Shay stared at Alison, taken aback by the girl’s insight. They would have to stop underestimating her.
“Don’t worry about Brownstone. Worry about yourself. He’s the adult…” she waffled a moment. “well, adult-ish person, and you’re the teenager. No one’s gonna blame you for being sad over your mom dying. It’s what we’d expect.”
Alison nodded, but then her face twitched and she threw her arms around Shay. The girl’s restraint shattered, and she buried her face in the woman’s chest.
“Mom,” the girl sobbed.
They sat there on the bed like that for several minutes, Shay stroking Alison’s hair while the girl cried a tsunami of tears over all that she’d lost. The tsunami became a mere wave, then finally a shallow trickle.
“Sorry,” Alison sniffled out, her cheeks and eyes red. “I...I told myself that I wasn’t gonna do this. I told myself I was gonna be strong.”
Shay pulled away and smiled. “Leave the stone-faced attitude to Brownstone. You’ll have years to learn to bottle up all your emotions in a screwed-up way like the rest of us. For now, revel in the fact you’re still allowed to feel.”
The sadness vanished from Alison’s face, replaced by fiery anger.
Shay blinked, wondering if she’d said something to piss her off. Normally she wouldn’t care, but kicking a grieving kid while she was down wasn’t her style.
“I wish he hadn’t let him go,” Alison finally admitted.
Shay’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Brownstone. He let my dad go. He’ll come back for me.”
Shay snickered. “Don’t worry about your dad. James made sure he would never come after you again.”
Alison looked up with a question on her face, but no words emerged from her mouth. The girl exhaled softly and nodded.
Be glad you’re not asking, kid. Sometimes it’s better not to know for sure.
2
James took a deep pull of his Irish Stout and shifted on his stool, looking around the Leanan Sídhe. The place wasn’t all that crowded that evening, which suited him fine.
He had come for the beer, not for drunken singing.
“Looking for Father O’Banion?” the bartender asked, as if reading his mind.
James shook his head. “Nah. Just haven’t been in for a few days. Lots of crap has happened, and it makes you think. Trying to, you know, appreciate what I have and all that shit.”
The bartender chuckled. “You need to get a few more beers in you. Then you won’t have to worry about thinking, and you’ll appreciate every second.”
James raised his glass. “Working on it. You keep ‘em coming, and we’ll go until I can’t think anymore.”
A large man sat down next to James even though most of the stools were open, and the bounty hunter turned his head to check out the new arrival. Surprise washed through him as he realized it was Sergeant Mack.
The cop was in street clothes, which suggested he wasn’t there on business.
“Sergeant Mack?” He eyed the man to make sure he had the right guy. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
The cop looked around with a grin. “Yeah, this place isn’t my vibe.” He squinted for a moment as he read a sign on the wall. “Home of the Original Bard of Filth Competition.” He looked at James.
The bounty hunter shrugged.
Sergeant Mack held up a hand. “You know what? I don’t even want to know.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and held the phone up. Displayed on it was an image of Walt Anderson’s fake confession.
“I should care about this because…” James asked.
“Let me give you a little hint, Brownstone,” Mack told him politely. “You’re good at going after bounties, but investigating crime is different.”
James shrugged. “Not disagreeing. I’ve always said you guys have the harder job.”
Mack chuckled. “Anyway, people generally leave behind suicide notes, not murder confessions right before they…um…shoot themselves. When they do confess, they like to do that shit face to face.” He tapped his finger on the screen. “Plus, you didn’t get all your DNA off this bad boy. You’re a great bounty hunter, but a shitty criminal. Don’t quit the day job, man.”
James resisted a snort.
The cop sighed. “Next time don’t leave this shit behind, okay? It makes it difficult to not follow up.”
James locked eyes with Sergeant Mack. He’d fucked up, and the cops had caught him. There wasn’t much he could do about it. He wasn’t about to hurt a bunch of police officers.
“Just tell me that he deserved it,” the cop requested.
“Does a man who gives his wife to the Harriken to be tortured deserve it? Does a man who plans to sell them his daughter for the same deserve it?”
“Guess we now know what was going on at Belmont House.” He held up a hand to stop James from trying to explain. “The drones were conveniently jammed, so don’t say anything to make me wonder. As far as we’re concerned, a bunch of gangsters and mercs got into a shootout.”
“Someone, not saying who, told me that Nicole Anderson was there but didn’t make it. Because they tortured her for days.” James curled his hands into fists.
Sergeant Mack’s nostrils flared and anger flashed in his eyes. “Why did Anderson do it? I mean, I’ve seen wives murdered, but it’s usually just to get rid of them to avoid an expensive divorce or insurance payout—not handing them over to gangsters for torture.”
“Anderson found out his wife was Oriceran. Some other shit happened, but that seemed to be the main thing driving all this crap. He felt betrayed, and he obsessed about his daughter being a ‘half-breed,’ as he put it. Guy had issues.”
