“And in exchange, I’ll get paid my standard fee and Brownstone will get the shit he wants?”
“Because of the pressing nature of my request, I’m willing to pay you twenty percent above your normal fee. I think you’ll find I’m fair.”
Shay snorted. “Yeah, I know you say you are always fair with people—and Brownstone says the same thing—but I’m going to have to see it several times before I believe it. No offense.”
“Trust but verify, Miz Carson. It’s a good policy to live by. Talk to you later, hopefully soon.”
The treasure hunter sighed as the called ended. More than a few of her kind had gone looking for the Green Dragon Crescent Blade, and none had ever come back alive. Some claimed the blade would destroy anyone who lacked the spiritual strength to wield it.
Shay sighed and headed up to the bedroom where she kept her bookshelves and computer and grabbed Ancient Chinese Legends Reevaluated in Light of Post-Oriceran Contact. In a world of returned magic, a stray piece of information might be the difference between an artifact destroying a person and that person controlling it.
She opened her browser and clicked on her favorite bookmarks, Archaeology Plus and Archaeology Source. Each was a massive database of academic articles on archaeology and related fields. She also opened a database of articles on historical and applied extra-dimensional engineering.
The field archaeologist couldn’t help but chuckle at the convoluted name every time she saw it. She didn’t understand why so many researchers didn’t want to admit they were studying magical artifacts. Whatever it took to keep some people from freaking out over how the world had changed so much in the last couple decades, she supposed.
A lot of people might think Shay was using the title “field archaeologist” flippantly, but the truth was a good tomb raid required a lot of academic leg work ahead of time. The main difference was that unlike academics, she also had a variety of more colorful contacts.
First, though, a lot of reading awaited her. She needed to know the right questions to ask before calling anyone.
“Let’s see what people have to say about you, Guan Yu.”
James moved the painting of Saint Jerome hanging in his living room aside, revealing his biometrically-sealed weapons locker. He placed his palm on the sensor to unlock it, then started placing his various death-dealing implements inside.
That night he had only a light load: a single .45 handgun and a K-Bar.
The bounty hunter sighed at the silence of his home. Only the tick of clocks broke up the choking lack of noise.
He’d gotten used to having Alison around, and before that, having Leeroy rush up to him barking and demanding to be walked.
Now he had no one.
James shook his head. The school was the best place for Alison—he didn’t doubt that. Not only did he know nothing about raising kids, he wasn’t a wizard.
Using a few magic items was totally different than wielding innate magic power and casting spells. He couldn’t help Alison learn what she needed to know to control her powers.
After hanging up his coat, James dropped into the black leather recliner in his living room and picked up his remote. Worrying wouldn’t solve shit. He’d just have to throw himself into work to try to take his mind off things.
The Professor must have moved their meeting for a reason, and it kept gnawing at the edge of the bounty hunter’s mind. Maybe if he hadn’t so desperately needed Smite-Williams’ help he wouldn’t have cared as much.
You better come through on that item, he thought.
James turned on his television. It was the near the end of an episode of Barbecue Wars: New Generation. The season finale was coming up, and even people who didn’t care about barbecue had taken an interest because of the presence of an elf competitor who consistently earned high marks from the judges.
He shook his head. Unicorn and Kirin roamed Virginia, and elves were cooking barbecue. He’d been young when the truth of Oriceran came out, but it’d still taken years for the influence of the magical world to truly affect things.
Everything that had happened in recent weeks made him wonder. He wasn’t from Oriceran, but he also couldn’t deny his strength went well beyond that of a normal man. The strange amulet necklace he kept at the warehouse, the reason for his Granite Ghost nickname, was obviously magical. The necklace had been found with him when he was a young child wandering alone by himself and unable to speak.
He’d thought about the different possibilities. Maybe he had an Oriceran relative, or his family had died protecting him from an Oriceran.
James snorted.
I should stop thinking about shit I won’t ever know.
He forced his attention to the show.
“It’s really not that complicated,” Henry, one of the judges, was saying. “A good rule of thumb is thick meat, low and slow. Thin meat, high and fast. But, that’s just a generalization. At this point in the competition, especially with the protein we used today, you have to be thinking about combinations of temperatures, otherwise you’re not going to get maximum quality—like the failure you had with the bark there. Remember, we’re evaluating all aspects of the meat during judging. But to be totally honest, there was a noticeable quality difference in the flavor between what you gave us and what the other three contestants provided, and I’m actually shocked to see that from you this late in the competition.”
Sam, the portly gray-haired contestant being critiqued, shook his head. “I had some time issues because of the nature of the challenge. I wasn’t as familiar with this meat, so I relied on what I knew.”
Another judge, Cassie, gestured to the other three contestants, who were standing in a row behind Sam. “Everyone has the same amount of time to cook.” She pointed to the elf contestant. “Nadina has had far fewer years of experience with any of these ingredients, let alone a cultural or national history with this cooking style, and both her plates were spot-on. She didn’t even use any Oriceran spices this time.”
