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

  Gideon turned on the radio and piped some music in for me. Tracy Chapman sang about a “Fast Car,” but Gideon wasn’t able to go that fast because of a traffic snarl on 25th Street.

  I listened to the music, and relaxed. I wasn’t sure what I’d say to the other Brett. How much of this had he orchestrated, and how much was my old man?

  Gideon took Avenue H to 24th and turned left to get around the traffic. I gazed down Winnie Street back to 25th. Emergency lights flashed round and round. Must have been an accident.

  We made another left on Church to get back to 25th for easier passage, but when Gideon looked back to check traffic before turning right, a man stepped off the curb and aimed a gun at my window.

  “Holy shit!” I said as the man opened fire.

  I threw myself down on the seat. The first shot left a bullet hole and pulverized the glass around it, spider-webbing outward. The second shot shattered the window. Bits of safety glass rained down on me. He kept firing.

  Getting shot wasn’t on my itinerary, so I bit my cheek, drew blood, and threw up a force field.

  Gideon stomped on the gas. Tires squealed. The man kept firing and blew holes in the back window.

  I chanced a glance, but couldn’t see much through the webbed glass. Streetlights made the white lines glow even more, so I looked to the side.

  Headlights raced at me.

  “Uh oh,” I said.

  A car shot out of the next intersection at Avenue E, but Gideon swerved to avoid impact. We bounced onto the center median, and sideswiped a pickup in the left turn lane. Gideon bounced us off the median, barely avoiding a palm tree.

  The car that tried to ram us smashed into cars heading the other direction, but another car screeched away from the curb as we passed, and raced up beside us.

  I still had my magic, but I was focused on keeping a protective shield around me. I wasn’t sure how effective it would be if I pushed it outward. Would it still stop a bullet?

  “We have company!” I shouted.

  Gideon didn’t respond.

  The chase car swerved over and crashed into the rear quarter panel on the passenger side of the limo. Physics took over. The limo spun out of control. I didn’t even have time to scream. Fortunately, the limo was low to the ground, so we didn’t roll. Instead we did a one-eighty and faced the wrong way. The chase car accelerated toward us.

  Gideon threw the limo into reverse and stomped on the accelerator.

  We darted backward. He opened the partition window to try and see better out the broken back window.

  “Brett, push the glass out of the back window. I can’t see through the cracks and the bullet holes are too small.”

  I threw my magic energy at the back window, knocked it out. It slid off the trunk and fell to the road with a loud crash.

  Gideon shook his head. “There’s going to be too much traffic on Harborside. Hang on!”

  “To what?”

  He stomped the brake, spun the steering wheel, and executed what I call the Rockford Files maneuver. Inertia threw me against the passenger door. My father and I used to watch the old TV show starring James Garner on cable when I was a kid. A limo doesn’t spin as well as a Firebird, but Gideon didn’t have too much trouble righting us. I was glad I hadn’t eaten yet because otherwise, I’d have puked all over myself.

  The chase car tried to come around for another attempt to spin us out, but I was sitting up now, and I still had magic, and I wasn’t about to put up with any more shit.

  “Get a little closer, asshole,” I said.

  I shifted from shielding myself, and as soon as the chase car pulled up beside us, I blasted it with everything I had. The side of the car crumpled and the vehicle hit the curb, bounded over into the parking lot of a bank. I blasted the car again and flipped it up and spun it around so it crashed through the bank building.

  I didn’t see the result, but I figured that guy was out of commission.

  Gideon raced down the street, turned into a parking garage right before Harborside, and skidded to a stop.

  “Get out,” he said. “If anyone’s following, I’ll lead them away.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Just get out before they catch up!”

  It seemed like a good idea at the time, so I hopped out of the car and ducked between a Jeep Wrangler and an old Datsun. Gideon raced away. Two cars turned into the parking garage and hurried after him.

  I kept biting my cheek to keep my magic at the ready, but as fast as it all started, it ended. Gideon led them away, and I sat down on the pavement, trying to get my heart rate under control. It took only a moment. On the one hand, I knew I could have been killed, but on the other, I survived, so there was no reason to fret about it.

  I got up, brushed a few stray bits of rounded glass off my blazer and pants, then began the three block journey over to the restaurant.

  I was late, of course, but that was the most normal part of the evening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Fisherman’s Wharf has been around since the 1940s. It sat beside the Galveston Cruise Terminal and the Texas Seaport Museum, which featured the Tall Ship Elissa. I’d been in Galveston for about a year now, and I still hadn’t toured the ship. It was closed at this hour, so I knew I wouldn’t be going there tonight. Some other time.

  If I lived long enough.

  The walk over left me in a melancholy mood. People kept trying to kill me. That’s a fast way to fuck up your day. If my father wanted me dead, he could just snap his fingers and liquefy me without a blender. Maybe this was another damn test. Maybe the test wasn’t for me specifically, but for the other Brett. If my twin wanted me dead, he could have had Gideon kill me at any point. Gideon had got me out of the danger zone.

