“Efficiency?” James frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Shay nodded. “You’re combining a date with paying back your favor to a magical being. That’s efficient. Just like our his-and-hers ass-kicking adventures this year.” She shook her finger. “Just so you know, I’m staying out of this shit. The last thing I need is some weird police report making it back to my department head when I’m leaning on him about the position. Then I will have to switch universities, and all the time I put in there will have been wasted.”
James nodded. “Fine by me. I’m sure I’ll just frown at this guy and he’ll piss himself, and it won’t be a big deal. If anything happens, I’ll handle it. Can’t be many people surprised when James Brownstone kicks ass, and your department head is already afraid of me, so he can’t get much more afraid.”
“It’s a date then, with optional ass-kicking.” Shay laid back down. “The best kind of date there is.”
Trey tied his robe, grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and stepped away from the hotel bed where Zoe still slumbered quietly. Between too many drinks and a little recharging fun for her, they’d had a late night.
He would need to hit the streets that afternoon after rendezvousing with some of the boys at the loft, but he had time to relax in the morning. There was no point in waking Zoe up until he took care of a few things.
He exited the suite’s bedroom and walked toward the deck. He opened the door and stepped outside.
Trey looked down at his phone. Nana was an early riser. If he called her, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Do I really want to move here? Zoe makes a good point, and something about it feels really right. And I thought it was a big deal when I finally moved out of Nana’s house!
The bounty hunter chuckled and shook his head. After everything he’d been through, from leading a gang to helping fight the Council, moving shouldn’t be a big deal, but it felt more permanent than anything else he’d done.
Trey shook his head and dialed. Thinking too much had its place, but sometimes a man just had to trust his instincts. He’d promised Shorty he’d live enough life for both of them, and it was time to keep that promise.
“You’re calling awfully early,” his grandmother answered. “I worry every time you go to Las Vegas because Mr. Brownstone isn’t there to back you up most of the time. With him there, I know the bad men will always get taken care of, but I can’t be sure when it’s just you.”
“Nana, we don’t be dealing with the crazy level fives and guys like that. The people me and the boys handle don’t need Brownstone-level power.” Trey chuckled.
Considering he’d been going after level fours lately that wasn’t totally true, but there was no reason to worry her over every minor detail of his new career.
“Well, what are you calling me about, Trey?” she responded. “You never call me this early. I was worried that you were calling from the hospital.”
“Nah, I’m calling from a hotel. Nice view of the city. I should bring you here sometime.”
“I have no reason to go to a place like Las Vegas,” his grandmother replied. “No, Trey, I’m fine staying in Los Angeles. What would I even do in Las Vegas? Mr. Brownstone liking that barbeque place isn’t enough reason for me to go.”
“Just saying, Nana.” Trey smiled.
“So if you’re not hurt, why are you calling?”
Trey sighed. “I just wanted to talk to you about Vegas. You know I mentioned to you a while back that I was thinking about maybe moving here, mostly to help anchor the Brownstone Agency but also to kind of take the next step in my life.”
“Yeah, what about it?” His grandmother clucked her tongue. “I’d say something about it being Sin City, but if it’s Sin City, then Los Angeles is the Sin Kingdom. So much has changed since I was a young woman that I don’t rightly know how to make sense of the world half the time. Magic, and another planet. It kind of makes my head spin still thinking about it, even though you work with all sorts of magical folks and Mr. Brownstone has his magical armor. Me and Charlyce think it’s blessed, you know.”
Trey laughed. “The big man’s pretty impressive, but I don’t know about him being blessed. He’s just the biggest badass in LA.”
“For all his money and trouble, Mr. Brownstone still goes to church; just keep that in mind. The Lord looks after his own.” Nana sniffed.
Trey smiled and stared at the fake Eiffel Tower dominating his field of view.
Is it any less real because it’s not the original? This is a city where people used to come to live out fantasies, but the rest of the world’s caught up with that now. Maybe it’s a good place for a former gang leader and a witch to start over without leaving everyone and everything behind.
“Anyway, Nana, I think I should move here after all,” Trey explained. “I mean, I’d come back and visit LA, but it wouldn’t just be rotations anymore. I’d be here most of the time. I just wanted to make sure that was okay with you, because I owe you as much as I owe James. He gave me a job, but you gave me hope when I didn’t have my own mama to depend on. I don’t want you to feel like I’m leaving you behind. You don’t deserve that.”
“Hush now, Trey,” his grandmother replied. “I always knew you’d grow into a fine man if given the chance, and you have, with Mr. Brownstone’s help. I also knew that someday you’d need to leave and follow your own path, so I’ve been ready for this for years. I’m not much worried about you moving to Vegas. It’s like you said—you’re only a few hours away. You don’t worry about your auntie or me, now. You do what’s right for you, Trey. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, Nana.” Trey smiled. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
8
James sipped his beer at a small table in the club. The red and white checkerboard vinyl tablecloths were far from the style and level of expense he’d seen during his recent Italian lunch, which made him appreciate the current place that much more, and unlike the damned fancy restaurant, they didn’t have multiple forks and spoons.
