The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady (The King Henry Tapes Book 1)

by Richard Raley

  “Nah, can’t do that. Guess I got to kill one of your thugs, prove myself, ya know?”

  “I will never understand why they are loyal to you,” d’Arc whispered to Annie B. “What is it about you? There is not a good quality to you. You betray them, use them, your soul is as dark as midnight, but they always protect you.”

  Annie B and I caught eyes again, velvet and dirt. Why indeed? Why save someone that ate her own kind? That beat me up way too often for my tastes. Because I wanted the Shaky Stick? Because we’d had great sex? Because I wanted paid? Maybe . . . just maybe . . . because I liked her?

  “It’s cuz she’s so purdy,” I teased.

  A smile split Annie B’s face, her tongue flicking out to tap her top lip. “Don’t die,” she told me.

  “I got this.”

  Muscle number left stepped up to the plate. “Make it quick,” d’Arc said tiredly, “It’s getting late.”

  Lefty had half a foot on me and at least one-hundred pounds. He looked like he belonged on some of the t-shirts I used to wear as a kid. He probably did this kind of thing a lot. A tough for a high-ranking vamp. Probably found d’Arc her food, took care of donors, protected her from anyone that gave her crap.

  He was dressed in a suit without a jacket, but not a modern suit design, something older, turn of the century maybe. He had some years on him but not enough to do what Annie B did. I’d beaten her . . . that means I could beat him.

  Right?

  Only I couldn’t use the Mancy.

  I’d been pooling like crazy. I had a little less than half of what I’d had in the car trunk. Which meant I could have smashed Lefty like a bug. If I had to. I didn’t want to. I had to save that anima, had to keep it for the Shaky Stick. Means the Mancy’s out. I had to actually beat the vampire straight up, keep my pool, use it later. I’m not fighting the guy for any loyalty towards Annie B. I liked her enough to give her I’m-going-to-die sex, but not to actually die for her in some white-knighting futility. I fought Lefty for time. I needed to find out how big of a pool I could manage.

  It’s the only chance I had to use the Shaky Stick and not crack a piece of California into the Pacific. In this case, bigger is better.

  So time . . . so beating a vampire without the Mancy.

  This is exactly why I’d rigged my static ring to fire off on impact.

  Lefty took a couple practice swings, big looping punches that would have crushed my head into goo if they’d connected. I stretched a bit, even did a jumping jack. It got some laughs. Lefty grinned at me. He knew a fighter when he saw one and I wasn’t acting like a fighter. I was acting like a lot of the loud mouth douchebags that I had smashed into the ground over the years.

  I took a stance, feet a foot too far apart, right hand too high, left hand too low. Lefty saw the opening, grinned even more.

  He took a stance too, doing a little wiggling, got some laughs for himself. I faked a gulp, paused . . . readied myself . . . then I pleaded with Annie B with big brown what-did-I-get-myself-into eyes.

  The punch I knew would come the moment I got distracted landed with a thud on my face. Annie B winched, then I lost sight of her and I staggered back, pretending I’d never felt a punch before.

  The vampires hollered. D’Arc looked bored, but nonetheless said, “Do you think he will last two minutes, Boleyn?”

  “Which one are you talking about?” Annie B asked with some nice bite.

  Lefty hadn’t thrown barely anything into the punch. It was all snap. Hadn’t really hurt at all. Don’t get me wrong—punch is a punch. Knuckles ain’t pads. But this thing wasn’t even an arm punch, it was a wrist punch. Would have been a point in amateur boxing . . . but this ain’t boxing.

  I righted myself, got back in my screwed up stance. I bounced on my feet a little, playing it up again. If I sucked at this stuff and had never done it before, what would I do this time? Throw a punch, I figure. So I threw a punch, wild, looping, even used the left arm instead of the right. Lefty’s fist slammed into my stomach. I grunted.

  Okay, that one had a little more on it.

  I toppled over, landed on my knees. Tried to get up, fell back down. Yeah, just give me the Oscar already. Lefty pushed me over with his foot. I rolled convincingly. My pool of anima kept growing.

  Getting to my feet again, taking my time, I rubbed at my stomach to the jeers from the watching vampires. “Going to eat you, little boy!”

