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

by Raley, Richard

  “It’s been a long night. So we deserve the treat, don’t you think?” she asked innocently, the smirk having been contained. “We know what we have to do next: go to the auction tomorrow night. So why not relax a bit? I’ve been told even Ceinwyn Dale relaxes occasionally, so why shouldn’t we spend a quiet night together?”

  “Right,” I grunted some more.

  Annie B bounced up from the couch, moving around like I was a friend over for a slumber party. She spoke on that subject, in fact, “Ceinwyn used to love a movie with popcorn when she was a child. I used to let her sprinkle sugar in the butter.”

  Not just the PJs, but now Annie B was feeding me info I’d long coveted, giving me tidbits that Ceinwyn had hidden about herself in a cloud of mystery, like each revelation was no big deal.

  What a play, man. I just . . . I was so impressed by it. Me and Welf used to throw some good ones aimed at each other, but . . . holy fuckballs! Annie B would have ate us alive . . . probably literally. Putting Annie B and Welf in the same room with each other, now there’s a scene I want to see play out.

  Also rising from the couch, I perused Annie B’s collection of movie discs set against a wall. “You were her . . . uh, babysitter?” I snooped inelegantly.

  “Nii-Vah assigned me to care for her more often than any of the other barons or baronesses,” Annie B explained as she went about making popcorn from scratch. “Nii-Vah knew my own history with children and how it led to my defiance of Inanina, so it was a convenient reward for my good work and a pebble to throw into Inanina’s shoe at the same time.”

  I didn’t know this many chick-flicks existed, I thought about the movies, but aloud kept trying to slowly dig information out of her, “How’s a mancer kid end up with a vampire babysitter?”

  “Our kinds haven’t always been enemies, King Henry. We both need humanity at-large to be gullible and ignorant for our continued existence, so of course there’s been some cooperation and friendships between mancers and vampires over the years.”

  Four different versions of Pride and Prejudice, kill me now. “And what did the Dales do?”

  A popping started from the kitchen. “Ceinwyn’s grandfather is the man who ended the Counter-Culture War and set up the current peace treaty between the Embassies, your Institution, and the furry mongrels. That war didn’t have three sides, but six—each faction split among those favoring war and those who wanted peace. Llywelyn Dale and Nii-Vah worked very closely together to end the fighting. Some say they were even lovers.”

  “You’re not saying . . .”

  “Of course not! Ceinwyn’s father was already a student at your Institution by then.”

  “Right. Good.” The Breakfast Club? Kill me some more.

  Annie B played the teacher for me, “So the Dales put their foot down to convince the Lady on your side and Nii-Vah won a vote among the Divine Court for ours, which leaves?”

  Weres. “Furry mongrels?” I used her term.

  Smells of butter and garlic and pepper joined the rest. Like the scavenger I was, I’d lived on whatever fast-food shop had been on our route to the next body broker, so the smell of real food, even something as light as popcorn, was a blessing.

  Annie B seemed to be enjoying herself, act or not. She even hummed some tune with a ye oldie’ beat I could imagine her learning during her childhood back in the day. A vamp in a good mood, know what that means: she’s full. She’d disappeared for half an hour once we returned to the Embassy, so I guess her blood needs had been taken care of by some other donor. Or prey. Or maybe Meal again.

  “Those were the days before King Vega—some would even argue those days created the opportunity for his rise and the restructuring of the Coyote Nation—and they and the other Nations of the West Coast took a horrible bruising in the war. They were disgruntled by the peace, especially those who sided with the mancers, since they felt they died for nothing.”

  The popping of corn increased. So did the wonderful smells. My own stomach gave a rumble. “Okay, why didn’t my History of Elementalism class go over this stuff?”

  The humming continued, switching to A Hard Day’s Night. “There are too many still alive who lived those days, best to forget them.”

  “Okay, so the Weres were pissy, what’s new?” I finally found a section that wasn’t chick-flicks, but it was old as fuck—black and white stuff. Which I will watch if a chick requires it, but not sober and no way could I get drunk around Annie B and not end up in bed with her.

