The Foul Mouth and the Headless Hunny (The King Henry Tapes)

by Raley, Richard

  “Don’t,” I interrupted her, “don’t try that play again. I know you now. I know when it’s real and I know when it’s bullshit. That night between us? That was real. But that night is a year ago and this right here? This is you still screwing with me instead of agreeing to my terms.”

  She shut up, took a sip of her drink. Badass Annie B returned in a snap. Leaning back in her seat, you couldn’t help but notice how her breasts kept so high, or that their curve was . . . quite impressive, and that Annie B had apparently never heard of bras.

  I smirked at the obvious display.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable now. What happened to the ogling perverted fool I could distract with a hip thrust?”

  “Val—”

  Annie B faked a gag.

  “Val,” I repeated, “is right about monsters. That’s what.”

  “That you aren’t one?” Her eyes rolled again. “I can prove you are. Give me enough time, King Henry. You and I will be the most wonderful monsters to have ever existed. All you have to do is throw away your little blond princess and let it out.”

  “I’m not a good guy, not a hero, not like she sees me,” I agreed. “But I’ve seen a real monster now. No matter what I do, no matter how far I go . . . I’m not him. I’m not that far gone. Neither are you, Annie. You just don’t scare me anymore . . . you just don’t compare.”

  “To whom?” she asked.

  I smirked at her, took another sip of booze around it. “You’ve heard. You know.”

  After awhile, she said, “All for a girl.”

  “For her sister at least.”

  She looked honestly forlorn at that admission. There it was. That bit of emotion I didn’t expect, the one that always cut my legs out from under me. Luckily what she said kept my focus sharp on something I cared even more for, “You really do love her.”

  “I do. Someday I’ll even be able to say the words to her face.”

  Velvet eyes met dirt eyes. “If it was me . . . if he had me, would you put your life on the line to save me?”

  Damn me for a fool, but I probably would. Instead, I said, “We both know you’re too tough to get caught, don’t we, Annie?”

  She smiled, but it was just as sad as the rest of her.

  [CLICK]

  “One-million dollars.”

  “No matter how often you repeat it to stall, the terms ain’t changing.”

  We’d been staring and glaring and fuming at each other in silence for the better part of half an hour now. I stuck to the single drink. Might have felt like an alcoholic jonesing for the bottle, but now that the crazy was back in my life, I didn’t actually want to go through the experience shitfaced. Got to keep your edge around Vamps. An especially sharp edge leading to an especially sharp point if you can manage it.

  I stopped my anima pool at ten minutes. Or . . . what felt like ten minutes. I hadn’t admitted anything about the Geo Realm to either Ceinwyn or the Lady, which meant my anima sensitivity of the last few months was a completely unexplored phenomena. I’m an Artificer, exploring and experimenting is what I do, but with this . . . I kept it to myself. The Lady once told me anima gets easier with age, part of me wondered if maybe I’d been pickled without realizing it.

  Will it dissipate if I spend a long enough time away from the Geo Realm?

  If I go back will it increase my pooling ability again?

  If the Theory of Anima Personalization exists, is this changing my personality to be even more of an earthquake than I usually am?

  Hadn’t answered a single one of them. Hadn’t tried to answer a single one of them. Hadn’t told a soul, not even Val. Told her a lot over the last few months, admitted a lot to her . . . but not this.

  Val . . . what did you do the minute you realized I was gone? Come outside to save me? She was good at that, even if it embarrassed me. Mancy knows I need plenty of saving. Ceinwyn give you a call to calm you down or did you rush on after me all the way to the airport before you got the news?

  Ten-minute-pool.

  My average pool nowadays. Easy to split three ways and get things done. Five-minute pool . . . hard to split it, left the halves too weak. Do double the time, get three moves instead of one.

  No artifacts. Nowhere on the plane. Or at least nowhere in the cabin. I wanted to ask . . . hell no, I wanted to demand them back. But not until Annie B said ‘yes’ to my little deal.

  The plane shifted its flight and suddenly we were on our way down to the earth.

