James turned back toward the foyer. The mercenaries continued their barrages, occasionally swapping out magazines. Given some of the colored bands he saw, James suspected they were using anti-magic rounds and were confused as to why they weren’t doing much more than bouncing off him.
Several small grenades flew past James from behind and into the foyer. They didn’t explode or spark but gave off high-pitched whines, and the mercenaries fell over, clutching their ears.
James grinned. Trey might have underestimated what Egorov would have to protect himself, but Egorov had also underestimated the type of gear a top-level bounty-hunting agency could bring when they knew they were facing off against an arms dealer.
The bounty hunters began advancing on all sides, jogging forward with wands, stun rifles, regular rifles, and grenade launchers at the ready. No one would be escaping the house now.
James charged inside. The quicker he found Egorov, the sooner he could get back on the road and the safer the other bounty hunters would be. More than a few men in business suits lay groaning among the downed mercenaries. Egorov’s crew, he assumed.
This asshole can’t have many more guys left, but I bet he’s still got a trick or two.
James continued into the main hall. The mansion was only one story, but it was wide and deep. He looked back and forth for a few seconds. With the option to go straight, left, or to the right, he decided his best bet was straight.
The heavy thuds of his armored feet echoed through the long, wide hallway as he ran past various vases and paintings. A few pieces of them rattled as he passed and fell to the ground, shattering.
Hope that shit wasn’t too expensive.
After several turns, other rooms presented themselves, but James ignored them and continued charging toward the golden-leaf double doors at the end of the hallway. A room with such an ostentatious entrance had to be where Egorov was hiding.
James grunted as an invisible force knocked him back with a flash. He shook his head and stood.
Minimum damage, Whispy reported. Maximum adaptation already achieved.
Magic? James asked.
Energy signature is consistent with previous such exposure.
James snorted and raised his blade. He stabbed a few times until his blade slid through the air with ease, then sliced back and forth a few more times before stepping forward. While he wasn’t sure if he’d carved a piece out of the invisible wall or killed the entire thing, he was able to proceed to the door without any new challenges.
Two more expensive-looking vases painted with ancient Greek scenes rested on square stands on either side. James thought about knocking them down, but if they were ancient artifacts, Shay might be pissed.
He looked over his shoulder and grimaced. A good third of the vases in the hallway had met their end during his lumbering extended-advanced mode stroll, even though he hadn’t been purposely trying to knock them over.
Oh, well. Not like Shay needs to know.
The gunfire and the hiss of stun bolts echoed down the hallway, along with the clomping of bounty hunters entering the mansion. There were still a few small fish left, but it sounded like Trey and the others had that under control.
James looked the golden doors up and down. They didn’t look old, or as if they had been taken from some ancient tomb. They just looked gaudy, so he turned and kicked. With a loud crack, one of the doors flew inward and crashed to the floor.
A dark-haired man with a scar across his cheek sat behind a massive glass desk with nothing on it but a single computer and a rusty ball-peen hammer. Boris Egorov might have had some chance at being intimidating if he hadn’t been wearing a white bathrobe, his hair still wet.
“I interrupt your shower?” James rumbled. “Sorry.”
Enemy is unlikely to present significant adaptation potential, Whispy complained. Efficiently neutralize and end battle.
Egorov offered a tight smile. “I have to applaud you, Mr. Brownstone.” His voice had only a trace of an accent. “You live up to all the hype. I never imagined you would come after me. Aren’t you supposed to be retired?”
James shrugged. “I’m supposed to be on a barbeque road trip, but shit came up. You’re a dumbass to be pushing Ultimate in Vegas. You should have stayed away from Vegas and LA. If you had, you might not have had to deal with me.”
Several screams and shouts filtered in from the hallway.
James pointed over his shoulder with his clawed hand. “We took out your mercs and your men, and the few assholes remaining won’t last long. There’s no one left to save you, Egorov.”
The robed mobster picked up the hammer and patted the head in his palm. “I’ll admit you’ve inconvenienced me.” He raised his hand, on which he wore a silver ring. He twisted the ring, and a shimmering field surrounded him. “But I’m not yet ready to surrender. Let me share a little epiphany with you, Mr. Brownstone.”
James narrowed his eyes, wondering what the deal was with the hammer. “What?”
“I followed the trials of those corporate bastards your daughter took out in Seattle,” Egorov explained. He stood, and a low hum came from the hammer. “A lot of interesting talk about magicals and normal people. Are we the same? Different?”
“I don’t care about any of that shit,” James growled.
The footsteps of several bounty hunters, including Trey, Victoria, and Ramon, sounded behind him.
Egorov nodded. “Good. I agree with you. I came to the same conclusion. Magic isn’t power. Not really.” He slammed the hammer into the glass table. Glowing cracks shot through it, and a couple seconds later it collapsed to the ground in a heap of shards. “Magic’s just a tool. Money is power. It was why those rich corporate fuckers could almost stand up to your daughter and her people, even though they had no magical power. And your daughter? Well, she’s a Drow princess.” The mobster stepped through the glass and it crunched beneath him, the shimmering field around him saving his bare feet from being shredded. “It’s why I can have mercs in power armor protecting me, and things like my ring and this hammer.” He twisted the hammer in the air. “You like it? I got it a few weeks ago. It’s great for making a point when a man disappoints you.” He lifted the hammer. “Time to crack the shell.”
