If I can break out.
Adamantine Coat. I started letting T-Bone name all the new products and they were selling even better than the old ones. Shows what I know about advertising. Come down to King Henry’s Nerd Nirvana for fifty percent off your first vampire sex toy purchase! Been a profitable six months if not an easy six months. At the end of it all and I’m not the least bit exhausted by the marathon I’ve run, just pumped up and ready to rumble at the finish line.
My knuckles itched to smash faces. My mind went a million miles an hour trying to work every angle, make every joke, distract threats and dispose obstacles. My thirty-minute anima pool waited, unsure if it would be needed, unsure if it would still be there when I entered the Pit, the whole blob of precious geo-anima torn away from me.
Had new toys to play with too. A steel-link chain around my neck that ended in a fat teardrop, engraved with clouds. T-Bone called it the Necklace of Confusion. Not so sure if I’m okay with wearing a necklace but the description is apt. When activated it spits out miniscule amounts of random anima around your person; invisible to most unless they’re really focusing on sensing your Mancy type, but if you happen to have some Anima Detection Lenses it fucks with them really bad. Means you can’t use the things in a fight to get an edge over whoever’s wearing the necklace. Necklace . . . but like there’s any more manly name for something that goes around your throat—collar, ribbon, choker—all the pretties are for the ladies, ain’t they?
Reason why I know it fucks with Anima Detection Lenses is I got my own pair now, made off of Guild design documents that the Tsar had also procured. A pair of his own and two-hundred thousand dollars in cash nearly gave T-Bone a heart attack, the feathery fucker. Still, it was worth it. Anima Detection Lenses are so rare and expensive that families pass them down. Case in point: Heinrich Welf has a pair from one peasant-raping grandpa or the other. Of course Welf has his own pair—rich, friend-zombiefying douchebag that he is.
SDR on my finger, of course, not renamed. HSK’s brought back into the fold after the redesign process and renamed by T-Bone as the One Second Blade; smaller, lighter, easier to hide on your person, but just a single flash of cutting before you needed to refill them with hydro-anima. Only one Magic Little Ball, which had turned into a Magic Wand as T-Bone forced me to call it. One end spit out light and the other darkness, both using my anima reactor core process to hold the natural element equivalent.
Made a Flame Wand too. Shit was just dangerous. Needed to figure out a way to focus the fire in a line, been thinking about using nozzles or maybe even real pyro-anima with a geo-anima focusing matrix—do I sound pedantic as fuck or what? Such is my life. Here’s hoping I get to stop with the thinking and start with the punching sooner rather than later.
No Flame Wand on me, no GOB with no Mini snuck inside it this time around either, that artifact was back to experimental testing. Besides, little shit has a golem to live in now. Ain’t exactly the final product I want to design for him one day, but he’s happy enough to be clunking about pretending to be an eccentric Roomba that looks like a chubby knight without his horse. Or his sword. Which ain’t happening no matter how often Mini asks for one.
Give a gnome a sword and send him off into the world, that’s asking for trouble, ain’t it? Your robot stabbed my dog! Yeah, well, your dog sexually assaulted my robot!
Did give Mini a tiny shield, which he uses to write his messages on. Works okay. Didn’t look too crappy. My first try at a golem, so back off me!
Also found myself in the spectro-portrait business as of late. Angering the Guild and the Circle of Light, I’m a smart man, yes I am. Too bad I can’t piss out Slush or I could add in the Rejuvenation Society for the hat trick. But Vicky needed spectro-portraits for her art career and the Guild design was the usual hammer-into-nail crap job, so I did a few days updating and the occasional afterhours work to keep her stocked. Being as Momma and Papa Welf ain’t footing the bill no more, my help was about the only thing keeping her career afloat.
Fucking propriety and manners, man, it’s a mess. Imagine you care about your social standing so much that you tell your kid she can’t come home cuz of the guy she’s dating. Victoria von Welf dating a Second Tier, First-Generation Ultra, the horror! He runs a computer business! For mundanes!
