by RJ Blain
“I’m impressed you can drive at all.” Bradley sighed and shook his head. “When the crash happened, I had no idea how you’d survive. But you did, and you’re walking again, despite the doctors swearing you’d never be able to. That the damage to all the little bones in your foot had been too catastrophic.”
“I don’t like when people tell me something’s impossible.”
“I’ve noticed. We were discussing about completely renovating the house to accommodate a wheelchair, but then you got up and walked out, deciding to pull a disappearing act. We did some renovations to the house to make the stairs more tolerable to stubborn women who decide to ignore her doctors, and we did install a lift to each floor, which has the general staff really happy with us, as it makes moving furniture around much easier. In an act of pure childishness, there is a slide from the first floor to the ground floor.”
As I couldn’t believe there could possibly be a slide in their prim and perfect main house located almost two hours away from Manhattan, I stared at Ren. “He’s not talking about the Manhattan residence, is he?”
“He’s not. And yes, it’s true. There’s a slide. It has a ball pit at the bottom, too. It was Mrs. Hampton’s idea, and she’s the one who uses it the most. There’s also a pole to slide down. The entire household changed priorities after the crash. A little more fun, a little less seriousness. Life’s too short.”
That it was. “But a slide?”
“It’s in the family area of the main house, so guests would likely have no idea it’s there unless someone shows them. The Manhattan residence has undergone some renovations as well, although not quite to the same extreme. There’s a ping-pong table now, too, and they took out part of the garden to add a swimming pool. Apparently, swimming is an excellent physical therapy method for people in your situation. I expect you’ll be in the pool a lot once the Hamptons get their way and rehabilitate your foot to their standards.” Ren patted my shoulder. “You likely underestimated their general unwillingness to let go.”
No kidding. “Can I just say it’s not my fault and get away with it?”
“Sure,” Bradley replied. “It’s not your fault. I underestimated how you’d perceive my challenge. That’s entirely my fault. And I won’t ever blame you for doing what you did in the crash. You saved my life. I can’t repay that debt. And I’ve heard it enough from everyone who looked at the crash site. There was no way you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You had a choice: you or me. You picked me.”
I had. “That’s right.”
“You got lucky. No, not just lucky. You did everything just right. An inch in any other direction, and neither one of us would have walked away in any sense of the word. You saved me, so it’s my turn to save you.” Bradley focused on my foot. “Well, your foot. You did a perfectly good job of saving yourself. I feel I’m outclassed again.”
“Well, the foot will have to wait. Once I cram it back into that damned boot, we have a bigger problem to solve first. I realize we have to set up to do this, but we can’t just sit here doing nothing.”
“We’re not. Everyone else is out gathering information and doing research while you’re prepping for the shooter qualification. Once you qualify, we’ll be able to get this show really on the road. In the meantime, I’ll worry about your foot while you worry about your guns.”
“Guns is plural.”
“I may have acquired more than one for you.”
“I’m listening.”
Ren laughed, got up off the couch, and said, “And I’ll leave you two to discuss guns while I retrieve lunch. If you won’t feed her, I will.”
“I just figured if I waited five minutes you’d solve the problem.”
“Orange chicken for me. Get the pineapple chicken for him and tell them I said to be gentle with him and give me his peppers.”
Ren shot me a glare but sighed. “All right. I’ll go pick up Chinese. Please tell me we’re not going to have Chinese every day.”
“I think we’ll go for Thai tomorrow. It’s too far for me to walk to, and I’m too cheap to order delivery.”
“I’m a little concerned you’re a little too cheap,” Bradley admitted, looking around my apartment. “With the exception of your cat, who is truly pampered and spoiled.”
“I’m leaving now,” Ren announced, heading for the door. “Don’t get into trouble. Exsanguinate anyone who bothers you or him, Janette.”
“But I’ll make a mess in my apartment,” I complained.
“If anyone can clean blood out of the carpet, it’s you.”
Bradley answered the knock at my door, and more of my past walked in through it along with a gentleman I didn’t recognize. When I got my hands on Ren, I’d kill him for hunting down the old fart who’d first taught me how to shoot a gun. “I’m killing Ren for this, Bradley.”
Lenard Theault, who’d beaten good aim and better nerves during combat situations into me, leveled a glare at me. “You won’t because he’ll be spotting you, and you’d never kill your spotter.”
Fuck. “Hello, Lenard. How are you?”
“I’m debating how I’m whipping your pretty ass into shape, so I’m doing pretty good.” He pointed at my foot. “Tell me who hasn’t fixed that yet, and I’ll put them through their paces right along with you.”
“They’re out west, and I’d rather not deal with them, if you please. It’s doing a lot better than it looks.”
“You’re walking, so I’ll buy into that. What’s this about going in for shooter qualifications?”
“It turns out I’m the only librarian in the lot who has any decent skills with a firearm.”
“Decent my ass.” Lenard dragged over a steel case and thumped it onto my coffee table. “So, I’m having dinner with the missus when I get a phone call from Mr. Hampton here that he needs me to bring you some guns and warm you back up for shooter qualifications. What is this all about, missy?”
