The Lame-Assed Doppelganger Read online

  She answered on the third ring. “You’ve reached Lakesha, but she doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” I said.

  “I could hang up.”

  “I hope you don’t do that,” I said.

  “Which Brett is this?”

  “You called me a demon, but we faced a demon together, so you know better.”

  “You sure seem like a nuisance demon to me.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “That’s not how it’s intended.”

  “Regardless, you know I’m really me.”

  “The other Brett came to see me yesterday,” she said. “He told me what was going on.”

  “I know you like him better.”

  “I do,” she said.

  “You don’t have to be so quick to agree.”

  “But it’s true. He’s more thoughtful than you are. He’s nice to Isis. He’s nice to Demetrius.”

  Demetrius was a ghost who lived down the block from Lakesha’s store. Nice kid who died young. But the kid liked Sabrina and Michael way more than he liked me.

  I was beginning to sense a pattern.

  “I was in Fiji,” I said. “Kinda hard to bring Demetrius comic books when I’m out of the country.”

  “The other Brett found time to do so.”

  “All of that should be proof that I’m the real me.”

  “He’s the better Brett.”

  “He’s the boring Brett.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I need your help. Someone’s trying to kill me. I guess they might be trying to kill the other Brett. Hell, they might be trying to kill both of us.”

  “As I understand it,” Lakesha said, “you’re not even real.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “How so?”

  “You’ve seen me bleed. Your damn cat has drawn more of my blood than any doctor or nurse I’ve had to deal with.”

  “Isis likes scratching you.”

  “I don’t like being scratched, but you’ve seen me bleed. You’ve seen me heal. You’ve seen me face magical beings.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “If I was fake, could I do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re supposed to say no.”

  She chuckled. “Your father has great magic.”

  “My father has great wealth.”

  “That too.”

  “You’re still on auto-pay, right?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You really think he’ll keep paying you if the other Brett becomes the only Brett?”

  Silence.

  “Are you there?” I asked. “Did you hit mute?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Do you want to keep getting paid?”

  More silence.

  “Lakesha?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Think how much harder it will be to pay the bills if my old man isn’t sending you money every month.”

  “I won’t lie. It’s been helpful.”

  “And if I’m gone, that will go away.”

  “It hasn’t so far.”

  “And that’s how you know I’m the real me. If the other Brett was the real me, my father wouldn’t have kept paying you.”

  “To him it’s nothing,” Lakesha said.

  “He’s rich. You know how rich people stay rich? They don’t waste money. He would not keep paying you if I wasn’t the real me. He knows he might still need you to work with me. Otherwise, you’d be off the payroll.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you taught anything to the other Brett?”

  “No. He’s stopped by to chat and to check on Isis.”

  “Of course he has. He’s the perfect little shit.”

  “We like him.”

  “And you hate me.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “But you don’t like me.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I told you. I need your help. I need to know who’s trying to kill me. Or if they’re after the other Brett instead of me. Or both of us, of course.”

  “I guess that makes sense. If they don’t know which is the real you, why not kill both of you?”

  “Has anyone tried to kill the other me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll be back in Galveston tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll swing by the store before closing time.”

  “Maybe I’ll close early.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s a great way to avoid you.”

  “Ha ha,” I said.

  “You think I’m kidding,” she said. It was not a question. And then she hung up on me.

  It was nice to be loved.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The other me was waiting at my hotel when I got back to Galveston. He was stretched out on the bed with headphones listening to music.

  “How’d you get in here?” I asked when I entered the room.

  His eyes were closed and he didn’t respond.

  I dropped my suitcase on the floor, walked over to the bed and pushed against his leg.

  He opened his eyes, smiled, and removed the headphones. The sound of Taylor Swift singing “Blank Space” assaulted my ears.

  “Hello, Brett the Copy,” Brett said.

  “Are you gay?” I asked.

  “If it’s you and me, it’s more like masturbation,” he said. “Want to play?”

  “I was referring to the fact that you’re listening to Taylor Swift.”

  “Like you don’t?”

  “Dude, you’re the blank space.”

  “You’re the one who knew the name of the song.”

  “You did too.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I was listening to it. My point is that you knew it, too.”

  “Not by choice.”

  “It’s on your iTunes playlist.”

  I pointed at him. “It’s on your playlist.”

  “Same thing, right?”

  “Enough with the bullshit,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “This is my room,” he said.

  “Um. No. It’s my room.”

  “I paid for it.”

  I put my palm up to tell him to stop. “Answer my question.”