The light-haired elf blushed, and the color spread all the way up her pointed ears. She looked down at the ground as the camera lingered on her.
Sam ran a hand through his thinning hair. “We all make mistakes, you know.”
The third judge, Larry, furrowed his brow. “My issue is less with the first plate than the second plate. We clearly stated that the challenge for the second plate was about perfect bark. You obviously lacked temperature and smoke control. Do you think you smoked it long enough?”
“I think… Uh, like I said, there were time constraints.”
“And like Henry said, everyone had the same time constraints.”
“I had some problem with my wood.”
Larry narrowed his eyes. “Everyone had the same materials available. And I’ll be honest—even if you’d managed the temperature and smoke well, I’m still confused by some of the choices you made for your rub. Did you really think such a minimal rub was a good choice for a bark challenge?”
James let out a sigh of contentment. Maybe he couldn’t control a lot of things in his life, but at least he’d always have barbecue.
7
The next morning, James opened his eyes and stared at popcorn ceiling. He’d always thought about replacing it since he didn’t like the look, but it always seemed like more trouble than it was worth.
Sometimes the simplest path was the one of least resistance.
The funk from Alison’s departure still hung over him, but that didn’t mean he could rot in bed like some bitch-ass emo teenager. He rolled out of bed and stood up.
James cracked his knuckles, ready for his morning routine. Paying money to go work out was a sucker’s choice. On top of that, it messed with his desire to live his life as simply as possible.
Keep it simple, stupid. When things got complicated it was at best annoying, but more often than not someone end up suffering—or in his line of work, dead.
Gyms made exercise complicated. All the bounty hunter needed w
as a good space for his movements.
Quickly dropping to the ground, he put himself into push-up position and started his reps.
The minutes passed as he dipped and rose.
“998...999...1000.”
James finished off his push-up reps and rolled to his back. It was time for some sit-ups.
An hour later, after pounding out a variety of additional exercises, the sweat-soaked bounty hunter headed into the shower.
Now fully dressed, James made his way downstairs. The morning’s exercises were intense enough to give him good cardio, but he still liked to hit the neighborhood for a little run. If anything, it helped keep him aware of who was wandering the streets near his house.
“Hey, Leeroy, get ready for some exercise—”
He stared down at the empty space where Leeroy’s food and water bowls had been. It’d been a week since he’d last forgotten that his dog was dead.
James ran most days, and he’d made sure to run with his dog a few times a week. The black lab had loved it.
“Fucking Harriken,” he growled. “I wish I could kill another fifty of you fuckers.”
The anger drained away, and James sighed. With Alison gone, it might be time to consider another pet.
Animals were simple. A man didn’t have to play word games or worry about their loyalty. If he treated them well they’d have his back, just like Leeroy.
He shook his head. Never again. James didn’t want another poor animal to get killed because of who he was.
“Dogs love me,” he muttered. “But they can’t fight those I fight.”
Running didn’t seem all that appealing anymore. It wouldn’t hurt to skip it.
Pulling out his phone, James headed to his couch. If he wanted a real work-out, he’d go after a bounty. It’d also help him work out some frustration—and get paid for it.
The bounty hunter tapped on his phone to connect to the LAPD Bounty Hunter Outreach Department app. Maybe there were some good local bounties he could pick up. Money, exercise, and stress-relief all in one—efficient and simple.
“Jordan Adams,” James read aloud, “aka ‘King Pyro?’” He snorted. The douchebags who gave themselves nicknames like that always caused more trouble. It was like they were compensating for small dicks or something.
From what James skimmed, King Pyro had been a run-of-the-mill bank robber until two years prior, when he’d gotten his grubby paws on the distilled essence of a fire spirit in a potion. Fortunately for the king he didn’t spontaneously combust when he drank the potion, which suggested at least some latent magical potential. Unfortunately for everyone else, the potion gave the man the power to control and manipulate fire.
James didn’t really give a shit about the details of how the man had gotten his powers. All he cared about was taking him down. He skimmed farther down to get better insight into the man.
King Pyro was nothing more than a violent thug, according to the reports. That would make him easier to find, since among other things, it meant the sonofabitch wouldn’t be as good at hiding his trail.
The man’s level-four bounty would be worth a nice chunk of change, and suggested he was dangerous enough to warrant James’ time. There were plenty of other bounty hunters to take care of the small fries.
James’ gaze drifted to the painting of Saint Jerome concealing his weapons locker. Anything level three or lower he could handle with ease, but going up to level four meant that he might have to consider the necklace. It made him nearly invulnerable, and enhanced his normally weak telekinesis ability. That would require a trip to the warehouse.
No. Don’t want to use that thing unless I have to.
Even though the artifact had saved his life more than a few times, James knew there had to be some sort of hidden cost. The revelation of Oriceran had changed a lot of things and put magic back into the world next to science, but that didn’t change the fundamental rule of the universe.
There was no such thing as a free lunch.
The damn artifact might be sucking his life with each use or changing him in some fundamental way, making him even less human. Maybe that was why he had the strange ridges and mottled patterns on his face along with his strength. They’d found the artifact with him as a child, so maybe it’d already worked its terrible magic by then.
