He’d failed to save her mom from the Harriken, but he damn well wouldn’t fail her.
“You said earlier you wanted to talk about the School of Necessary Magic,” James said, his deep and rumbling voice as intimidating as ever.
To most people, at least. The woman on the other side of the table didn’t seem to mind.
Shay nodded. “I decided to look into the school from my side of things.”
“Why? You think I didn’t do a good job? I know how to check into shit, Shay. I’m a bounty hunter.”
She eyed him with her lips pressed together. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Brownstone. I don’t think you did a shitty job. I used to kill people for a living, so I have some dirtier sources of information than you might.”
James offered a curt nod of acknowledgement.
Shay’s new life as a field archaeologist was earning her money and a good reputation.
She’d been reluctant to admit the truth about her past, but she now seemed a lot more comfortable discussing it with him. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
“What’d they find?” he asked.
She moved her fork in a circle. “Nothing really. The government is supporting the school…in a good way.”
He eyed her. “What would be a bad way?”
Shay shrugged. “Using it to manufacture magical super-soldiers. MK Ultra II, that sort of thing.”
James responded with one of his trademark grunts. “Okay, so it’s not a bad place. Seems safe.”
He frowned.
Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters had been a safe place too until they’d attacked it.
“It’s not a hidden school for hated mutants or anything,” Shay interrupted his thoughts. “Too many kids there from powerful and important families. People might have issues with Oricerans, but at the end of the day everyone wants every advantage, and there’s no bigger advantage out there right now than magic.”
James stared at Shay, not caring about the explanation as much as her first sentence.
“How the hell did you know what I was thinking?” He scrubbed his face with a hand. “Wait, did you pick up some sort of mind-reading artifact on your last job?” The last thing Shay needed was unfiltered access to his mind.
Shay snickered, a faint glint of amusement in her eyes. “It’s because you’re not that complicated. Did you forget that I was here for your stupid classics of super-hero cinema marathon last week?” She shrugged. “Though I agree with you… The originals, except for the third one, are way better than the remakes. The point is, Brownstone, I know how your mind works.”
“Thinking you know and knowing are two separate things.”
“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.” She took a bite of her food. “Anyway, I was thinking about this the other day. I think I should go with you.”
James furrowed his brow. “To the school?”
“Yes, to the school.” She pointed her knife at him as if she were using it to make a point. “You don’t know how to act around normal people, Brownstone, or even non-normal people. You’ll probably insult someone and get turned into a toad or something.” She went back to eating.
He grabbed another pot sticker, number eleven. “I’m not the person who beat down a random guy in the bar the night we met.”
Shay glared at him. “That guy grabbed my ass. We aren’t talking a random accident, we are talking full-bore pinch-an-inch. He got what was coming to him.” She held up a hand. “Let me rephrase my earlier statement. I’m coming with you. Alison needs all the help she can get, and as her aunt I insist I go.”
He grabbed number twelve. “Whatever. The more, the merrier. I’ll have to let them know you’re coming. They were clear about specifying exactly who would visit, and said if I didn’t do that we wouldn’t be able to find the school.”
“Huh?” She looked up and grabbed the last pot sticker before Cro-Magnon Man snagged them all. “You mean you wouldn’t be allowed in?”
James shook his head. “Nope. They said I wouldn’t be able to find the school.”
Jiro Ikeda walked down the dimly-lit hallway. Tattooed men in dark suits lined the entire length; his brothers, fellow Harriken.
Every man bore a wakizashi at his side, ready to engage any who dared attack their organization by blade or bullet.
His pulse thundered in his ears, and his stomach churned.
It’d been three years since the last full Executive Meeting, and the man had no doubts about why they’d called this one. Few such meetings ended without punishment. The only question was whether that punishment would be fatal.
Two enforcers at the end of the hallway bowed to him and opened the broad wooden double doors.
Jiro stepped inside. A low table had been placed in the center of the large room, and a single floating orb provided the only illumination. The magic lighting was new. Perhaps Grandfather wanted to demonstrate his increasing power.
The man bore no actual relation to Jiro, but as head of the Harriken, he’d earned their ultimate title of respect.
Thirty men knelt in front of the table and Grandfather sat in a chair, both literally and figuratively above them all. Unlike the other men in the room, he wore a purple kimono instead of a suit.
“How wonderful of you to join us finally, Ikeda,” Grandfather said in accented English.
Jiro bowed deeply and then knelt at an empty spot at the table. The slight of Grandfather greeting him in English didn’t go unnoticed.
Failure harmed the Harriken, and anything that harmed the Harriken would be destroyed.
“Good, we are all finally here,” Grandfather said, shifting into Japanese. “I apologize for forcing you to travel so far on such short notice.” His cool gaze locked on Jiro. “Events in America have forced this gathering, and I thought it important that everyone be present as we explore the recent failures that have harmed our organization and our future.”
Everyone turned to stare at Jiro, who steeled his features. Failure was part of life. The important thing was to learn from it.
