The Big-Ass Witch (The Half-Assed Wizard Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  About the Author

  THE BIG-ASS WITCH

  by Gary Jonas

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You’re late.”

  The lady bitching at me was a big-ass witch named Lakesha, and thanks to my father’s requirement that I report in to her a minimum of five days a week, I now stood in her bookstore a few blocks from the Strand. The place was called Something’s Brewing, which sounded more like a coffee shop.

  I pulled out my phone. It was 1:30. “Only by thirty minutes,” I said. “That’s not bad.”

  Lakesha slowly shook her head, sending her braided hair swinging back and forth. She wore a gold blouse and black slacks. Her hooped earrings jangled and bracelets danced around her wrists when she put her hands on her ample hips. “Don’t you go there, boy. You may think it’s not bad, but I’m telling you it’s unacceptable.”

  I yawned.

  “Am I boring you?” she asked. She spoke it like a challenge.

  I held up my hands. “It’s cool,” I said.

  “It’s not cool,” she said. “You think you can come in here on day one and disrespect me?”

  “I wasn’t disrespecting you,” I said.

  “You’re thirty minutes late. That means you don’t respect my time, and one thing I can’t abide is a pampered little rich boy who thinks the world waits on him.”

  “You lost me at late,” I said.

  “Get your lazy ass into the backroom. If a customer comes in, I don’t want the first thing they see to be your skinny little ass.”

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” I said, trying to extend an olive branch.

  Two rows of bookshelves filled the center of the room. The side walls had cabinets and shelves packed with knickknacks, candles, incense burners, and novelty items. My favorite was a tiny spray bottle labeled “Bitch-Be-Gone.” Behind the glass counter on the right-hand side of the store, a bank of labeled drawers held a variety of herbs and spices, though they weren’t for normal cooking, unless boiled “Tears of Job” were your thing.

  A beaded curtain stretched across a doorway leading to a back room. Most of the beads were a rich blue, but the golden pattern of a pentagram graced the center. The aroma of sandalwood permeated the store.

  “Move your ass,” she said.

  I shrugged and walked toward her. As I moved past her, she sniffed the air.

  “Do I smell ganja?”

  “I might have had a toke before coming over,” I said.

  “Not anymore you don’t. You’re done with that.”

  I snorted.

  “Don’t you get smart with me, boy.”

  “You going to turn me into a toad?”

  She reached out and pulled on my long hair.

  “Hey,” I said, though it didn’t hurt, and leaned away.

  She rubbed her fingers together. “You need to wash that mop, boy.”

  “Stop calling me boy,” I said. “I’m a grown man.”

  “Could have fooled me. Sit down at that table.” She pointed.

  “Bossy old bitch, aren’t you?”

  She smacked the back of my head.

  “Witch,” she corrected.

  The backroom held more bookshelves, and a small table with a deck of Tarot cards on top of a purple satin cloth. Two open-backed chairs stood at the table across from each other.

  I moved to sit in the far chair.

  She shook her head and pointed again. “That one,” she said. “I won’t have my back to the curtain.”

  “Whatever,” I said and moved to sit down.

  When I pulled out the chair, a black cat hissed at me.

  “A witch with a black cat? How cliché.”

  “Keep it up, boy.”

  I smiled. “You know I will.”

  The cat glared at me.

  “Move it, cat,” I said and went to push it out of the chair.

  The cat growled at me and slashed my hand. I pulled back and stared at the blood welling up from four thin red lines.

  “Little shit,” I said.

  “Her name is Isis.” Lakesha grinned.

  “You named her after a terrorist group?”

  “She’s named after an Egyptian goddess.”

  “She behaves like a terrorist,” I said.

  “Isis, hop down,” Lakesha said.

  The cat looked at her, then at me. She hopped down, moved off to the corner and licked my blood off her claws.

  “Got a bandage?”

  “You’ve got magic. Heal the wound, fool.”

  “I’m a guitarist, not a healer.”

  “Too bad, so sad. The blood is already there to use and you’re wasting it.”

  Time for a confession. “I don’t know how to heal.”

  “Then don’t tease the cat. Sit your ass down.”

  “I didn’t tease her.”

  “That’s not how she sees it. Isn’t that right, Isis?”

  The cat meowed.

  “Now, I want you to focus on closing the scratches,” Lakesha said.

  I was here to learn, and she was right, the blood was already there, so it couldn’t hurt to try. I focused on the wound, pictured it turning into normal unscratched skin. The blood danced on my hand and the scratches twisted, but did not close. I shook my head. “It’s not happening.”

  I held my left hand over my right to try and stem the bleeding, as I sat down. Lakesha sat across from me and the chair creaked as she settled her weight on it. I knew better than to crack a joke about that, though. She stared at me for a long time then wrinkled her nose as if she’d caught whiff of a nasty fart.