  Hello again, old friend, I thought, leaning back in my seat, keeping up my I-will-ruin-worlds expression to remind Annie B I meant business. Hour-long flight? Meant the destination was limited. San Francisco or Los Angeles. Shithole North, Shithole South. Maybe San Diego, the Sunny Shithole. Las Vegas? Like I’m lucky enough to get some crazy and some gambling at the same time? Besides, no vamp business going on in the desert, even in late autumn, even in full-blown winter.

  Annie B leaned down to lay her body out along the couch-like seats, legs doing a little dance to show off lengths of perfect milky skin. Got to give it to the girl, she never stops trying, never stops playing with you. Val, Val, Val, what you done to me that I can just shake my head at all this instead of getting a raging stiffy?

  “I wouldn’t tell her,” Annie B whispered in a tone sultry enough to finish off most guys through words alone, with lips so red you thought of juicy, plump fruit. “No one would ever know but us.”

  I threw a mocking laugh her way. “Just like the last time no one was ever supposed to find out, but everyone did?”

  She shrugged her shoulders beneath her leather jacket, playing innocent. “Ceinwyn drew it out of me.”

  “You tell her about this little kidnapping too?”

  A regretful nod. “I apologized to her before I interrupted your date.”

  “Why apologize?”

  She ignored the question and threw back another of her own. “Why a million dollars? Plenty of more interesting things you could have asked for than money . . . even that much money. Could have asked me to be your love slave for a month. I might have accepted and if I did accept, I would have shared. Me and Valentine at the same time? Can you imagine that King Henry? Darkness and Light pressing in on either side? Our dislike for each other would only make it even more arousing, I know from experience. I prefer men, of course, but my skills are adept. One little cut and I could have your Valentine ready and willing until her goody-goody heart gave out a week later.”

  I went ahead and answered the original question instead of the sexual fantasy that went to bad, bad, very bad places, “My artificing shop is profitable now . . . made a deal with Horatio Vega that’s almost over—”

  “You made a deal with Vega?” Annie B interrupted, sitting up and staring at me like . . . fuck me, is that weird . . . like she was worried about me or something. “What was Ceinwyn thinking?”

  I waved off the sudden bout of affection. It was freaking me out more than the whole ménage à trois spiel. “It kept the peace between us. Anyway, like I said: it’s almost over. Means all I got left to take care of is Ceinwyn’s investment. A million dollars will do that too.”

  A quirk of a perfect black eyebrow. “Finally learning not to trust her completely?”

  Only idiots steal some truth and then give it away, I rationalized, not for the first time.

  “She’s still Ceinwyn, but . . . not owing my entire existence to her would be nice.”

  Annie B squinted at the dodge. “What did you do to break Vega’s peace?”

  I showed her my teeth in that feral grin I like to use to unnerve people. Didn’t faze Annie B a bit.

  “Don’t offer them up like that unless you plan to use them on me,” she whispered, twisting a bit of that long neck, with that ‘B’ choker shining in the electrical light.

  Kidnapped me away from Val. I was getting laid tonight. Have great haven’t-seen-you-in-two-weeks sex . . . for hours. But no . . . have to be here with you, got to deal with
vampire bullshit. Think I want to bite your neck? Nah, sister, want to chop your head off like my namesake. That’s what I want to do, Fanged Lady.

  “Found out Vega’s my brother-in-law,” I said to curb my rising anger. “I didn’t come to terms with the fact like a gentleman . . . hence a peace agreement”

  Shit. Never seen Annie B looked so shocked before.

  That’s funny.

  “What?!?” she sputtered.

  “Yeah, he married my sister. Ain’t that fucked up?”

  She just stared at me, dumbfounded, like I’d announced I was giving up cursing for a vow of silence.

  “Think he might get really annoyed with the Vampire Embassies if something happened to his brother-in-law in your care?” I needled her.

  Some more staring.

  “Ceinwyn and Vega up your ass; even you couldn’t enjoy that threesome.”

  With a sigh, she finally nodded. “A million dollars for your services over the next few days.”