  “They retaliated years later against the man who made the peace.”

  “Lew . . . However-it’s-Pronounced Dale.”

  “An explosion killed him, his son, and crippled his daughter-in-law. His granddaughter miraculously survived untouched.”

  I paused in my search. Well, that explains that piece of history, don’t it?

  If I believed the source. But why lie about this? Lies are only good when the truth don’t hurt more. “So Nii-Vah stepped in to protect the Last True Dale.”

  In the kitchen, Annie B poured the popcorn into a huge bowl and then poured the pepper and garlic butter over it. “She spent her life under Nii-Vah’s tutelage until she turned fourteen and began attending the Institution.”

  Not black and white, not chick-flicks, finally! “But her mother didn’t die right away, right?”

  “Not her body,” Annie said simply, returning to the couch with the bowl of popcorn. “Did you pick something yet?”

  “Yeah.” I went ahead and put the DVD in the disc tray. T-Bone would be having a fit. Streaming is the future, King Henry! Optical drives will be dead in ten years! “One of my favorites among the piles of chick-flick shit you seem to love.”

  “Even vampires crave a happy ending,” she teased me.

  “Plenty of happy endings to be had without will-they-won’t-they bullshit.”

  Annie B smiled as the menu screen came up on her TV. “Big Trouble in Little China? My, my, King Henry Price, your hidden depths impress again. Went for the best Worst Movie ever made, did you? With a complete ignoramus out of his depth as the hero, I can see how you relate.”

  I warily sat down next to her on the couch, with the popcorn bowl between us. I took a small handful. Sweet Mancy was it tasty.

  Annie B was so pleased with my reaction, I might as well have been taking my first hit of some drug she pushed. “Do I pass as a cook?”

  “I know what you’re doing,” I told her instead.

  Her smirk returned for the slightest second. “Good.”

  “I’m not falling for it.”

  “Of course you are.”

  [CLICK]

  My tuxedo was as uncomfortable as a sober Thanksgiving.

  Of which I was gonna have to endure if I survived this whole auction thing. With Dad . . . and JoJo . . . and Marge . . . my dad’s replacement girlfriend.

  Just stuff a pineapple up my ass, why don’t you?

  Guess I could always get ate or shot or turned into a shell for Eresha. So there’s that up side.

  “Why am I wearing this torture device again?” I asked for not the first time.

  Annie B was back to enjoying herself. She looked . . . amazing. Red dress, no back, would have wowed the world with it if she’d been showing up to the Emmys or Oscars, but instead it was just her, me, and the Auction of Illicit Wonders.

  I’m not fucking with you about the name. It was on the silver disk thingy that the Tsar gave us. The silver disk was the bit of authority Annie B used to remind me, “The invitation said ‘black tie’; so you’re in a tuxedo, King Henry.”

  “It also said no weapons, but we’re both breaking that one.”

  Annie B supplied the tux, complete with pockets for some—but not all—of my artifacts. I left behind my Anti-Vamp Hot Cuffs, my Cold Cuffs, half my Little Magical Balls—technical term—and my Anima Tracker Rod in the car. I debated with myself over leaving Poug’s knife for the better part of the limo ride over to the place, but figured it was too valuable to leave be
hind. Anything that freaked out a vampire as much as the metal-glass knife had was something worth keeping on your person. Even if its hilt would be sticking me in the ribs all night long.

  As for Annie B, she had her knives strapped to the inside of one thigh and a small handgun strapped to the inside of the other one. She did this in our limo, right in front of me. A woman lifting her dress like that is naughty enough to get a guy sporting serious wood . . . a woman lifting her dress to prepare for battle . . .

  The tailor didn’t give me enough pockets for my artifacts, but at least he gave me plenty of room in the crotch.

  “They didn’t really mean no weapons,” Annie B explained, “it was simply a reminder not to be crass or careless in how you hid your weapons. No gun on the hip and such.”

  “If you say so . . . this is my first illegal supernatural event like this.”

  “They’re very fun.”

  “If you say so. Sure in a shitty part of town for all these limos and all the bling people are sporting.”

