Karma Is A Bitch: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 12)

by Michael Anderle

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe he’s supposed to be calling the shots more than me.” James frowned. “I really don’t know. I get the feeling he’s almost as clueless as me, just acting on instinct and programming. From what I can tell, he even accepts that his name is Whispy Doom now. Gets pissy when I call him Coach, but never complains anymore about Whispy Doom.”

  Shay chuckled. “Aww. How cute. You’ve trained it.” Her smile faded, and she furrowed her brow. “Secondary directive, huh? Wonder what that means. Maybe once that becomes available he’ll know more.”

  James shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t fucking care. Worry about it once he knows what it is.”

  Shay rolled her eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say. You have to be the least curious man I’ve ever known.”

  “I care about the shit in front of me. That keeps life—”

  “Simple,” Shay finished for him. She grinned.

  Chapter Three

  A couple of days later, Trey surveyed the gathered bounty hunters of the Brownstone Agency. Although they had a team off in Vegas, every other man stood in formation behind the building. Staff Sergeant Royce and James stood in front of the formation.

  Every day it’s like we turn more into soldiers or Marines than bounty hunters. Shit. Don’t even know if that’s a bad thing. Maybe we all should have signed our asses up for the Army before the big man had to convince us to stop being criminals.

  Trey smiled to himself and waited. He knew why they were all there, even if the rest of the men didn’t.

  Royce whispered something to James, who nodded back and grunted.

  The staff sergeant stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I’ve been talking more to James and Trey about how everything went down with the Council. I know I haven’t said much these past few weeks other than how proud I am, but I don’t think that’s enough.”

  Everyone locked their attention on the man, the raw wound from Shorty’s death still fresh. Many of them had begged James to let them come along on Council seek-and-destroy missions, but he’d wanted them to concentrate on LA and Vegas while he finished off the last vestiges of the magical cabal. Trey agreed.

  Royce wore a stern look, but not a frown. “We’ve talked a lot since I started training you in discipline, both in combat and otherwise. I’ve made you read a lot of Marcus Aurelius, and if you’ve gotten anything out of his work, it should be that the only thing we can really control is ourselves. Not our circumstances, not others, and certainly not damned fate.”

  Trey snorted. Fuck. Don’t I know it, if I didn’t before.

  The men all nodded, but no one said a word.

  “Make no mistake, men. You’re in a dangerous line of work, far more than when you were criminals. You all know that even a simple bounty can turn out to be more complicated. It was the same thing when I was in the Corps.” Royce shrugged. “We’d get missions, and those were supposed to be backed up with intelligence, but sometimes shit was wrong, or shit just went south. I wasn’t a desk jockey or chairborne ranger. I know what it’s like to lose a brother-in-arms, even when the rest of the mission went well.”

  A few men swallowed. Trey took a few deep breaths.

  Royce pointed at Trey, his brow furrowed. “Shorty sacrificed himself to save another man. He accomplished what a lot of men who take up arms will not be able to do. He got to choose the time and place of his death, and he got to choose a death that had some damned meaning. An honorable death.”

  A few murmurs of “damned right” and “fuck, yeah, Shorty” followed.

  James stood, his arms crossed, watching the staff sergeant.

  “We mourn the dead, and that is good. That’s right to do.” Royce shook his head. “But we shouldn’t diminish what Shorty did or feel sorry that he made a choice to save another man. We should honor his bravery. Honor his choice. Honor that he died defending his friend, his country, and his planet from sons of bitches who thought they could do whatever they wanted.

  “Shorty, along with each of you, went to the Council and their wizards and witches and monsters, and you made it clear that, ‘You don’t get to do what the fuck you want just because you have a little magic.’ You went to these assholes who thought they could set up a base in our country, and you said, ‘America doesn’t bend the knee to terrorists and criminals just because they have wands.’”

  “Hell, yeah!” the men chorused.