“Somebody killed one of his friends, and he wants to find the killer. It just happened the freak caught imprints of me because I work at the library Senator Godrin died at, so he realized I was right under his nose. He came over and coerced me. He coerced me, Lenard.”
“Are you coercing the missy here, Hampton?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. She’ll need you feisty to keep her on her toes. All right. I have some new friends for you, Janette. I have your old records, and I have the other paperwork to smooth this out for you. The first step is legalizing your pseudonym. Fortunately for you, after speaking with Hampton here, I was able to get the correct supporting documentation to support your amnesia claim. That was disgustingly clever, and if I wasn’t so proud of you for pulling it off, I’d be having your daddy sending you out to the woods to pick a switch.”
“My daddy taught you rude and bad habits, Lenard.”
“No, I just know how one round with the switch set you straight when you were a little girl, and you’ll never be too big for your daddy to set you straight if you need it.”
My father really would if he thought I needed it. “Tell me about the documentation, pretty please.”
“It’s simple. I got Hampton here to pull down your medical records, then I had him send them over to a brain doc in town and ask what the probability of trauma-induced amnesia would be. Your paperwork puts you at high odds of it, so when you showed up for licensing with that claim, it was a matter of pulling that paperwork, sending it to the doc, and inquiring. He even gave us a plausible condition for why your rating came out at a mere 17.2%. Well done, by the way. That is an incredible feat for your actual rating, and if I wasn’t so proud of you for pulling it off, I’d be running you through your paces for doing something that foolishly dangerous.”
“There’s a condition for that?”
“Trauma-induced repression. Essentially, you unconsciously shy away from anything that would make you remember the accident. As even your magic rating would be a possible trigger, you would unconsciously suppres
s it. You probably remember most of the accident, but clinically, you would have been severely compromised, and it is not unreasonable for you to start a new life. So, amnesia and trauma will support your new documents, and there will be a note that your real identity is sealed by court order. Hampton’s mother secured the court order this morning.”
“Bradley, what has your mother been doing?”
“Playing lawyer, because she is a lawyer. You gave her power of attorney when you signed the for life contract, Janette.”
Oh. I frowned. “I did?”
“You did, yes. It was a part of the contract.”
I didn’t remember that. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Janette. I’m sure. I read over the documents. It was buried something like halfway through, allowing the Hampton family to handle any and all legal affairs on your behalf.”
It was like someone flipped a switch in my head, and I remembered that the for life contract came with a lot more than me just signing my life away.
They had a very lengthy responsibility for my wellbeing.
Huh. Maybe I was missing some things—or more than just some things. “I forgot.”
“That’s the repression. It’s a detail that would have suggested you should return to the Hampton family after the crash. As I have to get you back into shooting form, your mental health is my responsibility. And if you don’t qualify for the shooter spot, I’ll take the spot for you until you can qualify. You might have to work outside of the cell, but that might not be a bad thing. I think you’ll qualify, though.” Lenard popped open the case. “The gentleman here is Hugh. Hugh’s job is to calibrate your new friends to you. The process takes about an hour per firearm, and he likes it when his test subjects are napping, so we have a sedative for you to take.”
“Just give her the painkillers after she has lunch. She’ll be out for a solid eight hours.”
“Painkillers would be fine as long as she’s unconscious, although it’s better to use the sedative as well. We’ve already secured the doctor’s approval for it,” Hugh announced, stepping closer to the coffee table. “To calibrate the weapons, I will have to disrupt your abilities to make sure they’re working. Sedation makes certain there are no risks to myself or anyone else in the room, especially with an ability like yours. The sedative I use is fairly safe, and it typically lasts for three hours. I have four weapons to calibrate, but if you’re taking heavy-duty painkillers stacked with the lowest dose of sedative I can realistically give you, that should be fine. Painkillers make the concentration required to work magic appropriately difficult at best, and the low dose of sedative would make the probability you react virtually nil.”
“You knocked Bradley out for his gun?”
“Yes. He had four weapons calibrated, just like you will today. It’s better to do them all at once, and he wanted to give you a good selection. He made it clear you take gun safety seriously, so I’m giving you the most secure systems I have. They’re, frankly, ridiculously redundant.”
Lenard shrugged. “She saw an idiot kill himself at the range dicking off with a gun. No number of safeties will idiot-proof a gun, but it helps. Half the kids at the range couldn’t deal with their firearms for months after, but the little missy here? She turned her gun in and asked for one with a better safety. In her words, it was too easy for her to flip the safety where it was, and she only wanted to pull the trigger if she meant to kill someone. That’s the right way to go about it. I taught that kid how to use a gun safely. He treated the weapon like a toy, and he paid for that with his life. I sat the little missy down and went through her gun options and matched her with a gun with a safety system she was comfortable with. That’s a form of trauma, too, but it’s a form of trauma that keeps her and those around her safe, so I’ve left it be. You’ll like this system because nobody will be taking your gun and shooting someone else with it. But there’ll be no doubt that you pulled the trigger with this one.”
“Unless I’m unconscious when it happens.”
“And someone with Hampton’s brand of magic would be able to tell.”
“You can, Bradley?”