Low to moderate possibility of adaptation potential, Whispy reported, excitement underlying the thought.
Trey and the other bounty hunters slowed until they were right behind James, their guns and wands at the ready.
James glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “Let me handle this shit. You wanted a show, and I’ll give you one.”
Egorov licked his lips. “How about we make a deal, Brownstone? If I kill you, your guys let me go.”
“Sure,” James responded without hesitation.
Victoria, Ramon, and several of the bounty hunters frowned. Trey grinned.
“Oh?” Egorov replied. “You are really that confident?”
“I only need you alive,” James replied. “That doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you.” He held up his hand to the others. “Stay out of this shit.”
Egorov threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t even care if I die. If I take you with me, that’s all I need. I’ll be remembered forever.”
“Talk less and kill me already,” James ordered. “I’m kind on the clock here, asshole.”
Egorov sneered and charged, lifting the hammer. James swung his blade and sliced the man’s hand off with one smooth motion. The hand and the hammer landed a few feet away with a soft thud.
The mobster howled in pain and fell to the ground, blood spurting from the stump. He rattled off something in Russian, gripping his wrist before looking up at James. “But my shield!”
James snorted. “Your second-rate shield wasn’t gonna work against me.” He marched over to the hammer and picked it up. “This shit might have, but fuck, no reason to be dumb about it.” He placed the tool against the center of his armor, where his amulet peeked out.
Drain it, James commanded.
&n
bsp; Draining alternative power, Whispy responded. Analyzing underlying magic. Please note reduced efficacy of potential adaptation.
Just drain that shit.
A few seconds later, the hammer crumbled into dust.
“No!” Egorov bellowed.
Power drained. Minor adaptation achieved. Whispy’s annoyance radiated through their mental link.
Huh, it was actually new?
Yes.
It’s been a good four years since we last ran into that, even if we don’t play all that often. I wonder how it would have worked, he thought.
Impossible to determine tactical effectiveness from indirect drain, Whispy noted. In next encounter, recommend direct engagement with weapon.
James grunted. I should maybe die just so you can be less bored?
That, and improved tactical efficiency.
James nodded at the wounded mobster. “Probably should get that bleeding under control, Victoria. He can’t squeal to the cops if he’s dead, but we’re not wasting a healing potion on this sonofabitch.”
The witch chuckled and walked over to the mobster, her wand in hand.
James nodded to Trey, then the hallway. Both men exited while the witch tended James’ victim.
“We’ve got total control,” Trey explained. “The police are on their way.”
James’ helmet retracted, melting into the top of his armor. “Good. Now do you need any other favors, or can I get back on the road?”
Trey laughed and patted James’ armored arm. “Nah. We’re good. Thanks for the assist, big man.”
James offered him a nod and looked back at Victoria. She’d sealed the wound, but hadn’t bothered to try to reconnect the severed hand. He wasn’t even sure if her healing magic was that good.
“It’s fun to get a little exercise now and again,” James admitted, gazing at the agency bounty hunters cuffing prisoners down the hallway. “But all the chasing people around shit gets old.”
“No one’s gonna complain if you want to un-retire, you know.” Trey raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like we bitch because bounties are too easy.”
“My wife will, and probably my new kid would complain if I un-retired.” James shook his head. “Nope. The occasional favor will have to be enough. I kicked enough ass before I retired. I’ve earned a break.”
“Not saying you don’t.” Trey nodded. “And you’re the man paying the bills. You know where to find us if you get bored playing with your barbeque.” He pointed down the hallway. “We won’t need you for the rest. If the cops bitch about Egorov, I’ll handle it. You better get back on the road. It’s like you said—you’re supposed to be hitting barbeque, not bounties.”
Recommend additional tactical engagement, Whispy suggested.
Nope. Trey’s right. It’s time for more barbeque.
Please note that barbeque is of questionable tactical value.
I can’t believe any symbiont of mine would believe that, James sent. You sure you’re really Whispy Doom?
Emotional attachment doesn’t increase the tactical value of sauced and grilled meat, Whispy responded.
Keep telling yourself that and I’ll slap some sauce on you and eat you.
James’ wide grin made Trey eye him.
“What’s up?” Trey asked.
“Nothing,” James replied. “Just thinking about how important barbeque is.”
Trey snickered. “Talk about a one-track mind.”
Chapter Ten
James stifled a yawn as his truck barreled down the 15, Vegas growing more distant with each passing minute. Despite all Whispy’s modifications, including passive regeneration, James still needed to sleep. There was probably some fundamentally important biological truth underlying that reality, but James didn’t really care. Sometimes it was nice just to rest, especially after a couple of days of handling bounties. He still had a few hours of driving that day, though.
“It’s like I didn’t even retire,” James muttered to himself. “Taking down bounties, fighting power-armored mercs.”
