“What’s that?”
“You’re the man standing at the end of the bridge. That’s your real power. That’s how you built all this. Not through drugs or guns or prostitution or smuggling. Coyotes do all of those things, but not the King of the Coyotes. We think you’re all one unified block, but it doesn’t work that way. You’re the man at the center of the spheres. You’re the gatekeeper between the mundane and the supernatural. You have a gun in one hand, a silk purse waiting to be filled in the other, and an army at your back. You always take your cut every time someone wants to step through that gate, one way or the other. Especially if they want protection as they do it. Coyotes get first-come, first-serve, which is why they’re so loyal to you. Of course you laugh behind their backs . . . they don’t even realize they’re the ones taking all the risks, while you collect your commission one way or the other.”
Vega put down his pipe. “You make me sound like a banker.”
“A little . . . access to money, access to the supernatural. It all keeps the wheels spinning for the people you’re in contact with and on each spin a coin drops into your hand.”
Vega’s eyes glinted with something dangerous. “So having figured it out and being alone with me where no one can protect you but yourself, why aren’t you trembling, Stormcaller Bonnie?”
“Because it’s a relief, another secret out in the open,” Tyson said, “for me and also for you. See, that’s the thing of it . . . what you’re really doing, it’s more impressive than anyone knows, isn’t it? Some do know . . . which is why the Learning Council is so friendly with you . . . why you and Miss Dale were so quick to keep King Henry from causing problems. You’re more powerful this way, more powerful than a drug lord even, so why would you hurt me? When someone figures it out, it honors you. JoJo . . . Josephine, she’s started to understand, that’s why your relationship has improved, though the baby coming hasn’t hurt. Hector figured it out but his response was to try to challenge you with the Auction of Illicit Wonders, the exact response you fear. But King Henry took care of it for you . . . tell me, how long would Hector have lived if King Henry hadn’t been the one to kill him?”
“When the auction ended,” Vega admitted with a twisted grimace. “No reason to kill him before he made the money, was there?”
“Did you work with the Divine Inanina to get the bodies to Hector too?”
Vega left his position in an instant, taking four steps towards Tyson before he stopped himself. He let out a deep breath, whole body shivering. It was one of the few times that the politician’s mask was completely ripped away. Tyson had barely kept from unleashing his anima pool to protect himself. What he saw deep in Horatio Vega was a teenage kid who had done whatever it took to claim the title of king . . . whatever it took on whoever it took. Vega’s words echoed the sentiment, “Whatever you get, whatever you think I am . . . I never work with Vampires. I never let them across your bridge or gate or whatever you wish to call it. They have to pay with the blood they love so much.”
“I apologize,” Tyson muttered.
Vega nodded stiffly. “Who knew you were so brave, Stormcaller Bonnie? Who knew that you were always watching? So . . . you have your guesses, what will you do with them? What will you tell your business partner?”
Tyson hadn’t thought that far. He didn’t have an answer to give, so instead he asked another question. “What is your plan with King Henry?”
Vega laughed at it all, heading back to the opposite side of the room by his desk. He picked up his pipe to take a puff of it before setting it down again. Next he reached down and opened a drawer. Again Tyson wondered if he might have to defend himself. But instead of a gun in his hand, Vega clasped something small. “My plans for King Henry Price are to let King Henry Price keep causing all the chaos that he specializes in. For the more chaos in the world, the greater the number of helpless or voracious souls who need to cross through my gate; the more money I make, the more power I have.”
“Then telling him my guesses won’t hurt, will it?”
“No, it won’t,” Vega admitted with another wicked sneer. “In fact . . . I think it will anger him even more, don’t you? That no matter what he does, I benefit . . . the idea will drive him to madness quicker than anima will. So please tell him and keep on guessing, Stormcaller Bonnie, keep on guessing if this moment of triumph you think you’ve had was your own victory or if I gave it to you as well.”
Something small flew across the room at Tyson and hit him in the chest. He caught it as it bounced off. He blushed a little when he saw what it was.
“And use the condom, Stormcaller Bonnie. Moira von Welf will kill you if you get that girl pregnant.”
*
Tyson returned to his and Vicky’s room feeling quite good about himself. He had just stood up to Horatio Vega . . . not King Henry, him! The sidekick! Sure, Vega got the last word and now all Tyson could think about was Moira von Welf’s Constructs chasing him to the ends of the earth if Vicky somehow got pregnant during their fling, first or second for that matter . . . but . . .
Can I talk again? the King Henry in his head grumbled.
Are you going to start quoting Sir Mix-A-Lot?
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist—
Nope, you need to shut up.
But I can get you laid!
