“I fear no evil, for the Lord is with me…”
Or
“I fear no evil, for I am the baddest bitch walking.”
In the beginning of the series it is obvious that the second option is more appropriate. However, as it goes on we see that she is at least trying to find the person she might have become if she hadn’t started down the path to becoming a hitwoman for hire.
And then there is Alison, who is in her mid-teens. She has lost her mother and father (may he rot) and is seeking an anchor in her life. We learn a little more about what is going on at the School of Necessary Magic here, and in the next Brownstone book.
Alison’s series School of Necessary Magic will begin in about eight weeks, and four books are currently planned (more YA than Brownstone and Shay’s series).
All these series are focused around how three people, each an orphan in their own way, come together as a family unit to protect and care for each other.
Each one of them stands separate and capable, but if they ever decide to work together?
I think the ground would tremble.
What about the future?
Right now, we have twelve books planned for Brownstone, twelve books planned for Shay, and four books planned for Allison in the Oriceran Universe. That’s twenty-eight (28) wonderful books and “if” everything goes right, they will be published this year (2018).
Further, if you check out the new series (Leira 2.0 series called Rewriting Justice) you will see she is using the same logo we revealed with James Brownstone.
Why? Because the story of Rewriting Justice will explain how we get the bounty system that James is part of twenty years later.
It’s about what an Austin Police Detective goes through to realize that the world isn’t set up to handle special criminals. It will be coming to you in a couple of months (we hope) as well.
Looks like it will be an Oriceran Summer ;-)
Thank you SO MUCH for your crazy reviews, wonderful support, and encouragement each time we get one of these books out. Looking forward to more, and more barbeque soon!
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Eye For An Eye
Eye For An Eye
1
A man never disrespected another man in his home. A church was God’s house, so James wouldn’t disrespect the Big Man by losing his temper and cursing—despite the little punk who had just run into him for the fourth time.
“Watch it, kid,” James growled.
The little punk stuck out his tongue and ran from the sanctuary toward the hallway. It led to a small room where some of the kids from the orphanage were helping sort donations.
“This is a church,” James called after him, shaking a fist. “Show some fuc— Show some respect.”
A quiet chuckle came from behind him, and the bounty hunter turned, a frown on his face. He didn’t have time to deal with idiots who didn’t like his attitude toward little ankle-biters.
Father McCartney stood there with a box of books in his arms. He lowered it to a pew and turned to Brownstone.
James sighed, not willing to chew out his confessor.
“He’s just a child,” the priest reminded him. “Please be mindful of that.”
“I know, but still...” James grunted. “I just don’t like kids.”
“You helped Alison, and she’s a child.”
James shook his head. “She’s a teenager. They can be irritating, too, but at least they’re almost adults. They can be reasoned with. Kids are just...annoying. Like puppies, but not as cute. And puppies are easier to train.”
“We were all children once, and I don’t just mean in the spiritual sense.” A faint smile appeared on Father McCartney’s face. “Reasoning with children, hmm? I remember when you first came to the attention of the orphanage. We couldn’t even communicate with you.”
James grimaced. Low blow, talking about his childhood.
“That was a long time ago,” he mumbled.
“True enough. Best we could tell, you were probably around three when they found you with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small box. Just some trinkets...and, well, that necklace.”
James stared at a statue of Jesus. “I don’t remember anything from then.”
“I remember it clearly. You weren’t the first abandoned child we’d dealt with, of course, but even then I knew you were special.” The priest laughed. “You jabbered away in some strange language. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard.” For a moment his dignified manner slipped, and his working-class Jersey accent grew stronger. “We sent samples to forty different translators, but no one had a clue. They said it didn’t even sound like anything they knew. A few professors at one of the colleges said it had some basic similarities to Xhosa in some of the clicking sounds, but not in the structure or anything else.”
James shrugged. He didn’t see why the priest suddenly wanted to take a trip down memory lane.
Part of keeping his life simple meant looking forward and not back, especially to a period he couldn’t even remember. That hole in his early life bothered him even more because of his otherwise solid memory.
For the most part, he had a photographic memory.
Father McCartney frowned. “We even wondered if you were speaking in tongues, but after consulting with the bishop we all agreed that was not what we were dealing with.”
James stared at the priest for a moment. “Did you guys ever think I was possessed?” He’d always wondered, but hadn’t dared voice the question before.
“Never for a second. Demonic possession involves evil behavior, not strange behavior.”
The bounty hunter still wondered if his necklace had been touched by a demon. It would explain a lot.
“Okay, okay.” James shrugged. “I get it. I was a little weird-looking freak who didn’t speak normally. What’s your point? Why are we talking about it now?”
Father McCartney sat down in the pew next to the box of books and shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. It’s still a mystery, James. We don’t know what happened to your parents, but a few years later—once the truth about Oriceran came out—we were convinced that you were from there. It made such perfect sense, but then...all the tests, blood and otherwise, confirmed you weren’t.”
“Earth has produced plenty of freaks even without Oriceran magic. Big deal.”