  “Going to wear you to your family’s thanksgiving dinner and dinner’s on them!”

  Yeah, yeah, you sun-fuckers, I hear you.

  Back to my stance. This time . . . leery. Lefty punched at me and I backed up. Punched again and I backed up again. He gave me a sneer. “Entertain me or I just kill you, mancer,” he told me. His voice had such a low pitch it sounded like rocks grinding against each other.

  The perfect time to get real.

  I’d gotten five minutes or more of extra pooling. I backed up close to the table with the Shaky Stick. Lefty still didn’t act serious; he thinks I’m a pushover. Best to surprise a guy when he least expects it.

  That’s why I threw a kick. Not some flailing thing at his head or some karate move which had me twisting around like a movie star—this is no nonsense kicking. Real kicking. A leg kick right at his knee. Lefty was so busy concentrating on my stance, on that huge hole in my guard he could have punched through at any time, his eyes were caught high. He didn’t see it coming. It’s always the one you don’t see coming that hurts the most.

  THUD.

  Lefty’s face crunched in on itself as my shin snapped right into his thigh muscle. His gaze reflexively shifted to see my foot pull back to the ground. Being a big bad vampire, Lefty did what you’d expect him to do when he gets hit: he punched back, right into the hole in the guard that I’ve had for minutes.

  Only it’s not there anymore.

  When his eyes moved, so did my hands, right into the correct positions. But why risk it? I knew exactly where he would punch. I didn’t need to take the punch on my arms. I could just dodge the whole thing.

  I stepped to the side, bent my shoulders, and watched as a big bad vampire punch flew past my chest without hitting a single part of me. My whole life had been about assuming you’re the smallest and finding a way to survive it, whichever way you could manage. I guess vampires run the opposite direction. They always assume they’re the best, the smartest, the strongest, the toughest. Bullies the whole lot of them, even Annie B sometimes.

  I can’t stand bullies.

  My first punch of the fight went to his wide open side, my left arm, a hook to his kidney, nasty painful punch. His arm that had missed flew back towards me, backhand trying to catch me with an elbow or forearm but I ducked under it. Not hard to do that given how tall the fucker is. Throwing a backfist like that, Lefty’s already getting into things, realizing I’d been playing him.

  Time to end it.

  It’s not a situation to take chances in. I still had the Shaky Stick waiting. Didn’t need to go into using it bruised and bleeding. I’d need all my concentration.

  The thumb of my right hand found my static ring, turned it around so the KHP got centered and then my fist flew. I’m going to tell you the truth . . . I’d have loved to brand my initials right on his forehead, but it was way out of my reach.

  I’d reworked my ring to take pressure as its trigger. Not as safe as anima, but it needed a nice sized bit of pressure, not just smacking someone on the ass either. I needed bone. Needed a place without lots of clothing like his chest, something that didn’t move like his arms, and something that didn’t give like a man’s stomach or balls.

  I aimed for his hip, right on the pelvis, and I punched downward into it as hard as I could.

  Maybe all the running had built up an extra charge, I don’t know, but the ring did a lot more than taser. It sizzled Lefty in his boots, from his feet to his head. His teeth clamped up on themselves, his jaw bounced, and his whole body kind of shook before he collapsed, every mu
scle in his body out of it. Vamp or not, biology is a bitch. You use our bodies as shells then the shell works the same as our bodies. This guy didn’t have the skills to leave his shell like Annie B did. He was stuck, like a car without a spark plug and a fifteen minute walk to get a new one.

  Ever heard nineteen vampires gasping?

  Sounds great.

  “That was too much damn work,” I mumbled to myself, using the excuse of the fight to sit on the table, right next to the Shaky Stick.

  D’Arc studied Lefty like she wasn’t sure if she was angry at him or at me. “Did you kill him?”

  “Nah, he’ll get up little after Annie B kills you.”

  Blotchy came back. Looks like she decided who she’s angry at. “You finding God’s favor does not mean she will.”

  I shrugged, still acting all tired. “Not to be sacrilegious, but I think I’m probably going to be more help to her than God will be.”

