started playing from my iPad on the dresser.

  The song was “A Lap Dance Is So Much Better When the Stripper is Crying” by the Bloodhound Gang.

  Kevin grabbed Sabrina and tried to pull her over to him. “Dance for me, baby.”

  “Fuck off, demon!”

  “Make me.”

  She went through a hand gesture and spoke some gibberish. Kevin laughed.

  I rolled off the bed and went to the iPad to stop the song.

  “Hey!” Kevin said. “That’s my favorite song!”

  I focused on Sabrina. “My dad set it up so only I can banish the little turd, so teach me what you tried to do.”

  Kevin grinned. He stacked a few pillows, leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Channel your inner Pat Benatar and hit me with your best shot.”

  I did the hand motions exactly as Sabrina did. I felt the magic forming. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, and focused the power. I hurled the spell at Kevin.

  “And you’re outta here,” I said.

  He just grinned at me. “Maybe Sabrina needs to dance and follow the instructions of this song.” He snapped his fingers again and my iPad started playing Rodney Carrington’s “Show Them to Me.”

  Kevin sang along.

  Sabrina did not oblige him.

  I turned off the song.

  “I was listening to that,” Kevin said.

  “Teach me the other spell,” I said.

  Sabrina sighed. “If I
do, can I come to the studio tonight?”

  “If the spell works on Kevin.”

  “Okay,” she said. She whispered instructions in my ear.

  “Oooh, getting all conspiratorial,” Kevin said. “I like it.”

  I reopened the cut inside my cheek to power the spell, and tried to send Kevin back to his dimension. This one had to be spoken as well. The words felt right as they spilled from my mouth. The hand gestures felt right too, and my fingers tingled as the energy flowed through them. Unfortunately, Yoda was wrong. There really is a try. Kevin flipped me off and stuck his tongue out.

  I turned to Sabrina. “Looks like you’re staying home tonight.”

  She stamped her foot in protest, but since she couldn’t help me get rid of Kevin, she could stamp her feet all she wanted. I wasn’t impressed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Michael met me at the studio right on time. The lights were on inside, but he leaned against a palm tree by the sidewalk. He wore all black, as always. I wore my Korn T-shirt, which I’d found in the dryer, and shorts. I grabbed my guitar from the backseat, and made sure I had the pick in my pocket.

  Kevin lifted the handle on the passenger seat so it reclined. “I’m going to take after you and nap for a bit since that jack-off doesn’t like me to go inside.”

  “You mean I’m free of you for a few hours?”

  “Other way around, loser,” he said.

  Either way, that worked for me. I hopped out of the car and headed toward the studio.

  Michael peeled himself away from the shadows of the tree trunk to join me. He carried his own instrument in its case. “Does this gig pay up front?”

  “I didn’t ask,” I said as we moved toward the building, “but I doubt gods bounce checks.”

  “And he’s really a god?”

  “Evidently.”

  “Sabrina is hot for him.”

  “She hides it well.” I opened the door and gestured for Michael to go inside. “Ladies first,” I said.

  He didn’t care. He just walked inside.

  He took off his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirt pocket. He nodded toward the hallway. “This way?”

  “Yeah. All the way to the end.”

  A Mako Clansman stepped out of the control room as we approached. “Wait here,” he said holding out a hand, palm facing us.

  We stopped.

  He glanced back into the control room as the door closed.

  “Did you sign on with Apollo for the dental plan?” I asked.

  He pretended not to hear.

  “So what’s the deal with your teeth?” I asked. “Do the sharp ones come out in front of the normal ones? Are the normal ones an illusion?”

  He gazed straight ahead as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “Are you deaf?” I asked, making up some sign language with my hands. I didn’t know sign language, so it was pure nonsense.

  He blinked.

  “Maybe Apollo took his tongue,” I said.

  Michael shook his head. “Or maybe you should try not to piss-off the help.”

  “Nothing else to do.”

  “You could be quiet.”

  “But I really am curious about his teeth. I’m also curious about how long he can stay on dry land.” I faced the Mako dude. “How about it, Chuckles? Do you have to get in the water every few hours to keep your gills working? I mean, you guys aren’t really sharks. You’re more like amphibians. Right? But shark teeth are cooler than frog tongues. And flies probably taste nasty. Did you know that every time they land, they’re either puking or shitting?”

  The shark dude turned toward the control room door, rapped a knuckle on the window. He nodded, and turned to open the door to the studio.

  “Enter,” he said.

  Michael gave him a nod and entered.

  “Nice chatting with you,” I said, patting him on the broad shoulder.

  He didn’t react, so I just went inside, and he closed the door behind us.

  Inside the studio, Helen stood before a microphone with a breath screen between her and the mike.

  “Welcome to the party,” she said. She shook Michael’s hand. “Nice to see you again.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.”

  She turned to me. “Brett, sit down at the back, and be quiet. Apollo will talk to you in a moment. I’m finished.”

  She slipped past me and left through the door. When she opened it, I saw the Mako Clansman still standing guard outside.

