by Gary Jonas
“Even if I survive tomorrow?”
“You won’t be the one who lives, Brett. Go on and leave town while you can. I’ll toss a million bucks in your account and you can live off the interest. That plus whatever your stupid song is bringing in should get you through just fine.”
“Tell mother I love her,” I said.
He laughed.
“I’m serious, Dad.”
“The other you is her son now, kid. Get lost.”
And the line went dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When I tossed Rhonda’s phone onto the dresser, it slid and knocked Gideon’s golden ring onto the floor. I bent and picked it up. It felt warm to the touch.
I examined it. The entire ring was gold, of course, and while there were markings on the side, they didn’t mean anything. They were simply lines. The top was smooth, but had a ridge around the edge.
With a thumbnail, I hooked the bottom of the ridge and lifted. The top of the ring popped open.
I sighed. This was some Dick Tracy shit.
Inside the top of the ring was a small device. I tipped the ring to dump the tracker into my palm. I stared at it. Was it also a bug? Hell, there was blood magic involved, and it had my blood to power it, so it could easily be a bug as well as a tracker.
Sneaky little bastard. All that shit about ninety-four feet was mostly to throw me off. He wanted me to have the ring so he could keep track of me.
Or was it so the bad guys could keep track of me? Except that I didn’t keep the ring with me.
But Gideon was either there, or he was close enough to know where I was whenever people showed up to attack me, so he didn’t need to track me there. But he could have had the Ringo Twins zero in on it to find my room in Austin.
I slipped the device back into the Dick Tracy ring and set it on the dresser beside the phone.
If it was a tracker, they could trace to me here in Galveston, too. I didn’t want it near me. But I didn’t want to tip Gideon off that I knew about it. And I really had liked him, too. Now I wondered if his story about the voodoo doll was bullshit. He could have been reeling me in. And the Tarot tattoo warned me to be wary of him. Stupid cards could have been more clear.
But I guess it’s not like they would have a card that said, “Don’t trust Gideon.” So telling me to be wary was pretty much the same thing. Maybe I should pay more attention to them.
I looked at the tattoo. I thought a question at it. I meant to ask if I should leave, but a more powerful thought overtook it. What should I do? I shook my arm and the Tarot card shifted to the Chariot. I frowned.
I could take that as move forward, of course, because a chariot is used to travel. I could also take it as building combined powers. Like I’d want to combine anything with Gideon. Unless it meant something more. Gideon had other rings. How many of them drank of my blood?
“Shit,” I said. For all I knew, he could work me over with some serious shit. He could have the other rings call bad guys whenever I’m nearby.
But he helped me get away.
Maybe he didn’t want me to die, but if the Council’s attackers did manage to kill me, it wouldn’t be a big deal because the other Brett would still be all right.
I didn’t know.
The Chariot card had other meanings, too. It was about life and balance.
My questions about leaving and about what I should do could be simplified with the obvious answer of changing locations.
I hated the damn Tarot. Answers only fit after you knew what happened. Confirmation bias in action.
According to my old man, this would all be over tomorrow night. Tonight I needed to sleep. And if the ring was a tracker, I needed to put some distance between us.
I grabbed my phone, shoved it in my pocket, and gathered up a few things to stuff in my overnight bag. I left my bigger suitcase in the room.
It was time to relocate.
I slipped out of the room, took the stairs to the ground level, and ducked out a side door into the night.
A few blocks away, I called an Uber to get a ride to another hotel several miles away.
I checked into a new room.
Without the ring near me, I would be off the radar.
That night, I slept well.
It was about time something went right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I woke up at noon, and looked at the clock. “Too early,” I said, and went back to sleep.
I woke up at one, and looked at the clock.
“Still too early.”
And at two.
“Oh, all right,” I said, and rolled out of bed. I staggered into the bathroom, took a piss, and made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror before I’d had coffee.
The coffee I made after that wasn’t very good, but it helped to wake me up. A shower took care of the rest.
Finally, I checked my phone. Six text messages.
One was from Gideon.
Meet me in the parking lot of Moody Gardens in front of the blue pyramid—11:00 pm.
The other texts were from the other me.
Are you awake? This is Brett. The real Brett.
Sabrina says you like to sleep in.
Where the hell are you?
Call me.
WTF?
I also had five missed calls, all from the other me.
I clicked the ringer on, but didn’t bother to return any of the texts or calls. Instead, I got dressed, and went to lunch at a place called Miller’s Seawall Grill.
The fried shrimp was delicious. As I ate, I realized it might be my last meal. If so, I had no regrets.
After the meal, I walked across the street to the beach. I kicked off my shoes and waded into the Gulf. As the waves rolled in, the sand shifted under my feet. It seemed my life had been shifting the same way since I’d returned to Galveston.
