by Gary Jonas
“He’s pressed into the doorway to the bar.”
“Michael?” I called. “Can you tell me where these assholes are firing from?”
“The roof.”
“No shit. Where on the roof?”
Michael sighed. “I can’t tell that without stepping into the line of fire.”
“If you get shot, you’ll heal fast. If I get shot, I could die.”
“Getting shot still hurts.”
“Dying is worse.”
He sighed. “You’re going to have to buy me new clothes, Brett.”
“Fine.”
He stepped away from the door and bullets pounded into him. He winced and fell to the ground. Bullets slammed into his chest, sending splats of blood into the air. Some of it landed on me.
“Two guys,” Michael said between clenched teeth. “One on the rooftop next door, and one right above the bar.” He pointed. As he moved to point, a bullet obliterated his middle finger. “Fuck! I hope that will grow back.” He shook his hand, sending blood splattering on the concrete, then pointed to the bad guys.
I bit the inside of my cheek, tasted my blood, and called up my magic. I pushed upward with all the energy I could grab and sent the van sailing into the air. It flew toward the rooftop Michael had pointed to. I didn’t expect the van to hit either of the shooters. It was merely a distraction.
I focused my magic on the top of the bar’s roof as well as the next building. I shattered the upper stories of both buildings, throwing all the bricks and concrete hurtling into the air along with the assholes shooting at us.
What goes up, must come down, so I pushed an energy dome over me, Michael, and Gideon so the falling debris bounced off and hit the ground around us, but not on us.
The two shooters hit the ground headfirst. I’ll spare you the sound of their necks breaking.
When the dust settled, I let the dome fade away.
Michael stared at me. “I thought you were the Brett I knew from before.”
“I am,” I said, brushing myself off.
“That’s some seriously powerful magic you just used, and you’re not passing out.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I’m wondering if you’re the real Brett Masters.”
“Of course I’m the real Brett Masters.”
“Then why didn’t you use that magic to shield us all from the goddamn bullets from the start?”
“Because I didn’t think of it.”
“Figures.” He stared at his stump of a finger. “It’s not growing back.”
“Maybe it takes time.”
“Maybe I need to reattach my finger. Do you see it around here?”
A circle of debris surrounded us. Bricks, dust, bodies, chunks of concrete, shards of glass. Sirens sounded in the distance growing nearer, but nobody came outside to check on us.
“We’re not going to find your finger in this mess.”
“Fuck.”
“You already said that.”
“And I’ll say it again. How will I flip people off without it?”
“Use your other hand?”
He frowned. “Where’s the van?”
I pointed at what remained of the rooftops. The van, bashed and dented, stood upside down buried under a chimney.
Gideon shrugged. “The real Brett Masters could get that van down here and restore it before it floated gently to the ground.”
“I’ll try,” I said. I reopened my wound, and channeled my energy. The van shifted and more bricks poured in a mini-avalanche toward us. They rained on the ground, breaking apart and sending up a wave of dust and smoke.
“Oops,” I said. “I’ll try that again.”
But before I could refocus, the van slid out from its precarious perch and tumbled toward us.
“Shit!” I said and jumped backward. Gideon was right behind me, so I smacked into him and we both went over.
The van crashed on the ground, a few feet from Michael, rolled over, and settled on its side, metal crunching and bending, glass shattering.
Michael sat up and stared at me. “That went well,” he said.
“At least we’re alive.”
“The real Brett Masters could have done it properly,” Gideon said.
“Who asked you?” I said.
“Can you right the van?” Michael asked.
“It’s not drivable,” I said.
“Even with your magic?”
“The real Brett Masters could fix it,” Gideon said.
“Could you shut up?” I asked.
“The real Brett Masters could make me shut up.”
I smiled at him, pointed, and sealed his mouth closed with a simple gesture.
“Mmmmm mmmmm,” he said, eyes wide.
I kept the smile going. “You don’t have your golden ring.”
The sirens were almost on us now. I pointed at an exit door to the building next to the bar. If anyone else was after us, I didn’t want to lead them to Sabrina or any of the people in the bar. The buildings might not have an upper story right now, but the lower levels were intact. We raced over. The door opened at my magical insistence, and we slipped inside, closing the door right before the authorities screeched to a halt in the alley.
One thing I didn’t want to do was explain any of this shit to cops or paramedics.
“I want my finger,” Michael said.
“Mmmm mmm mmm,” Gideon said.
“I think Gideon wants you to finger him,” I said.
They both looked at me like I was a total asshole. But I was just a part-time asshole. Being a full-time asshole would take too much work.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We found ourselves in the back room of a gift shop. A pallet of boxes wrapped with clear plastic stood slightly illuminated by a soft light from an open office door.
“Is someone in here?” Michael asked.
“Mmm,” Gideon said.
I released the magic and his mouth returned to normal.
