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

  “My hands are always cold,” Michael said. “Comes with being undead.”

  “And women like you to touch them?”

  “I tend to rub my hands together first,” Michael said.

  “Fascinating.”

  “Not really,” Michael said. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “I’d rather just drive.”

  Gideon pulled into traffic and headed toward Broadway to catch the causeway over to the mainland.

  As we cruised along, I caught Michael up on what he’d missed.

  He shook his head when I told him about the Ringo Twins.

  “You always go for the hot women,” he said.

  “Like you don’t?”

  “Depends on what else they bring to the table. Your pecker gets you into more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “I don’t know that I’d put a price on my pecker, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable having you talk about it.”

  “So Gideon here was their driver, but now he’s your driver?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “How does that work?” Michael asked.

  Gideon glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “They hired a service. I filled in. I’m not on their payroll. My employer had instructions with all limo and taxi services to call me if the Ringo Twins needed a ride.”

  “I don’t trust you,” Michael said.

  “No big,” Gideon said. “I don’t trust you, either.”

  “I’m not going to bite you,” Michael said.

  “I know that. I have vampire repellant on my throat.”

  “Garlic?”

  Gideon smiled. “And magic.”

  “You do realize the garlic legend was started in Romania because a vampire named Nicolae Munteanu had Porphyria, right? A lot of the legends about vampires came from Nicolae and his disease. Garlic exacerbated his symptoms when he was alive, so he avoided it in his afterlife. I happen to like garlic.”

  “I’ll make a note to send you a gift basket filled with it.”

  Michael shook his head, and glanced at me. “Like I’d bite a guy.”

  “You’ve bitten guys before, haven’t you?”

  “Only to survive.”

  “You ever do the Bill Paxton thing from Near Dark?” I asked.

  “I know who Bill Paxton is, but I haven’t seen Near Dark.”

  “One of the best vampire movies ever,” Gideon said. “Directed by Kathryn Bigelow, who went on to direct Point Break, The Hurt Locker, Zero Dark Thirty, and others. I think Brett is talking about the bar scene.”

  “You got that right,” I said.

  Then at the same time, Gideon and I mimicked Bill Paxton’s accent and said, “I hate it when they ain’t been shaved.”

  He held up a hand and I high-fived him.

  “I guess I’m the third wheel,” Michael said. “Maybe I’ll pull a Brett and take a nap while you two continue your bromance.”

  I ignored Michael. “What are your other favorite vampire flicks?” I asked.

  “Let the Right One In, of course.”

  “The original Night Stalker with Darren McGavin.”

  “That was a good one. I gotta go with my man Wesley Snipes as Blade.”

  “Damn right. Wesley Snipes rocks,” I said. “Gotta include From Dusk till Dawn.”

  “Tarantino and Rodriguez? Hell, yeah!”

  “I kinda liked Underworld because Kate Beckinsale was so hot in that movie.”

  “I don’t know,” Gideon said. “Werewolves can’t figure out to attack the vampires in the daytime?”

  “Good point.”

  “But I did like vamps using cell phones.”

  Michael sighed. “Hell, I use a cell phone,” he said.

  And we kept going all the way to Austin.

  Michael wanted to check out the bar we were going to play, so instead of going to our hotel, we headed downtown.

  We arrived at the venue on 6th Street just after eleven o’clock. Michael and I waited outside a parking garage while Gideon looked for a space inside. I hoped the space wasn’t more than ninety-four feet away, or I’d get yanked forward.

  “You realize part of his mission probably includes killing you, right?” Michael asked.

  Downtown Austin was bustling that night. Guys stood outside bars hawking dollar draws trying to get people into their establishments. There were gift shops tucked in between the bars, and a cool looking place called Museum of the Weird.

  “We should go in there,” I said.

  “Did you hear me?” Michael asked.

  “Gideon isn’t going to kill me. He likes me.”

  “Or he’s playing you.”

  “What, you don’t think someone can like me?”

  Michael frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Sure sounded like it.”

  “Just don’t let your guard down. Cool?”

  “Whatever. Why did you come down with me instead of Sabrina?”

  “We’re not seeing each other anymore,” Michael said.

  “What happened?”

  “She got pissed.”

  “About?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does,” I said. “Did you sleep with another chick?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Touch her without rubbing your hands together first?”

  He just stared at me.

  I shook my head. “Dude, just tell me.”

  He sighed. “I voted for the other you to take over as lead singer for the band. And I voted for the name change.”

  “Oh,” I said. “She won’t get over that.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Sorry, dude. You guys seemed to be doing so well.”

  He shrugged. “I feel sorrier for Teddy than I do for myself. Poor guy’s been hitting on Sabrina for a month and she hasn’t even noticed.”

  “Poor Teddy. We should give him dating lessons.”

  “Right. Oh, here comes Basketball Jones.”

  I glanced toward the corner and saw Gideon moving toward us. He stood so much taller than everyone else that he was impossible to miss.

