“Not a good idea,” she decided in her very sober certainty, “Valentine can’t hold her liquor at all and she starts lighting things on fire once she’s past tipsy.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a Texan. Also, as you well know I attended an all-girls school and you can’t imagine the amount of homebrew hooch our Home Econ classes managed to produce under the teachers’ noses.”
We found my door. I leaned against it, trying to figure out which pocket I had my key in. “Think I remember Vicky mentioning once upon a time that you bake.”
“Yes, most of the rum I use goes into desserts, not my stomach.” She stopped me from searching my tux pockets and put her finger to the door lock. After a spare second and a sharp rumble in my feet indicating she’d used anima, she twisted her finger and the door opened. “Ta da!”
“I can do that too.”
“I know you can, but in your present condition it would’ve taken you an hour to even think about doing it,” she told me.
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Then you’ll be able to step through the threshold on your own and get in bed by yourself?” she dared me.
Thought about whether admitting she was right about me being that drunk or me faceplanting into the floor right in front of her would be worse. “Want a cup of coffee?” I asked. “The not-going-to-have-sex kind of coffee . . . as in actual coffee. I steal it from Plutrach . . . it’s some good shit.”
“I assume I’ll have to make the coffee myself since you’ll light the machine on fire somehow?”
“Val’s not around to do it, so someone has to,” I grumbled as she led me into my dorm room. The look of the place wasn’t changed much from when it was assigned to me. They let us check out supplies from one of Admin’s stockpiles, so we could add a shelf or a portrait or even let us paint the walls a different color, but I hadn’t partaken of any interior design creativity. Was still white walled and rocking the rarely-used prison cell style. Bed was made, but only cuz I’m one of those guys who sleep on top of the covers, the kind you women with your comforters and sheets and your twenty little useless pillows hate.
Miranda glanced about as I slumped onto my couch. “Sweet, sweet plumpness,” I mumbled.
She squinted her green eyes at me. “What?”
“The couch, not your rarely spanked ass.”
“I think I’ll cancel the coffee and leave you there for the night,” she said.
“Sure thing,” I agreed, already falling asleep.
“Two favors,” she reminded me with a pair of pale fingers.
“Thanks, Miranda. Try being like this more often, okay?”
She smiled; it was surprisingly kind, just like her when she wasn’t around too many people. “Only if you promise not to get this drunk so often.”
“Last time, I promise.”
“Goodnight, King Henry.”
I fell asleep.
[CLICK]
I woke up to screaming.
Not the kind of screaming you expect at the Asylum.
Someone walking in on someone naked. Some girl pissed at another girl for stealing Mancy knows what, her favorite industrial-grade vibrator for all I know. Pair of guys fighting over a slight, testosterone leaving them butting heads. Or put those together and you got a girl yelling at her boyfriend, probably for looking at another girl’s ass . . . though from experience, I got to say, Asylum colors were not made with accentuating a girl’s ass in mind, especially if she chooses to wear pants over skirts. Them skirts though . . . are you looking at her ankles? How dare you, you pig! You’re only supposed to look at my ankles like that!
Normal high school has its fair share of drama, you add in anima and all the expected anima personalizations . . . well, you get used to the occasional scream. The I’m Mad And I Want You to Know It variety. Not the kind where the person is terrified or shocked or . . . scared for their life.
Or someone else’s life.
If the student body decided on it at any moment, we could’ve turned the Asylum into a battle royale to dwarf all the other battle royales. Be dead kids piled up in every corner, burn marks on the walls, buildings crashing to the ground. So much for graduation, bring out the toe tags! And mop that kid’s ashes into a baggie before he blows away!
When you figure all that raw potential in the place, it’s pretty amazing how calm and safe and the Nice, Quiet One it is most of the time. Outside of Winter War at least, it was pretty peaceful. Even with the Three Queens around . . . pretty peaceful.
Not used to screams, especially that type of scream.
Wasn’t in the room with me, wasn’t next door, wasn’t even in the hallway.
