The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6)

by Richard Raley

  “Charmer,” she teased me.

  “That mean—”

  “Only cuddling on the eve of battle,” she shut me down.

  Battle! Mini repeated. Victory! Riding on the Fire Queen’s nice hips!

  Not just artifacts of course. Whole bunch of little shit too. Deciding which cars we would take. Wasn’t about to go to war in the fucking RV. Would have to flee from Paine and whoever he brought with him in those cars too. Could’ve fit us in three cars easily, even making space for the Constructs, but Ceinwyn wanted backups in case one got destroyed. Also wanted beefy vehicles that could take a punch, even go off road, with a significant fuel range on them. Means the Tsar did get a call, just from Ceinwyn and not me. “I need four SUVs, armored, bulletproof windows, extended gas tanks and I need them delivered to King Henry Price’s shop in six hours.”

  After agreeing to the price, she clicked off her phone, finding me staring at her. “What now?”

  “Is it weird that turned me on more than your legs ever have?”

  Her smile twitched just a little bit. “Get out of my sight before I paper-cut your balls.”

  [CLICK]

  I massacred four-hundred Black Elves that were riding around on a bunch of overgrown bears, their leader wielding a sword made of diamond and able to use whatever the elfish equivalent of the Mancy is.

  I learned the names of our Divine, eternal overlords who are nothing more than giant pools of sentient blood goo masquerading as human beings.

  I made love to Valentine Ward under a mushroom tree.

  I stole Excalibur. Fucking Excalibur. Legendary sword Arthur used to spank his gay lover Merlin on the ass with. Or something like that . . .

  But none of that, at all, even me making love instead of me just fucking a woman’s brains out like I usually tried for, was weirder than seeing Moira von Welf in the middle of my comic store. Or at least, what was my comic store before Vicky transformed it into her sparkle princess idea of what a sleepover should look like.

  She put up spectro-streamers.

  Fuck if I know why.

  Also had a splash of red along one wall that said Anti-Curator Task Force.

  Nah, still like Team Don’t Lick the Vamp Clit better.

  But forget about that shit.

  Moira von Welf.

  In.

  My.

  Shop.

  Weird as shit. Heinrich Welf being there was weird too, but not nearly as bad. Seen him in Fresno before when he visited Vicky, so at least I had some bearing to imagining him in my shop, possibly, one day. But his mommy? Never saw it coming. About the only person weirder would be Plutarch, cuz of the hermit thing. Shit, am I gonna hear it about how he got dragged to London and it was all my fault. Then he’ll learn Obadiah Paine was the Curator and I knew . . . Pappy gonna smack me upside the head good.

  Consequences, they just kept building up.

  Like Moira von Welf in my shop.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  Mama Welf is the short one in the family. By Welf standards. Since she ain’t a Welf no matter how much people associate her as one, just ol’ gold-digging Moira Jenkins dragging herself up the social ladder by will alone. Well . . . not just will. She’s got a pussy and she knows how to use it. Her looks helped. Not tall and leggy like Val or Ceinwyn, or built like a brick-house like her daughter, but perfectly curvy and sultry, with features that make a man have himself some very naughty thoughts. Even though she’s a mother twice over, even though she’s over forty and could be my mother.

  There’s an uncomfortable thought.

  Mama Welf and Mama Price.

  Similar kind of woman, really.

  One was found, trained, recognized as a Maximus, married into mancer royalty.

  One was lost, forgotten, nothing at all as far as the Asylum is concerned, married to a high school football star broken down to a simple warehouse cog in the machine.

  But Mom and Moira Welf had the same coloring. Different features, but the same look of woman. Part of me always wondered what Mom would’ve been like if she was trained. What kind of life she’d have led. If she’d have stayed with Dad or even ended up with him. Family history had them falling in love during a middle school dance, so Dad preceded when Mom would’ve left for the Asylum. Still, wasn’t until Susan came along that everything was glued into place.

  Big Sis hadn’t happened, I might not have been born.

  Asylum gets into the equation, probably no Big Sis.

  Probably no King Henry.

  One more day, Susan.

  Bring you home.