  “He’s a good guy,” I said.

  “Until he kills you.”

  “He’s not going to kill me.”

  “You two didn’t have to wait for me,” Gideon said.

  “We weren’t waiting,” Michael said.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice,” I said.

  “So you want to scope the place out?” Gideon asked.

  “I do,” Michael said, and walked into the bar.

  Gideon and I followed him.

  Inside, the lights were low, and the music was loud. Some guy was butchering Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer.”

  “Great,” I said. “It’s karaoke night.”

  “Cool,” Gideon said. “I’ll get us on the list to sing.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Well, I’m singing.” He moved toward the KJ and I angled off toward the bar to order a whiskey.

  Michael was deep in conversation with a man at the end of the bar. The guy wore a pinstripe suit and a loud tie that looked like Jackson Pollock had used it to wipe off a painting. I didn’t recognize the guy, but he glanced my way, so I gave him a slight nod.

  He didn’t nod back.

  “What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.

  I looked at her. She was a Goth chick in a black sleeveless tank top. She had a tattoo of Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas on her upper arm. That was cool. She had a silver stud in her nose, and a bored look in her eyes.

  “Jameson on the rocks,” I said.

  Some guy at the bar overheard me and shook his head. “You’re ruining it. Jameson should always be neat.”

  “I ruin a lot of things,” I said.

  “Well, you’re the one who has to drink it.” He raised a glass in salute.

  The bartender slid me a drink and I slid her a ten dollar bill, told her to keep the change, then lo
oked around the bar.

  The off-key Bon Jovi wannabe got off the stage and a cute girl replaced him. She launched into “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse and did all right.

  I sipped my drink.

  Michael kept talking to the Mafioso-looking guy, and Gideon kept talking to the KJ.

  Some big dude got on the stage to sing Billy Joel’s “Piano Man” and the entire bar sang along with him. I found myself singing, too. I couldn’t help it.

  A woman tried to sing an Adele song, then some guy tried to sing Jace Everett’s “Bad Things” and someone else did “Love Shack” by the B-52s. There’s an unwritten law somewhere that makes it mandatory for someone to sing that song at every karaoke gathering.

  “Now put your hands together for Gideon, who wants to sing about his ‘Achy Breaky Heart,’” the KJ said.

  And sure enough, Gideon gave it his all.

  When he finished, Gideon pulled a young woman over to the stage. “I sang the father’s song, Cindy here will sing the daughter’s song.” He handed her the microphone and she started singing “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus.

  When she finished, she embraced Gideon. Someone else got on stage to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody,” another mandatory karaoke song, while Gideon led the girl toward the bar.

  He reached me and gave me a smile. “You and Michael need to find your own way home. Cindy has some daddy issues to work out, and I’m just the man to help her.”

  Cindy blushed.

  “I thought you were linked to me. Ninety-four feet and all that.”

  He nodded. “I’ll free you of that burden for tonight.” He pulled off one of his rings and handed it to me.

  “Only one of them?”

  “It’s the one with the spell, and it’s all yours for the night.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Cindy needs me, and I doubt anyone will try to kill you tonight.”

  “Cheers,” I said, and stuck the ring in my pocket.

  They left, and I looked back to Michael, who kept nodding to something the mafia guy was saying. I turned to watch the lady singing Queen, but Michael suddenly appeared beside me.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  “I’m not finished with my drink.”

  Michael took the drink out of my hand and set it on the bar. “Yes you are,” he said and pushed me toward the door.

  Out on the street, I spun to face him. “What the hell, dude?”

  “Do you have any idea who I was talking to?”

  “I don’t care. You wasted Jameson.”

  “You’re going to care. That was Gregor Nyborg.”

  “Any relation to Plutonium Nyborg?”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Never mind,” I said. “The only Gregor I know of is Gregor Samsa.”

  “Like you’ve ever read Kafka.”

  “Dude turns into a bug. I had to read it.”

  “This Gregor is a vampire.”

  “Can he turn into a bug?”

  “Do you want to know about the planned assassination of Brett Masters tomorrow night or not?”

  “Well, shit, man, you could have led with that.”

  And he told me what Gregor knew.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Gideon didn’t come back to the hotel the next day, so I left the golden ring on the bathroom counter next to my hairbrush. I worried that it might be a tracking device, and I didn’t want it on me. It would be safe in the hotel room.

  Michael and I took an Uber downtown to get to the bar. I’d spent much of the day trying to memorize the songs, but I finally gave up on that, realizing that in the moment, there was no way I’d be able to remember all the lyrics.

  Instead, I just needed to know the melodies and the timing. The other version of me enunciated a little too well on the songs, so I couldn’t pull a Kurt Cobain and just mumble along if I forgot the words. Fortunately, Gideon’s singing gave me the idea I needed to get through the set.

  Sabrina, Teddy, and Chuck were already set up when we arrived. “You’re late,” Sabrina said. I think she said more, but I stopped listening after the second word.