A seagull soared over the water, and I wished I could be that free. The bird arced around, then dove and snagged a fish from the sea.
What did I want? Not a fish, of course. I’d just eaten. But I had to want something more than a nap. I waded deeper into the water. A fish bumped against my leg then swam away. It occurred to me that I was just an obstacle to others. I stood in the way without making any real difference. People bumped into me like that fish, then went on with their lives unaffected.
I didn’t want to engage with life because as long as I didn’t, I couldn’t fail at anything. I took few chances, and only acted when I was forced. In spite of the other Brett saying I might be in danger, I didn’t take him seriously. I just took his money because it seemed like the thing to do.
When the Ringo Twins came onto me, I went with them because they were hot, and I try not to turn down hot women even if they’re dangerous. And they are usually dangerous, truth be told. Hot women tend to have jealous boyfriends or husbands. In the old days, those were my riskiest plays, and they were worth it for the immediate gratification.
A wave splashed over my head, and I stopped walking. I was shoulder deep in the sea. What was I doing?
Another wave crashed into my face.
I backed up a few steps until I was waist deep.
When I turned around to look back to shore, I was farther out than I realized. A few people stared at me from the shore, probably wondering why some dude thought it was a good idea to walk into the ocean in his clothes.
The horizon called out to me, and I spun to face the water stretching away to a few ships and then across the Gulf. Maybe I could get a raft and float all the way to Florida then look back toward Texas and see nothing. All my troubles left behind.
The other Brett could take his stupid test, sign that stupid accord and become a stupid wizard. What difference did it make?
Everyone preferred him anyway.
If I walked away now, no one would care. Hell, odds were good no one would even look for me. Maybe the other Brett was right. Maybe I’d crumble to sand and be washed out to sea and spread around on the ocean
floor, leaving the world as I found it.
No worse for wear.
No better.
No worse.
And my life would be meaningless.
And I’d be forgotten.
And the other Brett could go make a difference somehow.
It would be easy to just walk into the sea, let the Gulf swallow me up. I didn’t need a raft. I could be shark food. No one would notice.
Or I could go meet Gideon at Moody Gardens tonight. Kick the shit out of the other Brett, take the damn test myself, and become a full-fledged wizard.
Who was I kidding?
I could get in my car, drive to Colorado, get a job in a dispensary and smoke my life away.
I could go to Nashville, use my magic pick to get a job playing with a band.
I could fly to London. I could go to France or Italy or the Bahamas. I could do whatever the hell I wanted.
But what the hell did I want?
One thing was certain. I wasn’t going to find an answer standing waist-deep in the Gulf of Mexico.
I walked out of the water, reached into my pocket, and pulled out my phone.
Salt water and iPhones don’t go well together. The screen wouldn’t power on.
A little kid laughed at me and pointed. “You took your phone in the water? You’re retarded.”
“Thanks, kid,” I said.
Well, if nothing else, I managed to amuse a child.
As I walked toward the stairs that led up the seawall, I tossed my phone in one of the many trash cans. I could always buy another if I survived the night.
My shoes were where I’d left them near the stairs. I grabbed them, but didn’t bother to put them on. Instead, I carried them up the stairs. There was a bench with drawings on it relating facts about the way dolphins accompanied ferries across Galveston Bay. I sat on a dolphin and watched traffic drive by.
The wind picked up and chilled me.
It was time to go back to the hotel for a shower and a change of clothes.
Bigger decisions could wait.
I got up, walked to a crosswalk and waited for the light to change.
A limousine pulled up and stopped in the middle of the crosswalk right in front of me. A window buzzed down. Gideon leaned over.
“Brett?”
“Gideon?”
“Get in,” he said.
“Okay.”
And I did.
He drove down Seawall.
“You’re getting my seat wet,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“You smell like salt water.”
“You smell like Old Spice.”
He laughed. “I was surprised to see you.”
“You weren’t looking for me?”
“Nope. Just going to see a friend about a gun.”
“You planning to shoot me?”
“Do you want me to shoot you?”
“Not especially.”
“Then I won’t shoot you.”
“You going to ask me why I’m all wet?”
He shook his head. “None of my business.”
“I walked into the Gulf.”
“Okay.”
“You were looking for me, right?” I asked.
“No.”
“A little coincidental for you to find me.”
“My friend lives off 8th Street and Seawall, so I had to come this way.”
“Right.”
“You want me to drop you somewhere?” he asked.
“Let’s go to your friend’s house. Get that gun.”
He stopped at a light and turned to look at me. A grin split his face. “All right, you got me. I was looking for you, but I didn’t expect to find you.”
“You tracked me.”
“How? You have my ring.”
“You went to my hotel, didn’t you?”
He shrugged.
