Estimated tactical combat potential of all human offspring present minimal, Whispy noted, a hint of derision leaking into James’ mind. Host offspring will have far superior battle potential than normal human offspring.
What’s that supposed to mean? James thought. Did you do something to my kid?
Heritability of key genetic compatibility elements doesn’t require major active alteration of basic DNA.
Heritability? James thought.
A little girl rushed past his table and skidded to a halt a few feet away. She turned and stared at James wide-eyed.
This conversation isn’t over, Whispy, James sent. We’ll get back to it.
“What?” he rumbled at the girl. He didn’t care about being gawked at, but he didn’t need to be distracted when he was looking for wizards to kill.
She jerked her finger up. “You!”
“What about me?” James took a deep breath. This was good practice for his future child. Intimidating some random kid wasn’t useful for bounties or his restaurant, but learning to tolerate annoying and random children’s behavior would be helpful for a number of years. He couldn’t always bully his kid into silence. All the podcasts said so.
“Mommy, look!” the girl shouted. She bounced as she pointed at him. “It’s the man from the news. The I-5 Hero.”
Shit. Stupid news.
A middle-aged woman with a stylish bob and a disapproving look who was sitting a few yards away moved closer, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she looked him over. A moment later, she smiled.
“Wait,” she declared. “She’s right. You’re James Brownstone.” Her warm smile seemed almost genuine.
James scrubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t have time for this shit. “Yeah, I’m James Brownstone.”
The woman cleared her throat and reached into her purse, producing a pen and a small piece of paper. “My husband is a huge fan of yours. He would just die if I could get your autograph. He’s been to your restaurant so many times, but he’s been too afraid to ask for it.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s not a real man like you.”
James sighed and accepted the pen and paper. “Fine.” He scribbled his autograph. Years of being in the situation combined with a lack of care had reduced the signature to something more resembling an erratic EKG reading than anything intelligible.
Several other adults stampeded toward the table, eager for autographs, almost knocking over some kids. Packs of children joined them.
“I think he’s that guy from the movie,” a kid explained to another.
“No, he’s that football player,” challenged another.
Devon joined the line, an eager smile replacing her confusion and suspicion.
James looked at the burgeoning crowd. He didn’t spot anyone with a wand, but the kidnapper could easily have used a spell to hide their appearance. This was why he hated magic. It was complicated by its very nature.
At least all these people wanting autographs gives me an excuse to stay for a few more minutes. Jolly’s got to be watching this place, but maybe he’ll get too eager and slip up.
“Come on.” James gestured to the closest person. “Let’s get signing.”
Where the fuck are you, Mr. Jolly Wizard? If you’re so prepared, why not put in an appearance?
The crowd thinned as the minutes passed and children found more entertainment in the arcade, eating pizza, or singing along with the band than watching a scowling man signing pieces of paper or virtual signing on phones. James continued scribbling his autograph. The briefcase remained unmolested in front of him on the table.
Maybe this guy’s not gonna be dumb enough to make the grab while I’m here. I’m going to need to watch it. Davion’s got the feeds going, so it’s time to make my move and force Jolly to go for it.
James waved Devon down. She jogged over to him, hope on her face.
He patted the suitcase. “Someone’s coming to get this, so is it all right if I leave it here for a few minutes? I’ve got an appointment.”
“Sure,” the girl replied, batting her eyes. “Anything for you, Mr. Brownstone. Thanks for coming to Amazing Dwayne’s today.”
James stood and scanned the restaurant one last time. By then, almost all of the children and adults had returned to their pre-Brownstone entertainment. That didn’t surprise him. Everyone knew James Brownstone was good for an autograph, but not the kind of man who would offer interesting anecdotes on command for fans.
At least they aren’t as annoying as that guy who used to live next to Alison. Crazy fanboy.
James headed toward the door, keeping the briefcase at the edge of his peripheral vision. The automatons continued to sing, dance, and play, offering their peppy take on why children shouldn’t be picky eaters, which was ironic, considering the location. When James was a few feet from the door, they swiveled to the side. A loud screech erupted from all four of their mouths, overriding all sound in the room. An impressive achievement, given the child horde.
The gathered children yelped in surprise, many covering their ears. Several adults glared at a nearby employee, who shrugged in response, looking just as confused as they were. Devon sighed and rolled her eyes.
James spun to face the automatons directly. “What the hell?”
The magical band all turned toward him. It was hard to tell with their huge eyes, but it felt like they were staring directly at him.
I better not get attacked by a bunch of giant singing dolls. That would just be obnoxious.
Likely tactical capability limited, Whispy reported.
It’s more about me having to explain it to Shay later. She’ll make jokes about it for months.
“When you’re mad, things get bad,” sang the gnome, slightly off-key. So much for the power of magic.
“You shouldn’t be mad. You should be glad,” continued the Willen, his voice higher than the gnome’s. He pounded his drum. His tail twitched.
The band played a festive, jaunty tune for a few measures. The confusion began to fade from the faces of the children and parents. They returned to eating their pizza and chatting amongst themselves.
Devon frowned and shrugged at another employee near the entrance. “I don’t know this song. Do you know this song?”