  “Has Sabrina started your training yet?” Lakesha asked.

  I looked off to the side at a tapestry hanging on the wall. It depicted a flowing river winding through a forest, and from the corner of my eye, the water seemed to be moving, but when I looked directly at it, the water seemed stationary. I turned away and it moved again. Straight on, it stopped.

  Lakesha snapped her fingers in front of my face.

  I turned to look at her. “What? Oh, no, Sabrina got called out of town for a few days, so she told me to see you first.” Sabrina Tenn was my cousin. She was a mid-level wizard and a pain in the ass.

  “When does she get back?”

  “What’s today?”

  “You don’t know what day it is?”

  I shrugged. “Thursday?”

  She shook her head. “Try again.”

  “Friday?”

  “One more try.”

  “It can’t be Saturday.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was supposed to meet a friend at the bar Friday night.”

  “Then you owe your friend an apo
logy.”

  I pulled out my phone and looked at it. Sure enough, it was Saturday. “What happened to Friday?”

  “You can’t even keep track of the days of the week.” She shook her head. “I’m going to tell your father the price has gone up.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because when he said you were special, I thought he meant gifted.”

  “He said I was special?”

  “You are special, boy. You rode in here on the short bus.”

  I shrugged. “Whatever. Sabrina will be back by Monday.”

  “Fine. Put your hand on the deck of cards.”

  I reached out with my left hand.

  She slapped it away.

  “Hey!” I said.

  “I don’t want your blood on my cards, boy.” She grinned. “More importantly, you don’t want your blood on my cards.”

  “If your damn cat hadn’t attacked me I wouldn’t be bleeding.”

  “If Isis judged you worthy, she wouldn’t have scratched you.”

  I glared at the cat, but Isis ignored me and licked her ass.

  Lakesha snapped her fingers again.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “You were thinking unkind thoughts about my cat.”

  “So now you can read minds?”

  “You’d best get to work on your poker face, boy.”

  “My name is Brett.”

  “I know your name, Brat.”

  “Brett.”

  “Same thing.”

  I wiped my hands on my pants. With the blood gone, I was surprised to see the scratches were gone, too. “Hey,” I said with a smile. “The magic worked.”

  “See? It’s not that difficult. Just a matter of focus. Shall I have Isis scratch you again?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Lakesha looked past me, her expression changing to puzzlement. She stood, but before she could move around the table, a kid pushed through the curtain of beads. Oddly, the beads didn’t move.

  The boy looked to be around eight years old. He wore a yellow shirt, brown shorts, and flip flops, and his finger was digging for gold in his right nostril.

  “That your son?” I asked.

  “This is Demetrius, and he stays with his aunt, who happens to be a friend.”

  Demetrius moved close to me, kept mining while looking from Lakesha to me. He looked to be the saddest kid I’d ever seen.

  “What seems to be the problem, little man?” I asked, turning in my chair.

  He shifted his sad eyes toward me, pulled his finger from his nose and wiped a booger on my shirt.

  “What the hell, kid?” I stared at the slimy snot streaking my shoulder. “This is a Red Hot Chili Peppers tour T-shirt.”

  “It still is,” Lakesha said. “Demetrius, how did you get here?”

  “Walked,” he said. His voice sounded hollow. “Auntie is gone.”

  Lakesha looked confused. “Where?” she asked. “How?”

  “Three people busted into the house and took her. Can you bring her back? I’m scared.”

  “A home invasion and abduction?” I asked. “Sounds like a job for the police.”

  “The police can’t help,” Lakesha said.

  “Of course they can. And if they can’t, they can call in the FBI or something.”

  Lakesha rolled her eyes. “You’re half-baked, and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know cops can handle abductions.”

  “Not this kind. Get up. Their house is a block over. We’re going to go check it out.”

  “You want to mess up a crime scene?” I pulled out my phone again. “Let’s just call nine-one-one.”

  She snatched the phone from my hand and tossed it on the floor behind her.

  I gave her a confused look.

  “No cops. Get up.”

  “Do I look like law enforcement to you?” I asked as I walked over to retrieve my phone. Isis growled at me when I leaned down.

  “You look like someone the cops busted for possession with intent. Let’s go. Demetrius needs our help.”

  “What he needs is a bath, a change of clothes, and some manners. And I need some tissue to wipe the snot off my shirt.”

  She sighed. “Demetrius, sweetie, what year were you born?”

  “Nineteen seventy-two.”

  I looked at the kid as I shoved my phone into the pocket of my jeans. “Oh, come on. He can’t be more than ten.”

  “Take a closer look at him.”

  “And get another booger wiped on me? I don’t think so.”

  “Demetrius, sweetie, can you turn around for me?” Lakesha asked.

  He nodded and turned. From the middle of his head down to his lower back was a massive gash. I’ll spare you the details, but I will say I’m glad I didn’t eat anything before going to Lakesha’s place.