Though he might not survive to do that.
“Explain yourself, Ikeda,” Grandfather said, his voice still as calm as a spring breeze. “Explain why so many of our men lie dead in Los Angeles and one of our buildings was a burned cinder. You are responsible for American operations, so the failure of the men in Los Angeles is your failure. You’ve seriously crippled our expansion plans.”
Jiro bowed his head. “What I set in motion should have increased the strength of the Harriken, even if there were some...operational failures.”
“Strength? Strength comes from killing your enemies, not from dying.” Grandfather tilted his head, resting his elbow on an armrest and his head in the palm of his hand. He looked more like a bored teenager than the head of a vicious international criminal group.
“The men in Los Angeles... That is, we came into possession of something unusual; special. Oriceran. A woman, a Drow princess.”
Even if he hadn’t been running the operation directly, his responsibility for it dictated that he must speak as if he had been directly involved. Anything less would lessen the respect of the men in the room for him.
Grandfather’s lip curled in a sneer. “Foreigners are disgusting enough. These alien creatures are even more so. What do I care for Oricerans, royalty or otherwise?”
Jiro saw his chance. Tradition would always fall before greed. “This Drow princess possessed the ability to grant a wish. It is powerful magic.”
“Interesting. And how did you contain such a creature if she was so powerful?”
“We acquired rare and special rope that drained her power through black magic. For us to gain the wish, she had to give it up willingly.” Jiro gave a light shrug. “She proved reluctant, so we tried to force it out of her through torture.”
Grandfather drummed his fingers along the side of his chair. “But you failed.”
“There were...complications. She proved su
rprisingly resilient.”
“Elaborate on these complications. If you had this woman restrained, that implies there were additional issues?”
Jiro took a deep breath. “There were no survivors from the attack on the location where we kept the Drow princess, but there was a single survivor from the first attack. He gave us information, and I had a few other local Harriken subjected to...aggressive questioning to confirm what had happened. I also discreetly inquired around the area.”
Every man in that room understood that Jiro had ordered those Harriken tortured, just as he understood he was on the verge of torture or death for his failures as the leader of the American branch.
Grandfather continued to look more bored than angry. “And what did your questioning reveal?”
“The Los Angeles branch under Takahashi involved outside forces; a bounty hunter named James Brownstone.”
The other man quirked a brow. “You expect me to believe a single bounty hunter killed that many of our men?”
“There...was a woman with him, I believe.”
Grandfather jumped from his seat, his face red with rage. He stabbed a finger at Jiro. “A man and a woman would not have been strong enough to butcher our men!”
Jiro looked down, swallowing and awaiting the execution order. A dozen guards lined the room, cloaked in the shadows in their dark suits. A word from Grandfather would end his life in seconds.
“This Brownstone,” Jiro continued when the word didn’t come. “He’s not normal. He’s some sort of ogre or evil spirit. He apparently has a reputation for unusual strength. They call him ‘the Granite Ghost.’”
Grandfather smoothed his features and gave Jiro a cold smile, all trace of the rage gone. He sat back down before he spoke. “Interesting. Maybe he is another sort of Oriceran, or has availed himself of the magic that has returned. Why would such a creature involve himself in our dealings? Was he an ally of this Oriceran woman you tortured?”
“Two of the Los Angeles men were sent to capture the woman’s daughter to force her cooperation, but Brownstone was there. He stopped the men, and…” Jiro sighed as silently as possible.
“Finish,” Grandmother commanded. “My patience runs thin.”
“The local branch... We decided to teach him a lesson, so our men went to his home, killed his dog, and left it there for him to find. He reacted more extremely than had been expected, and from what we can tell, all his later involvement was because we killed his dog.”
Grandfather burst into a hearty laugh. The other Harriken exchanged glances, confusion on their faces. Jiro kept his head down, waiting for his superior to finish.
“A dog?” Grandfather scoffed. “We lost all those men because of a fucking dog?” He shook his head. “You, will of course repay Mr. Brownstone, Jiro. Please make sure he joins the dog he loved so much very soon.”
“Yes, Grandfather. There’s another matter as well.”
The man leaned forward. “Tell me, Ikeda.”
“A unit working for the Grayson company was involved in the second battle. They were wiped out as well.”
“By Brownstone and this woman?”
Jiro nodded. “We’re unsure how to best handle the situation with Grayson. The mercenaries knew the risk, but they are pressuring us for more information on what happened to their men.”
Grandfather leaned forward. “How much were they to be paid for the job?”
“Ten thousand dollars a man.”
“Tell them that if they kill Brownstone, we will make up every one of their deaths at a price of twenty-five thousand a man. A million to kill one man. Very generous, I think, especially since they too proved incompetent.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
For the first time since entering the room, Jiro allowed some hope to enter his heart. If he was receiving orders, that meant he wouldn’t be killed.
Grandfather let out a long sigh. “There is one last matter, Ikeda. A failure below reflects a failure above.”
Jiro’s jaw tightened. “It is as you say.”