  I showed her those teeth again. “Now . . . about my artifacts I seem to be missing?”

  Annie B got frosty. Being she’s a vamp burning so hot, that’s especially hard for her. “You’ll get them after we’ve met our clients and they decide if you can live or not.”

  “Who’s that?”

  A cold smile that said: ‘these lips could have been yours, but you turned them down.’ “It’s a surprise.”

  “They often kill potential employees?”

  “If they’re displeased with you? Humans often, mancers occasionally . . . vampires end up in glass for a decade or two. Weres are their favorite. Abominations, you understand? Weres are placed in a cell until they turn and then they’re skinned. I’ve seen the room where all the hides go, it’s almost pretty with all those furs and colors.”

  And here I thought that surviving Paine would make me immune to statements about someone being badass, but here I am, fucking impressed by whoever these Vamps she’s talking about are.

  “Can you at least tell me what we’re supposed to do for these people?”

  Annie B shivered without realizing it. “Not people . . . and someone stole from them. No one steals from them, not in the history of our species, but someone managed the impossible. Now, we’re supposed to find out who, how, why, and . . . then I’ll do what I do best.”

  Kill her own kind, I thought, wondering if maybe I should have asked for more money.

  Session 42

  The car was typical of the Asylum fleet.

  Black, new, mid-cost luxury worthy of a well-paid professional, but not something you’d see a rich fool blowing a hundred-thousand or more on.

  I know it was typical of the Asylum because six cars that looked exactly the same were right next to it.

  It was the first time I’d ever actually been in the Asylum garage. It had better security than most of the campus and—since most of my wishes in life revolved around staying at the Asylum, instead of escaping in a car—I never bothered to try to break inside then or after. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: if he never stole a car then how is he gonna get the strippers on the Asylum grounds?

  To which I say: I stole a bus instead.

  And every seat was needed.

  There was an electronic lock on the entry gate and a fat, happy security guard in a booth who waved us through the doors.

  Just because I wouldn’t break in, that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about how you’d break in. Four years at the Asylum hadn’t cured me of being a larcenous little shit. I’m just more of a larcenous supersized shit. Could break through the gate with a razor of geo-anima into those links, but it’d be loud. Would be better to steal the keycard from a Recruiter or ESLED agent. Didn’t see them much around the campus itself, mostly they were buried in the under-levels of the Admin building, where all the really important and clandestine shit went down.

  I threw my bag in the backseat. I hadn’t packed much. I didn’t really have much. I’d arrived at the Asylum with a bunch of useless crap Mom bought me, but it had all been confiscated that first day and never returned. I did have personal possessions . . . don’t go all Pity Look on me. Pictures, trinkets, art one person or another had made as a gift. But that’s not stuff you take on a trip. I settled on some school supplies and a few stolen library books just to fill the bag up.

  “Don’t suppose you’re gonna let me drive?” I asked Ceinwyn.

  She stared at me like I was stupid.

  “I had to ask.”

  “I don’t think I need to answer however,” she pointed out.

  I sighed, disappointed. “Guess not.”

  “Maybe if you’re good and we find a field where you can’t cause too much havoc.”

  “You’re the best teacher ever, Miss Dale!” I laid it on thick as I slid into the passenger seat. A car seat . . . it had been awhile. Mom’s funeral again. One part I was looking forward to when I left the Asylum was having a car of my own. Maybe even a motorcycle . . . drive myself around all over the place.

  “Don’t make me regret bringing you before we even get out of the garage.”

  “I think we can both admit this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  She got an odd expression on her face. “If only it was,” she whispered under her breath, “if only it was . . .”

  The car’s engine roared to life.

  Hadn’t heard that sound since Mom died either. Two whole years. The things you go without at the Asylum are often weird like that. Hearing a car’s engine. Watching sports on TV. Hearing the newest pop trash the record companies are pushing on the masses like synthesized pretty girl crack.

