“How can you possibly know this?” Raj asked, like I’d cracked some secret God Code.
I looked offended. “Um, sisters?”
“I have sisters too,” Pocket said.
“But you’re as observant as a bush,” I pointed out. “Trust me on this one. They’ll get a little offended, for the night, then they’ll be mad at Hope for turning you down, and then they’ll want to be the one you pick not only for how awesome your Winter War skills are but also since you going with them puts them above Hope too.”
Raj shook his head at the ceiling of our common room. Up above, on the second floor, the graduate students would be getting pissy about all the noise the class made, but Raj aimed even higher. “I pray that he’s wrong and women can’t possibly be this complicated.”
I got up, heading for the group of Old Mancy kids at the Study Tables.
“Wait!” Pocket squeaked from behind me.
“Follow the plan,” I whispered back.
“I don’t like the plan! This plan is worse than your last plan! You remember the one, it’s the one where two people got thrown off the Mound!”
Welf kept glancing at Val and at Hope both. One after another. Blond the both. Tall the both. One with some curves, the other nothing at all. Eyes like night or eyes like ice. A bright star lighting the way, placed up against a mountain of ice, cold and lonely at the edge of the world but just as breathtaking.
It was like Welf couldn’t decide if he should go with his heart or his head. Head won out with Welf ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Like I’ve said, necromancers are all cerebral bastards, they like them mental checkmarks. Hope would say ‘yes’: check. Hope was attractive: check. Hope was wealthy: check. Hope was Old Mancy: check. Hope wouldn’t stop at the Ball, she’d be his girlfriend too: check. All them checks, all that thinking—wasted. Couldn’t compete. Star was so close . . . he wanted to touch it, to own it for a night . . . for it to be his for just a few hours.
That’s why I never trust the brain. Might use it, might even hone it, but never really trust it. People with big brains think they’re ahead, think they’re the top of the food chain. They work that brain like muscles, feed it with books and math and ignore all the rest. Brain can conquer all.
All but a pretty girl.
All but the moments that really count.
Brain will abandon your ass when you need it the most.
All of a sudden, all that’s left is your gut and your heart, your eyes and ears, even your fists. That time spent on your brain . . . washed away. Big huge weapon goes click. What you got for a sidearm?
Whole lot of nothing.
Welf stared at Valentine’s quirking smile, that teasing set to her shoulders . . . poor bastard was struck blind. All his smart words died in his throat. All his ammunition came up blank. The more he thought about asking her out, the more his words became mumbled, the more he ignored Hope and Jason and all their friends around him.
Problem with the stars . . . you watch that pretty twinkle and you forget about the rest of the world. Forget about the enemy at your back, knife suddenly at your throat. Slit, and blood, and falling to the ground. Watch that pretty twinkle . . . last thing you ever see.
Welf only realized I stood in front of him when Valentine smiled my way. “King Henry!”
“Val,” I greeted, “Miranda.”
Welf sneered at me. So did Hope and her girls. Big ol’ Jason Jackson crossed his big ol’ arms in that frightening way of his. Sucks donkey dick when a guy outweighs you by so much that he knows no one could be stupid enough to cause problems—not even King Henry Price.
“Feeling the need to ruin the moment, Foul Mouth?” Welf finally asked.
I stared at him. If life was a Western I would have spit tobacco. If life was a Noir I would have lit a cigarette. Unluckily for me, life’s just shitty life, and all I could do was stare him down. Dirt and tombstone. Anytime the two mix nothing good comes of it.
“We need to have a chat, Welf.”
“There’s tomorrow . . .”
“I’m sure Hope won’t mind losing your attention for a few minutes.”
Them tombstone eyes flashed dark but then seconds later flashed guilty. “Fine, what do you want?”
I glanced around. Unlike Welf, I always paid attention to those around me. Growing up in a fucked up social unit where JoJo feeling horny could cause Dad to explode, or where Mom having a ‘Good Day’ and taking out the car could cause Susan to fret for hours—you realized how people affect each other.