  That cast doubt on the whole thing.

  Could it be the Council?

  Maybe the Ringo Twins were royally pissed and hired goons to kill me.

  Not likely.

  I strolled into the restaurant, and the hostess looked at me strangely.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m meeting my twin brother.”

  “Yes, sir. He’s already been seated.” She squinted at me. “Is that glass in your hair?”

  I started to turn, but she reached out and plucked a piece of the window from my flowing locks.

  “It certainly is,” she said.

  I leaned my head back and gave it a quick shake. A few more pieces of glass clattered on the tiled floor.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “That’s all right, sir. We’ll sweep it up. Are you okay?”

  “There’s no blood on the floor, so I can’t complain.”

  She gave me a polite smile. “Right this way, sir.”

  And she led me through the crowded restaurant to a table overlooking the bay. Lights from distant ships glowed across the water. The other me was studying the menu when we approached. He already had a fruity drink and it was half-gone.

  “Hello, other me,” I said when the hostess left.

  He lowered the menu and looked me up and down. “Even when you dress up, you look like a bum,” he said.

  “You’re a riot,” I said, and pulled out a chair so I could sit.

  “Waitress will be here in a minute,” he said. “Menu’s on the table.”

  I didn’t look at the menu. “What’s your deal?” I asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve got your fruity little drink, and your impeccably tailored suit. Not sure why you went with my hairstyle, though.”

  “Father insisted on the hair,” he said. “I would prefer to get it cut, and once I take the Council’s test, I’ll do just that.”

  “What the hell are you drinking?”

  “It’s called a White Sand-Gria. It has Moscato, peach, strawberry, and ginger-ale. It’s absolutely divine. Would you like one?”

  “I have a penis, so I’ll pass.”

  The waitress approached before he could come up with a response. “Welcome, sir,” she said to me. “
Can I start you off with a drink?”

  “I’ll take a Stella,” I said.

  “Very good, sir. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”

  She sauntered off and I opened the menu. “Tell me, oh great and wonderful twin,” I said. “Have you had an exciting day?”

  “I have indeed,” he said. “I practiced my craft and concentration in preparation for the test, and I had a wonderful massage at the spa. Then I sat in the hot tub for a while. And you?”

  “Not really,” I said, and stared at him over the menu to gauge his reaction.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps Father is giving us some time to catch up before the test.”

  “And he still hasn’t said when the test will take place?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Any chance it’s already started?”

  “Only if it includes how to accept a massage.”

  “Have you heard from Gideon?” I asked.

  “No, and he was supposed to text me when he dropped you off.”

  “Must have slipped his mind.”

  The waitress returned with my beer. “Are you ready to order?”

  We told her what we wanted to eat, and she moved off to relay that to the kitchen.

  “Did you do something to Gideon?” my double asked.

  “Why would I do something to him?”

  “Hmm,” he said, studying me.

  “What shall we talk about?” I asked.

  “Hang on,” he said and dug in his coat pocket. He pulled out his phone. “Text just came through.” He nodded and his thumbs tapped out a response. He dropped the phone back into his pocket. “Where were we?” he asked.

  “You were telling me more about Gideon, Dad, and the Council’s plan.”

  “No I wasn’t.”

  “You were about to,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I was going to ask how you’re feeling. You look tired, like you’re about ready to crumble to sand and wash out to sea.”

  “I just need another nap,” I said.

  “You and your naps,” he said. “Father explained those to me. He says you nap so much because you don’t have enough energy to get through a day. More proof your time is about up. We can walk you down to the bay right now if you’re ready to go.”

  “Lot of words in there,” I said.

  “You followed them. Surprisingly.”

  We were interrupted when the salads arrived. We ate. I tried a few times to prod him for information, but he just wanted to talk about the salad dressing.

  Then the main meal arrived. I will say this. Fisherman’s Wharf has some of the best seafood I’ve ever eaten. My doppelgänger was impressed, too. He paid the bill and gave the waitress a generous tip.

  He leaned back, dabbed his lips with his napkin, and gave me a smile. “Hold on,” he said and took out his phone again. “Another text.”

  “You’d better answer.”

  As he typed a reply, he said, “Would you care to join me for a drink over on the Strand?”

  “As long as you’re buying.”

  He put his phone away, tossed the napkin on his plate, and rose. “Then let’s get going. I’ll want to make a pit stop at the little boy’s room first, though.”

  We walked over to the restroom, where I waited outside watching waiters and waitresses taking and delivering orders while busboys cleared tables.

  After a while, I sighed. I entered the restroom and called out, “Did you fall in?”

  No response.

  The restroom was empty.

  The son of a bitch ditched me.

  Typical.

  I turned to leave and two large men blocked the exit. They had sharp teeth, and liked to display them. Mako Clansmen. I hated these guys.

  “Howdy, fellas,” I said. “Let me get out of your way.”

