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.
The pair had piled back into his polished black extended-cab Ford F-350 and almost reached Shay’s house when he let his surprise finally get to him.
“Who knew all this braille-tech crap was so expensive?” James muttered.
“I knew,” Alison told him. “You could have just asked me.”
“Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just surprised.”
The teen sighed and looked down. “You sure it’s not a big deal? My dad used to tell me if I ever broke any of my devices I’d never get a new one.”
James gritted his teeth.
The last person he wanted to be compared to was Walt Anderson. The sonofabitch had turned his wife over to the Harriken to be tortured, and tried to give his daughter to them to steal the wish owed the girl.
The wish James now controlled.
Not a good time to tell her. I’m gonna have to trust my gut on this.
“Money’s not an issue,” he told her. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to worry about anything but what you need. We’ve got plenty of money for you in the trust, and I’ve got plenty of money myself.”
“No offense, Mr. Brownstone, but you live in a pretty crappy neighborhood for a guy with a lot of money. I don’t get why that is.”
James snort-laughed. “I like my house. It keeps things simple, and if my work ever follows me home, the people in the neighborhood have the common sense to stay the fu—”
He sighed. Controlling his mouth around the girl was harder than he’d ever expected. “They know to stay out of the way. Some rich idiot might poke his nose into trouble, and the last thing I want is for somebody to get caught up in my stuff.”
“Ever thought about stopping?” Alison asked quietly.
“Stopping?”
“Bounty hunting. You have a lot of money, right? I’m betting you could never work a day again and not have to worry about money. All you ever do is sit at home watching cooking shows, or going to that dumb bar with their perverted song contests.”
“Huh? How do you know about that?” James grimaced. “And I don’t participate.”
Alison scoffed. “They advertise it on their website. ‘Bard of Filth Competition?’ Gross.”
“Stay off shady websites,” he told her. “And anyway, I don’t hunt for the money.”
“Why do you do it then?”
James turned left. They were almost to Shay’s house.
“I do it because Harriken garbage try to kidnap kids like you, or some shifter decides he likes to hunt prey who walk on two legs. Or some jerk who just likes blowing stuff up. This is a big world. It’s beautiful and ugly at the same time, and I’m trying to pretty it up by taking out the trash.”
James spared a glance the girl’s way. She was looking down with a worried look on her face.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, kid.”
Alison sighed. “I just worry, Mr. Brownstone.”
“About what?”
“About you getting hurt or killed.”
“I don’t get hurt, kid. Bad guys get hurt.”
“There’s always someone bigger and tougher, Mr. Brownstone. What if some dragon comes to Earth and starts stirring up trouble?”
“Then I’ll change my name to ‘Dragonslayer.’” James made the final turn onto Shay’s block. Her townhouse stood at the end. “I can’t quit, kid, but I can be careful.”
They pulled up to the curb in front of it.
James snickered as he took in the small but carefully manicured lawn. This was the kind of neighborhood Alison probably would have preferred he’d live in.
Shay’s door opened, and she stepped out and waved before setting her security.
She carried a silver metal briefcase as she hurried to the truck. The field archaeologist opened the back door and hopped in, setting the briefcase at her feet.
James glanced over his shoulder at Shay and nodded. The briefcase wasn’t his business, and if the woman wanted it to be, she’d tell him.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t wonder. He only worried that she’d have some trouble getting it past security at the airport, but then he remembered who he was dealing with.
A treasure hunter with a past as a professional killer wasn’t the kind of woman who’d get caught by some bored TSA agent.
“This won’t take long,” James assured them, pulling up in front of a church. “Just have to talk to Father McCartney for a quick moment.”
“I’m fine. Not going into a church,” Shay muttered.
“I wonder what kind of religion my mom believed in,” Alison said.
James and Shay both looked at the girl.
She’d grown up believing her mother was just another normal human, and not secretly a two hundred and twelve-year-old Drow princess with insane magical powers. Fitting in with human society had probably meant not flaunting beliefs that weren’t common on your planet, let alone your neighborhood.
Even now Alison looked normal enough, the only external hint of her otherworldly heritage the natural white ends on her dark hair.
“Maybe that’s something you can find out at the school,” Shay suggested. “There are Oricerans there. Some of them might be as old as your mom was.”
Alison smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
James patted the girl on the shoulder and stepped out of his truck. The teen still seemed very hesitant about going to the School of Necessary Magic, so it was good for her to at least see some advantage to it other than learning to control magic she hadn’t even known about a few weeks before.
He stepped into the church, spotting a few familiar faces and giving them a polite nod. An elderly man he didn’t recognize gasped when he saw James, but didn’t say anything.
Not a big surprise. With his mottled skin and ridges, he had a visage only a dog could love—and now even his dog was dead. His tattoos probably didn’t help.
Hey, Jesus walked among the sinners, pal.