“I found the tracker inside the ring.”
“Which means I couldn’t have tracked you out here.”
“I don’t think that tracker even worked. I think you were using blood magic to find me.”
“Even if that were true, you don’t have that ring on you.”
“True. But you have other rings, and I suspect they work like homing beacons, drawing you to me by finding my blood signature after you stabbed me. You wanted me to think you couldn’t find me, but you drew my blood with your stupid needles, and now you can track me anywhere I go.”
“Lots of words for you, Brett.”
“I can use more than six words when I need to.”
“You’re not as slow as I thought.”
“Shoot straight with me, Gideon.”
The light changed and he started driving again. He changed lanes and signaled to turn left at the next light.
“Sure,” he said.
“Not with a gun.”
He laughed. “I ain’t gonna shoot you, man.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“To make sure you’re at the pyramid tonight.”
“Why?”
“The truth?”
“If you don’t mind,” I said.
He made the turn, wheeled over to the curb, and turned to face me. “You didn’t return any of my Brett’s calls.”
“What do you care?”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“Hit me with it anyway.”
He gave me a shrug. “I’m supposed to make sure you’re the Brett who dies tonight.”
“Just not by shooting me.”
“That’s right. You have to die taking the test. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“I kinda like you, Brett.”
“That’s a new one.”
“You’ve got spunk. The other Brett talks a good game, but he’s a coward. Kinda rubs me wrong, but there you go. He knew things were escalating when you came back, so he put you in the line of fire because he was afraid he might get killed.”
“He was up front about it.”
“Yeah, he wanted you to have a heads up.”
“Did he tell you to tell me all this?”
“No, but he didn’t tell me not to.”
“Give me the rest of it, Gideon.”
“He can’t pass the test.”
“So he wants me to pass the test for him?”
Gideon laughed. “You can’t pass the test either.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You can do some magic, and danger doesn’t scare you after the fact the way it does him. But he’s smarter and can do a lot more magic than you, and he’s got a way with people you ain’t got.”
“So?”
“People like him.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“He cares about them.”
“And I don’t?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The other Brett shows that he cares. He pays attention. You’re more self-centered. It’s all about you for the most part. I mean, you have your moments, but mostly, you put yourself first.”
“So does he.”
“But he doesn’t seem to.”
“Cut to the chase.”
“I’m getting there, but I’m trying to break it down so you understand.”
“What if I give you more than six words?”
“Are you sure you can you follow?”
“I’ll concentrate real hard.”
“It’s simple, man. To pass the test is gonna take skillsets each of you have that the other doesn’t. But only one Brett will be able to advance.”
“So why can’t I help him then step aside?”
He shook his head. “I wish it could be that way, Brett. I really do.”
I nodded. “So one of us has to die.”
“Or both of you have to die.”
“One or both?”
“Can’t have two of you running around.”
“So I’ve been told. Why not?”
“Because you keep thinking one of you is the real Bre
tt Masters, which means the other has to be a fake. The truth is that neither one of you is fake.”
My confused look made him laugh.
“Can’t give this to you in six words, m’man. You’re both part of the one real Brett Masters. Your father divided you in two when you gave up on trying to learn magic.”
“No way.”
“Yes way. I’ve been looking after my Brett for damn near fifteen years. Big difference is that he knew you existed, but you didn’t know about him.”
“You’re messing with my head.”
“I don’t want both of you to die, so I’m asking you for a favor.”
“You want me to volunteer to die?”
“Help him pass the test. Danger scares the shit out of him, but it doesn’t bother you.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because you don’t give a shit.”
“Sure I do.”
“Not really. You’re too lazy to care about life and death situations the way he does.”
“You think danger doesn’t scare me?”
“That’s not what I said. After it’s over, you don’t fret about it. When the other Brett faces something dangerous, he freaks out about it after the fact. You figure it’s over, so why worry.”
“Well, yeah. Waste of time to worry after you’ve lived through something.”
“Exactly. Your laziness helps you there. You’d rather take a nap than worry.”
“True enough.”
“Unfortunately, you’re also too lazy to take action unless you’re forced into it.”
“And that means I have to die?”
“Don’t think of it like that.”
“There’s another way to think about it?”
“Just get him through the dangerous part, and once the final section comes along where the magic matters, let him take your magic into him. Your magic is actually stronger, but you can’t control it. He knows how to use it because he’s spent his life learning.”
“Why can’t he give his knowledge to me?”
“Because knowledge requires years of study so it doesn’t transfer. But basic magic does. He’s worked out a spell to draw the magic from your blood. It will come through the Tarot tattoo where the blood price for magic has been paid, and has the added benefit of ancestor blood to power it. He can draw it out so it will flow into him, but you have to give the last of it freely or it won’t work.”