  “Which one? Oh, I’ll answer all of them. You asked how I got in here. The answer is through the door. You asked if I was gay, and the answer is not really, though I might make an exception where you and I are concerned because it wouldn’t count, and I like new experiences. Finally, you asked what I was doing here, and the answer is: I was listening to Taylor Swift.”

  “Blank Space” ended and “Style” began, which meant he was actually listening to the 1989 album. I rolled my eyes, then wondered how I knew the names of the songs. I’d never listened to the album, though I’d heard the hits, so he must have magicked the info into my head. And now I was using magic as a verb. Great.

  “You’re not funny,” I said.

  “I’m at least as funny as you. We are one, grasshopper.”

  I shook my head, but the Taylor Swift knowledge remained in place. Why the hell would I ever need to know that the first song she learned to play on the guitar was “Cowboy Take Me Away” by the Dixie Chicks?

  “Cut it out,” I said.

  “Cut what out?” he asked, acting all innocent.

  “The Taylor Swift trivia.”

  Why?”

  “Because it’s mean?”

  He grinned. “Cute.”

  I sighed, and changed the subject. “Is someone trying to kill you, me, or both of us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it kinda does.”

  He shrugged. “Probably me, though it could be you since you’re not as well-liked as I am.”

  “You don’t seem too concerned.”
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  His expression shifted, and I realized he might actually be concerned, but he hid the worry quickly. “We’re both alive,” he said.

  “No thanks to the snipers.”

  He glanced toward the window, but the curtains were closed. “They couldn’t have been real snipers. You’re still alive. Real snipers would have taken you out.”

  “They were real enough.”

  “As real as you?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Are you feeling like you’re about to crumble to sand yet?”

  “Why would I feel that way?”

  “Because I removed the spell to keep you together.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You never cast that spell.”

  “Sure I did. Why else would you have been in one piece?”

  “Because I’m the real me.”

  He shook his head. “Still thinking that in spite of all the evidence to the contrary? Brett, my boy, I’m the real Brett Masters. I studied magic in secret while Dad had you out here to distract the Council.” He rolled up his left sleeve. “The proof is in the tattoo.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything except you got a tattoo.”

  “It says I’m genuine.”

  “It could just as easily say, Born to be Mild.”

  “Better than Born to be Mildew.”

  “Mold would be funnier. You can’t even do humor correctly. Is Dad trying to kill me?”

  “Are you dead?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then he’s not trying to kill you.”

  “Then who is? The Matriarch? Gideon?”

  “Why ask me?”

  “Because you sent me to take your place for the shows where there were attempts on my life.”

  He tilted his head. “By that reasoning, they were trying to kill me, not you.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep me from taking the test?”

  “When is that test?”

  “Whenever Dad approves it.”

  “Can you turn off the Taylor Swift now?”

  He grinned, but turned the music off. “Better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Before you ask, Father hasn’t told me when I can take the test. I think he was waiting until the beginning of the full moon, but that’s just a guess.”

  “Why would he wait for the full moon?”

  “Because one part of the test is to use magic to cure a werewolf.”

  “Bullshit,” I said.

  “What do you think the test consists of?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Then you don’t know it doesn’t include curing a werewolf.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing the test would have.”

  “Exactly. That’s why it’s part of the test. Who would think to prepare for that?”

  “You?” I asked.

  “Father told me it was part of the test.”

  “He hasn’t told me diddly,” I said.

  “Because you’re not his real son. You’re a placeholder. You’re a distraction. You’re a blank space.”

  “Cute.”

  “Taylor Swift is welcome at my place anytime,” he said.

  “And if I turn you into a pile of sand?”

  He spread his arms. “Go for it, Brett. Take your best shot.”

  “I’d rather take a nap,” I said.

  “That would make you late to see Lakesha.” He smiled. “Yes, she told me you called her.”

  “I don’t care about that,” I lied. Why did she tell him? Why did I care?

  “That’s the beauty of this whole situation,” he said, hopping to his feet. He patted me on the back. “You actually do care. Who’d have guessed that a doppelgänger could have real feelings?”

  “You’re the doppelgänger, damn it!”

  “You go right on believing that,” he said. “And I’ll point out that I warned you about the danger, so you can’t throw that on me.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He stopped by the door and turned around. “I’m going home now. Feel free to drop by to see Lakesha. You might bring some cat food for Isis while you’re at it.”

  “I’m not bringing cat food.”

  “And you wonder why Isis hates you.”

  “Get the hell out of here, Copycat.”