  The drill instructor waited for the excited murmurs to die down. “That’s what it means to be a true warrior. You don’t go seeking death. If anything, it’s like General Patton said: the best situation is to kill the other son of a bitch. Today, though, we honor the next best choice.” He nodded to Trey.

  Trey took another deep breath and stepped forward. He turned to face the men. “So, I was talking to Staff Sergeant and the big man. We ain’t the military. We don’t have no fancy medals and shit to hand out. Shorty don’t get to be buried in Arlington.” He shrugged. “But that don’t mean we ain’t got no way to honor him. To pay our motherfucking respects to a man who paid the ultimate price.”

  Another “hell, yeah” thundered from the men.

  Trey pointed to the maze of walls and towers they’d been using for anti-magic training. “We’ve been calling that Fort Brownstone. The big man says we can officially name it ‘Fort Shorty.’ He even paid for this fine-ass fancy plaque that explains just who Shorty was and what he done for me and America.” He shrugged. “But y’all have to agree. This ain’t me delivering shit from on high. So, what do you think…we have a Fort Shorty now?”

  The men cheered, hooted, and hollered.

  With a smile, he turned toward Royce and James. “Looks like they think it’s a good idea.”

  Royce nodded, and James cracked a smile.

  Trey grinned. “Thought you would say that. I’ll go get the plaque, and we’ll get that bastard up on the wall of Fort Shorty.”

  As he headed toward the door, a wave of positive feelings made his entire body feel light. It wasn’t as if he had expected the rest of the men to say no, but at the same time, it was hard to forget that Shorty had sacrificed himself for Trey.

  I best be living a life that you won’t give me shit about when I check out and join you, huh, Shorty?

  Trey thought back to their discussions of the future. He’d convinced himself that just because he no longer assumed he would die young, he’d been thinking about the future, but in truth, he hadn’t put thought into how to live, only how to not die.

  Thoughts of Zoe bubbled up again.

  Why was I saving myself? Because I didn’t want some woman to have to throw herself over my coffin crying? But I gave it up to Zoe. Damned fine woman, and damned fine sex.

  Trey opened the door and made his way down the hallway. The plaque was sitting in the reception area on his aunt’s desk.

  Did that shit with Zoe even mean anything? She said how I was great and how she got all that energy and shit, but the few times I’ve tried to call her these last few weeks, she said she was busy.

  He snorted and shook his head. He couldn’t be sure.

  Women. It didn’t matter if they were witches or not. They remained the world’s greatest mystery.

  James was barely paying attention to the podcast as he drove home in his F-350. The setting sun painted the sky orange and pink. If he hadn’t been in a funk, he might have even appreciated it. Every once in a while, a word or sentence would catch his attention, and he’d pay attention for a few lines.

  “A sauce revolution,” declared the podcast’s host. “That’s what we’re in the middle of. Don’t let traditionalists blind you to new possibilities. All modern cuisine uses ingredients from different places. Barbeque must continue to move forward. Innovation doesn’t mean ignoring what we have. It simply means improving on it.”

  Fuck. I’m having trouble concentrating. Why? It’s not Shay. She goes out on tomb raids all the time. It’s got to be something else. This isn’t me be
ing mopey and shit.

  His stomach knotted, and he grunted. James tapped his touchscreen to stop the podcast, a harsh realization taking over his mind.

  A year. It’d been a year, and he hadn’t even remembered. He grunted in frustration.

  Over a year since those fuckers had killed Leeroy.

  James gritted his teeth. One of his few disappointments was that he had so thoroughly destroyed the Harriken. While he didn’t fixate on the death of his dog, the few times it did drift up in his mind, his murderous intensity returned and he wished he could go find a house filled with Harriken to rip apart. Whatever Harriken remained had long since drifted to other gangs. After all, their headquarters had been destroyed during a brutal assault by James and Shay that was capped off with magical explosives.

  Maybe I should have killed all their asses sooner rather than waiting for the fuckers to keep coming at me.