Outside the dorms.
Still heard it.
Had to be loud.
But far away . . . just far enough away people might think maybe they can go back to sleep and let someone else handle it. They done psychological testing on that shit; be surprised how many of your fellow men and fellow women would shut their windows on your wailing ass, kiddies. Unless you’re a cynic like me. Then you know how fucked up all the prudes and civilized really are, know they’re full of shit, know it gets late enough and they get tired enough then they’re a mean piece of work.
I was awake enough to make out a second scream, followed by “Help! Help!”
Ain’t a white knight, ain’t a hero, especially in this story, but we’ve also covered that curiosity will get me killed one day too. That or my mouth. Fifty-fifty. Not billion, just simple percentages. Fifty percent of infinity. Some woman screams for help and my instinct ain’t, “for truth, justice, the American Way, and pussy throwing itself in my face as a reward!” My instinct is, “How is the Bitch-Queen Fate gonna fuck me over right now? Need to find out! It’ll hurt less that way . . . might even block it before it touches my balls.”
Balls.
Always got to worry about the balls.
Priority Number One.
Probably why I scratched mine as I sat up on the couch, eyes blinking in the near darkness, head already ringing from a decent but not epic hangover. Didn’t fuck a barnyard animal last night, couldn’t have been too bad. We let Jesus go on his own he would’ve woken up in a bed with a goat. Or an Armenian girl . . . no idea which is hairier.
. . . What?
“Help! Please! Someone! Anyone! Help!”
Oh right, block the curb stomp on my balls before it lands, now I remember why I’m awake.
Was early out. Couldn’t have been asleep very long. Clock in the kitchen said 5:30AM. Yesterday was a Saturday. No classes, special school holiday declared by the Lady. We get those occasionally. Usually when the teachers need a break from teenagers being their usual shithead selves. Three or four times a year maybe. Really helped morale . . . or at least helped keep the student body from rioting.
Sunday and I’m awake this early, hung over, head split in half about as well as I can split a metal table. Why was I up again? Should go back to sleep . . .
Another scream. This one sounded like it was a higher octave.
Yeah, that’s the one.
“Maybe Raj made it down the Mound and fell asleep butt naked in front of the dorm . . . that would cause some screaming, right?” I asked myself as I worked up the ability to give enough of a shit to stand.
“Help! Help!”
“Fine,” I growled, “but someone better be bleeding!”
Forced myself up, surprised to find my legs working the same as they usually did, instead of the squishy radio signal ones from last night. Still not sure if I can work out how that metaphor makes sense. Just my head that was unusual. More unusual than . . . usual. Nope, barely thinking, no way I’m tackling any drunken metaphors.
Burped a little bit. Generally I was pretty fucking gross, but especially in the hygiene department. Still in the tux from the previous night, had half the Mound on me and these little specks of bile on my pants where Athir hadn’t quite taken all the Chicken Parmesan enhanced flow. Neve
r been one for cleanliness, but even for me . . . my ass stank.
“Can’t believe Val didn’t want to fuck you last night, what was she thinking?” I got on with some self deprecation while checking my underwear to make sure there hadn’t been any self defecation either. “White as the day the Asylum gave them to me . . .”
Now the door.
Door opened, door closed.
See, you’re a human being, you have thumbs, you can do amazing things with them, remember?
The interior hallway lights for the Ultra apartments are controlled at Admin, or at least on a timer. We might have more freedom than a Single or a Bi, but that don’t mean the staff wants us outside of our rooms all night, in the hallway . . . doing . . . just about anything vandalous. Are you hellions smoking the reefer? Meant we got nightlight level of illumination from 10PM until 6AM. Just enough so you couldn’t kill yourself, not enough so you wanted to sit out there. Get in your room and put out that joint, you delinquents!
Down the hallway. Couldn’t hear the screaming in here. Must have been coming in through my window. Maybe I should replace the glass with steel so I can sleep in longer.