Val was on edge. She thought I could be funny and protective. She thought Welf could be kind and brilliant. She never liked us fighting, never understood why we just couldn’t get along.
Miranda was enjoying herself. Part of the group for once, Hope was too distracted to pick on her, meant Miranda could relax. Besides, she liked talking with these kids about the Mancy, they understood what it was like knowing.
Jason was leery. Sure, he thought he could take me. Sure, he should be able to take me. But I had iron fist. We both knew it would only take a lucky punch. Year and a half and we’d skirted around each other. I’d punched Welf once. Welf had punched me once. But the big event never happened. Only been some proxy wars . . .
Hope was . . . pissed the fuck off. Her frozen twat was ready to morph into a Wampa and rip off some tauntaun heads. Who the fuck did Valentine think she was? What the fuck is taking Heinrich so long to ask me to the Ball? Now I have to put up with the Foul Mouth? Rawr! Frozen twat attack!
“Best if we talk alone,” I decided.
“Hell no,” Jason said before Welf could open his mouth.
I shrugged but gave Welf some more of that dirt stare. “Up to you, if you want it to be here . . . it can be here—but I think we both know where this discussion is going. You really want to have it in the open? Or you maybe want to walk outside the door and have it in the hallway, man to man?”
“Hell—” Jason started again, but this time Welf raised his hand. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Heinrich,” Hope hissed, “There’s nothing you need to explain to Price . . . you know that he’ll just end up punching you—”
“I’ll be fine,” Welf interrupted her as well, getting to his feet. He towered over me. “Won’t I, Foul Mouth?”
“No punching this time,” I agreed, “Just talking.”
“Best be,” Jason warned, “he comes back with a black eye and I’ll pound you shorter than you already are.”
“Yeah, yeah, plenty of guys have said that to me today, haven’t they, Welf?”
“Outside,” he snapped behind him, hurrying his pace.
[CLICK]
The second we stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind us, I slammed a fist into Welf’s stomach, doubling him over. “Jason doesn’t wipe you off in the shower, does he? Think he might not see that one otherwise . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Welf gasped, holding his stomach and staggering away from my punching range.
“You set me up, you fucker!” I growled, chasing him down. He threw his own jab, but it rolled over my shoulder, then I was into him, arms wrapped and sending us both to the ground.
“I thought you could handle yourself,” Welf spit out as he tried to cover up his face.
“Against six guys and two corpusmancer chicks that should count as guys? Including Leo?”
“You knocked him out!”
“After he kicked me in the balls like you asked him to!” I grabbed at his wrists, pulling at them to get an opening at his face.
“I had to make sure he stayed with you, that it took him awhile,” Welf grunted, trying to unhook my fingers and keep his arms crossed at the same time. “Otherwise we didn’t have a chance to win. And we did win, Price. We won!”
I gave up on his face and slammed another punch into his ribs. Welf was so tall and lean that there wasn’t anything to cushion the blow, both our bones took all the impact—his ribs, my knuckles. “We won, which is th
e only reason I’m not beating you bloody, be happy about that fact.”
“Then what the hell do you call what you’re doing?!?”
“Beating you bruised.” I pushed down on his arms, popped myself back to my knees, and landed a punch between his legs.
. . . that time there was cushion.
All the wind and all the fight went out of Welf instantly. Don’t think the guy had ever been hit in the balls before. Next time he would know: you don’t even make pranks about that shit. It fucking hurt too much. Beat a guy up, sure, shoot him, yeah, but hit his balls? Off limits unless it’s a life and death situation, asshole!
Welf kind of groaned in pain as I stood up and leaned against the wall. “I’ll give you props for rigging it like that though, Welf. Nice one.”
“You prick . . .”
“No . . . your prick.”
“I promise I won’t do it for the next match . . .” he wheezed, pulling himself into a fetal position that kind of leaned next to me against the wall.
