Authors: Michael R. Underwood
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Urban, #Contemporary, #Humorous, #General
Attack the Geek
Praise for the Geekomancy Series
“
Geekomancy
is a glorious blender of genres, like a sweet candy shell filled with pop culture and high heroism. Absolutely stellar.”
—Seanan McGuire,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Discount Armageddon
“If Buffy hooked up with Doctor Who while on board the
Serenity
, this book would be their love child. In other words,
Geekomancy
is full of epic win.”
—Marie Lu,
New York Times
bestselling author of the Legend trilogy
“If you’re in the mood for verbal gymnastics and enjoy seeing all of your favorite pop-culture franchises in gorgeous, living color,
Geekomancy
more than delivers.”
—
All Things Urban Fantasy
“The second I finished
Geekomancy
I wanted more—and
Celebromancy
does not disappoint. We’re back in the thick of things with Ree, only instead of using geek power, she’s forced to deal with celebrities—and let’s face it, magic makes a lot more sense than reality TV!”
—Cassie Alexander, author of the Edie Spence series
“Once again, Michael R. Underwood gives us major ball-busting action courtesy of his queer, Latina, super Geekomancer, Ree Reyes . . .
Celebromancy
is a fast-paced and action-filled novel and
fun
to the
n
th level!”
—
Talk Supe
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Contents
There’s Something About Saturdays
Speak Technobabble to Me, Baby
The Bruce Banner Guide to Bull Fighting
To Bryan, Andrew, Scot, James, and everyone at the Game Preserve—my home away from home as a young gamer.
Prologue
There’s Something About Saturdays
Now
A hundred fists hammered at the sturdy wood of the thick front door at Grognard’s Grog and Games. Ree pressed her back against the door, her boots sliding on the smooth floor of the concrete, failing to find a good grip. The shop was a total wreck—games, cards, figures, and props scattered everywhere, drinks spilled across the bar, tables upended and shattered. Ree wanted to think that the gnomes couldn’t make it much worse, but the “getting eaten alive” part banished that thought pretty fast.
“What the fuck has gotten into those little guys?” Ree asked. Pearson’s sewer gnomes were already more like ghouls than the helpful creatures in
David the Gnome
or the curious childlike tinkerers from
D&D
, but this was a whole new level of rabid.
Eastwood stood beside her, leaning into the door with one shoulder, cuts and bruises scored across his face and hands.
“Don’t know, but we can’t hold out long like this. And if they get in, we’re
bantha pudu
.”
Ree could feel the scraping and scratching at the door, then a louder
thud
.
That was no gnome.
Ree took a millisecond to consider what else might be out there, but it didn’t really matter, since it probably wanted them dead just as much as the tiny creatures.
“How we doing back there?” Ree shouted to the back room.
“A short while longer, sad to say!” Drake answered, his voice hoarse.
Ree cursed under her breath. “We’re not made of time out here. Either the gnomes have made themselves a battering ram, or there’s a cave Troll out there!”
“It wouldn’t be a cave Troll. They hate the smell down here. Sewer Troll, maybe,” Eastwood said.
“Thanks, Mr. Monster Manual,” Ree said, short temper unleashing the full power of her snark. “How does this help us not get dead?”
Beat.
“It doesn’t,” Eastwood admitted.
“Then I don’t need to know. Hurry up, guys!” Ree shouted again.
Eastwood nudged her. “Get to a weapon. I’ve got this.”
“That’s idiotic. The door will cave in as soon as I move.”
“Trust me. We need to be ready.”
“I trust you, but I still think it’s stupid.”
“I’ll take it,” Eastwood said, pushing her away from the door.
What the fuck is it about Saturdays?
Ree asked herself as she felt the door splintering behind her.
Chapter One
Three Hours Earlier
“How the hell am I supposed to trust you!” Ree flung her hands in the air, ready to give up her dinner break and get back to work just so she could walk away from this idiocy.
She stood at a tall table facing Eastwood, her onetime mentor in all things fantastical. But their partnership had lasted about as long as a Las Vegas marriage once she discovered that he was making deals with devils.