One day James might wake up a monster. He was half-convinced the necklace was cursed.
He shook his head. He’d avoid the necklace for now, saving it for when he had to fight a real monster. Or clear an entire house filled with ruthless criminals, but he doubted that’d happen a third time in a couple of months.
When did my life get so fucking complicated?
James stared down at his phone. “Yeah, King Pyro, you’ll do for now. I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass.”
It was time to get armed and even more dangerous.
An hour later the bounty hunter pushed into a dingy bar in Westlake called the Black Sun. Dim lighting helped the place live up to its name. The cracked tables and barred windows didn’t add a lot to its charm. One passed-out gang member sat at a corner table, the idiot’s gun clearly on display. James was half-tempted to take the man’s gun and throw it in the trash just so the fool would panic when he woke up.
He suppressed a snort. The Leanan Sídhe was inviting and full of life. This place made him feel like he’d need another shower after leaving.
It didn’t matter. He hadn’t come there to drink the piss they called beer. He marched up to the bar and took a seat.
The tall, pale bartender looked up from polishing a glass and frowned.
“James Brownstone.” The bartender sighed, putting up the now-shiny glass and grabbing another. “I haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“That’s probably good for you then, Tyler.” James gestured. “I see this place is as shitty as ever. Hell, even shittier. Congratulations. I hope you won your award for ‘Most Appealing to Roaches.’”
“We all enjoy a different ambience. People come here to disappear into their drinks. They don’t much care about the look of the place.”
“Yeah, that much is obvious.”
Tyler put down the glass and the rag. “Do you want something to drink, Brownstone? If not, well, you know what the sign over there says.” He gestured toward the door. “Management reserves the right to deny service to any customer for any reason.”
“I’d like to see you try and kick me out.” James chuckled. “And we both know this place is just a shitty front so you can deal in information, so spare me the hurt feelings bullshit.”
Tyler shrugged. “I’m a bartender. People like to talk to me. Sometimes they like to give me a little extra money, and I pass on useful tidbits in exchange. I’m not hurting anyone, so I don’t understand where all the attitude’s coming from.
The bounty hunter’s nostrils flared. “Attitude? You work with scumbags; complete pieces of shit. You look the other way when people ask you stuff, and they go out and use that info to become even bigger pieces of shit.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Brownstone. You’re not exactly royalty.” The man put his elbow on the bar and leaned forward. “And you’ve benefited from those useful tidbits yourself, so again the attitude is crap. If you want my help, I suggest you stop talking shit to me. Understand?”
James locked eyes with Tyler. If it came to blows, the other man wouldn’t last one second. He must have been convinced that his usefulness as an information broker made him safe.
“Whatever.” The bounty hunter shrugged. “I just need fucking information, and I’m willing to pay for it. If you play along, we both benefit.”
“Okay, I’m listening. Information about what?”
“A level-four bounty I’m tracking named Jordan Adams. He goes by the name ‘King Pyro.’”
Tyler shook his head. “We’ve talked about this, Brownstone. Within reason, I will give you info on level threes and lower, but not level fours. If I started pissing too much in my own water bowl, where
would I be? Everyone knows that if they reach a certain level of...respect, I give them extra respect. Sorry.”
“That could be a problem for you, but it’s not like I fucking care.” James leaned forward. He was reaching the limits of his patience. “Maybe you should care if you want to be able to keep polishing your glasses.”
Tyler smirked. “No bounties on me, Brownstone, and I’ve got cameras all over this place. You beat me down,” he nodded to a nearby camera. “even those bitch cops will have to do something, not to mention my lawyer. Oh, I’d love to sue your ass, because it’d be funny to drag you into court and watch you squirm in a suit. I bet you have all sorts of money I could sue you for, Brownstone. You running an LLC? You know how to protect your assets?”
The bounty hunter’s hands curled into fists, and he weighed the risks versus the satisfaction of punching Tyler before deciding on a different tack. The fucker must have some small sliver of humanity left in him.
“This isn’t some garden-variety asshole. This guy killed a whole family, including little kids, when he blasted away like a fucking maniac during his last bank job.”
Tyler shrugged. “Accidents happen. You so sure everyone you’ve killed had it coming, Brownstone?”
“Yes, and fuck you, you piece of shit. I’ve never killed a kid.”
“Yet.”
James grunted. “It’s not an accident when you use an explosion to rob a bank. This Pyro fucker doesn’t care who he hurts, and I’m going to bring him down. You should help me so you get my thanks rather than pissing me off.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “This is becoming boring, Brownstone. Even if I knew anything about King Pyro, and I’m not saying I do, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve made that policy clear in the past.”
“Fuck your policies.” James stood and pointed at the man. “If I find out you’ve seen this guy and you don’t tell me, this neutrality shit we have,” he waved a finger between the two of them, “goes away.”
“Until I have a bounty on my head,” Tyler picked up his rag and glass once more, “you can’t touch me.”
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