  D’Arc raised her sword. “I have changed my mind again. After Boleyn dies, so do you.”

  “Right,” I agreed. “Only be sure to get the name right on the tombstone. King Henry Price. And right after that put Artificer.” I picked up the Shaky Stick. Earned me another round of gasps.

  I had their attention. “Anyone interferes with this fight and I use this thing, got it? Then we see just why the San Francisco Embassy is scared of it.”

  Know what sounds better than nineteen vampires gasping? Nineteen vampires crapping their pants.

  “Do as he says,” D’Arc commanded in a tone not to be disobeyed. “I will deal with her myself. No trickery before the eyes of God.”

  Everyone but d’Arc and Annie B nodded. Even me. I also handled the Shaky Stick carefully, passing it from my right hand to my left and stuck it in my coat. While touching it, I could feel the vast power of it, anima downright bubbling, but I wouldn’t begin to know what that power really ranked until I threw my anima pool at it . . . I think . . . I mean . . . I don’t actually know how it works.

  But they think I do.

  Assumptions just be screwing up people all over the place . . .

  Reaching back into my pocket, I pretended I’d thought twice about its location and pulled out what looked exactly like the Shaky Stick back into my hands. I smiled. Hello, second surprise artifact.

  Once a thief, always a thief . . . and this time my distraction proved to be a lot bigger than a falling shelf.

  [CLICK]

  Annie B didn’t wait for any word more. No stretching here. No jumping jacks. No taunts. No faking about what they were and what they could do. Two trained killers who had been killing for hundreds of years were going to try their arts on each other. Two vampires who had hated each other for hundreds of years were finally going to kill each other. It was that simple.

  And I got to watch.

  Where’s the beer and beef jerky? Cuz, baby, it’s fight night and I didn’t even have to pay for Pay-Per-View.

  D’Arc had a sword over three feet long, a big thick heavy thing that had a good chance at cutting a limb or head straight off in one whack, especially with vampirized muscles behind it. Annie B had a knife in each hand, better to say a dagger really, a full foot of steel for each. I expected Annie B to be quick and feign and stab at the edges, for d’Arc to load up and swing hard.

  Assumption gets me too sometimes.

  Annie B launched herself at d’Arc like she couldn’t see the three feet of steel that pivoted on d’Arc’s wrists to point right towards her chest. I almost let loose my pool to flash a blast of anima and break the sword in half.

  Which would have sent all the vampires at me. Which would have meant me trying to activate the Shaky Stick with no pool at all. Which would have been very bad. I would have done it to save Annie B, stupid male that I am, only it all happened too fast.

  One second she rushed d’Arc like a crazy person and the next second she had shifted just enough so the sword stabbed her through her shoulder and not her heart. Annie B gritted a smile as she used her knives . . . daggers . . . whatever . . . sharp pointy steel stabby things. Before d’Arc could resist, Annie B’s arms pumped, in and out, in and out, in and out and in again, each arm like a piston and each time it went forward the knife plunged into d’Arc’s stomach.

  Blood spluttered from the wound, then goo that wasn’t blood came with it. The goo changed in a heartbeat, soft and dripping down skin but then twisting up into a sharp point.

  D’Arc threw herself at Annie B, a point of blood leading the way. Was this how vampires fought? Older ones at least? They tried to get their real body into the other vampire’s shell? Formed their blood into the weapons? Every little cut a potential death sentence?

  Annie B didn’t allow it. She shifted with the motion’s force and went all Judo on d’Arc’s ass, dropping down, rolling her shoulder, throwing the countess ten feet away and to her back.

  Each woman got up to their feet, weapons still in their hands. Annie B’s shoulder had been cut, but had little blood showing, dark sweater, dark jacket covering it.

  D’Arc on the other hand was already a mess. Her white dress was stained red with blood all around her stomach, dripping and dropping all the way down the front of her skirt. If she’d been human, she’d have been dead. You could see her stomach where the knives had sliced away the cloth. I watched as goo slid back into the wounds and the wounds sealed themselves, leaving only muscle and white skin.

  Nice stomach even if she’s a religious freak.

  “Next time, you will not get away,” d’Arc hissed. “Then you will be mine . . .”