  Welf awkwardly entered after his mother, playing the patrician as always. Had on his expensive suit, his overpriced SDR Guild rip-off that glowed with a black spectro-crystal, and his cane just in case his bad leg acted up. Handed out some respectful nods, Old Mancy families never warming to the idea of handshakes. No reason to check the other guy ain’t holding a weapon when he can form one out of thin air.

  Also, I might have sucker punched him once upon a time.

  Or two.

  Or . . . twenty.

  No comment was made to me, even one of the usual snide, superior ones. Instead he moved through the group to embrace his sister and ask if she was well.

  “I’m quite fine, Brother,” Vicky returned to him with a bright smile. “Having a great deal of fun now that they’ve told me everything they were hiding. And I managed to order pizza from mundanes without any help! Well, a little help. Prunella helped. She’s rather wonderful even if she’s only an Intra. We sent her home since she’s not going with us tomorrow, but I’d like to introduce you after we return.”

  Not sure how to respond to these revelations, Welf turned back to gauge him mother’s reaction.

  Don’t exactly blame him for being a mama’s boy. Got a mom like Moira who can fix any problem and enjoys running every life she comes into contact with, well, her husband bowed before her will, half the Learning Council did too, so what chance did her son have?

  One person never bowed to Moira’s will was the one she stood across from just now. Ceinwyn Dale and Moira von Welf. There was some friction. Some drive. Some power. Necromancers are pretty neutral when it comes to anima personalizations, but air does love the freedom to move all about, does fill our lungs with life. Even without the Mancy, these two would’ve clashed.

  Opposite sides of the Learning Council for one.

  But . . . more personal than that.

  Grew up together. Slept in the same type of communal bedroom that I had with my class, just twentyish years earlier. Loved, lost, pranked, fought, forgave. Ceinwyn and Moira regarded each other the same way I did with Welf. There was an unease to it, but one that wasn’t as rough, with more rules and respect and twenty added years that had decided the protocol.

  There’s an intimacy to having a rival.

  Rivalry ain’t hatred.

  Sure ain’t a healthy relationship, but it is a bond.

  It is a string of sorts.

  It took a great deal of effort for each woman to nod at the other, even with all those smooth edges that had built over the last twenty years since their graduation. Once given, Moira finally allowed herself to glance about the room.

  Pocket and Jesus were instantly dismissed. Vicky and her brother were purposely ignored for now, saved for later. Val earned an odd glance of longing, of regret. T-Bone . . . he couldn’t be ignored, he would have to be dealt with today, and Mama Welf’s teeth clenched at the sight of him.

  Until she saw me standing there, her whole face forming into a mean little snarl. So Welf don’t get that one from his father. Can’t say King Henry Price ever been high on the Moira von Welf scorecard. Knew a secret I shouldn’t. Topped her son at school. Infected her daughter with whatever made up my essence, so much so that Vicky performed the very un-Welf action of hooking up with a First-Generation, Second Tier mancer. She’d even declared love for him. A Welf . . . in love.

  Now here I
was again, all tangled up in some horrible shit, Vicky in it with me. Word must have gotten out since I made my phone call. Gossip in the supernatural world works fast. Not just King Henry Price standing before her, but an escaped convict. So, the first words out of Moira von Welf’s lovely lips were a threat, “Why shouldn’t I just contact ESLED, Ceinwyn? In fact, why should I even wait to hear out whatever bit of insanity you have planned?

  “That does sound like the most positive outcome for me, doesn’t it? Put your little troublemaker back where he belongs and earn a handful of favors all around while taking the opportunity to finally forcibly return my daughter to her place at home with the rest of her family, away from any foolish romantic notions she’s developed in this . . . town of hovels and whores. So . . . why? Why should I even listen? Why should I answer some plea for aid that came across as a threat to my daughter’s life?!?”

  Mama Welf Rule One: Don’t fuck with my babies.

  Even if said baby was currently in rebellion. Was only T-Bone’s large hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder that kept Vicky from immediately starting in on mother dearest. Jesus and Pocket, always with ears for trouble, both took a coordinated step toward the nearest door. Welf winced, but made no comment, trying to pretend he was the spectromancer and could turn invisible. Val gave me a warning look, saying to keep my foul mouth shut.