  “Listen to me,” she said, and slapped my face.

  “Damn, Sabrina,” I said. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “You’re checking out the stage set up instead of paying attention to what I’m saying, and that drives me insane.”

  “Lots of words there. I heard you’re insane, does that count?”

  She reared back to slap me again, and I put up a protective arm.

  She fumed, but didn’t strike.

  “Six words or less,” I told her.

  “It’s fewer, you stupid asshole.”

  “Tell that to all the grocery stores with express lanes.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Are we good to go here?”

  “Do you know the songs?”

  “Nope.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  Teddy came up beside her and tentatively leaned closer. “Are you all right, Sabrina?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, Teddy.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll do anything you need without question. Can I get you a drink? Maybe a rose?”

  He held out a single red rose, which he must have kept in his pocket.

  “Really, Teddy?” I asked, slapping his hand down before Sabrina saw the flower.

  “What?”

  “Go buy her a glass of wine.”

  “Okay,” he said and shuffled off.

  “What was he saying about a rose?” Sabrina asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “He’s kinda weird.”

  “He’s socially inept.”

  “I think he likes me.”

  “What was your first clue.”

  She shrugged. “He’s nice and all, but he’s … boring.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have called things off with Michael.”

  “I didn’t call things off. He did.”

  “He said you were pissed.”

  “I was, but it was just a fight.”

  Chuck approached us. “Hey, Brett,” he said. “Thanks for the tickets, man. That was really thoughtful of you. The wife and kids loved the circus.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. The other me gave him circus tickets?

  “Uh, okay,” I said. “No problem.”

  “Your guitars are set up just the way you like them.”

  “Guitars? Plural?” I glanced over at the stage, and sure enough, a row of guitars stood on stands behind the speakers. Two Fender Stratocasters, and two acoustics.

  “Yeah. Open tuning on the right.”

  So the other Brett didn’t use any magic to play at all? I had my trusty magic pick in my pocket, so I figured I’d be okay, but I felt like a fake now. The other me had practiced. I was a cheater.

  Most folks had no idea, but for some reason it bothered me now.

  I moved to the side of the stage to get away from everyone, and saw that Chuck had helpfully taped a set list on the back of one of the speakers. Cool.

  He wouldn’t have done that for me a few months ago.

  Of course, he wasn’t doing it for me. He was doing it for the other Brett.

  Imposter syndrome settled on my shoulders.

  Someone handed me a beer, and I drank it. People wandered into the bar and took seats at tables scattered here and there. An open dance floor separated the tables from the stage.

  Michael found me as I set my empty beer glass on the bar.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Sabrina says you broke up with her.”

  “What does that have to do with being ready to play?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Ask her.”

  “We’ve barely spoken in ages, Michael said”

  “You sound nervous.”

  “
I am nervous.”

  “Some big tough vampire you are.” I chucked him on the shoulder to let him know I was joking, and he nodded.

  “I can handle things that go bump in the night, but my ex-girlfriend makes me nervous.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Remember what Gregor said.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m a target. Kinda hard to forget that.”

  And then it was time to take the stage.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to draw blood, and focused my magic as I grabbed one of the electric guitars. Was it open tuned or normal? I strummed it. Normal. All good.

  Chuck banged out a beat and kicked us off. I trusted the set list written before me, and the magic in my pick to hit the right notes and chords. I bit the inside of my cheek and cast a spell to help me with the lyrics.

  The words floated over the crowd where only I could see them.

  “Cheater,” Sabrina said.

  Okay, where only wizards could see them.

  Now I could karaoke the shit out of the songs, and with my focused magic, I knew I could get through the set. It would simply take concentration.

  The first six songs went well.

  Teddy broke a string at the end of the song, and he only had the one guitar.

  “Go change the string,” I said to him away from the microphone. “I’ll improv.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  I moved the microphone back to my mouth and said, “Technical difficulties, folks, but here’s a little ditty I wrote last year that burned up the charts for a few months. It’s called ‘Napping My Life Away.’ Hit it, Chuck.”

  We played my song. People still liked it enough that a couple sang along, and I didn’t need to cheat, so I felt pretty good about the performance.

  Michael gave me a nod part way through the song to tell me he approved of the way I handled it. He gave me another nod, and I nodded back to tell him I knew I was doing fine.

  Teddy jumped back on stage before the song was over, all good to go.

  I bit my cheek, tossed the words back into the air, and a man in a white suit stepped out of the crowd. So Michael wasn’t telling me I was doing well, he was telling me to watch out for the assassin. The guy in white motioned toward the words, and they shattered.

  I was in the middle of singing. Oh shit. I sang, “Tides of indecision carry you away, but I don’t know the words now so it’s a song we cannot play.”

  Michael looked a question at me, and I launched into a guitar solo.

  The man in white stepped right up to the stage, pulled out a gun and aimed it at my face.