James threw the guy a smile as he strolled toward the confessional. He’d confessed many horrible sins in that booth, so the man was probably right to assume he was about to admit to some violence or evil crime and beg for forgiveness.
With that thought in mind, the bounty hunter slid open the confessional and sat.
A few moments later movement on the other side caught his attention, and the grate was pulled back.
“Forgive me, Father, I’m not here to confess any sins today.”
“Then why have youse come to the confessional, child?” The strong hint of Father McCartney’s native Jersey accent hinted at stronger irritation than normal.
Must have been having a bad day.
James could understand. It had to be frustrating dealing with a bastard like him, but he wanted the priest to understand he wasn’t disrespecting God’s house.
“I wanted to talk to you about helping you out, and I felt more comfortable doing it in this booth than your office.”
The priest chuckled and some of the tension left his voice. “This booth is like a second home for you. You spend more time here than any other member of the parish. Fine, what is it, then?”
“I wanted to give you something to help with the parish’s money problems.” James pulled out his phone and tapped a few keys. “Check your phone.”
The rustling of cloth was the only noise James heard for a few seconds. It always gave James an anachronistic jolt when he saw the priest in his vestments pull out a smartphone.
There was a pause before the father finally spoke. “I don’t understand what I’m looking at. You’ve transferred me ten thousand packets of experimental barbecue sauce?”
James laughed. “No, it’s shares of stock in a specialty sauce company I invested in a long time ago. Very low volume, so the stock
price is kind of all over the place, but I’ve got a good feeling that if you hold them for about a week the price might go up, and then you can sell. Just be patient. I’m pretty sure it’ll pop to a decent share price soon, at least twice the current amount. Then you’ll have plenty of money for the parish and the orphanage that doesn’t come from bounties.”
“I see. I’m not much for the stock market, but I’m very, very grateful for this. I’ll do what you say and watch it for a week.”
“I have a good feeling about this stock, Father.”
The priest murmured, “This is a generous gift, James.”
James shook his head. “I bought it when it was super-cheap. Just been lucky, and wanted to share my wealth to help the church and the orphanage.”
“Go with God, then. I thank you, and I’m sure the children will thank you.”
James slid open the door and stepped out of the booth, giving the suspicious guy another grin before striding out of the church. He wasn’t sure if fucking with people’s minds in a church was a sin, but he figured he’d bring it up at his next confession.
Once outside, he slowed his pace and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and finally dialed a number.
“Hello,” answered the man on the other end. “This is Stephen.”
“This is Brownstone.”
“It’s been a while… Does this mean…” His swallow was audible over the line. “Wait, how the hell did you even get this number?”
“I’m a bounty hunter, numbnuts,” James retorted. “I’m actually just interested in some stock action today. You’re a stockbroker. You can do that, can’t you?”
“Technically. You know I’m not licensed anymore, Brownstone. It’d be against the law for me to help you.”
James scoffed. “Are you in the game or not?” He paused outside his truck, lifting a finger to Shay to let her know he would still be a moment.
“Okay, okay. A man’s got to make a living, right?”
“Sure. The problem comes when you making a living includes helping some bastard apocalypse-worshipping cult launder a shit-load of money, and that cult is able to use their cleaned money to stockpile the crap needed for a massive terrorist attack.”
“I didn’t fucking know what the Children of Fenrir were up to, Brownstone,” Stephen hissed. “I can’t go to prison. If I do, those fuckers will have me dead within a week. They have access to serious magic!”
“Some would say the real magic is financial fraud, but that’s all the more reason to stay out of prison. So maybe you should play nice with me.”
“Wait...you’re not coming for me? I thought you told me if you ever called me again, it was because I was going down.”
James chuckled. “No, I just need you to drive up the price of a penny stock. I own a bunch, but I’m going to buy a bunch more shares to drive up the price. Can you spread those buys out through the...friends you told me about before, so it doesn’t all look like it’s coming from me?” He rattled off the ticker symbol for Experimental Sauces, Inc. “This week about ten thousand shares of the stock are going to be sold, and I need the price to be high as possible before that happens.”
“Wait, you’re going to sell those shares?”
“No, not me. Someone else.”
Stephen sighed. “Don’t you get how this works, Brownstone? You should sell right now. If you don’t, the price is going to drop once those shares are sold, especially…” he paused for a second, and James assumed he was looking up the stock “with a volatile micro-cap penny stock like this. I can set up a stop order for you so at least you don’t take a bath on what you have, but I recommend you sell right now, not double-down like a dumbass.”
“No, no. You don’t get it—I don’t want to sell, even after the price drop.”
Stephen groaned. “What is this, some sort of weird tax write-off thing? You hoping to lose money? Because you’re about to shovel in a bunch of money to prop up some stock and then not exit. It’s supposed to be a pump and dump, Brownstone, not pump and hold. It’s the opposite of savvy investment.”
James wanted to rub his eyes. “I’m keeping my stock in that company. Someday they are going to be the biggest star in sauces. I just need this temp spike to help somebody else out.”