James gritted his teeth. The more they discussed his past, the more he would be forced to confront memories he’d tried to avoid. The fate of his parents remained shrouded, but that didn’t mean other bits of darkness didn’t lie in wait in his soul.
Father McCartney looked at the statue of Jesus and then at James again. “I think he would have been proud of you.”
James burst out laughing, but quickly stopped himself.
Respect God’s house. “I think Jesus might have issues with my methods. He was a real turn-the-other-cheek kind of guy. I’m a little more Old-Testament.”
The priest chuckled. “That might be true, but I wasn’t talking about Jesus.”
The bounty hunter’s stomach knotted as the past bore down on him. He had a good idea who Father McCartney was talking about, but had hoped to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Who then?” James sighed.
“Father Thomas, of course.”
James turned away from the man. “He died young, protecting me. I think both Jesus and he would regret that, considering what a wretched sinner I’ve become.”
Memories flooded in. Father Thomas throwing him a ball, reading to him, giving a stern lecture to some kids who had mocked his odd face. I grew up around a bunch of men I called “Father,” but I had only one father I can remember—and he died too young.
Father McCartney stood and placed a hand on the bounty hunter’s shoulder. “Mankind is fallen. We’re all sinners.” He nodded toward the statue. “His sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary otherwise. I knew Father Thomas well, an
d I know he wouldn’t regret anything that had to do with you.”
James’ phone screeched, as did the priest’s.
“What the hel— What’s that?” The bounty hunter pulled the phone out of his pocket.
LOS ANGELES COUNTY EMERGENCY ALERT SYSTEM: EXTREME THUNDERSTORM ALERT. NOAA TRACKING INDICATES HEAVY STORM ACTIVITY UNTIL MONDAY WITH STORMFALL EXPECTED BY LATE EVENING. ALL RESIDENTS ARE ADVISED TO MINIMIZE NONESSENTIAL TRAVEL.
James grunted. “A storm? Well, at least the rain will help with all those fires we’ve been having.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I should get going. There are a few things I need to check on.”
Father McCartney picked up the box of books and nodded. “Thanks for helping today, and thank you for all the money you’ve provided to assist the church and the orphanage.”
“Just doing my part.”
The priest shook his head. “We both know you’re doing the parts of ten.”
Dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon like some evil Atlantean forces planning an invasion.
James didn’t care. He barreled along the highway in his Ford F-350, more than confident in his vehicle and his ability to handle a little rain. He chuckled as he thought about how everyone insisted that self-driving cars would be the future when he was growing up, but presently the roads still mostly belonged to human—or at least humanoid—drivers.
Was it keeping it simple or making it more complicated to let some gadget drive itself?
Maybe in the end, despite all the fancy technology and blather about the future, at some level society knew that James’ philosophy of keeping it simple was the best plan for long-term stability. Or maybe once people had realized that magic was real, trying to build paradise using technology suddenly seemed like unnecessarily hard work.
He grunted. Talk about wanting to do things the easy way: the Harriken had imprisoned and tortured Alison’s mother because they wanted to acquire her wish, which would be the ultimate in cutting corners. All their power and money and they still craved more.
The bounty hunter’s phone rang, snapping him out of his critique of modern society. He pressed a button on his steering wheel to accept the call in speaker mode.
“Yeah?”
“Brownstone,” came a familiar woman’s voice.
At least, he was almost certain it was her. The call quality was somewhere between crap and shit.
“Shay?” James asked.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice went in and out, but he understood what she was saying.
“I can barely hear you. You sound like you’re calling from a wind tunnel on Mars.”
“Look, I’m on a job and in the field away from anything you might call civilization, and I’m not talking about Sacramento. Quality isn’t always that great, even with my new fancy satellite phone. Anyway, stop worrying about my shitty phone and more about yourself.”
James chuckled. “What do I have to worry about? No one’s tried anything stupid around me in...uh,” he tried to remember, “days.”
“I was checking some of my back messages before I headed toward my main site, and I found something you should be aware of. There’s a big hit out on you. Looks like half a million, maybe even a million.”
“Why would that be in your messages?”
“I keep an ear to the ground so I don’t end up dead.”
“Well, fucking great,” he rumbled. “Should have expected that. Okay, so someone wants me dead. That’s not new, and I’ve made a lot of new friends lately by killing so many people. Hell, you in trouble, too? Don’t tell me they have a higher price on you.”
James didn’t want to be a target, but the price on his head proved how deeply local criminals had grown to fear him.
Shay laughed. “No hit on me, Brownstone. Just you. I don’t go out of my way to inform my victims about how I’m the oncoming storm of doom or some shit.”
“Good for you, but having a certain reputation makes my life easier. It’s why I do it.”
“Having a half-million-plus bounty on you is making your life easier?” Shay asked.
He backpedaled just a bit. “Well, it makes my life easier most of the time.”
At least that was the theory. He’d worked hard to grow his reputation. Some feared him as the Granite Ghost, others as regular old James Brownstone. Terror was supposed to keep the criminals in check, but this time it’d backfired to the tune of a half million. Or maybe a million.