  “Welcome to the show.” Apollo’s voice came through the speakers in the walls. He was in the control room and he stepped over to the window so we could see him. “You’re Michael?”

  “I am,” Michael said.

  “You play the bass?”

  “I do.”

  “Demonstrate.”

  Michael opened his case, lifted out his bass guitar, and sat on a stool. He got set up and launched right into the bassline from Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

  “Not bad,” Apollo said.

  Michael went through several more, including “Stand by Me” by Ben E. King, “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen, and “Come Together” by the Beatles.

  “All cover tunes. Give me something original. What are you waiting for, Michael?”

  Michael grinned at him and went right into “Money” by Pink Floyd.

  “Ah, you want to know about payment. What did Brett tell you?”

  “He said you’re a god who might be able to cure vampirism.”

  “I’ve heard tell of a few cures over the millennia.”

  “Can you make me into a normal man again?”

  “Normal is relative. Wouldn’t you prefer cold hard cash?”

  “I have money,” Michael said. “I want an end to the curse.”

  “Drinking blood would get old, I suppose. I’ll be honest here, Michael. I’ve never tried to cure a vampire. I can give you the ability to walk in the daylight without getting burned, though. That’s easy.”

  “I want a cure.”

  “I’ll try. I have friends in high places. If you can be cured, I’ll do everything in my power to achieve said cure, but until then, I’ll grant you the power to walk in daylight without fear.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I am the Sun God.”

  Michael glanced at me. “Do you believe him?”

  I shrugged. “He’s a god. Since when have any gods ever told the truth to mortals or semi-mortals?”

  “You know I can hear you, right?” Apollo asked.

  “Your call, Michael,” I said.

  He nodded. “Something of my own creation,” he said, and went into a bass solo that would make Geddy Lee and John Paul Jones jealous.

  “You’ve shown versatility, though I’m recording a pop song. Let me play you the parts we’ve recorded. It’s called ‘Believe in Me, I’ll Believe in You.’ This is everything except the bass and the lead guitar. Thomas?”

  After a short delay, a song started playing. It was heavy on the keyboard synths.

  “Very Bruno Mars,” I said.

  Standard four chord progression in D major using the D, A, B minor, and G chords. The lyrics sounded like a love song, but I knew the subtext was about worshipping Apollo. It was an up-tempo catchy tune, and I suspected that even without his magical help, it had the makings of a radio hit.

  Michael nodded. “Give me some headphones, and send the song to me there so I can work something out. Put it on a loop. I’ll need fifteen minutes.”

  “Do it, Thomas. Quincy, take the man some headphones. Give a pair to Brett, too.”

  The Mako Clansman entered the studio a minute later and handed headphones to me and to Michael.

  Michael stared at me. “Give me a minute to work out my line, then you come in and see if you can find a few things to do around it. Cool? And keep it simple. Don’t try to show off. It’s a four-chord pop tune, not hard rock.”

  “Yeah, I saw that Axis of Awesome video, too.” I got my guitar ready
, and my magic pick instilled with the blood of many famous guitarists was poised to deliver genius.

  “All right, let’s give this a shot,” he said.

  The music started. Michael played around a bit with a few different takes, then fell into a nice groove.

  “That works,” I said. “I like that.”

  He shrugged, kept riffing on it, and it felt like it belonged in the song.

  I nodded in time, then worked in a few guitar bits. The solo practically played itself. It was like Stevie Ray Vaughan performing on David Bowie’s “China Girl.” It just worked.

  The music stopped and Apollo spoke to us. “All right, Brett, I think that’s fine. Excellent work, Michael.”

  Michael nodded. From the look in his eyes, he knew he’d nailed it.

  “We’ll record you separately. Michael, you’ll go first, so Brett, step out into the hall with Quincy.”

  I did as I was told.

  Quincy frowned at me.

  “Something wrong?”

  He nodded. “Your solo sucks. It feels derivative and it has no heart.”

  “Everyone’s a critic,” I said.

  “You asked.”

  “No. I asked if something was wrong. I did not ask for your opinion. Let me ask you something, douchebag. Have you ever done anything creative or do you just bitch about what others do?”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny about that?” I asked.

  “Word on the street is that you’re using a magic pick, and that without the talent of others poured into that piece of plastic, you couldn’t play diddly or squat.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  I didn’t have a comeback because he was right. Without the pick, I wouldn’t be in the studio about to record a song destined to shoot up the charts.

  I sulked until it was my turn to go into the studio.

  Fortunately for me, the pick didn’t need my confidence to work. I played the guitar brilliantly and delivered an awesome solo. And if some shark dude thought it was derivative, he could take my guitar and shove it right up his fish tail.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Apollo let everyone crowd into the control room as Thomas finished the rough mix. By everyone, I mean me, Michael, and Quincy the shark dude. Helen had bailed on us already, and I never met the drummer or keyboard player, so odds were good that Apollo played both roles himself. After all, he could be like Paul McCartney and Prince by playing all the instruments himself if he so desired.