Guess it does happen in the mundane world too, lots even, but fuck . . . given my own life and the serious reasons my family split apart, just seems like a shitty thing to do. Welf started showing up a few months back, dropping off clothes and some of Vicky’s stuff from the Manor. Think if Vicky keeps holding out she just might win, though Moira von Welf is known to hold a long grudge.
Just ask Catherine Hayes.
Stupid or not, the whole thing had given me a new understanding for spectro-anima. It’s a light touch, har har, and having a spectromancer around to talk to about it has helped, especially a spectromancer with the best senses for anima I’ve ever seen. Vicky Welf, she’s a walking pair of Anima Detection Lenses. Necklace of Confusion doesn’t mess with her though, just gives her a headache.
Other than that . . . had artifacts in the works like always, but nothing I could use now. My poking of the Guild and my plans for the next week had outpaced my creativity. Too few epiphanies about artifacts, I guess. Too few epiphanies for everything else too. Here’s hoping I’m saving up, cuz I could use a few this week.
Still . . . what I got on me is enough to get the job done.
Oh, right . . .
Brought my World-Breaker with me too.
The Jinshin Ken of Hiroto Arashi.
Don’t leave home without it.
Cuz you can’t leave home without it.
[CLICK]
“You cheap bastards don’t even have your own plane?” I complained once we arrived at the airport and I found out we’d be traveling commercial.
“Unlike the Recruiters, us poor, hardworking ESLED agents don’t have private jets in our pockets to hand out to every other agent like they’re lollipops,” Estefan did his own complaining about the Asylum’s biggest interagency rivalry.
“Know a few Recruiters if you’d like me to give one of them a call,” I attempted some false sincerity.
Miles opened the SUV’s door to go scan the perimeter. “Remember: no killing one another,” he told the both of us before he popped out.
Estefan sighed heavily, glancing my way like he might go through with it, even with all the paperwork. “Always have to be an asshole, don’t you?”
“What else do I have to do? You guys even took my phone away from me.”
“Should have bartered for your phone over your artifacts then.”
“One call and we have us a private jet, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Miss Dale isn’t talking to you, Jason’s dead, and you broke up with Boomworm, so who are you calling exactly?” Estefan asked.
“One: I’m the one not talking to Miss Dale. Two: Val broke up with me. Three: Jason’s only kinda-sorta dead,” I corrected the record.
“Yeah, after pulling that move, Welf might be even more of an asshole than you are,” Estefan agreed.
“See, we’re bonding, man. Just like the old days at school. You flirting with all the girls like you’re some Golden God, me making the jokes about how you ain’t a golden god, just a guy with a fake smile and hair too pretty for a man.”
“Didn’t hear anything about how we’re getting a private jet in all that bullshit . . .”
“Yeah, I’m full of it. I really just want the phone for when you snap and start beating on me. Recording police brutality and ending up on CNN is all the rage these days. Just imagine the views we could get if the cop in question has lightning bolts coming off his hands, know what I’m saying?”
Estefan sized me up again, judging my mood and whether I actually would cause problems for him. “You seem calm enough, calmer than usual even . . . despite the fact you won’t shut up.”
“ESLED have a pool on whether I’d go quietly?” I
asked.
“Yes.”
“What you bet?”
“I don’t bet on pools, only friendly stuff with Miles.”
I snorted in disbelief. “Official Asylum pastime and you didn’t partake?”
“Debra doesn’t like it. She’s very frugal.”
Silence.
“Takes a lot of cash to raise a family,” I finally couldn’t help myself.
He exited the SUV just then, leaving me alone. A few seconds later I heard him kicking the tires. Had to smirk a bit over my handiwork. Not too hard to rile Estefan up. He can be engaging and even charismatic, but he’s also easy to throw off his game, either with words or by something not going his way.
Whole situation wasn’t going Estefan’s way.
Going my way.