Just as I was heading by one of the corner rooms, it’s door opened. Hope Hunting peeked through it, catching sight of me. Her expression said I was the devil incarnate. So . . . the usual for that one too. Wasn’t her room, was Welf’s room. She smelled a very different kind of human than I did. That sweat and sweet odor of a fine bit of grunting and humping. “Somehow you knew and you were waiting!” she accused me.
“Don’t care about your nonexistent jiggly bits, Hope,” I failed at mollifying her.
“Where’s the camera then?” she kept on with either a conspiracy or a fantasy, not sure which. “Taking a photo, no doubt, and then you’ll threaten to send it to my father as blackmail?!?”
“He wants you with Welf, so wouldn’t he enjoy seeing that you are?” I tried to outline some logic for her.
Hope blinked at me for a bit, her brain throwing out life-rafts to try to keep her world from shattering. “What do you mean he wants me with Heinrich? He’s always telling me I can do better!”
Look at my mad scientist Boris putting the reverse psychology judo on his daughter! “One day, I’ll tell ya. Promise. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to see if we’re being invaded by vampires, which is something more interesting than you and Welf doing the deed. You did the deed, right? Everyone got their milk and cookies? Not cool to stop before you both got your milk and cookies. Should dump him if he did. Find a man knows how to lick that clit like it’s a Baskin-Robbins sugar cone two scoop.”
The door opened again. Welf stood bathed in light from his apartment, wearing only boxers and sweatpants. Just what I wanted to wake up to . . . mostly naked Welf. Should’ve stayed in my room, put a pillow over my ears, and just worn a cup for the rest of the day.
Welf’s face went glare-mode the second he noticed it was me. His bare chest also glared at me, haunting me. Hard to look at anything else, being he had almost a whole foot of height above mine. Not exactly an expert on male chests, but you expected Welf’s to be pallid and skinny, like a proper necromancer stereotype. Wasn’t bulked out and blocky like my dwarf ass, but his muscles weren’t nonexistent either. He fenced and played basketball I guess, both club and pickup. So . . . Welf pectorals . . . they exist.
What a weird morning.
“Welf, tell your girlfriend I ain’t interested in her nonexistent jiggly bits, please,” I begged him for once.
I was hung over and I needed coffee.
Also needed to see about that vampire invasion.
If they’re killing me, I want it to be like twenty big breasted vampires overwhelming me, not one of them sneaking into my room. Got to die with style, kiddies. BAMF Rule Number Something.
Hope didn’t wait for Welf to answer, instead she snarled in my direction. “My jiggly bits are not . . . nonexistent! Tell him, Heinrich!”
Welf’s glare faded as his mouth opened without making words.
“Yeah, tell me all about her jiggly bits,” I prompted.
We both waited on him expectantly.
He evaded the question with, “Why are you roaming this early, Foul Mouth? We saw you go to bed with Daniels.”
My hangover imploded upon itself over the idea of that rumor spreading. Worked better than a Bloody Mary. Or a Wet Mary coming for your pee-hole. “I say again: someone’s yelling for help outside.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Hope said snottily. “Or maybe you’re heading to the pools to drown yourself now that you’ve done the deed with that freckled Daniels bitch.”
“She just helped me home, Hope. That’s all that happened, got it?” I warned her with words, the tone of my voice, and a predator grin all three.
Welf put a hand on Hope’s shoulder as she prepared to do some screaming of her own. She glanced back at him, crystal blue eyes sharp. “What?”
Welf does have a certain kind of finesse at handling the ice queen. Shit, when he smiled at her I even believed he cared about her, maybe even loved her a little bit, somewhere in that dead, rotten heart of his. “Last night was perfect, don’t let him ruin it. Go to your room and get cleaned up, I’ll take care of the Foul Mouth.”
“Wow, Welf,” I said when Hope finally turned a corner and headed down the secondary hallway, “that was an impressive showing of balls for once.”