  Little things do filter in. Like . . . I knew Obama got re-elected over the usual dumbass Old Rich White Guy. This is an ORWG . . . I doubt there’s porn dedicated to it like with MILFs. Oh, speaking of things that get me horny—an in depth discussion on this topic could take awhile—I’d also heard rumors of the wonders that are Kate Upton’s breasticles. The girl’s had blabbered on about the stupid Royal Baby for months. But other little things I would have one-hundred percent known before the Asylum, like who are the current UFC champions?

  No damned clue.

  Now I was returning to that world. Jeans, t-shirt, no geomancer coat in sight. Denver . . . know that’s in Colorado on account of the over-indulgent education. Some big mountains out that way, the Rockies. Here’s hoping they don’t talk to me like these ones do.

  Before the Asylum I’d never been farther than Fresno, so . . . this was pretty exciting for me.

  Leaving California for the first time.

  If you don’t count weird fairy dreams.

  Rockies start talking to me and I’m gonna tell ‘em to shut the fuck up.

  Ceinwyn backed up, kicked the car into drive, and edged it out of the gates. A small side road took us to the horseshoe road that split up the Asylum and on we went, waiting until we were away from the campus before Ceinwyn accelerated up to sixty-plus miles an hour.

  One eye couldn’t stop staring outside the window at the mountains on either side of the road. This eye was in awe at the fact it had actually escaped the Asylum, if only for a few weeks.

  The other eye couldn’t stop staring at Ceinwyn. It glanced at her hands, at her pant pockets, at the sunglasses holding her hair back, and at her utilitarian purse, sitting between her and me. This eye remembered the Giant Fucking Needle.

  Ceinwyn glanced my way. With how she drove, you got the feeling she took this route every other week and didn’t need her eyes to maneuver through it. “Worried about something, King Henry?”

  “I am a four-year graduate of the Asylum,” I reminded her. “I can assuredly break a car’s axle.”

  “Indeed?” she said, smile reappearing at my bravado.

  “I was trained in self defense by Fines Samson,” I kept reminding her. “I was victorious for three years in the Winter War.”

  “Oh dear, really stretching to fluff those feathers, aren’t you?”

&nbs
p; “I will not go quietly into that good night, Miss Dale,” I warned her.

  “Hmm,” she said, “a conundrum, isn’t it? You are capable of protecting yourself, but you still aren’t allowed to know the exact location of the school until you’re completely graduated instead of just a little graduated.”

  “You could break the rules. You like breaking the rules.”

  “No, you like breaking the rules. I massage the rules to favor me.”

  “I’m down for a massage . . .”

  “Tsk. Tsk,” came from Ceinwyn’s mouth, “boy wants another papercut.”

  “I’m more concerned about the Giant Fucking Needle I know you must have on you somewhere.”

  Ceinwyn was deep into her thirties at that point in her life, but time still wasn’t showing on her. She could have passed for lower thirties easily. Her face is always ageless, her blue eyes too. Still laughing at you, still trying to guess which way you’ll jump. She didn’t change much in those four years between my recruiting and that car trip. Now . . . I occasionally see the flashes of resignation in her; worn feelings, a tired warrior and a weary traveler, all that stuff. But back then? She was still a force of nature.

  Saving the world one kid at a time.

  Me . . . I changed tons in those four years. Full grown to five-foot-eight, big tough hands and forearms, a blocky neck, a wide body, more dwarf digging in the ground than I cared to admit. The little shit of a teenager was gone. You could look at just-turned-eighteen-years-old King Henry Price and see the man he’d be one day, even if he wasn’t quite there yet.

  If you showed someone on the street a picture of him and then a picture of Ceinwyn, they never would’ve believe it was the guy who was scared of the blond chick with the television-star looks.

  “You’re right, of course,” that chick said, every word making me flinch, “you are able to defend yourself.”

  “So . . . you won’t stab me with the needle?” I hoped.

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Oh . . . okay.”

  I frowned. I hadn’t expected this. I felt deflated.

  Sure as shit also didn’t expect what Ceinwyn said next: “But I did coat your seat with the same knockout agent.”