shades of red. “I haven’t used this closet since college.” He reached into the back of the darkened space and pulled out a giant wooden broom. “This is all I have.”
Heather scowled. “A Numbus 1971? It’s kinda clunky.”
The wizard puffed up his scrawny chest as he struggled to hold the giant broom upright. “Back in my day, it was the coolest broom around.”
“What kind of gas mileage does it get?” Heather asked with a smirk.
The wizard shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
Barth eyed the contraption which was easily a foot taller than him. “Do you know how to drive one of these?” he asked Heather.
“I dunno. It’s got a manual transmission.” Heather shrugged. “I can give it a try.”
Barth strained under the weight of the broom as he took it from the wizard. It was heavier than his sword forged in iron and his chainmail combined. His gaze roamed the gearshift and then the console. “I don’t see a plugin for my Eye-Pod.”
“Who needs an Eye-Pod?” The wizard bent over the broom and pushed a few buttons on the console. “It’s got a state-of-the-art eight track player.”
Barth and Heather exchanged questioning looks as a loud clacking sound came from the console.
Suddenly, Latin-sounding music blared from the large sub-woofers in the back. “Oye-como-va!”
“Who in the hell is that?” Heather screamed over the din.
“You’re a witch, and you’ve never heard of Santana?” the wizard shouted. “Black Magic Woman? Evil Ways?”
“No.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”
The wizard heaved a very loud sigh. “The youth these days.”
“Are you still mad at me?” Barth asked Heather as they dismounted the clunky broom.
They’d landed on one of the turrets at Douchebagga’s castle. Barth leaned against a stone post and folded his beefy arms across his chest. He flipped his hair back and casually struck a pose that showcased his carefree and masculine sexuality, kind of like he’d seen those male models do in underwear ads. He only hoped his display would be charming enough to arouse Heather’s latent sexual desires.
“Eh, Barth.” Heather smirked. “You might not want to look down.”
“Huh?” Barth’s eyes widened, and of course, he looked over his shoulder, at the crocodile-infested moat that was several stories below the crumbling post he was leaning against. Either all of the crocs had turned into zombies or else they liked ripping each other’s limbs and heads off.
“Oh!” He jumped back.
“Douchebagga’s place is falling apart,” Heather warned. “She’s too cheap to hire a mason.”
Barth scanned his surroundings. The decrepit walls around him had several gaping holes. The floor beneath his boots wasn’t in much better shape. Barth swore, then reminded himself to tiptoe when walking through the castle.
“Thanks,” Barth said as he scooted away from the post. He followed Heather as she descended a narrow set of stairs that wound around the outside of the turret.
“I’m sorry about what I said last night,” he called at her back. “I was wrong to compare all witches to Douchebagga.”
Heather didn’t even bother turning around as she continued her descent. “I’m not going to sleep with you, so you can save your apologies.”
“W-shat?” Barth faltered and nearly lost his footing. He jumped back as a stone in the staircase broke apart.
“Quit playing dumb, Barth.” Heather stopped and spun around, her eyes almost level with the bulge beneath the belt of his tight pants. “I know you’re only after sex.” She glared up at him.
“That’s not true.” Barth vehemently shook his head. “I want to spoon with you afterwards, too.”
Heather heaved a sigh while burying her face in her hands. Finally she pulled her hands back. “I like you, Barth, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to jump in the sack with you. I’m tired of men using me just for sex.”
Barth arched a brow. “This happens often?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
Barth
Heather scowled. “A Numbus 1971? It’s kinda clunky.”
The wizard puffed up his scrawny chest as he struggled to hold the giant broom upright. “Back in my day, it was the coolest broom around.”
“What kind of gas mileage does it get?” Heather asked with a smirk.
The wizard shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
Barth eyed the contraption which was easily a foot taller than him. “Do you know how to drive one of these?” he asked Heather.
“I dunno. It’s got a manual transmission.” Heather shrugged. “I can give it a try.”
Barth strained under the weight of the broom as he took it from the wizard. It was heavier than his sword forged in iron and his chainmail combined. His gaze roamed the gearshift and then the console. “I don’t see a plugin for my Eye-Pod.”
“Who needs an Eye-Pod?” The wizard bent over the broom and pushed a few buttons on the console. “It’s got a state-of-the-art eight track player.”
Barth and Heather exchanged questioning looks as a loud clacking sound came from the console.
Suddenly, Latin-sounding music blared from the large sub-woofers in the back. “Oye-como-va!”
“Who in the hell is that?” Heather screamed over the din.
“You’re a witch, and you’ve never heard of Santana?” the wizard shouted. “Black Magic Woman? Evil Ways?”
“No.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”
The wizard heaved a very loud sigh. “The youth these days.”
“Are you still mad at me?” Barth asked Heather as they dismounted the clunky broom.
They’d landed on one of the turrets at Douchebagga’s castle. Barth leaned against a stone post and folded his beefy arms across his chest. He flipped his hair back and casually struck a pose that showcased his carefree and masculine sexuality, kind of like he’d seen those male models do in underwear ads. He only hoped his display would be charming enough to arouse Heather’s latent sexual desires.
“Eh, Barth.” Heather smirked. “You might not want to look down.”
“Huh?” Barth’s eyes widened, and of course, he looked over his shoulder, at the crocodile-infested moat that was several stories below the crumbling post he was leaning against. Either all of the crocs had turned into zombies or else they liked ripping each other’s limbs and heads off.
“Oh!” He jumped back.
“Douchebagga’s place is falling apart,” Heather warned. “She’s too cheap to hire a mason.”
Barth scanned his surroundings. The decrepit walls around him had several gaping holes. The floor beneath his boots wasn’t in much better shape. Barth swore, then reminded himself to tiptoe when walking through the castle.
“Thanks,” Barth said as he scooted away from the post. He followed Heather as she descended a narrow set of stairs that wound around the outside of the turret.
“I’m sorry about what I said last night,” he called at her back. “I was wrong to compare all witches to Douchebagga.”
Heather didn’t even bother turning around as she continued her descent. “I’m not going to sleep with you, so you can save your apologies.”
“W-shat?” Barth faltered and nearly lost his footing. He jumped back as a stone in the staircase broke apart.
“Quit playing dumb, Barth.” Heather stopped and spun around, her eyes almost level with the bulge beneath the belt of his tight pants. “I know you’re only after sex.” She glared up at him.
“That’s not true.” Barth vehemently shook his head. “I want to spoon with you afterwards, too.”
Heather heaved a sigh while burying her face in her hands. Finally she pulled her hands back. “I like you, Barth, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to jump in the sack with you. I’m tired of men using me just for sex.”
Barth arched a brow. “This happens often?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
Barth
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