He was right about the phone though. Who would I call? T-Bone knew what was up, Ceinwyn and Val would learn about it all through the rumor mill. Pocket and Jesus would already be on their way to Fresno to help out T-Bone with his side of things. So . . . who else was there? Either you were far enough into my inner circle to be in on what’s happening or you very much weren’t.
JoJo? Hadn’t included her in the plans. Include her and you include Vega. Have to include Vega and well . . . would cost me more than even the Tsar charges. Plus, Little Sis was very fucking pregnant. Seven or eight months, I lost track of the due date. Knew it was a boy like Vega had wanted. No chance of the kid being named Joseph after my dad. Would be named something from Vega’s family. Long as it’s not ‘Hector,’ that’s all the world needs is another fuck-up with that name. Being the kid is half Price, odds are he’ll have plenty of fuck-up in him already.
My dad . . . there’s a call that would be fun. Actually got JoJo to go back home to Visalia a few months back, have dinner with him and Marge. JoJo just sat there the whole time, silent for once. Made me and Marge do all the small talk. JoJo finally blew up when dad asked where her husband was. All I need, having family dinner with Horatio Vega at the table. Family: it never unfucks itself, just gets more twisted and gnarly as it ages.
Call Old Man Price and tell him I’ve been arrested and I’m being sent to London for some sort of trial. Shit, why not tell him I can do magic while I’m at it? I’m sure he’ll take it as well as T-Bone’s socially-adjusted parents did. Won’t be no screaming or yelling or fighting. Might even throw in the fact that his daughter turns into a coyote once a month. Be buckets of fun.
No one to call.
Wonder what Ceinwyn and Val will do when they hear the news?
No one to call.
They were either helping or they were on the outside looking in.
Like Estefan glaring at me through the SUV window.
I rolled it down. “What’s the problem?”
“You look like you’re planning something,” he accused.
“Always planning something . . . just don’t involve you, Magic G-Man.”
[CLICK]
ESLED might be too cheap to use private jets, but at least they had enough pull to force the airline into giving them first-class tickets when they ferried prisoners. Not that I’m a prisoner, of course. Back in the gray area again. I was an ‘informant.’
“Don’t informants still have to wear handcuffs?” an inquisitive stewardess asked when we took our seats at the very front of the plane, just behind the pilot’s cabin. Wasn’t a big plane. Wasn’t a long trip. First class, yes, direct flight to London, no. Had us a stopover in Los Angeles at LAX.
Really does make a guy wish for some random violence to spice things up. Some Vamps, or one of the Queens, hell, I’ll even take a normal terrorist. Shit, might even take an overly drunk guy trying to grope on the stewardesses.
Instead I just had toying with Miles and Estefan for my entertainment needs. Miles had the seat beside me; Estefan had the one behind me. There was no unlucky soul beside Estefan. Other passengers did give us looks . . . and ‘why me’ faces over the fact there seemed to be two FBI agents on the plane. No Three Queens, no Vamps, just a family with two teenage kids heading for Disneyland and a trio of businessmen look like they want to foreclose on grandma.
Turned to Miles as my first salvo. “Don’t suppose you’ll hand me my wallet back so I can buy booze for the three of us?”
“FBI agents drinking on a plane wouldn’t look right,” Miles answered with his usual pleased-with-the-world smile. “Other agencies are nice enough to give us cover, we don’t like to embarrass them.”
“Would feel pretty good though,” I mumbled. Hadn’t been drinking as much lately either. Too busy for that shit too. Too busy for everything fun. Fighting, stealing, fucking, and smoking . . . in that order, I remembered something I said as a kid. First two are still going strong at least. Having a mission in life is a pain in the ass, let me tell you. Better to go through life just flipping the bird at everyone. Caring. Making a difference. Solving the puzzle. For the birds, and not the one that flips.
Curiosity might not get me killed, but it sure as shit is getting me locked up in the Pit.