  They smiled at me, but didn’t speak.

  “You’re not going to bite me, are you?” I asked.

  They folded their arms and stood their ground.

  I started to move forward, but one of them put a hand on my chest and shoved me backward against one of the stalls.

  “Wait,” he said.

  A soft rap sounded on the door.

  “Enter,” one of the shark dudes said.

  A slender woman in an elegant evening gown slipped into the men’s room. Her gray hair was tied back in a bun, and while she didn’t sport a lot of wrinkles, she was clearly over sixty. “Mr. Masters,” she said and gave me a nod.

  “In the flesh,” I said.

  She stared at me a moment, then turned to the shark dudes. “Which one is he?”

  “He’s the extra.”

  “Where’s the real Mr. Masters?”

  “I’m right here,” I said.

  She shushed me.

  “He slipped out,” the shark dude said.

  “He’s avoiding me?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “Hey, lady,” I said.

  She glared at me. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

  “I don’t give a shit,” I said.

  She winced. “Don’t use profanity in my presence.”

  “Fuck you, lady.”

  “You want us to take him apart?” the main shark dude asked.

  “No. That’s not your job.”

  “What’s your job?” I asked.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  The main shark dude pulled on the handle to open the door, but it remained closed. He tugged harder. “It’s stuck.”

  The other shark dude tried to open the door.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked with a grin. “Can’t open a door?”

  The main shark dude moved toward me, but he ran into the shield I’d erected around myself. He tried to push through, but couldn’t.

  “Shark boys, you two can share a stall,” I said, pointing.

  “I think not,” the woman said.

  “Not your call. This is my rodeo, now. Get into a stall, boys.”

  The woman put a hand on the closest shark dude’s shoulder. “Wait by the door, Josh,” she said.

  “Josh is a shitty name for a Mako,” I said.

  “Who asked you?” Josh said.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I like the name Josh. Sounds like a nice guy. But a shark dude should have a tougher name. Something like Kelton or Raker.”

  “It’s all right, Josh, he’s trying to upset you,” the woman said. “I’ll handle this.”

  “No offense, lady, but you’re a little too old to handle me. I prefer my women younger than dirt.”

  “Is that supposed to be a sexual retort?” she asked.

  “You gonna report me to H.R.?”

  “I have great grandchildren older than you, Mr. Masters. I’ve been controlling men since before women were allowed to vote.”

  “Killer Queen from the Byzantine?”

  “I’m not that old,” she said, though she didn’t sound offended. “Do you know my name?”

  “Phyllis?”

  She shook her head. “I’m known primarily by my title. I am the Matriarch.”

  “I’ve heard of you.”

  “You may call me Mrs. Masters. I’m your great-great grandmother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Granny,” I said.

  “You will show me some respect, young man.”

  “You hire bodyguards who can’t even open a bathroom door.”

  She grinned and made a motion with one finger.

  The door swished open easily in spite of my spell.

  “So you were testing me.”

  “We’re always testing you.” She snapped her fingers and the two Mako Clansmen disappeared in twin puffs of smoke. “And I don’t need bodyguards.”

  She snapped her fingers again and we were no longer in the restroom. Instead, we stood on the deck of the Tall Ship Elissa.

  “We’re not supposed to be here,” I said, trying to cover my surprise. “It’s after hours.”

  “How about here?” sh
e asked.

  She didn’t bother to snap her fingers this time, but we suddenly appeared fifty feet in the air hovering over Galveston Channel.

  “I liked the ship better,” I said. “At least there I had something to stand on.”

  Blood filled my mouth, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold myself in the air. I hadn’t worked on that kind of magic. I could blow shit up and throw some energy around, but levitation was not in my limited wheelhouse.

  “Are you afraid?” she asked.

  “You going to send me to Davy Jones’ Locker?” I asked.

  “Are you afraid?” she repeated.

  “Should I be?”

  “It’s a long drop.”

  “Will being scared help me?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “You don’t matter that much to me, Brett. However, I’m impressed that you’ve made it this far. You’ve had a few attempts on your life in the past few days and yet, here you are.”

  “Hovering,” I said.

  “Don’t look down,” she said.

  “If I do, I’ll drop like Wile E. Coyote off a cliff?”

  A chill wind whipped through my hair. My toes pointed toward the water, and there was nothing to support me. I felt like a kite getting blown about up there.

  “There’s an important test going on,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be part of it.”

  “Then leave me out of it,” I said. “I’d be happy to go back to Fiji. Or I can go to Europe or New Zealand or Australia.”

  “There are rules. Brett is in violation of those rules. Your father was supposed to set the boundaries, and the test was to be carried out, but things have not gone the way they were scheduled.”

  I wanted to tell her that was a lot of words, but she might drop me in the Channel.

  “There are two of you,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “Which of you is the original?”

  I shrugged. “A week ago, I’d have said I was the one and only. Now, I’d like to buy a clue.”

  “You can’t afford a clue, young man.”