This place seems okay. Wonder why it’s going to have an asshole like Fifty-six here?
People in casual outfits filled most of the tables in the room and the stools around the bar, eating wings and potato skins and drinking beer while they waited for tonight’s act to appear on the tiny wooden stage near the back of the room. A lonely microphone stand occupied the stage.
A few customers pointed James’ way or took pictures with their cameras, but no one came over to harass him about selfies or autographs. He appreciated their restraint.
James swallowed his beer and grunted in satisfaction. Even if Fifty-six’s performance ended up being crap, the beer and wings were decent. If he lived closer to the place, he might stop by more often. The sauces might not be great, but they were definitely good.
Shay sat across from him, grinning.
“What’s with the face?” James rumbled.
“It’s just you.” Shay shrugged. “I was thinking about how you were when I first met you, and how much you’ve changed.”
“When you kept accusing me of being gay?”
Shay laughed. “Well, you’ve done a lot of good work in proving me wrong. No, it’s just you wouldn’t have even thought of something like this before.”
James furrowed his brow. “Threatening a guy? I did that all the time before I met you. I did that shit a lot. Still do.”
“No, thinking outside of the box.” Shay shook her head. “You’ve always been a badass, but when I first met you, you weren’t very flexible at anything that didn’t involve creative ways of killing people, and now you have a business, friends, and a hot girlfriend. You know, an actual life.” She winked.
James shrugged. “I do okay, and I do have a hot girlfriend, for sure.”
A pale man in a khaki Nehru jacket marched onto the stage from a door in the back, a crystal wand in hand. A beige beret sat on top of his shaven head.
James grunted. “I think our guy is here, or at least his cousin.”
>
Shay turned to him and snickered. “Yeah. That outfit does kind of scream pretentious douchebag.”
The beige beret bearer approached the microphone and tapped it with his wand. The dull roar of table and bar crosstalk died as everyone looked his way.
The wizard pointed his wand in the air. “I am Fifty-six.” The number appeared in blue light above him. “I call myself that because I’m the fifty-sixth iteration of true musical paradigm advancement.” He cut through the air with the wand, a line of ghostly blue musical notes following it. “Before the true return of magic we couldn’t know true music, but now that it has returned, we can reach out to it in all its glory. Don’t let the simple melodies of the Light Elves confuse you. That’s not the true glory of magic.” He gestured dramatically with his free hand. “We don’t have to be stuck in backward paradigms that limit us to what is alleged to be acceptable. Melody. Rhythm. Chord progression. All primitive limits that can be denied with magic. As I control reality, I will exceed it.”
Shay rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s better he’s doing this with magic than running around trying to kill people or something, but that’d probably be less painful than having to listen to this. I’m also pretty sure Forsythe could have hired a neighborhood guy to kick this guy’s ass. Peyton could beat him up.”
James chuckled.
Fifty-six stepped away from the microphone. “Grant me your attention now, my audience!” he shouted. “What you are about to hear will change everything you think you know about music.”
“I wish I could forget about this guy already,” Shay murmured.
The wizard flicked his wrist and arm back and forth as if his wand were a conductor’s baton. Blue and red orbs of light winked into existence and disappeared with each movement. After a few seconds, they popped in and out of sight without any discernable link to Fifty-six’s movements.
A harsh dissonant buzzing filled the air, several people shouting in surprise. The pitch of the buzz changed every few seconds without intelligible direction, and again with no connection to either the wizard’s movement or the lights.
Crackling pops joined the buzzing. The wizard’s movements sped up and he muttered something under his breath, most likely an incantation. A disconcerting warbling joined the wretched sonic tapestry passing for a performance.
James gritted his teeth, the obnoxious noises and total lack of anything approaching rhythm challenging his patience. Additional orbs of light of various colors kept appearing and reappearing at random spots on the stage, their materialization accompanied by buzzes, pops, or warbling.
Shay snickered, her face covered with amusement.
James rubbed his temples. “Is this modern music shit? Because this is some of the worst fucking crap I’ve ever heard. I think I’d rather go deaf than deal with this shit for more than a few minutes.”
Shay leaned toward James and shook her head. “I think this is how the CIA breaks their interrogation subjects.”
Given the loud boos and hisses coming from the crowd, apparently everyone shared James’ and Shay’s opinion about Fifty-six’s performance.
The performance dragged on, despite the crowd growing louder and unrulier, until a man in a vest and red nametag rushed onto the stage and waved his hands in front of Fifty-six’s face.
“Please, just stop,” the man, likely the manager, shouted. “I’ll pay you twice as much if you stop.”
The wizard lowered his wand and narrowed his eyes. The horrible soundscape ended, and cheers erupted from all around.
Fifty-six stomped toward the microphone with a sneer. “You are fools who don’t understand the genius of what I just presented, but I don’t care. Genius is always subjected to derision by the simple-minded, and the more you bourgeois lackwits challenge my True Music, the closer I move toward true artistic glory. In ten years, all music will be True Music.”
“Someone call AET,” a man in the back shouted. “I think that wizard just subjected me to magical torture.”
Laughter rang through the club, including from Shay. James smiled. She was having a good time after all.