  Leeroy had been one of James’ few true friends for years, someone who accepted him for what he was. He valued Father McCartney, but the man was his priest and confessor, not his friend. The priest had the responsibility of saving James’ soul, and that brought with it a certain distance.

  Although James now had more friends and family, even setting aside Father McCartney, a small hole remained in his heart. Most younger men outlived their dogs, but few had to deal with them being killed by gangsters because of something they’d done.

  I wish I could have been there that night to get those bastards right then and there. I don’t know if there’s a dog heaven, Leeroy, but I got them. I fucking got them all. They paid for what they did to you.

  James turned the corner hard, his hands tight around the wheel. He was almost to his street and his house, one that was only months old because his previous home had been destroyed by an asshole with a rocket launcher. Another thing taken from him because dumbass criminals couldn’t learn their fucking lesson.

  The situation was different now. Everyone told him so. Senator Johnston. Maria. Even Tyler. They all told him that people feared him now, so much so that a lot of high-level bounties avoided LA entirely rather than risk the wrath of the Granite Ghost, the Scourge of Harriken, the Council Slayer. The low-level scum thought he wouldn’t stoop to beating them down, but he had the agency to do that.

  Good. I want them fucking afraid. I want them all fucking afraid that I’ll show up one day in their town and put them through a fucking wall.

  His growing reputation brought frustration with it.

  If I’d had that kind of rep back then, those Harriken fuckers wouldn’t have dared touch Leeroy.

  Something darted in front of the truck, and James slammed on the brakes and swerved hard.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  No thump. Nothing but the screech of the tires until the vehicle came to a stop. His heart pounded. James didn’t mind killing people who had it coming, like asshole bounties, but killing some poor bastard who happened to run in front of his truck was different.

  I protect. That’s what I do.

  James shifted into park and threw open his door. No. It wasn’t a person—at least a person who walked on two legs. It’d been quick. Dark fur, he was sure of it, and a tail.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please tell me I didn’t hit a dog. That’s not fucking funny. I don’t even care if it was a shifter. That’s still messed up.

  James jerked his head back and forth for any sign of a wounded animal or blood. Nothing. He started circling the truck: no dents, no blood, no paint chips. It didn’t look like he’d so much as scraped even a small animal.

  Thank God.

  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, spotting a large form in the distance. Even in the twilight, it was clear that it was a big dog sprinting away from the area.

  James rubbed the back of his neck. If it could still run like that, he obviously hadn’t hit the animal.

  Why the fuck was the dog just wandering the streets? Its owner should take better damn care… Wait. What if it’s a stray?

  James stared after the dog as it disappeared. Leeroy had been a stray, too. Even when he wasn’t anymore, Leeroy liked to get out of the house every now and again. His escape and return had brought Alison into James’ life.

  He let out a long, weary sigh.

  Was a year enough time to mourn a lost pet? A lost best friend?

  Maybe it was time to get a new dog, but James wasn’t sure if he was ready for the responsibility of another pet.

  Fuck. It can’t be that hard. I’ve got a teenage daughter.

  After a few seconds, he grunted.

  Nah. Dogs are harder than daughters, especially when your daughter is in boarding school. Then again, she’s half-Drow.

  James shook his head and stepped back into his truck, mental pictures of different dog breeds flipping through his mind’s eye.

  Shay was right. I am mopey and shit, but I know one good way to fix that problem that won’t require any fucking thinking at all.

  His family wasn’t there to cheer him up, but it didn’t matter. There was one thing that could always bring a satisfied smile to James’ face, no matter the situation. He’d even relied on it when fleeing hordes of assassins brought on by a massive Harriken hit contract on his life.

  It’s fucking barbeque time.

  Chapter Four

  The swirling portal grew from a pinpoint to a vast vortex covering half the chamber.

  He Who Hunts pointed a wispy tendril. “Go.”