He was trying to atone, but humility was apparently not part of his penance.
Eastwood kept his voice level, seizing the person-who-shouts-is-losing-the-argument high ground. “This is major league magic, Ree. It comes with a price.”
“But seriously, puppies?”
“You wanted ideas. I heard this from someone on 4chan.”
Ree scoffed. “Your first mistake was going to 4chan for anything other than SAN loss. Your second mistake was mentioning anything that possibly leads to puppies getting hurt.”
“I can make it painless. Unless you think we can steal Death’s scythe and trundle down to the underworld ourselves like
The Middleman
.” Eastwood crossed his arms, digging in.
Ree couldn’t see a downside to that plan. “Why not?”
“Because Death outclasses the Duke, and we only survived last time because I managed to think ahead.”
“Wait. Who was it that dropped trou and shouted the Duke out of town, again? There’s got to be like fifty quick-escape artifacts out in the world, right? We sneak in, stun or distract Captain Hoodie, grab the goods, and then scurry away on a getaway gadget. Next stop, reunion town!”
“So you think you’re hot
go-se
, now?” Eastwood replied. “The Duke almost killed us both. And if we put him in a position to team up with Death, it won’t matter if we do get Branwen out of Hell, because we’ll all be headed straight back there ourselves, faster than Fox can cancel a new SF show.”
Ree narrowed her eyes at the older geek.
Fuck it
. All of the hero-ing in the world wouldn’t erase what he’d done to those kids.
She turned and made her way to the office to grab her apron and get back to work. They were never going to see eye to eye on this. The only solutions Eastwood offered on how to get her mom (aka his girlfriend) back from her tenure in Hell as the guest of the Thrice-Retconed Duke of Pwn involved a lively stroll through the Dark Side.
When she’d met him, Eastwood had been collecting the souls of teen suicides to trade to the Duke for her mom’s freedom, and would have succeeded if not for Ree, who was, like any person not grief-maddened, opposed to sacrificing kids to a demon. And anytime she suggested an alternative breakout plan, Eastwood dismissed it out of hand, usually not bothering to explain why. Which meant they kept circling the issue, never getting anywhere.
Tying her apron back on, Ree toggled her brain back to work mode.
Saturday night at Grognard’s Grog and Games meant three things:
V:TES
tournament, half-price Jaeger, and Grognard getting morose.
Ree Reyes (Strength 10, Dexterity 14, Stamina 12, Will 18, IQ 16, Charisma 15—Geek 7 / Barista 3 / Screenwriter 3 / Gamer Girl 2 / Geekomancer 2) had noticed that there was something about Saturdays that got to Grognard like an itch in that one place on your back that was physiologically impossible to scratch without help. So that night, like most Saturdays, she tried to keep her head down and stay out of his way. Her boss was almost unbelievably permissive with her whacky urban fantasy schedule, which more than made up for his eccentricities. And the employee discount made her hero-ing far more affordable.
The bar section of the shop was half-full, four booths and two tables crammed full with players wheeling, dealing, drinking, and thinking over games of
V:TES
(which had been renamed from
Jyhad
to
Vampire: The Eternal Struggle
aka
V:TES
for reasons of cultural sensitivity, despite the fact that the creators at White Wolf wore their “bad kids of gaming” reputations on their sleeves). During the day, most of the action was on the other side of the store, where rows of comics, cards, and collectibles tempted customers of all stripes—Grognard’s was occult shop, hangout bar for magicians, and game store all in one.
Ree took a shortcut through the store section rather than navigating through the tables, a tray of drinks and food balanced expertly on her shoulder. Ree Reyes was in her full bartender costume: black jeans, black T-shirt over black undershirt, her shoulder-length hair tied back and held up with a pair of ebony chopsticks, and around one eye, drawn-on sunburst markings taken straight out of
Dollhouse
’s “Epitaph Two.”
After a few months, customers had come to expect the facial art, and it was a fun challenge. So before she knew it, drawing on her face had become part of her pre-work ritual, except on days when she’d come straight from fighting monsters or tromping through the sewers, which was more often than you might think.