“Nope. I wonder if they’re malfunctioning again. We can’t have a repeat of the heavy metal incident.” The second employee sighed. “Now we’re going to have to call corporate and wait until the repair wizard can show up. It took him a week last time. So many bitching parents. I’m thinking, ‘Lady, do I look like a wizard to you? If I knew magic, I wouldn’t be putting up with your shit.’”
The employees grimaced when they realized James had overheard them, but he ignored them and focused on the eerie automatons.
“When you’re glad,” sang the gnome, “you’ll gain a new friend.”
The Willen swayed. “And now, Mr. Brownstone, this song is at an end.”
The four automatons all slumped forward. Everyone turned to look at James.
Okay, what the fuck was that? Oh, shit.
James jerked his head toward the table. The briefcase was gone. He rushed out of the restaurant. The parking lot was filled with cars, but there wasn’t anyone there, and no sign of the briefcase. There was also no sign of Calista.
“Davion,” he rumbled. “What do you have?”
“That was weird, brah,” the infomancer replied through James’ hidden ear receiver. “The camera feeds died for like a couple of seconds when those things were singing that song about you. I was sticking to passive magical detection, and there was definitely a magical surge before that screech. There’s still a huge background cloud of magic. I’m getting a feel for its signature, but it’s not something I can track.”
“And? Any vehicles? Portals? Anything?”
Davion sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Every car that was there before then is still there. No weird readings, no one inside of them. That cloud is starting to go away, but the problem is, if they did a spell,
I might not be able to pick up on it unless it was major. It’s a huge waste of magical energy, but it’s a good way of cloaking stuff.”
James clenched his hands into fists. “They got the money, but we don’t have Calista.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you I’m pissed at. We thought this might happen. You did what you could. Now it’s time for Shay’s backup plan.” A feral grin took over James’ face. “The asshole is too fucking cocky. That stunt with the band wasn’t cute. Time to find him and tell him what I thought of his song.”
Chapter Eight
James gripped the wheel of his rental Subaru SUV as he drove down the street. A mixture of embarrassment and anger was flowing through him, both over his temporary vehicle choice and the artifact Shay had given him.
“I can’t believe this is what I’m using,” he mumbled.
“You talking about the car or the artifact?” Davion transmitted.
“Both.”
“It’s a pretty sweet artifact, brah,” Davion transmitted. “And it’s not like you’re keeping the car. The artifact’s still working, right?”
“Yeah.” James glanced at his dash. “It’s still working. Annoying as fuck, but it’s working.”
A small toy monkey in a yellow vest holding cymbals sat atop the dash, clanging away every few seconds. From what Shay had explained, the monkey was a very specific type of tracking artifact. It clanged at a higher tempo, the closer it was to a paired tiny toy banana. The target banana couldn’t be detected by most standard spells, meaning he needed to cruise around town with the freaking monkey constantly clanging its damned cymbals to find the briefcase with the hidden banana. The annoyance was offset by the fact that the monkey could track the banana through most types of wards. He didn’t understand the magical theory behind it, and neither did Shay, but they didn’t have to for it to work.
Since the F-350 was too famous and obvious, James had switched to a rental car with the help of Davion, who had used a few cloaking and misdirection spells. For now, the truck sat in a long-term parking lot, awaiting his return. If Mr. Jolly Wizard was trying hard, he might have been able to pierce some of the spells the infomancer had whipped up, but it was not likely without Davion figuring it out and informing James. As annoying as James found the infomancer, he rarely questioned his skills. Davion’s fleet of drones also patrolled the skies, looking for any sign of Calista and trying to help James triangulate the banana’s location.
Whispy remained quiet, the occasional flare of bloodlust and irritation bubbling up. James didn’t want to follow up on their earlier conversation about what he might have done to the kid just yet. He didn’t want to be distracted while he was getting ready to kill someone. Or a whole group of people.
The minutes passed, the monkey’s enthusiasm increasing in tandem with James’ annoyance. Davion and the monkey’s guidance had soon narrowed the likely location to Beverly Hills. There were several mansions in the area that radiated high levels of magic, but that didn’t mean anything in and of itself. Rich Oricerans liked living in nice neighborhoods as much as rich humans. Some of the mutual distrust disappeared when both groups thought of themselves as elite.
James drove by a particular mansion a third time, the monkey going wild. “Looks like we found it.”
“I’m keeping the drones flying semi-random paths and high,” Davion explained. “If they leave any other way than a portal, I’ll spot them. You just go do your thing, and I’ll make sure they don’t get away. But it’s definitely that place. The magical signature is the same as at Amazing Dwayne’s.”
Ready, Whispy? James sent
Who are we going to kill today? the symbiont asked.
Same guy. Someone who made poor life choices. A wizard.
Terminate quickly. Low new adaptation potential.
James pulled into the long, smooth driveway and stopped in front of the large metal gate. An intercom was embedded in a squat metal pole rising from the ground on the left side of the drive. After a moment, he veered to the right side and parked the car. He exited the vehicle, sparing it a quick glance. He’d picked something cheaper in case it got blown up. No rental company had been willing to give him extra insurance for a long time. He suspected the only reason they even bothered to rent vehicles to him on the rare occasion he needed one was that he was quick to pay for damaged rentals.