“Thanks, asshole,” Gideon said. “As for someone being in here. At this hour? Unlikely.”
I felt a bit dizzy and braced myself on the pallet. I peeked around the side. I could see a desk and chair in the office. The desk was covered with stacks of paper, a tape gun, and some pens. An adrenaline crash hit me hard, and I needed to sit down. I went into the office and plopped into the chair.
The office was empty. The last person out must have forgotten to turn out the light.
“What are you doing?” Michael asked, stepping into the office. He leaned against the wall, which was covered with a big cork board with flyers and print-outs tacked to it.
“I need to rest,” I said.
“Here?”
“Dude, I’m not used to people shooting at me.”
“And I am?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve been shot at before,” Gideon said, standing in the doorway. “I won’t say you get used to it, but I can tell you most people who get shot don’t die. Well, they all die, but not from the gunshot wounds. Okay, some do, but most don’t.”
“I think we understand,” I said. “You guys might want to sit down because I feel a nap coming on.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Michael said, staring at his hand. It looked weird without a middle finger.
The view was fascinating, but my eyes were heavy, and closing.
“He worked a lot of magic,” Gideon said.
“And he had a bit of excitement,” Michael said. “At least he didn’t panic.”
“Would you guys shut up? I’m trying to nap here.”
Michael leaned over the desk and clapped his hands in front of my face.
My eyes snapped open. “Jesus!” I said.
“Rise and shine, Brett. We need to go.”
“Why?”
“How about because there are two bodies in the alley?”
“Shit,” I said. “The cops will check the registration on the van. It’s Chuck’s van and it’s defini
tely fubar.”
“They have no reason to suspect Chuck of anything. His van may be out there, but it’s so battered, they might just think it was parked in the alley when the building blew up.”
“Shattered is a better word,” Gideon said.
“Whatever. Same difference. Chuck has insurance.”
“Think it covers bricks raining from the sky?”
“They might call it an Act of God,” Michael said.
“Act of Brett,” Gideon said with a grin.
“Don’t give him delusions of grandeur,” Michael said.
I pushed myself to my feet. “If you assholes are going to keep yapping, I give up on the damn nap.”
“You’re mighty calm for having just faced a life-threatening ordeal.”
“Whatever,” I said. He was right, but I didn’t give it much thought.
“We’ll go out the front door,” Gideon said. “You can lock it with magic.”
“So I have to bite myself again?”
Michael laughed.
“What?”
“Sorry, that just struck me as funny. Biting yourself.” And he laughed again.
“Dude, it’s not funny.”
“What’s not funny is that I lost a finger.”
“Maybe it will grow back when you feed.”
“I doubt it. How will I play bass without my damn finger?”
“Rick Allen from Def Leppard plays drums with one arm. I’m willing to bet you can get by with nine fingers.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“At least you weren’t hit by a train.”
“You need to help me regenerate my damn finger.”
“I don’t know how to manipulate living flesh. I can blow shit up, throw shit around, block shit, maybe conjure some shit, but I can’t make living tissue.”
“Not sure I followed all that,” Michael said, grinning at me. “That was a lot of words.”
“Blow me.”
“Children,” Gideon said. “We should get out of here while we can. The front door is clear.”
We followed him outside. I magically locked the door, and we strolled down the crowded sidewalk like we belonged there.
We stopped at a red light.
Chuck’s battered white van pulled to a stop at the light and the passenger window rolled down. Sabrina leaned over. “You idiots need a ride?”
“How did you…?” I asked.
“Get in.”
We piled into the van.
Michael and I climbed in back, and Gideon rode shotgun. Sabrina looked at us like we were idiots.
“You could have followed me into the bar.”
“There wasn’t time,” I said.
“Yes there was.” She pointed at Gideon. “This one kept you outside.”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Gideon said.
“Or you were thinking clearly and wanted Brett to get shot and killed.” The light changed and she stepped on the accelerator, taking us through downtown Austin.
“It’s my job to protect him.”
“Right. You saw me go into the bar. There was plenty of time for everyone to get inside. And you chose not to. And Michael, you chose to stay outside, too.”
“It cost me a finger,” Michael said.
“Who put you up to it?”
“I beg your pardon?” Michael said.
“Not you,” Sabrina said to Michael. She pointed at Gideon. “You.”
“My job is to keep Brett alive.”
She turned a corner and weaved through traffic. “By putting him in the line of fire of multiple gunmen?”
“I thought they’d be in the car.”
“So you knew they were coming.”
“Of course I knew they were coming,” Gideon said.
“Wait,” I said. “What?” I was tired, but that caught my attention.
“I told you they were coming. I wanted to keep you safe. If we’d followed Sabrina into the bar, the gunmen still would have come for you, only they’d have been shooting civilians.”
“That was a lot of words,” I said, frowning. “But I’m a civilian.”
