Page 38 of A Leaner Meaner Midlife

“Almond milk should be called nut juice.”

“SHUT UP,” he screamed.

“A loaf of bread should be called raw toast,” I said, flipping the mullet-wearing redneck the middle finger. Pissed-off people were messy. They made mistakes. Micky Muggles was one colossal mistake, but throwing him off his game could work to my advantage. “Tongs should be renamed salad tweezers.”

“I said shut your mouth, bitch,” he snarled. “You think you’re so fancy livin’ in a big house and havin’ all them people kissin’ your ass. I’m guessin’ pretty soon all your fancy friends are gonna be kissin’ MY ASS.”

I laughed. “Your ass got bitten off if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Fuck you,” he shouted. “It grew back.” He was getting erratic. His face was a mottled purple, his chest was heaving, and his magic tank was close to empty. The time to stand still for a moment so he could hurl the ball at me was coming soon. But not quite yet. The weaker he was, the shittier his aim, and the easier it would be to survive. “A better name for donuts is sugar bagels.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Good luck with that,” I shot back as I snaked a winding path through the grassy area. “Seagulls should be called beach chickens, and gloves should be called finger-pants.”

If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. They couldn’t. I was getting closer to my tiny, flapping-in-the-wind target. I considered calling forth fire daggers again as my weapon of choice, but I couldn’t chance that the deluded freak would see the blow coming. No. I needed a real blade. Once the asshole threw the ball, I would tuck and roll to his position and chop his foul tail clean from his body. The only thing standing between me and his demise with a massive, murderous ball of magical hate aimed in my direction.

Maybe Micky Muggles wasn’t the only deluded fool on the green. Whatever. I didn’t have a lot of options right now.

“Gideon,” I said, keeping my eyes on Micky. “Do you still have the dagger in your sock?”

“I do,” he replied. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m wearing him down and pissing him off,” I explained. “Seems to me he’s almost drained of magic.”

“I agree. Keep talking.”

“Right,” I said, weaving closer to the Grim Reaper. “Shortly, I’m going to stand still. When he throws, I dodge. Once the ball explodes, I’m going in and removing the tail. I’d rather avoid using my teeth. You feel me?”

“Jesus Christ,” he said with a pained laugh. “I’d rather you didn’t use your teeth as well. That would be a difficult visual to unsee.”

“True that,” I agreed. “Not sure an eternity of therapy could wipe that out. So… can I have the dagger?”

“Of course, but answer a question for me. Truthfully, Counselor.”

“Ask, Reaper,” I told him.

“How worn down are you from the battle? Do you know for certain that you can dodge the fireball?”

It was a fair question. I was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain I could do it. Mind diving into the dead had resulted in some extra gifts—bizarre gifts. It had changed my DNA. I no longer wore glasses when I used to be almost blind without them, and I could run faster than an Alfa Romeo racing for a world championship. It was unclear if mind diving had resulted in my becoming Immortal or if it was when I had become the Angel of Mercy. Maybe it was a combination. It didn’t matter. It just was.

Gideon asked for the truth. Even if he didn’t like it, he would never try to stop me from doing my job, nor would I ever stop him from doing his. We loved and respected each other for who we were. “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure,” I told him. “Which is incredibly good odds. However, I’ll get him a little more off kilter before I stand still.”

“You’ve got this,” he said. “And I’ve got your back, fiancé.”

“I know you do, fiancé,” I replied, smiling even though I wasn’t looking at him. “Candy Vargo is going to drop a few F-bombs during our vows.”

“That’s unsurprising. I’m coming up behind you. Put your hand behind your back.”

I did as he instructed. The dagger was in my hand two seconds later, and Micky Muggles was none the wiser. The cold steel felt cool against my skin. I tucked the blade into the back of my pants and kept moving.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome,” he responded. “And remember… the icy blue magic will kill you. That’s not up for debate. It’s a fact. This is not a game. From the lore surrounding it, it will suck you into a vortex never to be seen or heard from again.”

The news made my stomach churn. However, there was no turning back. Micky Muggles had to be stopped. For good.

It was time for the last chapter of his story.

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