“I don’t want to get laid,” Tyson realized aloud, “I want to end all the vagueness between us. I want a girlfriend.”
He stopped in the middle of the hallway.
“I want a girlfriend,” he repeated.
I can’t fix this level of stupid, King Henry grumbled from far away.
Tyson popped into their room about ready to profess his wishes and maybe even his love only to find it empty. The shower was going in the bathroom . . . oh. Well . . . he could just take his clothes off and sneak in with her and—
“No, no, no,” he mumbled. “I won’t be tempted. I’m waiting out here until she’s done and then I’m telling her how I feel about her.”
I think you have a brain tumor, King Henry grumbled from even farther away.
Tyson kicked his shoes off, undid his belt, even took his sweater-vest off and threw it by his luggage. Vicky’s were sitting open on a dresser top, perfectly positioned in a row. He resisted the urge to snoop in them, but did do another pass of the room. Another trio of listening devices had been added. Tyson bounced them in his palm a few times before deciding he didn’t feel like working up the energy to actually deactivate them and instead clapped his hands together. His anima pool for the day released, running down his arms and into the cavity between his palms, frying every bit of electronic inside and hopefully breaking the ear drum of anyone who might be listening in.
The shower turned off. “Tyson?” Vicky called.
“It’s me,” he said, realizing she would have felt the discharge with how sensitive she was to anima.
The shower door opened and closed. “You could have gotten in with me,” she teased him. “I’m open to exploring places besides beds and couches.”
“I’ll take one in the morning,” he called.
“We didn’t get a chance to have a normal night together at the Ouroboros, did we?”
“No . . . we very much didn’t.”
“Also, everything we did was very spontaneous.”
“It was.”
“I’m both excited and nervous by all this lead up to it . . .” she admitted, “Reminds me oddly of my first time.”
“ . . . Oh.”
Your dick could be inside of her right now, just saying, King Henry got closer. At least half of it . . . doubt you could ever fit all of Tyrannosaurus Bone in a single pussy . . . unless it was like an elephant pussy.
“I suppose that’s a more intimate story than you tell during a fling,” Vicky whispered, words barely carrying.
“We’ve always been intimate,” Tyson said, feeling surer than ever that this couldn’t just be sex between them.
Eve
ry bit of surety escaped as Vicky appeared in the doorframe. All she had on was her white wool-knit sweater from earlier in the day. The tight strands of wool barely blocked anything of her torso, but the crisscross pattern made it all a hint . . . a hint of stomach, a hint of breast, a hint of shoulder, one nipple covered while the second rubbed against wool, startling pink against the white. As for the rest of her besides the torso . . . the sweater ended on her hips and what was below . . .
“I thought,” she said with sudden shyness, “why get clothed if I’ll just have to get unclothed?”
Tyson might have grunted.
She swayed her way across the room towards where he sat on the bed. “Welf’s aren’t taught how to seduce men . . . it’s not expected of us. Is this . . . is this working for you?”
Tyson was sure he grunted that time.
“Are . . . are you humming?”
Tyson realized he was humming the tune of ‘Baby Got Back’ and stopped himself. “You’re everything I could desire,” he eventually told her.
She grinned, rushing the rest of the way to throw herself at him in a hug, knocking him over to lie on top of him. She kissed him fiercely, like it was a need to be fulfilled. “You always say the nicest things, Tyson.”
“Yes . . . well,” he tried to get out between kisses, “I . . . do . . . need . . . to . . . say . . . something else.”
“We’ve talked all day,” she whispered throatily while somehow unbuttoning every button on his shirt in a single tug. He didn’t know that was possible! Her fingers found his pant button as her teeth found his chest.
“I want you to be my girlfriend!” he yelped out as she bit him.
Her hand stopped moving.
King Henry snorted to himself. Good thing too, as hard and as big as that thing is, it would’ve whipped out and blinded one of her eyes.
“We said this was just a second dream,” Vicky whispered, “A fling.”
“I was lying to myself about that because I didn’t want to ruin things, but . . .” Tyson sighed, trying to buy time for some of his blood to return to his head. “I really like you, Vicky. I want a relationship with you. I want to take you on dates, to the movies, to clubs, to the zoo, even to Were Nation compounds if that’s what you need. I’m not a fling kind of guy and I don’t think you’re a fling kind of girl. So . . . if you agree with me that we’re lying to ourselves and you want to be my girlfriend then fine, we can continue . . . or I . . . will very slowly crawl over to the couch and sleep there.”
She breathed heavily into his chest. He could see her blue eyes flickering in thought, thick with conflicting emotions. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she whispered.