  “Best to not attract paparazzi in this city. The barons kill enough of them every year as it is.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Did you think only ESLED polices the mundanes from learning too many secrets?”

  More proof of the Embassies and the Learning Council working collectively. Got to say, Ceinwyn, kinda wishing your grandpappy wasn’t such a gregarious fucker. When the second party is eating your species, war ain’t such an immoral choice, is it?

  But maybe that’s just the earthquake in me hoping to wreck and ruin all the pretty buildings in the world.

  “You still haven’t told me the plan.”

  “We attend the auction,” she said simply, smirking my way. The whiplash had continued apace. All night with the Girl Next Door Annie B, followed by Ex-Girlfriend Annie B in the morning when I didn’t go to bed with her like she’d hoped. Now she was in huntress mode, all ready to wreck and ruin even more than the earthquake. “We see if the shells are here. We confront the auctioneers to learn who put them up for bid. We take back our property and kill whoever is responsible. Easy enough?”

  “Would be easier if I didn’t have to wear a tux.”

  “Quit being such a whiny ass titty baby, King Henry.”

  At least she couldn’t punch me like she usually did. Blood all over my tux might be a giveaway that something was up with us.

  One-million dollars.

  Freedom from strings.

  Clamp down on the pillow and just enjoy it.

  Try not to take a shot to the face.

  [CLICK]

  The Auction of Illicit Wonders took place in a supply warehouse. Across the street was a meat packing plant. To the left was a truck yard. To the right, a mini-storage lot.

  The line of limos and sports cars was conspicuous to say the least. One after another, they pulled up to a side door, their passengers disembarking in a cloud of sparkling opulence. Guards stood at the door to greet them. One to take their invitation and two others with guns waiting at the ready in their hands.

  Always fucking guns.

  Good thing I’d decided to keep my SEM-DEW on me.

  And a twenty-minute-pool.

  Overkill? Probably. Tiring to hold that much anima for an entire auction? For sure. But it wasn’t even near my limit and with the way geo-anima enjoyed my company since the Geo Realm . . . why not go big?

  If it drives me mad . . . well, that’s a worry for another day, ain’t it?

  I studied the guards more closely when it was our limo doing the unloading. Jeans, jackets, walkie-talkies, and assault rifles with extended mags for the pair. The guns were probably loaded with hollow points or armor piercers or whatever else gun nuts get off on so they feel safe at night. Fuck if I have a clue.

  Could be laser-guided penis splitters for all I know.

  The third guy was in a tux, a pretty boy with a million dollar smile. We’ll call him Doorman. All three of the guards were Mexican. Half of California is Mexican, so it didn’t necessarily mean anything. But in the supernatural world, Mexican guards being present makes one man suspect number one: Horatio Vega.

  Annie B quirked an eyebrow at me.

  I only shook my head.

  There’s something like ten thousand members of the Coyote Nation. No way could I know all of them. Outside of talking with JoJo, I’d purposely kept away from them as much as I could. I didn’t even know how Vega structured the organization of his furry mongrels. Had to be underlings and shit to control that much territory, right? And then there were Mexican Mexican Were Nations. Jaguars and the like.

  Just because these three guys were Mexican, that didn’t mean my brother-in-law had stolen from the Great Bank, right?

  Please no. Please tell me he’s not that fucking greedy, the part of me that just wanted to be left alone with my artifacts worried. But the earthquake half . . . the earthquake half hoped it was him. Hoped I finally had a chance to kill the fucker without anyone making a fuss about it.

  “Welcome to the Auction of Illicit Wonders,” Doorman greeted us with a large smile and smooth words. “Who will you be representing tonight?”

  Annie B smirked his way. “The Divine Eresha.”

  The balls on this woman, I thought, preparing to break some guns before the guards lit me up. Annie B didn’t care if she got shot. Would just be an inconvenience to her. Me on the other hand? Still haven’t found out how to make a geomancer coat bulletproof. I was working on it though. Would have to be wearing a geomancer coat for that to work, not this tuxedo torture suit shit.

