“Not enough of them were finished off,” the Professor explained. “They’ve been recruiting, and now they’re sniffing around the Rod of Supay. Whatever our various motivations for being interested in this artifact are, none of us wants a group of homicidal Warlocks to get their hands on it.”
Brownstone gave the Professor a curt nod. “I’m in.” He frowned as something occurred to him. “On one condition.”
Shay peered at the bounty hunter, wondering if he was more worried about the Warlocks than he appeared.
“What is that?” the Professor asked, a curious glint in his eye. “Don’t get greedy now, lad. You get to make money and kick some evil ass. Isn’t that enough?”
Brownstone snorted. “My dog is missing. I’d like you to look for him while I’m on the job.”
Shay had to resist bursting out in laughter. Mister Class Six Super Bounty Hunter was worried about Fido when they had to go recover a zombie rod.
The mirth faded, and she found herself confused, an uncomfortable feeling. She realized something very important. She didn’t understand Brownstone. Not at all.
Being a killer was as much about human psychology as it was combat skills. A professional needed to think about a mark and how they might react in a situation.
Shay prided herself on her ability to understand and evaluate people, even if she accepted that most people weren’t that complicated. Brownstone, though, hadn’t reacted at all like she’d expected. It was like he’d lodged a splinter in her mind.
The Professor chuckled. “And here I thought you were going to ask for something much more expensive.” He nodded at Shay. “Well, Miss Carson, it looks like you have support.” He clapped his hands together. “And now, I do believe this is the part of the evening where Father O’Banion comes out to play.”
Shay stretched. Brownstone glanced over at her for a second before scribbling down a few notes.
Shay scowled at him, annoyed that the man left her so confused. He shrugged at her.
I’ll have plenty of time to figure you out on this trip, Brownstone.
Chapter Two
The Professor flagged down a waitress to ask for three Guinness draughts.
“Are all those for you?” Brownstone glanced up at the Professor.
Shay managed not to snort but was glad Brownstone asked. The Professor knew his shit when it came to artifacts, but Shay was closing on the opinion that he lived his life as a functional alcoholic. Either that, or when it was time to party, he really liked to party.
The Professor frowned. “Of course not, lad. We need to toast future mutual and overlapping interests. Unless you’re too good to toast with ol’ Father O’Banion?”
Shay shot Brownstone a glance, confused. She’d been told before that Smite-Williams liked to go by that name, but she still had no clue what the implications were. The ignorance needled her.
“It’s kind of a drinking thing,” Brownstone explained. “Mostly harmless.”
As long as he gives me good intel and pays me, he can get fucking plastered every night for all I care.
Father O’Banion shook his head. “Not kind of. It’s totally a drinking thing, and never harmless.”
He grinned as the waitress returned with the three huge glasses on her tray. She handed one to each person at the table before heading back to the bar.
The older man hefted his glass. “To defeating evil, acquiring knowledge, and making money—all at the same time.”
That was a toast Shay could get behind.
“Hear, hear.” She clinked her glass against his.
Brownstone only grunted before offering his glass.
Father O’Banion sucked down a good half of his drink in the blink of an eye.
Bet this guy has some artifact he uses to protect his liver.
Shay sat quietly, her gaze roaming the bar and taking in every detail. She didn’t like spending too much time at a place she hadn’t scoped out. She had no idea who the regulars were, so she didn’t know who to be suspicious of. Just because the Professor liked the place didn’t mean it was safe, and it didn’t guarantee a hitman wouldn’t kick in the door and put a bullet in her head.
The more time I spend out of the country, the better.
Shay considered that for a few minutes while the men drank in silence. If she wanted to really disappear, it might make sense to leave the United States and move to some tiny village tucked away into the corner of a country or island most people had never heard of.
Is that what I want? What was the point of faking my own death if I’m just gonna run away? It’s not so crazy to want a few friends who won’t try and kill you if the price is right.
A life. That’s what Shay wanted. After ten years of swimming in nothing but death and blood, she wanted to experience what actual life was, but that required a plan, and only the highest and broadest parts of that plan had come into focus.
That’s what I get for deciding to convince everyone someone killed me without thinking it through long-term.
It didn’t matter. Shay knew her eventual goal, settling down and enjoying life, her version of it. The details could be worked out in the coming months. Whatever those details were, they’d all require money, and tomb raiding would be a good way to make that cash and satisfy her love of history.
“So, you been doing field archaeology long?” Brownstone said, breaking the silence. He took a sip of his beer.
Shay narrowed her eyes, uncertain if Brownstone somehow picked up on the fact that she was new to the field. Given the way he reacted when he sat down, it was obvious the Professor hadn’t clued him in about her beforehand, which meant the bounty hunter didn’t have time for a background check.
“Why do you want to know? You think I don’t have what it takes?”
“Play nice, children,”