“Only next match? The fuck are you thinking, Welf? You shouldn’t have done it last time, shouldn’t do it next match, should never do it with Winter War. You want to win more than I do and I really fucking want to win . . .”
“We did win,” Welf sulked, hand going down to cradle his boys. “Leo was the key; it needed doing, no matter the cost.”
I shook my head. “Yeah, and if you’d told me it needed done, I’d have done it without being tricked. Our shit stops when it can hurt the class as a whole, you know the rules.”
He glared at nothing. “Rules? The rules where you leave my sister alone and pretend she doesn’t exist? The rules you ignore all the time!”
“Yeah, well . . . I can’t help it if she likes to talk with me, can I?”
The pair of us glared holes in the opposite wall.
“We even?” Welf eventually asked.
“Until after the War. Then to our next moves, I guess.”
“I won’t tell Jason about this.”
I glanced down at him finally; dirt telling tombstone it saw all the bullshit in that statement. “There’s one other thing.”
“If you kick me right now, then I will tell Jason.”
“Nah, not that. My friend this time.”
Welf squinted up at me. “I have no problem with Pocket.”
“Kind of do . . . he’s asking Hope to the Winter Ball right about now. Better hurry up and scramble in there or she might leave your ass without a date.”
Session 125
It’s amazing how sexually arousing almost dying is.
I had a rock hard stiffy that could have cut a gouge in Ward Manor’s wooden floors. Val gave a surprised little gasp that I’m pretty certain was some part of her body having a hello there party. “King Henry,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I’m doing this.”
I must have been dull from the repeated head shots. I just stared at her without giving any reaction. Part of me expected her to knee me in the balls. But then . . . part of me expects every woman to knee me in the balls. That part is usually my balls. Mistrustful things, ain’t they?
Only . . . instead, she grabbed the back of my head and locked a kiss on me that had a good chance of sucking my eyes out.
Then she pushed me off so hard I thudded over onto the patio beside her.
“Fucking ow.”
We rested there on the porch, staring up at the sky, breathing heavy. Glad to be alive. Somewhere nearby came shouts and the sound of fire—of an SUV going from ‘on fire’ to just charcoal.
“They took her,” Val whispered, “They took my sister.”
“Yeah.”
“Why would anyone take my sister like that?”
You need to get up, got to move. Cops be coming soon . . . cops don’t like you if Detective Ribera is any judge of their character.
I hurt so damn much. Chest like pulp, thumb and knuckles radiating wave of pain after wave of pain any time I tried to move my fingers, my jaw ached when I talked, the gash on my forehead reminded me of its existence with each frown or movement of my eyes. It even hurt when I breathed.
“Do you know anything?” I asked.
The brick of the porch felt cool, the sun felt warm. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep. Stop for once, give up. Let the cops or ESLED or anyone else handle it. Why’s this shit keep smashing me in the face? It was making me paranoid. Better things to do with my life . . . I kept expecting assault teams or Coyote attacks or Annie B sliding into my bed unaware. Things had been really good lately . . . then Val shows up, it looks like I might get another shot at my teenage sweetheart . . .
Top of the mountain.
Now watch as my ass rolls right on down, hitting every rock and tree along the path.
“Ransom money?” Val guessed. “We’re kind of rich.”
“Would have never guessed . . .”
“This isn’t the time for jokes.”
I had a belated pang of guilt. “Your parents okay?”
“Hid them in the pantry, they’re fine. Then I tried the phone, which was cut. Then I tried my smartphone, which they blocked. Then I went to help you . . . you witnessed the rest.”
Get up, man. Cops get here and they’ll keep you all day. Christmas will be gone forever. “Could the Asylum have done this?”
Val turned her head my way. “To force her to go to school?”
“Yeah.”
“I tried to make Ceinwyn do it, but the Lady wouldn’t allow it.”
“Damn. You were desperate.”
“Besides, it would have been ESLED agents and a Recruiter, not guys with guns. Has to be about dad’s money.”
I shook my head. “One of them was a corpusmancer.”