  Doorman didn’t seem threatened by this announcement, if anything it excited him. “I’ve heard the Divine is a connoisseur of shell collecting, but I’m unaware of any shells worthy of her caliber on the auction block tonight.”

  Okay, so either the fucktard doesn’t know where the goods came from or we’re about to strike out and return to square one on our shell hunting. Shell hunting? Body hunting. Don’t forget what you’re doing, Price. You’re hunting bodies so some snotty, rich goddess can wear them . . . ruin them even.

  Annie B winked at Doorman, handing over our silver invitation. “Of course there aren’t, only certified body brokers can auction shells.”

  Doorman winked back. “I hope the Divine finds favor with any last minute surprises that might pop up for sale.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Annie B placated before turning to me, “come along, Servant.”

  I was playing her tagalong, just spawned for the evening.

  It sucked.

  Million dollars: spread them cheeks, King Henry.

  After I had the money, I would find Val—wherever she was on the planet—and I would finally let her know how I felt. Probably have lots of sex too. But feelings . . . should mention those things. Sex, lots and lots of romantic sex.

  Wash the taste of vampire cock out of my mouth.

  [CLICK]

  Inside, the place looked unsurprisingly like a warehouse that had been converted into an auction hall. Chairs, lots of chairs in row after row. A raised podium from which the auctioneer would babble his bullshit. A bar off to the side, with the guests loitering around it picking up drinks. All elegant, all stained wood with beautifully etched designs.

  High class stuff.

  But it was surrounded by warehouse. Industrial ceiling with skylights. Walls without paneling. Drafts of wind in the overlarge space. The smell of sweat and effort and rubber from forklift tires. Knew that smell well. Reminded me of Dad’s warehouse. That big, lonely building my father disappeared into for twelve hours a day, six days a week. Only appearing to cook dinner and put us all to bed. On ‘Good Days’ him and Mom would stay up laughing, eventually retiring to their bedroom for some marital grunting and humping. On ‘Bad Days’ he’d sit in his recliner, watching TV in the dark until well after midnight.

  Big empty warehouse pretending to be something else.

  The Auction of Illicit Wonders.

  The Asylum.

&n
bsp; The whole world.

  All pretending to be something they aren’t.

  Annie B motioned me to follow her through the crowd. The group of people was surprisingly large, with a varied cast. Weres, Vamps, and mancers of all sorts. I was shocked to recognize a few faces. Gentlewoman Moore showing up where I least expected her again, just like in Golden Gate Park. She scowled at both Annie B and me before walking across the room to make sure we had as much space as possible between us. So much for making deals with me about giving hidden knowledge.

  “Bidding for Duchess Antonia I should think,” Annie B guessed.

  A reasonable assumption.

  Annie B continued, “I might kill her just for the fun of it if she gets in our way.”

  Yup, total huntress mode. Someone’s getting ate on . . . and it ain’t gonna be me.

  Go-Joe was there as well, the club running, designer drug peddling Vice President of the Otter Nation. Despite us having stolen his invitation, the Tsar sat at the bar, Mistress Suck-A-Lot at his arm with glitter all over her bare skin. He made an effort at pretending we’d never met before.

  Annie B pointed out others for me. Count Dragwlya, Baroness Oakley, Duchess Theodora. Blah, blah, blah. Vampires and their bullshit titles. They all ignored each other, pretending they were the only vampire at the shindig. Arrogance or manners? Hard to tell. More interesting was Annie B explaining various Weres, complete with their nations. Wolves, Grizzlies, Black Bears, Jaguars, Bison, Stallions, Raccoons, and the newly formed Gator Nation—don’t ask—all had people in attendance.

  No Coyotes though.

  Unless the guards were Coyotes.

  There were ten or so along the walls and then another handful walking among the mingling crowds. “You think Vega is running this?” I eventually asked Annie B.

  She shook her head. “Say what you will about King Vega’s duplicity in his dealings, but the man is a team player. He’d never aid vampires by selling them goods, no matter the financial gains.”

  “The guards look like werecoyotes.”

  “You can tell?”

  “Seen enough of them to typecast the lot. Can’t you like . . . smell them?”