  “King Henry?” Annie B asked.

  “Yup?”

  “How do I chill out?”

  “Just . . . um . . . put it on.”

  “Later then . . .” Annie B’s face went hard. “I’m not done bleeding her yet.”

  D’arc charged.

  The longsword chopped sideways, from d’Arc’s shoulder and away, like a baseball player flaring the bat in practice swings. It missed, too slow, but would have cut Annie B’s head off . . . again . . .

  Annie B ducked, sliced twice, moved. The longsword came back across, two’o’clock to eight’o’clock. Slide, slice an armpit and stab with a tip into the side. D’Arc’s hand caught the end of her blade and then her shoulders pushed.

  That’s not good, I thought.

  Her hilt, that nice thick piece of metal smashed right into Annie B’s beautiful face and cracked the cartilage in her nose, throwing her backwards.

  “Fucking low blow, bitch!” Annie B growled. She had knives up in front of her, blood dripping down her chin.

  D’Arc smiled, cold for all her heat. “This is my cross and every piece is a weapon with God at my shoulder.”

  “Guess I’ll cut the shoulder off.”

  “Do try . . .”

  That’s when Annie B dropped a knife and fired the fifteen rounds she still had loaded in her semi-automatic pistol right into d’Arc’s chest before anyone could say anything against it. Guess it’s true what they say about ‘as fast as you can pull the trigger’ because that vampire finger pulled faster than a human one, a blur of white. Not a person in the room wasn’t shocked.

  I was shocked.

  The vampires were shocked.

  D’Arc was damned shocked.

  Bullets lanced her from her stomach to her neck, Annie B firing as her handgun rose up in front of her. Quicker than you could see. A sound of explosion after explosion, pop on top of pop, then blossoms of blood on the other end. The action happened in next to no time. It was the aftermath which lingered.

  The red flare on d’Arc’s white dress, right up her body, each of the fifteen flares slowly widening. Then . . . spurts. Goo . . . vampire, sliding out of its shell, sliding down milky white skin.

  D’Arc grunted.

  Annie B glared as the countess tumbled forward, only her sword keeping her from falling to the floor. She leaned on it, staring at Annie B, unsure what had happened. First time d’Arc had been sho
t. I could tell. Eventually I’d come to hate that look of disbelief.

  Annie B put her gun back, bent over to pick up her knife from the ground. “My cross has more stopping power,” she told d’Arc.

  Lefty’s friend, we’ll call him Righty, moved to protect d’Arc. Some of the other vampire’s started walking towards Annie B too.

  Oh, crap, I thought, just before I took my pool of anima—better to call it a lake of anima, huge, about an hour of pooling, just as big as the one in the car truck—and slammed the whole thing into the Shaky Stick to get it to activate. I could have gone bigger . . . I’d hoped to go bigger . . . but I didn’t have time.

  Now or never.

  The anima torrent inundated inside of me, like rocks cracking in my body, an avalanche of anima, turning and whirling until it burst forth. I held to what I could, the vast majority of it, but not all of it, just like before. Even knowing what was coming, there was too much, too strong. It snapped and got loose and I threw it towards the Shaky Stick in my coat pocket.

  Nothing.

  Not.

  One.

  Thing.

  Oh holy fuck.

  It was the excess anima, the anima that had gotten loose from me, the anima that had escaped around me that saved my ass.

  A pair of supports in the ceiling popped so loudly they could be heard. Pieces of metal: buttons, zippers, cell-phones, glasses, small insignificant pieces shattered to dust. In front of Annie B, her knives melted like mercury, rolling over her hands to dribble on the floor. D’Arc’s longsword snapped in half, throwing her weight forward onto her knees. Blood splattered the dance floor in front of her.

  Eyes swiveled towards me.

  Oh holy fuck.

  “Everyone remembers our deal, right? This is the warning,” I said, my balls getting bigger by the word, “the next time we all fall down.”

  “She fucking shot Countess d’Arc!” Righty yelled at me.

  “King Henry, you stupid shit!” Annie B yelled at the same time, holding up the useless hilts of her knives.

  “Ah,” I said. I put these two things together. “But now I’ve eliminated all the weapons, that’s fair, right?”