Power Mage 4

by Hondo Jinx

  “Pa won’t sell,” Brawley said. “That land is all he’s ever known. It’s part of him. If he sold, he’d be dead next week.”

  “Well, if he won’t sell, he might be dead sooner than that.”

  Within Brawley, his minotaur roared, ready to obliterate anyone who dared threaten his family. Outwardly, he said, “Thank you for your concern, Dave, and for showing us the bio-plate. We’ll take ten sheets.”

  “Ten sheets?” Frankie said, unable to hide her surprise. “That’ll cost ten thousand dollars.”

  Brawley nodded. “I might be new to Seeking, but I got a feeling we’re going to need a lot more than ten sheets before this is over.”

  17

  Dave cloaked the bio-plate so others would see only wood paneling.

  Brawley and Frankie placed the last sheet into the truck and were almost finished loading their other purchases when a white truck pulled up alongside them.

  Brawley set a fan in the truck bed and straightened.

  The tinted passenger’s window rolled down like a dark cloud drifting out of view, revealing the pale moon of Blanton Cherry’s smiling face. “Well, saw my legs off and call me Shorty. If it isn’t my favorite neighbor, Brawley Hayes. And who, might I ask, is the vision of absolute loveliness accompanying you?”

  Behind the wheel, Jarvis’s big shaved head leaned into view, the eyes covered again by wraparound shades. Even Jarvis’s jaw muscles looked like they could bench four hundred pounds. The fucker had to be a Carnal.

  “Don’t concern yourself with her, Cherry,” Brawley said.

  Blanton Cherry leaned back and put a hand to his chest, feigning shock. He wore a navy blue suit jacket, a crisp white shirt buttoned to the top, and a white stockman’s hat. “Now that’s downright unhospitable, son. I was only trying to be neighborly was all.” Turning to Frankie, Cherry said, “Miss, allow me to introduce myself.”

  “Save it,” Frankie said in a deadpan voice. “If Brawley doesn’t like you, I don’t even want to know your name.”

  Jarvis burst into rasping laughter. He might’ve been wearing shades, but his leering appraisal of Frankie was obvious.

  Dude was toeing a line he’d regret crossing.

  Blanton Cherry, on the other hand, was still acting. “Now that’s just hurtful. And I was always told that Texan women were sweeter than peach cobbler. Live and learn, live and learn. Brawley, I had a sneaking suspicion I’d see you here.”

  “Is that right?” Brawley said, throwing the last of his purchases into the truck. Turning to Frankie, he said, “Get in the truck, darlin.”

  Without a word, she went around the other side.

  Cherry watched her go, then said, “First of all, I was greatly distressed to hear about last night’s altercation.”

  Brawley shrugged. “No big deal. Your boys crossed the line, so I put them in their place.”

  “The whole bunch of them, huh? All by yourself?”

  Brawley nodded. “Too bad you weren’t with them.”

  Cherry smiled at that.

  Beside him, the musclebound driver sneered, “Maybe I’ll come next time.”

  “That works, hoss,” Brawley said. “Or you could cut the cutesy shit, come on out, and I’ll clean your plow for you right now.”

  “You’re on, bitch!” the big guy shouted, but Cherry placed a hand on his driver’s massive shoulder and told him to relax.

  Turning to Brawley with a sickly-sweet smile, Cherry said, “Son, I didn’t come here to squabble. As far as I’m concerned, whatever happened between my men and you is water under the bridge.” The fake smile widened. “Or perhaps, given our current geological situation, I should rather say it’s dust in the wind.”

  Brawley started to climb into his own truck. “You call it whatever you want, Cherry. I got work to do.”

  “Please,” Cherry said, “just a moment longer.”

  Brawley’s Seeker senses rippled, releasing a mist of defensive skepticism. The son of a bitch was trying to Seeker him again. Brawley didn’t let on that he knew anything. “What’s that, Cherry?”

  “You might’ve heard, I’ve been buying up ranches around these parts.”

  “Why?” Brawley asked. “You say you’re a ranch manager, but that’s bullshit. I been around cowboys all my life. You’re all hat and no cattle.”