Welf’s smile for Hope faded into a snarl that mirrored her earlier expression. “Why are you here tormenting me at five o’clock on a Sunday, Foul Mouth?”
“Screaming,” I repeated. “Outside.”
“You’re lying,” he told me like King Henry Price lying was the most obvious thing in the whole wide world.
A door opened near us, on the same outside row as mine. It was Estefan Ramirez, but his girlfriend Debra Diaz’ apartment. Yeah . . . there’s a lot of sex happening when you’re eighteen and you live at a place with some kind of magical contraception field. “Is someone screaming outside? Sounds like a few people?” Estefan asked us.
Welf let out a sigh, disappearing inside his room.
“Shouldn’t expect an apology, I take it?” I commented to the empty doorframe.
“Do I want to be involved with this?” Estefan asked.
“I’ll handle it,” I told him.
“We will handle it,” Welf corrected as he appeared with a hastily thrown on necromancer’s coat, still trying to zip it up as he slammed his door shut.
“Yeah, really don’t want to be involved if both of you are,” Estefan decided before disappearing, probably to ravish his girlfriend some more.
Welf and I stalked down the rest of the hallway, such that it was. He kept an eye on me like I might be trying some play against him, but really . . . those days were over. Not that I don’t enjoy terrorizing Welf on occasion, but one of the problems with being a graduate student is that you have the freedom, but not the time for that kind of stuff. Especially with Class ‘09’s pledge to keep an eye on the Three Queens, most of the year had been free of the large pranks and punishments that our rivalry had been graced with.
All we had was small little snipes to assuage our personal loathing for the other. Case in point: “Don’t think I’ve ever fucked a woman without any tit to her. What’s life if you can’t see some shaking side boob during doggy, know what I mean?”
“You should try looking your partner in the eye on occasion, Foul Mouth,” he returned in his usual smug, faux-European accent, “it’s a much more memorable and intimate experience.”
“Shit . . . you’ve never had sex that wasn’t missionary, have you?”
“I have too!”
“Uhuh.”
“Even cryomancers can’t stay cold forever, Foul Mouth. When a glacier breaks free it’s . . . quiet explosive.”
“We’re still talking about her and not your pre-ejaculation problem, right?”
Welf let out a breath to calm himself, his hands already in tight fists
. “I’m starting work on my Construct next year. It should be done well before we graduate.”
“So?” I asked nonchalantly, even if the whole idea creeped me out.
He opened the door that led out to the stairwell. Hating my guts or not, Welf was too much of a patrician not to wave me through first. “I look forward to introducing the two of you.”
“Be a pity I have to break it just after you finished it.”
“Constructs can’t be knocked out with cheap shots, Foul Mouth, remember that before you try anything in the next few minutes.”
“Ain’t trying shit, Welf, just open your ears and listen to the opera.”
Wasn’t really screaming any longer. More like shouting and agitation, even some arguing. Welf’s eyebrows quirked up at the sound, finally truly believing I wasn’t out to prank him. “Let’s see what the commotion is then.”
Ain’t just the stairs that are outside of the Ultra dorm building, you also have a walkway on each of the three apartment floors running between each pair. So, on the sides, but not at the front or the back. There’s benches and good lighting, so the spots are fiercely fought over in the summer and autumn, not so much in the winter or spring though.
Gave us a good vantage point to lean over the railing and get a look at the scene below.
Wasn’t a good scene.
A group of Singles milled about at their main door, directly below us. They looked like scared little kids. Mostly they were scared little kids, even if a number had turned fifteen by now. Not a one of them was in proper colors, just the various nightwear that the Asylum allows students to pick from. Not ten yards away from them a group of Tris and Quads huddled around something on the ground. Two boys argued with each other, a third was yelling something about needing to get help, a fourth smacked the third upside the head and told him to shut up.
Three girls as well, huddled together, whispering and consoling.
One of them had bloody hands.
That’s when I noticed the cryomancer colors splayed out on the cement, some of the clothes pink with blood.
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 7