Val went silent, even her breathing stilled. “But . . .”
“Why?”
“Yes,” she agreed, “Why all this for a teenage girl?”
Why don’t matter, fucktard. Just get shit done. Get up or it’s finished. Suck it up, you whiny pussy. You and Val are the only chance that girl has to be rescued.
Get.
The.
Fuck.
Up.
I rolled over, put my unbroken hand against the bricks, and stood to my feet about as slowly as I ever had in my life. I felt as close to a concussion as you can get without having one. I spat again. Not much but pink-tinged saliva this time. Hurray for small improvements.
“King Henry, you okay?” Val asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You look horrible.”
“What’s new about that?”
Across the street, neighbors slowly gathered, working up their courage to provide aid to us or wait for the cops or whatever. The SUV was fucked up. People couldn’t take their eyes off of it. Boomworm in action, a sight to behold.
There was no sign of the driver’s body. Not even some Pompeii-like ash mannequin. Guy was gone. Incinerated. Best he could hope for was an extra dark mark in whatever was left of the driver’s seat.
“We need to go,” I finally voiced aloud. “Cops come and they’ll hold us for the rest of the night.”
Val finally stood up next to me, showing some concern by putting a hand on my elbow. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”
“Val . . . who else can find her? No one is close enough.”
“She’s my sister; you don’t think I know that?”
“We need to get out of here,” I repeated. “Check on your parents, I’ll get my bag, then we leave.”
“Leave where? You see any clues?” She made a general swipe at the hectic scene. SUV on fire, terrified neighbors, broken down front door. From where I stood I could even see inside of the entry room and the hallway.
Nothing pretty at all—especially not pretty knowing most of the blood stains had come from your body. “Val . . . it’s on us,” I begged. “I need you to be with me here. We’ll get her back. We can fucking do it.”
“How, King Henry?”
/> “You’re Boomworm.”
Her face twitched. “Don’t I know it . . . more than ever before.”
“I have contacts who can help give us some kind of lead,” I said, “So do you . . . Ceinwyn . . . Recruiters . . . ESLED. Cops get in the way and who’ll call in the cavalry?”
She seemed to decide then, though I’m not sure what it was that convinced her. Was it the logic or just me standing there? Bloody and pleading with her to give me a second chance to fix my failure? Val took care of her end, she protected Ronnie and Peter. Me, I should have stopped them. Should have saved the girl.
Only . . .
I don’t seem to be very good at keeping sisters safe.
[CLICK]
Val pushed me into her Asylum provided car, went into her house for a few minutes, and finally returned with my traveling duffel-bag. The engine on the car roared and we spun away from the scene of the crime, going the opposite way that the kidnappers had.
“I’ve never seen my dad cry like that,” she told me, hands tight on the steering wheel, “Not even when I left for the Asylum.”
“We’ll get her back,” I said, making sure she met my eyes. “We won’t stop until this is made right.”
Val nodded, head turning back to the road. “I’m envious of you.”
“How’s that? Want me to break your thumb? Feels good, man.”
“We need a hotel where we can fix you up and make calls,” she decided, prompting a turn on the next street. Eventually she returned to her original point, “You have this ability to accept new realities in a snap and then just change your plans to match them. I . . . don’t have that. This whole thing . . . people with guns kidnapping Christmas. A mancer . . . I feel like I’m going insane, like I’m a step away from hyperventilating.”
“Yeah, I’m really fucked up.”
“Don’t be like that. I’ve known you for too long to doubt about how good of a person you are. Don’t play the monster just because it’s cool.”
I shrugged. It hurt like everything else. “Good. Bad. I’ve never cared, Val. Results. Getting what I want for the people I want. Weighing consequences and deciding the best course with the least cost. Scales, I’m all scales. The dirt in me makes me give everything a weight, and that’s how I decide. I might do right by people—might care on occasion—but let’s not pretend I’m not fucked up.”
The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (The King Henry Tapes) Page 13