  Cherry laughed. “Such interesting colloquialisms you West Texans tender. No, I am not a rancher. I’m a businessman, and I hire hands to do my dirty work. Point is, I want your farm.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  Cherry’s pale blue eyes looked amused. “Everything’s for sale, son, if the numbers are right.”

  “Maybe in California,” Brawley said, “but not here. Some things aren’t for sale.”

  “How quaint.” Cherry smiled warmly, and Brawley’s skepticism psionically redoubled. “Look, son, if you’ll listen to me for a second—”

  “You try Seekering me again,” Brawley said, laying down his cards at last, “I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  Now there was nothing feigned in Blanton Cherry’s surprise. “Well, well, well. You are a dyed-in-the-wool original, son. You certainly are. And a psi mage to boot.”

  “I got no idea what you’re talking about, but you try that shit again, I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”

  “The fuck you will, asshole!” the big guy behind the wheel thundered. He started moving. Hunting a weapon, Brawley reckoned, and dropped a hand to his XDS.

  But Blanton Cherry touched the big man’s chest, stilling him. “Manners, Jarvis. Self-control.”

  Jarvis obeyed, settling for what was meant to be an intimidating stare.

  “As I was saying,” Blanton Cherry said. “I am keenly interested in acquiring your father’s ranch.” His soft, pale hands fluttered like doves. “No tricks. Just money. Lots of money. I’ll pay three times what’s it worth.”

  Brawley was about to tell him to go to hell when he felt a warm, itchy blanket settle over his mind.

  A damn telepath was searching his thoughts. Where?

  Back seat, his intuition chimed in.

  Without hesitation, Brawley released a flick of telekinetic force.

  The rear passenger window shattered, raining tinted glass to the ground, and a female voice cried out.

  Out of his peripheral vision, Brawley saw a woman with short, brown hair and sunglasses lean away, trying to shield her face.

  The warm blanket whipped from Brawley’s mind.

  Moving with superhuman speed, he drew the XDS and jabbed Cherry’s mouth with the muzzle hard enough to split a lip.

  Cherry winced and cried out.

  Brawley shoved the pistol into Cherry’s open mouth, muffling his whimpering.

  Jarvis reached across Cherry, pointing a hand cannon in Brawley’s direction.

  Brawley lashed out with a chopping rod of telekinetic force that snapped the big guy’s wrist. The pistol twisted away, firing, and the white truck’s windshield shattered.

  Cherry and the backseat telepath cried out from the deafening explosion.

  “Back off, big boy,” Brawley said, keeping his voice even, “or I’ll pull this trigger twice. First shot blows out Cherry’s brains. Second one pops your ugly gourd. You hear?”

  Jarvis sneered in reply. His arm straightened, healing with supernatural speed that confirmed Brawley’s suspicions. But the big Carnal must’ve gotten the message, sneer or no sneer, because he didn’t point the pistol in Brawley’s direction again.

  “You listen to me, Cherry,” Brawley said, and pushed the .45 slightly forward, making Cherry gag like the world’ ugliest porn star struggling through her debut scene. “The ranch is not for sale. I don’t care if you’re offering three times as much as it’s worth or three hundred times. Not. For. Sale. Do you understand?”

  Cherry nodded, his eyes huge with fear. Apparently, the man’s Seeker senses had informed him that Brawley meant every word of his threat and would not hesitate to pull the trigger
.

  Strong smells of cordite and urine filled the interior of Cherry’s truck. Somebody had pissed their pants. Brawley’s money was on Blanton Cherry. Good. Let the asshole remember this lesson well.

  “Me and my family are simple,” Brawley said. “Just common folk trying to scratch a living out of the dirt. You act right, we can be downright neighborly. But we are Texan to the bone. You mess with us, I’ll send you straight to hell, you hear?”

  18

  “Well,” Frankie said, as they started back to the ranch, “they seem nice.” She was rattled, Brawley knew, but trying not to show it.

  He appreciated that. Running into Cherry had put him in a killing mood. And under different circumstances, he would indeed have killed Cherry and his associates, Seekered any witnesses, then driven to each of Cherry’s ranches and wiped out his entire crew.

  A seductive thought. Pragmatic, too. Because the only way to fix some people was to shoot them right between the eyes.