“You’re an idiot,” Sabrina said.
“Were you trying to get me killed, Gideon?”
“Of course not. But I had to let them attack.”
“Why?”
“To see if you’re worth protecting.”
“So it was another test?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“That test could have gotten me killed.”
“That test cost me a finger,” Michael said.
“That test,” Sabrina said, “proves you’re all morons. When someone opens the door to safety, you go inside.”
“And risk more lives?” Gideon asked.
“If we knew they were coming, we could have magically blockaded the door.”
“And that wouldn’t tell me what I needed to know.”
“Brett?” Sabrina asked.
“What?”
“Do you want me to dump this asshole at the next light?”
“Before you make that determination,” Gideon said, “allow me to point out that we’re all alive, and you passed the test with flying colors.”
“I lost my favorite finger,” Michael said.
“Gideon, are you going to put me in harm’s way again?”
“Not tonight.”
“Ever?”
“Of course I will. You’ve got a battle coming up. The Council will keep taking shots at you until you or the other Brett passes the Matriarch’s test.”
“Are they trying to kill him too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they believe he’s the real McCoy. You’re the copy.”
“Again with that shit? I’m the real me.”
Sabrina shook her head. “I’m not even going to pretend I understand this.”
“There can be only one,” Gideon said.
I laughed without humor. “And now you’re throwing Highlander quotes at me?”
“I love the first movie.”
“Me, too.”
“The second was an abomination.”
“He can stay in the car,” I said.
“Why?” Sabrina asked.
“Because he has good taste in movies.”
Thirty minutes later, we were back at the hotel.
I bid everyone farewell, and went to my room. I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights or take off my clothes before falling onto the bed. I was so tired, I could have gone to sleep on my feet.
That said, I really should have turned on the light because I didn’t have a soft landing on a nice, comfy bed.
Nope. I landed on a body.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Ow!” a pleasant female voice said.
I rolled off of her and fell off the damn bed. The floor was farther away than I expected and I hit hard, knocking the wind out of myself.
“Oof!” I said.
“Where did he go?” another female asked.
Two women in my bed? Now I really wanted the light to be on.
I picked myself up off the floor, and waved my hands around in the darkness toward the nightstand. I found the lamp, clicked it on.
Melissa and Rhonda Ringo were both in my bed under the covers.
“Hey there, big boy,” Rhonda said.
Melissa sat up. She wore a black lace negligee. Rhonda wore a matching negligee, only hers was red. Good golly, Miss Molly, they looked hot as a pair of habanero peppers.
“Hey there yourself,” I said. “What brings you to my bed? Is it time for a Brett sandwich?”
“That depends,” Melissa said.
“On?”
“Whether or not you think you can handle us.”
“I’m willing to give it the old college try.”
“You didn’t go to college.”
“Why does everyone say that to me?”
“Because it’s true?”
“That’s beside the point.
”
Melissa lowered the covers to her waist and ran a hand down through her hair, giving it a casual flip, then caressed her neck, chest, and slid her hand down her stomach.
“Want me to go further?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“I want to go further,” I said.
“We talked to the other Brett,” she said. “He insists he’s the real Brett Masters and you’re the doppelgänger.”
“Which one are you supposed to sleep with?” I asked.
“Neither.”
“Let me rephrase that. Which one are you willing to sleep with?”
“Neither.”
“What about you, Rhonda?” I asked.
“Same answer. We’re not here to sleep with you, Brett.”
“So you got into some lingerie and climbed into my bed to what, frustrate me?”
They both smiled. “We thought you might appreciate the view.”
“Oh, I do. But the whole ‘look but don’t touch’ thing doesn’t appeal to me.”
“We’d be happy to touch you, Brett.”
“If you mean giving me another Vulcan nerve pinch, I’ll pass. If you mean caress me and massage me, and kiss me, and give me a happy ending, I’m all about that.”
They looked at each other and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“We’re the ones who want a happy ending.”
“Oh, I can give you a happy ending,” I said, and wriggled my eyebrows.
“Not that kind of happy ending, silly.”
“What other kind is there?”
“The kind where we destroy you and level up to a higher rank in the organization, of course.”
“We’ve been through this,” I said. “You can’t destroy me.”
“Oh, we’re just the distraction,” Rhonda said.
As she spoke, she and Melissa slid the straps of their negligees off their shoulders and let the material drop to reveal their beautiful, perfect breasts.
I bit my cheek, drawing blood, as I stared in wide wonder. As I gazed upon them, I erected a shield around myself. Sorry about the word choice, but they were very nice breasts and the girls moved from side to side to make them jiggle in a wonderful way, and, well, I’m a guy.
Something clanged on the shield I’d set around myself. I didn’t bother to check because those breasts still had my full attention.
“Take another swing, whoever you are. And ladies, keep those titties out. They’re amazing.”