The wizard harrumphed and stormed off the stage and into the back room.
The manager walked over to the microphone. “I’m very, very sorry about that, folks. I don’t know how that guy had the recommendations he did. Don’t worry, everyone will get a free beer by way of apology.”
Appreciative murmurs spread throughout the room.
Shay shook her head. “Well, we learned very few things, other than that guy is the musical equivalent of the plague.”
James grunted. “I thought Anna was just being prissy when she talked about not wanting to be his muse, but damn, that shit was obnoxious.”
“Sure.” Shay picked up her half-empty beer to take a sip. “But he should be easy to freak out. Note that he didn’t threaten the crowd with magic after their loud disagreement concerning the quality of his performance.”
James picked up a wing. “Let’s give him a few minutes.” He nodded toward another door closer to the front. “Seen a lot of the staff come out of that door, so he might too.”
Shay shrugged. “There could be a back door.”
“You’re right. Fuck it.” James stood and set the wing down. “Let’s just go.”
Shay shook her head. “I’m staying out of it, remember?” She held up her beer. “Besides, I haven’t finished my drink.”
James grunted and marched toward the stage. “This won’t take long.”
The manager rushed toward him. “Sir, I understand that it was a terrible performance, but I’m going to have to ask you…” He blinked. “You’re James Brownstone, aren’t you? I didn’t notice you before.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got to have a talk with Fifty-six,” James rumbled. “It doesn’t have to do with that shit he calls music. Something else.”
The manager ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t realize he had a bounty on him, I swear.”
James opened his mouth to correct the man, then shrugged. A misunderstanding that got him easy access to the back was fine. This would be a quick conversation.
“Not your problem. It’s his problem.”
The manager nodded toward the door and rubbed his knuckles, a pained look on his face. “Our insurance isn’t the best for this building.”
James waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I pay honest business owners if shit gets messed up.”
The manager let out a sigh of relief.
James headed toward the stage door and threw it open. It led to a narrow hallway with a couple of doors. The hallway ended at an opening to a wide room and a door with a red glowing EXIT sign over it.
As the stage door closed behind him, James heard the manager on the microphone. “That’s right, folks. We’ve got the Scourge of Harriken here going after a dangerous wizard bounty. Please stay in your seats until this matter is resolved.”
The crowd cheered, and James snorted. The only thing Fifty-six was dangerous to was people’s dignity.
James continued down the hallway until he reached the back room. The angry wizard paced back and forth between a few chairs, his back to the hallway and a long cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“Can’t smoke in bars and clubs,” James offered.
Fifty-six spun around. “Rules are for the common people, not glorious trendsetters.” He narrowed his eyes at James. “I recognize you, but I can’t place your face.”
“Rules might be for common people, but stalking laws apply even to shitty musicians.” James glared at the wizard.
Fifty-six dropped his cigarette to the tile floor and stubbed it out with his boot tip. He grabbed his wand from a nearby chair. “What are you talking about? What stalking?”
“Anna Forsythe. She says you’re stalking her.”
The wizard snorted. “Impossible, by definition. Are you a cop?”
James shook his head. “Consider me a concerned friend.”
“Then you know what she is.�
�� The corner of Fifty-six’s mouth turned up. “She’s not human. Her existence is predicated upon being a muse to artists, but she’s wasting it on crude and base blather. Do you know who she inspires right now? A stand-up comedian!” He shuddered. “Can you even wrap your mind around that? She’s wasting her abilities to inspire some schlocky joke man.” He slapped a hand on his chest hard. “While I am pushing the very boundaries of what music can be, and she refuses to become my muse! I even offered most of my life to her. She can’t deny what is my right. She’s not using her talent properly, so I’ve attempted to educate her. I haven’t stalked her or anything so vulgar. A foolish woman needs persistence to understand intent, and as a genius, I’m allowed a certain latitude from traditional cultural mores.”
James sighed and scratched his cheek. “Here’s the thing, asshole. No, you fucking aren’t. You’re gonna leave Anna Forsythe alone, or we’re going to have a very loud and painful one-way conversation.”
Fifty-six tapped the wand on his cheek. “Oh, you poor, deluded thug. You’re obviously not an artist, so I know she hasn’t wasted her talents on you. She fluttered her eyelashes and promised you something?” He snorted. “She’ll never give herself to a Neanderthal like you, and before you dare try to lay a hand on me, let that tiny little brain of yours reflect on the fact that I’m a wizard.” He sneered. “Just because you didn’t see harmful magic on stage doesn’t mean I don’t have it.”
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” James shook his head. “Now you’re the poor deluded dumbass. I’m James Brownstone, asshole.”
The wizard jumped back and raised his wand, his eyes narrowed. “You can’t touch me, Brownstone. I’m not a criminal. I don’t have a bounty on me.”
James shrugged. “Don’t give a fuck. I’m just giving you a warning. Anna doesn’t want you sniffing around her anymore.”
Fifty-six’s face contorted in rage. “How dare you, you impudent classless clod! She’s my destined muse, and she will inspire me to defeat the limitations and enter a realm of pure musical transcendence. I won’t let anyone stop me.”
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