Not so good with copious amounts of free time on my hands. If the family ever had enough money to get psychological on me I’m sure I’d have been diagnosed with about twenty attention deficit disorders. As it was, it was weird to spend six months with never enough time in the day, followed by my first break where I couldn’t do a single thing, wasn’t allowed to do a single thing by my guards, not even drink. Weirder still that after this forced break I’d be in the Crazy deeper than I ever had been before.
Estefan made a phone call to Debra.
Miles called into ESLED headquarters to inform them that we’d boarded. “Make sure you tell them I was a good boy and that I’m on my very best behavior,” I reminded him.
He ignored me.
Pulled out the airplane magazine, flipped it through cover to cover, put it back in its place. Now I’m wishing for Annie B to pop up just so we could do our usual dance while waiting for the plane to land, but I guess that’s even less likely than seeing one of the Three Queens. Don’t have to be Catherine, I’ll settle for Teresa or Mary . . .
Estefan and Miles weren’t actually that bad. Never really hung with them much at the Asylum, but we worked okay in groups. About as well as I worked with anyone in groups who wasn’t Val, Miranda, Raj, Pocket, or Jesus. The three of us just had different priorities. Estefan and Miles both knew they wanted to be part of ESLED from the beginning, or near enough to the beginning. Both ended up joining the Junior ESLED Club that first month. Other clubs too. They really were the perfectly average Asylum students, moving from ten to twenty in class-rank, never too high, never too low.
Estefan excelled at sports, Miles went along for the ride, and wasn’t too bad at the non-contact variety. Miles dated Eva for a couple years . . . way before I got involved with her. Looking at him now it was hard to figure out the connection between them. But then, maybe my views on Eva had shifted too.
Lighteater, I thought of her fairy title. New title, along with a few others. Didn’t have confirmation of it, but when Samson died I was pretty sure Eva became the new sciomancer Maximus. If she could only remember more of the dream she had, maybe I could be positive.
Part of me expected the Learning Council to come out and tell her what she was now, but they didn’t. More secrets, more truth to steal in the next few days. Eva and I had a long conversation when she first visited Fresno, mostly me doing a lot of the talking. With the way the Asylum was questioning her loyalty, she wasn’t in the mood to spill the beans on everything they’d told her during training. Just confirmed I was on the right path to figuring some of it out, which is enough for me. As far as fairies and Realms, she was more clueless than I am.
Are there holes in her education because they didn’t bother to fill them, because they don’t know themselves, or because they’re trying to bury the truth? Or worse . . . have forgotten the truth. What will I do if after all this I’m still in the dark? What will I do if the Divines or Meteyos
really are the only sources old enough to know . . . well, whatever it is they know?
Cross that bridge when I arrive at it.
Had another bridge in front of me.
It was two plane flights away.
Guild of Artificers.
The Pit.
Some truth.
Finally, some truth.
Stolen truth, not gifted truth.
No chance for lies, no chance for closed mouths.
Straight from the sources locked away in all those big, bad vaults.
My bridge I’ve been building, been preparing for these six months.
Got your wish, Massey, got ESLED to carry me all the way to your doorstep. Gonna have yourself a nice dog and pony show, a trial, make me look like a fucktard, whatever you want. Six months I’ve been flicking your ear and you finally snapped. Think you’ll ride me down. Think you’ll break me.
But I’m King Henry Price.
I’m the Dirt King.
I don’t break, neither bad nor good.
Am what I am and you’re about to learn the truth of that.
Way Things are Done is about to get an iron fist to the jaw.
Hello, Fate, you Bitch-Queen.
This time I’m calling the shots.
This time I’m the one tying you down.
So give me a nice big kiss, we’re about to have ourselves a hell of a dance.
Session 65
Nothing good ever happens when you’re drunk.
That’s what they say. They—they—whoever the mysterious people in charge of this shitshow are. The illuminati, lizard people, fucking Mark Zuckerberg, I don’t know. Fuck ‘em whoever they are, right? All that power and what are they worried about? What we say, what we do with our own bodies on our own time. Don’t do drugs! Crack is whack! Just say ‘no!’ Stop fucking that sheep!
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 4