Shay snorted. “Yeah, yeah. I know this is all some male-ego shit, but whatever. Anyway, arm up, dumbass. This information was fresh, and it sounds like whatever’s gonna happen, it’s gonna be soon.”
“You’re sure about this?” James asked.
“Yep.”
“Thanks, Shay.”
“Assuming you don’t die, I’ll talk to you later.” The field archaeologist hung up.
James heaved a great sigh and shook his head. Part of not getting killed in a dangerous profession was taking warnings seriously.
The bounty hunter had a bounty on him, huh? He should have seen that coming.
James changed lanes. Now he couldn’t go straight home. He’d need to stop by his warehouse to pick up a few things in case someone dangerous decided they wanted a quick half-million.
The truth was, until he verified who was after him, he couldn’t solve the problem by killing them. Being a bounty hunter hadn’t exactly made him a lot of friends in the local underworld—or in North America.
If he didn’t hate flying so much, he might have managed to offend thugs on every continent.
Despite all that, James wasn’t worried. Shay was out of the country, and Alison was safe in a government-approved magic school filled with witches, wizards, and strange creatures. This wasn’t like with Leeroy. The only person he needed to worry about was himself.
“Bring it, fuckers,” James muttered under his breath. “I’m feeling pissy, and I’m bored.”
About an hour later, the bounty hunter rolled into his driveway. He’d picked up his amulet from the warehouse, but he hadn’t bonded with it yet. The little trick he’d discovered using a piece of metal affixed to the back had worked out well the last few times, so he’d repeated it. Now he would have quick access to the amulet if he needed it.
James took stock of his current loadout, using both a visual inspection and a quick pat-down. His new gray coat did an even better job of concealing his holsters and tactical webbing than the dusters he’d favored before. Not only that, he was certain he looked less threatening in the gray coat—which could help him avoid unnecessary attention until the last moment.
The bounty hunter smirked, remembering Shay’s bitching when she’d seen a picture of it.
That looks just like that shit you wore in Mexico, Brownstone. Just because it doesn’t have holes doesn’t mean it’s not shit and ugly as hell. Have some damn pride, man!
Fuck fashion.
James verified the presence of multiple pistols, magazines, knives for stabbing, knives for throwing, potions, his amulet necklace, and even a few jammers in case drones showed up. James was geared up to clear out a Harriken warehouse, kill a necromancer, or humble a top-hat-wearing ferret or two.
A go-case sat in the back seat of his truck, containing even more weapons and fun treats for dishing out death and destruction.
He hoped he wouldn’t end up explaining it all to the LAPD. After his recent near-showdown with an LAPD Anti-Enhanced-Threat team, he’d become more aware than ever that some of the local authorities viewed him as more of a threat than an ally.
That worry could wait until later. Right now, the LAPD had to get in line behind the criminals.
The bounty hunter grunted, satisfied. Unless the entirety of the Los Angeles underworld showed up he’d have the advantage, even without using the amulet.
Assuming no one tried to kill him in the next couple of hours, he could even get in an episode of the newly-premiered Barbecue Wars: All-Stars.
The buzz
around the show had been somewhat overshadowed by the win of Nadina, an elf, in the recently-concluded season of Barbecue Wars: The Next Generation, but James could appreciate a show focused on good old-fashioned human pitmasters.
He thought of the man behind Jessie Rae’s. I don’t know, Mike. It’s still gonna take me a while to get used to Oriceran-style barbecue.
James hopped out of his truck and hurried to his front door, slamming it once he was inside.
He walked to his basement door. He might not always be able or want to swing by the warehouse in the coming days, especially if he were being followed, so it wouldn’t hurt to double-check his weapons and ammunition supplies in the basement.
James unlocked the reinforced steel door’s physical locks before placing his hand on the palm scanner. The electronic locks clicked open, but more importantly, his traps were now disabled. Any fool could batter open a door if they worked on it long enough, and he wanted it to hurt if they succeeded.
The bounty hunter pulled open the heavy door and made his way down the stairs. After the errand, it was barbeque show time.
A few minutes later, a black van with tinted windows screeched to a halt in front of Brownstone’s house.
“You ready, Cartwright?” the driver asked.
The mercenary sitting in the back heaved his rocket launcher to his shoulder. “I’ve always wanted to use this thing. One of the best high-explosive yields you can get in a weapon of this size.”
“Just do it already. We need to move before Brownstone figures out we’re here and wastes our asses.”
“No one respects quality tools anymore.” Cartwright threw open the van’s doors and aimed the rocket launcher. “See you in hell, Brownstone, you cocky sonofabitch.”
The rocket sped on its way, flame trailing behind, and slammed into the front door, exploding in an orange-red ball of death. A cloud of flame, wood, and metal fragments rained on the street, part of the roof collapsed, and a side wall groaned, cracking and collapsing a few seconds later.
The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Set One (Books 1-3): Feared By Hell, Rejected By Heaven, Eye For An Eye (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Boxed Sets) Page 41