With plenty of hours of daylight left and a schedule to keep, James shrugged off the fatigue. His gaze cut to the phone on his console. He grabbed it and dialed, setting it to speaker.
The phone rang a few times.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” Alison answered.
“Nothing. Just driving, and I’m bored,” James admitted. “You’re not busy beating someone down, are you? I can call back.”
Alison laughed. “You think I’d answer my phone in the middle of a fight?”
“I might if it were you calling.” James grunted. “Especially if the other guy wasn’t that tough.”
“Good to know, but I’m pretty sure you don’t generally keep your phone on you in the middle of a fight.” Alison snickered. “Mom mentioned you left on your little road trip. I hope you’re having good barbeque and a good time.”
James checked his mirrors, but there weren’t any other cars around. There might be a hidden Alliance ship for all he knew, but he figured it’d be another few decades before they mustered the courage to go after him again, especially since he’d taken down five Vax singlehandedly.
“I spent a couple of days in Vegas,” James explained. “I was just supposed to stop by for some Jesse Rae’s and to see Trey, but he dragged me into some shit with golfing wizards and Ultimate.”
“Golfing wizards? Wait, Ultimate?” Alison sighed. “I’ve heard a little bit about it, but we’re not seeing it up here yet. My law enforcement contacts haven’t mentioned it showing up either. I suppose it was inevitable someone made something like that, as opposed to using artifacts to do it.”
“I didn’t mean to call and talk about drugs. Let’s talk about something not related to work. I mean ass-kicking work. We can talk about barbeque if you want.”
Alison sighed. “Well, there is something I want to talk about that doesn’t have to do with work. It’s personal.”
“You know you can always talk to me.” James’ hands tightened on the wheel. He always wanted his daughter to talk to him, but he was the first to admit he often struggled when Shay wasn’t around to translate the subtlety of certain emotions for him.
“I know you…object to me moving in with Mason,” Alison began, “but I—”
“No,” James declared.
“No? Come on, Dad. That’s not fair.” Alison sucked in a breath and slowly blew it out. “And I wasn’t asking for permission, just to be damned clear.”
James grunted. “You’re not understanding me.”
“Then explain yourself,” Alison snapped.
James frowned and took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. “I’m not saying no to Mason. I’m saying no to my complaints before. They were crap, and I thought I’d made that clear after Vancouver, but I guess I didn’t. I’m not gonna pretend I wasn’t pissed, and I didn’t like the idea at first, and I’m not gonna lie about how much I bitched to your mom about it. If I hadn’t gotten sidetracked by the pregnancy news, I probably would have driven up there to have another loud conversation with Mason.”
“And now?” Alison asked softly.
“It’s like I told him after the fight—I expect him to be a man, and be there for you.” James shook his head, his overprotectiveness warring with other instincts. “The thing is, seeing him in action during that raid changed things for me. I know he’ll have your back, not just when you’re feeling upset, but when dark wizards are trying to kill you with some super-artifact jar. That’s a good thing in a boyfriend.”
Alison laughed. “I’m glad you’ve come around. Again, it wasn’t like I was asking for permission, but I’m still happy to hear all this. I want the men in my life to get along.”
James glanced at the phone for a second before returning his attention to the road. “This thing with Mason seems a lot more real than anything you’ve had in a long time, not that you’ve always been that open about your love life.”
“I suppose you can say that. We both know I had my
issues because of Tanner. Maybe there would have been someone else with a real connection had I given them the chance, but you know, I’ve got Mason now, and he’s understanding about everything in my life. I can’t ask for much more.”
“So when are you meeting his parents?” James asked.
“W-what?” Alison sputtered.
“His parents.” James grunted. “He’s met your parents. From what you told me, he’s not an orphan or some shit like that, so he’s got parents somewhere. Right?”
“Yes, he has parents.” Wariness underlaid Alison’s voice.
“And he doesn’t hate their asses. Right?”
“Not really,” Alison whispered. “He’s had his disagreements with them, but he talks to them. They’re not on bad terms or anything.”
James nodded to himself. “Then don’t you think you should meet them? If he’s met your family, then it’s only fair that you meet his.”
“I’m not sure. It’s a big step.”
James chuckled. “I’m not saying you should start sending invites to your local Mafia dons, but if you’re moving in together, you’re at least heading that way. Don’t you think you should meet his parents?”
Alison let out a long sigh. “I’ll be honest, Dad. I don’t know where this is going. I’m not saying I can’t see marriage down the line, but I’m also not sure. I do love him, but every once in a while, I wonder if I’m seeing and feeling more than is there.”
“He loves you, right? He’s said it?”
“Yes,” Alison murmured. “He said it first, way before I said it. He’s always been in front in the feelings department.”
“I’m far from an expert on this kind of thing, but it sounds like you’re both looking in the same direction. You even have a practice kid with that Sonya there,” James offered.
Sonya, a teenage witch who specialized in infomancy, a type of computer and systems magic, had ended up living with Alison after some of her employees and friends had tracked the girl down, thinking she was a dangerous enemy. The poor kid had been left by her father and abused by her mother because of her magic, but now she had a new chance at life.
Road Trip: BBQ And A Brawl (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 19) Page 8