  “My pleasure. Join me for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll send a driver to pick you up at seven. His name is Gideon. I believe you’ve met.”

  I glared at him, but didn’t say anything.

  He pointed to the headphones. “You can keep those. Oh, and I’m sorry someone tried to shoot you. See you tomorrow night.”

  And he walked out the door.

  I stared at the closed door and wondered what the hell was going on. What kind of game was my father playing?

  I sat on the bed. I could go to Lakesha’s, but now I was irritated that she told the other Brett about our call. She could wait. The old me would have been late regardless, so I would be later. I put the headphones on, stretched out on the bed, and clicked start. Taylor Swift sang me to sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “You know I’m the real me because I’m late,” I said.

  Lakesha stared at me from behind her sales counter. As usual, there was nobody in the store. If not for my old man, she’d be out of business.

  Isis glared at me, then raised one leg high in the air, bent over and licked her own ass.

  Lakesha shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” she said.

  I was intentionally late, of course. After talking to my clone, I wanted to make sure we were easy to tell apart. I wore shorts and a Five Finger Death Punch tour t-shirt I’d bought at a concert in Jacksonville, Florida. My duplicate wouldn’t be caught dead in a shirt like that.

  “Help me out, Lakesha. You’re being paid to teach me, so teach me how to prove I’m the real me.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she said, motioning for me to approach the counter.

  I moved closer.

  She winked at me. “I don’t give a shit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your father signed a contract with me for a full year’s service. I pulled it out of my file and re-read it to be sure, and I’ll get paid for the rest of the term regardless.”

  “So you’ll just let me die?”

  “Who said anything about dying?”

  “People are trying to kill me.”

  “What did you do to them?” she asked.

  “What makes you think I did anything?”

  “If people are trying to kill you, odds are you did something to piss them off.”

  “Way to be on my side.”

  “What does it matter? You’d be late to your own execution.”

  “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I don’t hate you, Brett. Isis does, though.”

  Isis growled at me.

  “Fuck off, cat,” I said.

  Isis tried to scratch me, but I expected it and jerked my hand away.

  My hand smacked against a wooden jewelry rack and sent a few ankh necklaces flying.

  I shook my hand. “Son of a bitch that hurts.”

  “Should have let her scratch you. Pick those up.”

  “This is how you treat me after all we’ve been through together?” I asked, but I did bend over to pick up the fallen necklaces.

  “You’ve been a pain in my ass from day one. The other Brett is respectful.”

  “He’s a douche.”

  She held out an open hand. “He wouldn’t use that word in front of a lady.”

  I dropped the necklaces on her palm but I knew better than to take the verbal bait. “So you’re not going to help me?”

  Lakesha closed her hand, and caught my fingers with hers. She stared into my eyes a moment, quizzically. As if she were trying to determine whether or not I had a soul.

  The door to the shop opened and a young woman in black stepped inside. Lakesha released my fingers, and
put the necklaces back on the rack.

  I glanced over at the potential customer. “Sorry, lady, we’re closed,” I said.

  “Ignore him,” Lakesha said. “He doesn’t work here. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for a good book about astrology,” the woman said.

  “Astrology is nonsense,” I said.

  “Once again, ignore him,” Lakesha said, and left the counter to meet the woman in the aisle. “Our astrology section is right over here. Are you looking for books on charts? Sign compatibility for relationships? Something more general?”

  “My friend told me to get something by Karen Curry,”

  “I’m willing to bet this is the one you want,” Lakesha said, taking a book down from the shelf. “It’s called Understanding Human Design, and it’s very good.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  The woman stepped up to the counter, and Lakesha rang up the sale then slipped the book into a paper bag.

  “Cute cat,” the woman said.

  “Mean cat,” I said.

  The woman gave me a dirty look, and scratched Isis under the chin. Naturally, the cat purred.

  “Traitor,” I said to Isis.

  And of course, Isis hissed at me.

  The woman laughed. “Seems you were designed to be hated by animals of the feline persuasion.”

  “Maybe you can give me lessons on how to be more attractive to kitty cats,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I only date real men.”

  And she left the store.

  Lakesha laughed. “It’s like she knows you.”

  “Like I care what some star chart chick thinks.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Whatever. Are you going to help me?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want to get my life back.”

  “You still have your life.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Are you working a regular job?”

  “No.”

  “Are you living in a nice place?”

  “I’m staying in a hotel right now.”

  “A nice hotel?”

  “I guess.”

  “Can you afford to eat well?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you able to take naps?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Then what are you bitching about, Brett?”