“Are you left-handed or right-handed?”
“Right-handed.”
Jiro locked eyes with Grandfather. This was the time to show his bravery. He could still make up for the failures in Los Angeles. He shoved his left arm out, resting his arm on the table.
Grandfather paused, staring at the hand offered before nodding to someone behind Jiro. A huge guard stepped forward, sword in hand.
“You will pay for your failure with your left hand. Next time, I won’t be so generous.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
The guard lifted the sword and brought it down in a powerful stroke.
Jiro didn’t scream as his hand parted from his body.
Brownstone pushed his way into the Leanan Sídhe.
Customers jammed the Irish pub, chatting, drinking, and laughing. It was busier in the bar than James had seen it in the last few weeks.
A quick look around the bar located his target, an attractive if slightly pudgy older man in the back. The Professor, aka Father O’Banion, aka Dr. FJ Smite-Williams, sat alone in a booth.
The bounty hunter navigated toward the Professor through the happy and not-so-happy drunks who filled the bar. The white-haired man waved to him, and James slipped into a seat across the table.
“I’ve got good news, lad.” The Professor’s eyes were slightly red. “That’s why I asked you to come.”
He spoke clearly and his face wasn’t red, which suggested the Professor hadn’t downed that many drinks yet. Had he done so, Father O’Banion would have been unleashed. Two beer-filled glasses sat in front of him, so the night might have just started.
To James’ surprise, the Professor slid one of them across the table.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Irish Stout. It’s on me,” he answered. “Enjoy it.”
James picked up his glass and took a sip of the beer, enjoying the roasted barley flavor. “So what’s the news?”
“I might have access to that certain item you asked me about. It took some doing, let me tell you.”
The bounty hunter stared at the Professor for a moment, trying to judge his tone. There were few people better when it came to information about magical artifacts—and the man hadn’t steered James wrong so far—but it didn’t hurt to be careful.
“And?”
“Reciprocity, lad. Reciprocity. I can get it to you, and in exchange, I need something. I need your help, along with that of the fair Ms. Carson.”
James shook his head. “I can’t speak for Shay, only for me.”
The Professor sighed. “Sometimes, lad, the two who need to see reality are the two who don’t have a clue.”
James’ eyes narrowed. “What the fuck does that even mean? I’m not in the mood for riddles.”
The Professor chuckled. “That means you need more beer in you.” He picked up his glass and took a sip. “It means, tell Shay I’ll pay her to help you get this item. If you agree, send me a text, and we’ll have another little chat here about what the service might entail.”
James grunted. “It’s not like you to be so mysterious.”
“The problem is, I’m not drunk enough to give a shit.” The Professor picked up his glass and swallowed some beer before wiping a bit of foam off his smiling face. “Time to remedy that!”
4
James stared at the single medium-sized pink suitcase in his living room.
It didn’t seem like nearly enough for a girl about to start a new life at a magical boarding school.
Maybe they had some secret street where students bought all their shit on the first day?
He looked at the suitcase, then at Alison. “This is it? You sure? I paid for the flight upgrade, so you can bring whatever you need.”
Alison shrugged. “What do I need more for? I can’t see my clothes, so I don’t care much about having a zillion different outfits. I have my phone and my adaptive braille reader.”
Ja
mes nodded.
Alison’s ability to perceive living energy and souls made her movements different than a normal blind person’s. Sometimes he’d go a whole day and forget that she couldn’t see. For that matter, she couldn’t even use a notepad and pencil.
She looked down. “And I don’t want to risk bringing all those special things that Shay found. I want to keep them in the safe deposit box for now. Maybe I’ll pick them up later.”
“Your choice, kid. I can always send them by mail or special courier or something.”
Alison nodded quickly.
“Well, we should at least get you a backup reader and backup braille phone,” James said. “Shi... Do you know a good place? We have plenty of time for a little shopping before the flight.”
The great thing about booking first class on a supersonic flight and paying the upgrade fee was that they’d be able to get through the lines quickly. The ridiculous price of the tickets might almost be worth it.
“I do know a good place.” Alison grinned. “Want me to drive there?”
He looked at her. “Very funny. Just tell me where, and let’s get going.”
“Shay’s still coming with us to the school, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she’s coming. We’ll pick her up after we buy your stuff.”
Alison looked at him, her eyes unfocused as usual, but the curiosity on her face telling him everything she was thinking.
Here it comes. More matchmaker bullshit.
“You don’t seem happy, Mr. Brownstone. The mention of Shay always gets you worked up.”
“I’m fine, kid.”
A coy smile appeared on Alison’s face. “Sure. Forget I asked.” She gave him a mock salute.
First the Professor, and now a kid is busting my balls about Shay? Fuck.
The trip to the store went quickly, which was fine by James. Shopping for anything other than barbecue-related items didn’t excite him much.
Money wasn’t a concern when a man lived simply and caught as many high-level bounties as he did each month. That still didn’t save him from sticker shock over the prices of the devices.
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