  His army of misshapen monsters surged through, followed by their master and other wizards he’d summoned from distant outposts. It wasn’t as if he were completely unreasonable. He hadn’t twisted every wizard left in the employ of the Council, but the mutated men, now infused with his powerful essence, would be far more effective weapons than the few weak magic users he had allowed to retain their will.

  The wizards followed. He hadn’t told them where he found his new monsters. Perhaps they knew. He didn’t care. None dared leave, and none dared challenge him.

  He Who Hunts emerged into abandoned subway tunnels. Trash and debris littered the area and a dozen ragged, dirty humans cowered against the wall, shaking, their eyes wide, too panicked to even flee. It was too late now. Wizards and monsters blocked their escape routes on either side.

  “Who?” he rasped, “are you?”

  One of the men stumbled forward, trembling like an earthquake was occurring. “We’re nothing. We just stay here because we ain’t got nowhere else to go.”

  He Who Hunts floated closer. The man’s teeth started chattering.

  “Homeless, yes? No one to miss you, then.”

  The man’s lip quivered. “We just wanted to sleep where there ain’t no wind. Please, sir. I ain’t ever said a bad word about Oricerans. That’s what you are, right? An Oriceran?”

  He Who Hunts stopped advancing. “You could be useful. Human society has discarded you, ignored you. I could turn you into something greater.”

  The man stopped shaking and took a few deep breaths. “Something more? Y-you gonna give me some Oriceran magic?”

  He Who Hunts felt no compulsion to clarify his true origins. It amused him that the man thought he was a mere Oriceran.

  The homeless man glanced over his shoulder at the other homeless gathered. Several looked excited now, but most still wore terrified masks.

  “Magic,” He Who Hunts echoed, his voice as raspy as ever. “Life is magic. Do you know that?” He let out a hollow laugh.

  The homeless man gave a nervous chuckle and shrugged. “I don’t know much about no magic. I-I want to learn. I always told everyone, from the beginning, when you all came over from Oriceran that it was a good thing. That Earth would be a better place. I’ve always been pro-Oriceran. You can ask anyone. Honest to God. I like magic.”

  “Good.” He Who Hunts shoved a tendril into the man’s heart.

  His flesh sizzled and burned as his scream echoed.

  “Please,” the man screamed, falling to his knees. “Please show me
rcy.”

  A light red glow surrounded the man, the energy flowing in pulses through the tendril embedded in the man’s chest.

  He Who Hunts floated down until his eyes stared directly into the human’s. “You don’t understand. This is my mercy. I give you purpose in your death. I’m making you useful. I don’t ignore you or make you sleep in tunnels. You are part now of a glorious plan.”

  The other homeless turned to flee, only to be boxed in by the wizards and monsters. Some howled their outrage. Others began sobbing.

  He Who Hunts continued to feed. A snack, really. The man didn’t have a speck of magical ability, but at least his lifeforce could provide some small sustenance.

  His victim’s eyes glazed over and he slumped forward, his breathing stopping. His skin began to shrivel and split.

  The murderous cloud of red mist rose into the air from He Who Hunts’ body, his tendril still impaling the homeless man. “You aren’t dying today. You’re becoming part of something greater.”

  He tossed the man to the ground and shot toward another screaming victim.

  He Who Hunts turned toward his servants. “I will feed, and you will prepare. Soon, we will give Brownstone his first test.”

  They nodded, none changing their expressions as the screams and sobs echoed around them.

  Maria glanced down at the black evening gown, liking what it did for her body. Decades of conditioning had given her a firm, toned body rather than a voluptuous silhouette, but Tyler didn’t seem to mind, and he was the main person seeing her naked these days.

  She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, shooting a smile at Tyler across the table. The man filled out a suit well. Even when he was at the Black Sun, he tended toward nice silk shirts and vests, always going for the upscale bartender look.

  He's handsomer than he thinks, but I don’t want to feed his ego by telling him that.