  “Holy shit,” I said, leaning away.

  “His father sliced him open with a chainsaw, then killed his mama. Son of a bitch sliced off her head and took it with him. His Aunt Regina found the bodies. She killed herself a week later. Couldn’t live without her sister and nephew. Of course, her nephew was still there.”

  “So the kid’s a ghost?”

  “You’re a quick one, aren’t you?”.

  “So I have a ghost booger on my shirt?”

  “He’s frightened, so he’s manifesting.”

  “That doesn’t make the booger any more attractive.”

  “Your father put me in charge of you, Brett. He wants you to help people and it’s time you earned some of that money he sends you each month.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to help the living?”

  “The dead need help, too, boy.”

  “Wait a second. You said his aunt is dead too, right?”

  Lakesha nodded.

  “But you just said she was abducted.”

  She nodded again.

  “How do you abduct a ghost?”

  “With powerful magic. Still think the cops are suited for this?”

  “Maybe a ghost cop.”

  “Do you know any ghost cops?”

  “No.”

  “Then that suggestion isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.”

  “I see what you did there. But I’m not a ghost hunter.”

  “You are now,” she said and pointed to the snot on my shirt. “And you’ve got a head start on the job because you already got slimed.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The house Regina and Demetrius haunted stood in the center of the next block. It looked abandoned. It also looked creepy as hell. The houses on either side had fresh paint, while Demetrius’s place looked battered with broken hurricane shutters hanging off the windows, cracked glass, peeling sideboards, and a bent gutter. It was a little too easy to see a face on the house with the windows as eyes, the gutter swooping down to add anger, and the door as an open mouth screaming for blood.

  “They filmed a horror movie here once,” Demetrius said as he walked up the broken cement walkway leading to the building.

  Somehow that didn’t surprise me.

  I tried not to look at the gash in the kid’s back. He still looked solid, and as he jumped onto the porch, his flip flops slapped against the concrete. I tossed a look Lakesha’s way, but she gazed down the street at a couple of kids throwing a softball in the front yard a few houses down. An old woman sat in a rocking chair holding a glass of fresh lemonade.

  “You go on inside, Brat,” she said. “I’m going to talk to the neighbors.”

  “Brett,” I said.

  “Go on,” she said and moved toward the street.

  Demetrius waited for me on the porch. “Movie crew was here for a month,” he said.

  “Anyone famous in it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Ain’t seen a movie since I died, so I can’t say for sure.” He walked through the door into the house.

  It was like watching a movie when he stepped right through the solid wood.

  “You don’t see that eve
ry day,” I said and reached for the doorknob. It broke off in my hand. “Oops.” The doorjamb was splintered, so I pushed on it and the door swung open.

  Sunlight drew a rectangle into the dark house. Demetrius stood in the front room. The inside stank of mold. The floor was covered in dust except for boot prints moving in and out of the house. I studied the prints, but I couldn’t tell how many people might have crossed the floor. I went with three. I based that on different-sized prints, and on the fact that Demetrius had said there were three people. He might be dead, but I figured he could still count.

  I stepped into the house, expecting it to be hot, but the air inside felt so cold I got an immediate chill. The room felt like it was pressing in on me, and the thought that I’d just been swallowed by the house amplified the shiver.

  An old dust-covered chair sat rotting in the corner. A broken table leaned on the floor, two legs missing. Shards of glass littered the center of the room. Squatters and meth-heads had probably spent some time inside, too. Graffiti covered the walls. Some clown painted a bunch of cuss words on one wall, and another featured a giant dick with a line of piss raining down on the floorboards. Classy. On another wall someone spray-painted in blue, Julie and David forever. But the forever was crossed out, and in black paint beneath it was scrawled: guess I was wrong.

  A cardboard sign leaned in one corner. It read, Why lie? I need a beer! Dark spots stained the floor under the dust. They were rust colored, so they could have been blood. Then again, it could have been spray paint. I wasn’t a detective.

  “Is this where you spend your time, Demetrius?” I asked.

  He shook his head and pointed into the depths of the house. “I stay in my room. Want to see?”

  Judging by the state of the front room, I wasn’t too keen on seeing a dead kid’s bedroom.

  “Where was your aunt when the men broke in?” I asked.

  “With me in my room, like always. I’ll race you,” he said and darted down the hallway to the bedrooms.

  I walked over, glanced into the kitchen, which was beat to hell, and featured a grouping of butcher knives stabbed into one wall. I didn’t want to go in there, so I followed Demetrius down the hall. There were three bedrooms and a small bathroom. The first bedroom was closed off. I shoved the door open and peeked inside. A tree limb poked in through the broken window, spearing the wall. The room smelled like piss. With the mold and urine smells, I couldn’t decide whether to breathe through my nose or my mouth.