Fuck that. I need to focus.
He walked over to the intercom and pressed the call button. He tugged on his shabby gray coat. It’d been a while since he’d gone through one. It bore a minimum load today. He wasn’t even carrying his .45. A small weight rested in a right outer pocket, a golden derringer that was a little surprise for Mr. Jolly Wizard. Other weapons weren’t necessary. His claws and blades would do the rest.
“Who’s this?” a man barked over the intercom.
“You know who the fuck this is, dumbass,” James yelled. “Don’t play fucking games. Just let me in, or I’ll come in through the damned wall anyway, you asshole. I’m already pissed. The only reason I haven’t blown up that whole fucking place is that Calista might be in there. If she isn’t, you’ll be dead in the next few minutes.”
“Wait,” the other man replied.
About ten seconds later, the gate buzzed and parted. James stomped through and headed toward straight to the wide veranda. He’d expected snipers or a few explosions along the way, maybe even a few lawn monsters, but nothing ambushed him during his short hike between the gate and the veranda stairs. The door opened as he stepped onto the porch and he passed through it into an empty marble-floored foyer. The foyer fed into a massive living room.
Calista, pale and unconscious but breathing, lay on one of the four grand leather couches in the center of the otherwise mostly empty space. A few sheets had been draped over some furniture pushed against the wall.
A man in a black tuxedo with a long black wand in his hand stood behind Calista’s couch. Between the tux and the black wand, he only needed a top hat to look like a stage magician. More plainly dressed larger men in jeans and t-shirts were arrayed behind him, but their simple appearance was offset by the glowing arcane glyphs covering their faces and exposed arms.
“You must be Mr. Jolly Wizard,” James rumbled. “I’d say nice to meet you, but that seems pointless since I’m about to kill you.”
Engage the enemy, Whispy insisted. Kill the enemy. Increase terror of potential enemies. Low adaptation potential suggests quick termination is recommended course of action.
That’s the idea, James thought.
The tuxedo-clad wizard laughed. “Mr. Jolly Wizard? I go by many names, but you can call me Jonathan if you want.”
James raised a hand and clenched it into a fist in front of his chest. “We had a fucking deal, Jonathan. I gave you two million dollars, and you were supposed to give me the girl. Instead, you pulled that shit with those singing toys and kept the girl. Now I’m trying to figure out why I shouldn’t kill your ass right away. The only reason I’m coming up with is it might be nice for you to be afraid for a while before I kill you.”
“Thank you for the money.” Jonathan crouched behind the couch. When he stood, he held the briefcase in his hand. “I’m impressed on one level that you were able to track me.” He set the briefcase down before reaching into a pocket and pulling out the tiny banana. He held it between two fingers. “This is an interesting little toy. I assumed you were going to track me somehow, but I couldn’t figure out how. It wasn’t until I noticed the obvious lack of magic that I found this hidden in the lining. I admit I underestimated your resourcefulness.”
He tossed it on the ground and pointed his wand, then chanted a quick spell and zapped the banana with a black bolt. The artifact turned to ash.
Shit. Well, Shay said it only would only work a few times anyway.
“If you knew I would be able to track you, why all the games?” James asked. “Why the restaurant crap?”
“Because it was interesting?” J
onathan shrugged, the smug look on his face more than enough for James to want to kill him, even without all the other valid reasons. “Consider it a test. You’re famous for both your battle prowess and your ability to find people. I figured if you couldn’t find me, I would have two million dollars and the girl, and if you could find me? Well, I’d still have two million dollars and the girl, but I’d just treat it as good-faith money.”
James clenched teeth and squared his shoulders. “Good-faith money?”
“Why not?” Jonathan replied cheerfully. “I didn’t think it would be this easy, and since it has been, I might as well ask for more. I told you before. You’re a wealthy man who doesn’t spend a lot of his money anymore. Why not donate it to me? Money sitting around doesn’t do anyone any good, and it’s not like I’ve hurt the girl yet, other than a few minor injuries.”
Kill the enemy, Whispy insisted.
Almost there. Don’t worry.
James gestured around the sprawling room. “You already have a mansion, asshole. You’re rich. Why do you need more money?”
Jonathan smiled. “I’m borrowing the mansion, but a man can always use more money, especially when it’s not his.”
“I’m not giving you any more money.” James glared at him. “But I will fuck you up.”
The wizard laughed and pointed his wand at Calista. “There’s no way you can, as you so crudely put it, ‘fuck me up’ without this girl dying. Are you ready for that, Mr. Brownstone? You’re the man who took in an orphan and killed her father for his betrayal. You faced off against a monster in Las Vegas to avenge other children. You spent years secretly and then openly giving money to help children. I’ve found your weakness, and I’m exploiting it. If you want to be angry, be mad at yourself for being so easy to manipulate. This girl’s life is in your hands now, not mine. You have to decide what is more important, her life or some money. I would think the choice is easy.”
Road Trip: BBQ Delivered with Attitude (The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone Book 20) Page 7