  Right now, though, Brawley couldn’t risk it. Not because of Cherry or his crew. As long as Brawley got the drop on them, he’d wipe them out, no problem, especially if he invited his women to join him and brought a crate of grenades to liven up the party.

  But that would draw attention he could not afford. Not with everybody hunting him.

  So hopefully, Blanton Cherry would take the hint and leave them the fuck alone.

  As the miles rolled by, Frankie calmed Brawley by asking questions about the ranch, his family, bull riding, and how he’d met the other girls. Given the parking lot event and the fact they were hauling extradimensional construction materials, it was an oddly normal conversation.

  By the time they pulled into the ranch, his temper had cooled, allowing him to again appreciate Frankie’s unbelievable hotness. The impossible curves of her lush and lively body, the sharp intelligence in her bright green eyes, and of course, that A+ smile of hers, including the dimples arching over each corner like little rainbows.

  They pulled up to the double-wide. A strange car with Florida plates and a shattered rear window sat in the driveway.

  “That’ll be Tammy, I reckon,” Brawley said.

  “The Bender?” Frankie asked.

  Brawley nodded. “Guess she shook the cop.”

  A second later, a little girl with strawberry blond hair toddled out the screen door and gaped across the road at Brawley. The little girl froze there for a second, cute as a button.

  Brawley had never met Tammy’s kids because they’d been fast asleep when he visited. But this girl had to be the telepath’s daughter. She had the same slender build, reddish-blond hair, and pretty face as her mama.

  Brawley waved.

  The girl gave a little hop and ran back inside, calling, “He’s here! Bawley is here! Bawley!”

  Brawley and Frankie got out. Normally, he wouldn’t leave a load sitting in his truck, but he reckoned he’d say a quick hello before unloading.

  Nina appeared at the door, smiling nervously.

  And instantly, Brawley knew something was up.

  “Hey, babe,” Nina said. “You’re home. Hey, Frankie.”

  “What’s up, darlin?” Brawley said.

  “Nothing,” Nina said, and he sensed the lie in her words.

  Remi pushed past Nina, knocking the screen door open and coming outside with an ass-kicking expression on her beautiful face. “Buckle in, handsome. There’s been a change in plans. But you must chill. Okay? Don’t overreact.”

  “Huh?” Brawley said. He was deeply confused. Whatever it was, he wasn’t receiving so much as a chirp from his danger senses. “Y’all quit beating around the mesquite and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Tammy’s here,” Nina chirped, sounding hopeful.

  “And her kids,” Remi said, stopping between him and the door, “so chill.”

  A man he’d never seen before stepped up beside Nina. “Hi, Brawley. My name is Jamaal. I’ve come a long way to meet—”

  Whatever the man had been meaning to say sliced off when Brawley’s telekinetic blast obliterated the screen door, slammed into the Order agent, and knocked him from his feet.

  But Brawley had pulled the punch. He didn’t want to kill the guy. Not yet, anyway. Not with his wives cautioning him like that.

  He rushed forward, drawing his XDS, and loomed over the fallen man, pointing the pistol at his face. “You try to Seeker me, and I will blow your brains out. Do you hear me?”

  “You get into this sort of situation frequently, I gather?” Frankie said, appearing beside him.

  Brawley spared the gorgeous Gearhead a quick glance. “I see you’re riding easier in the saddle, darlin. You stick with me, and you’ll be a gun moll in no time.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Frankie said.

  The other girls shouted, urging Brawley to relax. Jamaal was okay, they insisted.

  But Jamaal might have Seekered them, Brawley knew. Perhaps an Order strike team was already hurtling in this direction.

  And yet Brawley’s danger senses remained dead silent. Why?

  Were the girls right? Was Jamaal all right?

  Or had the crafty old Seeker fucked up Brawley’s awareness of peril, too?

  “Son of a bitch,” Jamaal groaned, clutching his chest. “What kind of—”

  “Not another word unless I ask you a question,” Brawley said. “You understand?”

  Jamaal nodded.

  Brawley detected no deception in the gesture. Jamaal understood that Brawley was serious. Deadly serious, in fact.

  “Babe, Jamaal is cool,” Nina said. “Really. He’s here to help us.”

  “Is that true?” Brawley asked, aiming the .45 at Jamaal’s face.