  Ceinwyn Dale . . .

  Ceinwyn Dale smiled. “You did bring the Four Seasons, yes?”

  Mama Welf smiled back. Ceinwyn’s smile might paper-cut you on occasion, but Moira’s was one of the few smiles that had thorns attached, thorns with rust red points of the previously pricked. “Indeed I did, on the merest possibility that I would need to force my will upon you. Barren or not, I still thought you were empathic enough to realize bringing our children into this was verboten, but you have started to let yourself go lately and Anima Madness is said to follow soon after physical decline.”

  I leaned in to whisper in Welf’s direction, “What ya know? You don’t got shit on your mom when it comes to being a douchebag.”

  Tombstone eyes flashed cold. “She wasn’t the only one to bring a Construct, Foul Mouth.”

  “Don’t think she’s fucked up enough to use her best friend making whichever season she fancied though,” I shot back.

  “King Henry,” Val butted in, literally putting herself between us. “You’re the host, act like it, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “Good to see you, Welf. How’s Jason? Skin still hanging off his bones?”

  Welf ignored me, reaching out to take Val’s hand. “It is always a pleasure to see you, Valentine. Though the last time was in a far better environment, with . . . far better furnishings I must admit.”

  Val’s smile was welcoming, fond. “Thank you for helping us, Heinrich. I appreciate it. So does King Henry even if he’ll never admit to it.”

  Welf gave a glance between us. There was both resignation and dread there. “You helped him escape, didn’t you? I cannot imagine he did so on his own . . .”

  “Managed that part fine,” I told him, “was the rest of it Val helped with. And Ceinwyn . . . who is glaring at me . . . along with your mother . . . what I do now?”

  “Ruhig sein!” Vicky called with a bit of a giggle.

  “Well?” Moira Welf repeated herself. “Explain. I assure you, Ceinwyn, if I don’t like the reasoning then I’ll not only refuse aid I will carry out my threat.”

  “You aren’t the only one that has tried to save them from this,” Ceinwyn responded calmly. Somehow. Welf talked to me that way, I’d have kicked him in the balls by now. Mama Welf does got a pair. Just in her handbag and on loan from her husband. Keep ‘em secret. Keep ‘em safe. Old Man Welf balls . . . just like the One Ring. “The generation before was so easy, but this one—especially their year—they aren’t interested in waiting for us to save them.”

  “They’re children.”

  “I wish they were, Moira. But some of them are already adults and the others won’t wait much longer before following. It’s a tragedy. It’s a failure. But it might also be the only thing that saves us. It might be what we need to survive what’s coming.”

  “You’re not making sense,” Moira Welf snorted. “Listened to too many prophecies about yourself, I think.”

  Ceinwyn’s smile twitched. “I know exactly how you feel. That’s where I was a few days ago. But a lot has happened since then . . . I’ve just been rolling with the undulations, trying to keep my feet and everyone around me in the boat, instead of drowning under all the waves.”

  Another snort. “I see you’ve learned one of the Lady’s phrases if none of her wisdom.”

  “She’s trying to tell you that we’re adults, Mother,” Vicky interrupted.

  And I thought the scolding look Ceinwyn got was dangerous. “Ruhig sein yourself!”

  “No!” Vicky stalked forward. “That’s the real reason you banished me, isn’t it? Not being able to control me terrifies you. You never have, especially not since school started, but every year it’s gotten worse. Worse and worse until you give up all control of me and claim it a victory. Banished me to the place I want to be. As if you had any say. What a joke!”

  “Fine, Victoria. I will admit—that no matter how you’ve acted—you aren’t a child any longer. But you are my child. You are not and will not be my equal for many years to come. The only equal I have in this room is the one I’m trying to have a conversation with. So once again: Ruhig sein! Wait your turn, I assure you it’s coming. So is a lesson on control and what it really means to be an adult, of which, childhood shed or not, you still are not.”