Sergeant Mack looked down, his jaw rigid. “Jesus. You see so much shit in this job, but there’s always someone ready to take it to the next level.” He looked back up. “We followed up on the note, even though we knew it was bullshit. We’ve got DNA from that Harriken torture chamber. We could have tied him to it, you know. I’m not crying that he died, but it didn’t have to go down that way.”
James gulped down some beer. “Sometimes the wheels of justice turn too slowly, and we both know that it can be hard for some of these interspecies crimes to be successfully prosecuted. Hell, there was that guy who murdered that Light Elf kid a few months back… He got off with self-defense by claiming he thought the kid was cursing him. You also have assholes like the Humanity Defense League stirring up shit now.”
“The HDL are just a bunch of loudmouths.” Mack scoffed. “There’s only so much they’ll risk. I mean, you never know if you’re dealing with some guy you can take down easily or a guy who can melt your brain, when it comes to fucking with Oricerans.”
James let a feral grin take over his face. “An armed society is a polite society, and now anybody can be armed.”
“Yep.”
“Point stands,” James continued. “The man who’d send his wife and kid to be tortured is less than a cockroach, and I don’t give a shit about his reasons.”
“Not saying I disagree, Brownstone. I’m just trying to make sure we’re both on the same page on this.”
“Whatever. We’re on the same page.” James finished his beer. “So what happens now?”
Sergeant Mack chuckled. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” James narrowed his eyes.
“I think you’ve misunderstood, or I guess I could say you’ve forgotten something.”
James had no clue what the cop was getting at.
“Enlighten me,” his gravelly voice ground out.
The cop stood and pushed the stool back into place. “Sometimes people get killed during bounties. I’m sure by the time I next check, I’ll find out there was a bounty on Walt Anderson. I’ll even go so far as to guess that the bounty was originally posted a week ago. The system, you know; it’s shit, and has so many problems. It’s gotten out of sync. As far as we�
��re concerned at the station, Walt Anderson got killed during a retrieval gone bad.”
James nodded slowly. If the cops were willing to look the other way, he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. Society needed both his kind and their kind to function anymore.
“Understood.” He shrugged. “I’ll try not to make trouble for you in the future.”
“We’d appreciate it. Only one last thing before I go: what about the girl? She’s got no dad, no mom. Who is taking care of her?”
“Me. I’m watching her for now, and we’ll go from there. Probably adoption.”
It was Mack’s turn to eye James. “Damn, Brownstone! Since when have you become such a family man?”
“Since her dying mother asked me to take care of her,” He looked at Mack. “Allegedly.”
Mack nodded slowly and shrugged. “Good enough for me. Just keep her safe.” He turned to leave, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I’m having a little get-together this Sunday. Barbecue. Thought you might like to stop by.”
“We friends now?” James wondered.
“Something like that. I think you’re a man I want to get to know better.”
James waved. “Then I’ll be there.”
A few days later, Alison and James were sitting together on his couch and the bounty hunter handed her a document. Shay watched from a chair, her legs crossed.
The girl scanned the paper with her fingers for a couple of minutes before looking up. “I don’t understand what all this means.”
“Don’t worry. I had to have someone explain it to me, too. The short version is, after the house and property are sold, all that money will go into a trust for you. Once you turn eighteen you’ll have full access to those funds, but before then the money can only be spent on things that are for your use and upkeep. Not that I planned to do anything else; it’s for your protection.” James took the document from her and set it on an end table. “I’ll take care of getting everything sold, but you’ll need to go through the house and figure out what things are worth keeping.”
“Okay, I understand.” Alison still looking a bit confused. “It’s just… Wow. I don’t even know where to start. I never thought I’d have to do this sort of thing until… Well, I guess it is what it is.”
“I stopped by and did an initial evaluation,” Shay told them.
Alison and James both asked. “You did?”
She winked at James, but spoke to Alison. “If there’s one thing a field-archaeologist-slash-treasure-hunter is good at, it’s quickly identifying valuable things. Mostly it’ll be a matter of you figuring out what has sentimental value.” Her grin vanished. “That said, I spotted some items that I’m pretty sure are magical artifacts.”
Alison’s eyes widened. “Magical artifacts? Seriously?”
Shay looked at James, and he nodded. They needed to give Alison as much control as possible in this situation.
It was her life.
“I can easily sell them for you, if you want,” the woman offered. “We can get some good money for anything magical, even if it’s not super-powerful. I can also make sure they only get sold to decent people and not scumbags.”
“But from selling the house and everything, I’ll have good money anyway, right?” Alison asked. “I mean, it’s not like I’ll need more money, if I understand all this.”
“Nope,” James answered, the conviction in his voice removing any doubt Alison or Shay might have had.
The girl sighed. “Then I don’t want to sell them. They must have belonged to Mom, and I want to keep them. If it’s okay?” She looked toward James, her eyes pleading.
“Your choice, kid. We’ll keep them safe for you.”
“Not in the warehouse,” Shay muttered. “I don’t like that place.”