  “Yes,” Jamaal said. “Shit, my chest hurts.”

  Again, Brawley detected no deception, but he stayed frosty. “Why should I trust an agent from the Order?”

  “Come on,” Jamaal said, sounding frustrated, “if you’re even half as strong as these girls say, you already know I’m telling the truth.”

  “Husband,” Sage said, coming into the hallway with a familiar old woman.

  “My oh my,” Hazel said. “How exciting.”

  “Husband,” Sage continued, “Nina speaks the truth. As does Jamaal. He has come to help you. Hazel showed him the truth. Your truth. And now he is committed to helping you.”

  Jamaal sat up, holding his chest. “Honestly? Second-guessing myself here, buddy. But Sage is right. Dumbass that I am, I came here to help you.”

  Brawley paused for a second, giving a squeeze of Seeker juice and questioning the veracity of Jamaal’s assertions. The claims rang of truth.

  But still, the guy was an experienced Seeker. Had he bent everyone’s perceptions, Brawley’s included?

  Brawley suspected Jamaal was trustworthy. But trusting the agent would be a huge risk to Brawley and his family. The safer course would be to put a bullet straight through the Seeker’s forehead.

  Tammy came into the hall looking pissed off, a small child under each arm.

  The blond-haired little girl he’d seen earlier was sobbing now.

  The boy, who looked seven or eight, stepped forward, positioning his tiny body between his family and the threat. The boy’s face was frightened yet determined. This kid would clearly face a grizzly bear to protect his mother and little sister.

  Put down the damned gun, Brawley, Tammy’s voice demanded inside his head. Don’t make me pull Bender shit on you. Put down the gun, you paranoid son of a bitch, and tell the kids you were only joking.

  Brawley swept his gaze across the entire scene, releasing Seeker juice, and detected no threat.

  Yes, this could still be a trap. But he didn’t think so.

  Decision time.

  Play it safe, waste Jamaal, and deal with the fallout? Or take a risk and hope his women and intuition were right?

  Briefly, he chased out the consequences.

  High stakes. High fucking stakes.

  Ultimately, he went with h
is gut—and his women, reckoning there wasn’t a truth mage on the planet who could Seeker all of them before getting obliterated by one of the girls.

  Besides, he didn’t want Tammy’s kids to see him kill Jamaal.

  If he needed to kill the son of a bitch, let it be later, under better conditions. Say just the two of them, out on the range, Jamaal hogtied in the dirt, Brawley sipping a cold beer as he delivered a neat little telekinetic blast to the back of the agent’s head.

  So Brawley smiled wide, held the XDS behind his back, and waved at Tammy’s kids with his free hand. “Hey, y’all. I’m Brawley.”

  The little girl kept sobbing. The boy took half a step forward, his tiny fists balled up, ready to fight.

  Tammy rolled her eyes, and her voice spoke in Brawley’s skull again, dripping with sarcasm. Nice job, slick. Very convincing.

  Right back at you, darlin, Brawley thought, feeling the blanket of prickling warmth draped across his mind. You said you’d ditch this son of a bitch before coming here. What the hell happened?

  I’ll tell you later. Now take your fake-ass smile down a thousand watts or so. You look crazy. The kids probably think you want to eat them.

  Outwardly, Tammy said, “Kids, Brawley’s okay. Hannah, sweetie, that’s enough now.”

  Brawley didn’t have time for this. Releasing a squeeze of juice, he said, “Listen to your mama. You’re okay. And I’m a nice guy.” He showed them another smile. “Why don’t y’all go have some Froot Loops?”

  Hannah quit crying and instantly started jabbering about junk cereal, which might mean his juice worked but was, truth be told, a fairly normal reversal for a female toddler. Screaming one second, giggling over sugar the next.

  The boy seemed to take it with a grain. He unclenched his fists but retreated slowly, still shielding his mom and eyeing Brawley suspiciously.

  It would’ve been a simple thing to double down on the juice and relax the kid, but Brawley didn’t. The boy had backbone and good instincts, protecting his mama. And Brawley didn’t want to discourage those traits.

  “All right,” Brawley said, infusing his voice with forced cheerfulness. He handed his pistol to Frankie. “If I start acting weird, darlin, shoot Jamaal.”