  One of the few times I’ve ever seen Vicky seethe in anger and frustration. Yeah, she ain’t a kid. But Moira was right about being an adult. Most people never reach that stage. Not sure I have either. Or if I ever want to. Adult. Civilization. Prudes. Powers that Be. All tied up together. Joining the game but not giving in, what this whole week had been about. Find a place between the Curator and the Cog.

  Seen bright spots from Ceinwyn this week, but . . . could still hear that tick-tick of her turning away in the machine works as she addressed Mama Welf. “I’m sorry that when I told King Henry to call allies to aid our endeavor that he did so with his usual lack of tact. No doubt he knew that no matter how much we tried to stop her, Victoria would refuse to miss out on what was coming and no doubt he also knew that her being involved would pull Heinrich in.”

  Gave an I-don’t-give-a-crap shrug that was mostly ignored by everyone. “Welf told me to tell him when we had a shot at the Curator so I told him we had a shot at the Curator. How that make me the asshole?”

  Mama Welf turned to her son. “If seems you failed to make apparent your desires when you described that conversation.”

  Somehow Welf managed to keep his full height, even if his response was pure obfuscation, “I knew you would make the final determination when we arrived and so my desires had no bearing on the outcome.”

  “Good, because they do not,” she reaffirmed.

  Welf nodded stiffly.

  Yes, mummy.

  “See, you really shouldn’t be yelling at Ceinwyn, should be yelling at me,” I decided to take most of the incoming fire, like usual. “My fault. All this. Team Don’t Lick the Vamp Clit forming. Vicky fucking my best friend. Me getting arrested. Me breaking out. Me flicking the Curator in the face one too many times. Me having a sister I need to save. Me. Me. Me. Just a selfish motherfucker, ain’t I? What Ceinwyn’s been trying to tell ya, is that she’s in the same place you are. Been trying to save me this last year. Tried to keep me from jumping, if you will. But once she realized I already jumped . . . knew she had to jump too. Only way to keep us from going splat. Only way to throw a parachute around my shoulders. Ain’t just Ceinwyn. T-Bone. Pocket. Jesus. Val too, love of my life and all that. Vicky . . . T-Bone tried, more than you did with all that banish bullshit. But just this morning she jumped after us. Knew she would, so I called your boy. There he went
too. You, Moira Welf? You’re standing on the edge screaming down into the hole like it gonna do us any good. Like we gonna grow wings or some shit.

  “Want to save your kids? Need to jump, bitch.”

  Silence.

  “Foul Mouth, if you ever use that word to describe my mother again—”

  “Be silent, Heinrich,” but this time whispered and in English as Moira approached me from across the room. “No matter how high you think yourself, you little braggart, no matter how much chaos and destruction you cause, you are not my equal either.”

  “He is, actually,” Ceinwyn barked in black humor. “One of those waves I mentioned. A few days ago I recognized King Henry as the Maximus of the Earth.”

  “You must be joking!” Welf whined like he had been kicked in the balls.

  I know cuz I’ve kinda . . . kicked him in the balls a lot.

  Mama Welf had a look that said about the same thing her son had. “Of course you did. Of course he is. Of course I’m not allowed to ignore him any longer. Of course I have to put up with him almost every day of the rest of my life. Jump in the hole, did you say? Why not off a skyscraper?”

  Ceinwyn’s expression was soft and understanding for once when it came to Moira. “Now you know how I’ve felt since I stumbled across him all those years ago.”

  “You’ve done a horrible job of it given where we find ourselves now, haven’t you?” Mama Welf shot back, not nearly ready for any bonding.

  I pointed a thumb at her. “Why would I have to deal with her? Outside tomorrow and what she can do to help us, don’t have the energy for that shit in addition to everything else I already got to deal with.”

  A grin sprang across Moira’s face. “Oh, yes. Of course again. She didn’t tell you. Just let you run right into your doom. Waves? I begin to think you’re the one making them, Ceinwyn.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I asked, starting to get worried.

  Ceinwyn raised her hand to calm me. “I’ll explain later.”

  Moira didn’t see the need however. “Congratulations, King Henry Price. As the recognized Maximus of the Earth, you are now a voting member of the Elemental Learning Council.”