“You have a warehouse?” Alison asked.
“Not exactly,” James replied. “But the stuff would be safer there than in a bank.”
Shay glared at him, and he shrugged.
“Okay, okay.” James put up his hands. “We’ll set up a safe deposit box and get a key for you, Alison.” He took a deep breath. The next part was the bigger deal. “In any case, you’ll have more than enough money to take care of you, but I don’t think that’s the most important thing we need to talk about.”
Alison frowned. “What do you think is the most important thing?”
“Your mother was powerful, which means you’re powerful—or at least half powerful, and that’s still pretty damn impressive, considering what she was capable of. I’ve looked into it, and I found a place I think might be good for you. The government’s pretty shi— Not great about handling a lot of this Oriceran stuff, but they do seem to know that control of power is better than suppression of use.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“There’s a school. It’s called the School of Necessary Magic. It’s a place where you could learn to control and manage the powers you have. A place where you’d be safe, and around kids your age.”
Alison’s face fell. “You want to send me away?” she asked, the tremble in her voice revealing that she was scared.
James shook his head. “You’ll have vacations, summer breaks, and parent weekends. You’ll spend those with me, or I’ll be there with you. I don’t want to send you away, but I can’t help you learn to control your magic. This school can, but it’s your decision in the end.”
Alison looked down and gave a shallow nod. “It’s kind of weird.” She chuckled. “I can see souls—and I never thought that was weird because I grew up with it—but the idea of going to a magic school kind of freaks me out a little. My mom made me read all the Harry Potter books and the Arcane Academy series. They made magic schools seem so dangerous.”
James laughed. “Just stories, kid. This is the real deal. And Los Angeles is plenty dangerous as is.” He shrugged. “You’ll do great, and I’ll be always ready to help you out.”
“Me, too,” Shay told Alison.
“And like I said, it’s your decision,” James said. “If you hate the school, you can come back and live with me full-time.”
Alison moved closer and threw her arms around James, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, Mr. Brownstone. Thank you for everything.”
He patted her on the back. “You’re welcome, kid.”
James sat out on his back deck, looking up into the stars and sipping a beer. He couldn’t help but wonder what the stars looked like from Oriceran. Astronomy had never interested him much; he’d always taken the stars in the sky for granted.
Shay slid open the door leading to the deck and stepped out, closing the door. “You’re a damn good man, James Brownstone.”
He grunted. “I think there are a lot of Harriken who’d disagree.”
“I’m not all that interested in the opinions of ruthless gangsters who tortured a tied-up woman,” she told him, taking a seat near him. She grabbed his beer from his hand and took a swallow, the whole time daring him to say one word. She leaned back over to give it back to him.
James didn’t miss a beat. “Just sayin’. The line between me and some of the guys I catch is pretty thin.”
“You’re a guy who is helping a girl who needs it,” Shay told him firmly. “Just take the compliment, Brownstone. It’s not the end of the world if people actually like you and think you’re a nice guy.”
“I’m just not sure about a lot of things. When it’s just me it’s easy, but with a kid everything will be different.” James sighed.
“Welcome to parenthood.” Shay shrugged.
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing, sending her to that school?”
“I think that if she’s one-tenth as powerful as her mother she’ll need a safe place to explore that power, and that school sounds like the best place for that.” Shay pursed her lips. “Less concerned about that than the wish. When are you planning to tell her?”
James shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. This was something her mom want
ed for her, so that means I have to think about it like a parent. I’m playing this all by ear. I was an orphan raised by the Church. I don’t really know what it means to be a parent, let alone a parent who controls an actual freaking wish.”
Shay chuckled darkly. “My parents were shit, which is probably why I went down the path I did.”
James took a swallow of his beer as he gazed into the heavens. “I had no parents, and yours were horrible, Shay. With a bar that low, I don’t see how we can do worse.”
3
James Brownstone eyed his foe.
He’d told himself he’d stop after annihilating the last nine, but he couldn’t help himself.
He snatched a tenth pot sticker and threw it in his mouth, letting the savory flavor linger. Chinese food didn’t match the glories of good ol’ American barbeque, but no one could say it wasn’t tasty.
“Damn, Brownstone.” Shay eyed him from across her dining room table. “I don’t get why you’re not fat, considering the way you eat.” The woman brushed a few rogue strands of dark hair out of her eyes.
He covered his mouth. “Ass-kicking burns a lot of calories. It helps.”
“True enough.”
James glanced at the stairs. Alison had wandered to the guest room for some sleep about thirty minutes prior.
He wanted to make sure that impressionable teenage ears did not overhear the conversation to follow.
The girl was still getting over the loss of her mother and the betrayal of her father, and what she needed now was stability and continuity. James was determined to provide that, although he was probably the last person who should be taking care of anyone.
Even though he was still figuring out the whole foster parent/guardian role, the bounty hunter knew that showing weakness or uncertainty in front of the girl would only make her worry.
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