“Why? I don’t get this. How does this even benefit you?”
James glanced at the worn stone church behind him. “Because my church has fallen on hard times. So you need to get this done.”
“Church, huh? I wonder if this little stock scheme will get me brownie points with God.”
“I’m sure God knows when you’re doing shit just for points, Stephen. Don’t worry about God, just worry about yourself and staying out of prison.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll get it done, but are we square?”
James snorted. “Hell, no. I just won’t come looking for you right now. So you do what I need, and do your family right. They are the only reason I let you go before. Understand?”
“I do. And thanks.”
The call ended.
Not blood money, Father. Just me robbing myself to pay Paul.
5
“I had a reservation for a truck,” James grumbled.
“Are you still bitching about that?” Shay snickered. “Afraid someone’s gonna question your manhood if they catch you in a mom car? Plenty of big strong men drive around in family SUVs, Brownstone.”
“I like the car,” Alison chirped from the backseat. “It’s comfortable, and it’s not as hard to get into.”
“My truck is comfortable,” James muttered. “Even if it is tall. Besides, the whole point of having a fuc— Having a reservation is that they are supposed to reserve the vehicle for you. The word is in the actual other word.”
The teen giggled, and the bounty hunter decided to drop his complaining for now. There were worst things in the world than being forced to drive a light silver Chevy SUV around. Not many, but they did exist.
They pulled off the main road onto a curving side road. The flight from LAX to Richmond International had gone smoothly enough, even with Shay insisting the male flight attendant in first class was checking her out the entire time. He wasn’t about to let her kick someone’s ass on a plane.
Dealing with the security would have complicated things.
The closer Charlottesville airport couldn’t handle supersonic flights, which forced them to Richmond and added another hour to the trip—but that still beat taking a regular flight directly into Charlottesville by almost four hours. It might have not been a cost-efficient travel plan, but it was definitely a time-efficient one.
Rolling green hills dotted the lightly forested area, with only the occasional recessed home or mansion in the distance at the end of a private road. There wasn’t a skyscraper or graffiti-covered alley in sight.
James hated it. It was all too bright and natural.
The air even smelled fresh.
“We’re almost there, according to the GPS,” James told them.
“Is it bad that I’m nervous?” Alison asked.
He shook his head. “Change can mess with people, kid. It’s understandable. And you’ve been through a lot.”
“You’ll do fine,” Shay added. “Everyone here is special, just like you.”
A tall and elaborate wrought-iron fence extended past both sides of the road ahead. An imposing gate sat in the center, bisecting the drive leading up a hill. Dense trees clogged the verges.
James slowed the SUV as they approached the fence, looking for some sort of security guard. A man in an ill-fitting suit walked away from the gate, a camera with a large telescopic lens hanging around his neck.
James pulled up beside the man and rolled down his window. “Is this the school?”
The man blinked at him. “The school. Yes, I was supposed to...something about taking pictures at the school. What was I doing here again?”
Way too early to be drunk, pal. Even Father O’Banion waits until nighttime. Sometimes,
at least.
The man with the camera shook his head and continued trudging up the road and muttering to himself.
“Okay, that was weird.” Shay watched the guy wander off.
James shrugged and drove up to the gate. “They didn’t say anything about who to call. I assumed there’d be someone here.”
“Maybe it’ll magically know who we are.” Shay laughed.
The gates swung open as if pushed by invisible forces. No obvious mechanism was visible.
James glanced into his rearview mirror, in which the man’s silhouette was still visible. The school had been rather insistent that he let them know exactly who was coming.
He suspected some sort of passive magical defense the school needed to explicitly disarm. Judging by the camera, the poor man in the suit was probably a reporter trying to write a story about the school, and he hadn’t planned on dealing with that kind of spell.
James resisted frowning. That was serious magic. Then again, such magical knowledge was the whole reason they were bringing the girl there.
“Guess you’ll have to get used to that kind of thing, Alison.”
“What?”
“Oh, sorry, kid. The gate opened itself. I’m assuming it’s some sort of magic thing.” James pulled through the gate, which swung closed behind him.
Their trip took several more minutes, until a large building surrounded by a few smaller buildings appeared in the distance. The trees grew sparser.
Alison gasped and jerked her head to the side. “Wow. The energy is… It’s so beautiful.”
James glanced to the side to see what had caught her attention. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he murmured.
A white unicorn tromped along the side of the road. He would have sworn faint sparkles surrounded the thing.
There was movement on the opposite side of the road as well. Another hoofed creature floated among the trees, eyeing the car with wide reptilian eyes.
A lightly flaming halo burned around it.
The creature looked like some sort of strange cross between an elk and a small dragon. It had jade-colored scales covering its body, antlers protruded from its head, and a soft mane of white fur around its neck.
Rejected By Heaven: An Urban Fantasy Action Adventure (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 2) Page 4