“Yes. It’s possible for me to tell if something like that happened.”
“That’s pretty cool.” I rolled my shoulders. “This is a lot of work to get this cell set up. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Whoever is killing these politicians wants to keep their work a secret. I’m of the opinion it’s a form of terrorism. It could be a serial killer with a grudge, but everything I’ve been told leads me to believe it’s a concerted effort involving multiple people. The cops haven’t gotten anywhere. The FBI hasn’t, either.” Lenard pulled out a rather large firearm, and my brows rose at the grip, which was purple with a sprinkling of glitter. “It matches your glasses, and I was specifically asked to provide at least one gun that matched those new glasses of yours. Blame Hampton. He gets weird ideas about guns, and since he’s paying the bill, you get a glitter grip.”
“Isn’t that a Desert Eagle?”
“It’s a Desert Eagle. This is your home gun or when you’re open carrying. This lovely lady won’t fit under your clothes without being noticed, although she’ll do you justice if you carry her around in a big purse.” Lenard pointed at my bag. “I can’t help but notice you have a nice big purse you could carry your new lady in. With the number of safeties on her, there’s no risk of accidental discharge, especially if you install a proper holster for her in your purse.”
“I’m sure she’d love to come around with me in my purse.” She’d weigh my purse down, but if Lenard hinted I should carry a Desert Eagle around with me, I’d listen. “What else do you have for me?”
“A Beretta. I spent several hours last night modding this one for you so it wouldn’t offend your delicate sensibilities. It has the safety systems you like, and I installed a better sight on it. You will not question me about the third mode.”
“Third mode?”
“One of the mods will discharge all rounds in a hurry. You best be ready for the kick, else she’ll take her temper out on you, too.”
“You corrupted that poor Beretta to be a fully automatic?” Unable to keep the anger out of my voice, I pointed at him. “Fix it! Fix it now.”
“I already fixed it. It’s now automatic enabled, and I have the appropriate paperwork for you to be able to legally carry it assuming you qualify to be your cell’s shooter. Your qualifications allow you access to fully automatic firearms. Your past record gives you access to fully automatic firearms at the range. You do not get to keep the Beretta at home until you qualify, so she’ll be coming back with me and locked at the range until you qualify. Her name is Pride.”
Uh-oh. “You named the Desert Eagle Prejudice, didn’t you?” I accused.
“No, I named your Ruger Prejudice. That one is small enough to tuck into just about any pocket without anyone being the wiser she’s there. The Desert Eagle is Bitchageddon. I was feeling a little petty when I named her.”
“That’s because I successfully dropped off the radar, isn’t it?”
“Yep. I haven’t been so proud and mad at a single person in my entire life.”
Poor Bitchageddon, forced to wear purple glitter grips to match my glasses. “Do I want to know what the last one is named?”
“Doomsday.”
“Why is Doomsday a smaller weapon than Bitchageddon? That somehow seems wrong.”
“Doomsday packs a lot of punch in a small package. She’s technically a little smaller than Bitchageddon, but she’s a new model. She’s a little long on the barrel but her range and accuracy can only be beat by an actual rifle. Instead of the standard hundred meters most firearms of this size and class max out at, you’ll be able to hit double that length as long as you know how to adjust. There’s even a pocket tripod so you can stabilize and prepare for long shots. In our tests, five hundred meters is the top end of the weapon’s lethal penetration range, but most struggle to aim beyond a hundred meters.”
I remembered that from my extensive training; the farther the distance, the harder it was to hit the target. “Define lethal penetration range for me, Lenard.”
“If you shoot for between the eyes, the bullet will exit through the back of the skull.”
Holy shit. “I’m not sure I’m good enough for that gun.”
“You will be by the time I’m done with you. Hugh will make sure you’re the only one who can make her sing, so don’t you worry about that. After lunch, you’ll take a nap, and tomorrow morning, you’ll get a proper introduction to them, even if I have to carry you to the range myself. I’ve already booked your hours and ordered your ammunition.”
Ren stepped into my apartment carrying take out bags, enough I decided he’d expected our company and had brought enough for them, too. “Has she put up a fight over the firearms yet?”
“I got yelled at over Pride, as she’s a stickler for the rules and doesn’t think she should have a fully automatic. She’s processing her ownership of Doomsday. Bitchageddon about broke her when she saw the glitter grip. I enjoyed it. She is not very happy, especially since we notified her she’d be taking a nap for the rest of the afternoon while we calibrate these to her.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that, Janette. I don’t want to be exsanguinated today.”
“That implies you’d like to be exsanguinated another day,” I replied.
“Maybe tomorrow. I’ve been informed I have to spot you, and I’ve heard rumors about spotting for you. You expect your spotter to be as good a shot as you are, and you’ll make me work half the time.”
“And?”
“You’re a bitch on the range.”
I scowled. “That’s not even fair. You’ve never seen me on the range.”
Ren pointed at Lenard. “I heard about it yesterday. With video evidence of your bitchiness when practicing. So, I stand by my commentary. Maybe tomorrow. As requested, I have acquired orange chicken for you, pineapple chicken for him. The rest of us will eat sane Chinese food.”