“Your mother will be furious and will try to use all her power and wiles to break us up; your father will send private detectives to look into me, maybe even to look into my parents too; your brother will show up at my door trying to talk me out of it,” Tyson announced. “You are worth all of that and more, Vicky Welf, and I would gladly pay the price a thousand times to have a single chance at being yours and you mine instead of this lie we’re accepting to ignore the truth that we love each other after a few romantic nights and two weeks apart.”
She sniffled, turning her face so he couldn’t see the tears. “I might be banished from the manor . . . I . . . I’ll need to find a place to live.”
“You’re always welcome to stay with me,” Tyson told her. “Or if that’s too close, then King Henry never uses his own house any more, I’m sure he would loan it to you. Or if you want company then our employee, Prunella, has an apartment with an extra room. I don’t think it will come to that though . . .”
“Mother cancelled my card thingy,” Vicky reminded him.
Tyson waited in silence as she thought. Awkward position to be in for thinking, a woman having her naked body all exposed against your pant legs. She even still had a thumb on his pant button.
“What did Vega say to cause this reaction?” she eventually asked.
“He said very little. I merely told him that I saw who he really was and in doing so realize who I was as well.”
“You’re the kind of man who is in a relationship,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Her body pushed up and her lips found his again. “I’m the kind of girl in a relationship too.”
“Vicky,” he grunted her name.
“It will be a team of private detectives,” she teased him, “members of the Learning Council will hear what a bad influence you are, and Brother might even challenge you to a duel for my honor, but yes, Tyson Bonnie, I’m your girlfriend. Now what will you do with me?”
He wrapped an arm around her and twisted to throw her onto the bed, back first. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise and pleasure. “I will do that,” he stated.
She laughed. “I’m in no position to resist.”
“And this,” he announced before unbuckling his pants and sliding them off one leg at a time.
Pants . . . pants can never be removed romantically.
Still, as long as you don’t trip over them, you’re doing okay.
And as long as your phone in your pant pocket doesn’t start ringing as you’re about to throw them across the room, before doing the same with your underwear and getting to start even more activities with the very naked woman waiting beneath you.
Calling it a phone ring wasn’t accurate.
It was a phrase.
“Hey, T-Bone, are you listening to me?”
It repeated over and over.
“Hey, T-Bone, are you listening to me? Hey, T-Bone, are you listening to me? Hey, T-Bone, are you listening to me?”
No.
It’s impossible that somehow he knew to call at this exact moment.
On the bed, Vicky started giggling uncontrollably.
“How?” he asked the phone as he pulled it out, still not clicking on the answer button. “How did he know?”
“It’s your own fault,” Vicky told him. “If you didn’t need yourself a girlfriend, we would be finishing our first lap by now.”
The phone stopped talking and went to voice mail. “I’m turning it off.”
“Tyson . . . it could be important . . .”
“He would call back if it was—”
“Hey, T-Bone, are you listening to me?”
“Just threaten him with pictures of us five minutes from now if he tries to keep you,” Vicky pointed out.
With a sigh, Tyson answered the phone.
“Go away,” he told King Henry. The real King Henry.
You could hear the canine grin in King Henry’s voice. “Oh, in the middle of defiling the white woman, are we?”
“I haven’t even started yet!”
“Not my fault. Plus, this is more important.”
“King Henry, I don’t care! Neither would you if you were in this situation with a woman!”
“I don’t know . . . I might want you to stop me if it was a few of the women I’ve slept with.”
“Get to the point or I’ll take a naked picture of us in the moment and send it to you,” Tyson warned.
Vicky gave a thumbs-up.
“Hey, stop thinking with Tyrannosaurus Bone for a few seconds, you asshole,” King Henry growled through the receiver, “I got some important shit to tell you.”
Tyrannosaurus Bone twitched angrily, still trapped in Tyson’s underwear. On the bed, Vicky had started to distract herself by doodling with spectro-anima. She was turned away from him and the view of her was . . . well, he started humming Sir Mix-a-Lot again. “I don’t care about anything else right now. I’m hanging up the phone. You can call me in the morning and tell me whatever secrets you managed to get out of Plutarch and I’ll tell you about Vega. I got through the day without anyone dying, King Henry. I have a girlfriend I’m about to have sex with. Leave. Me. Alone.”
“I didn’t,” King Henry whispered.
“. . . What?”
“I didn’t get through the day wit
hout anyone dying.”
“Wh . . . what?”
Shadow Running
Today was the day.
Today was the day that Eva Reti lived or Eva Reti died.
No matter how many, it never gets easier, does it? Evelyn Strange asked herself as she left behind her Infirmary. Down she headed, down the stairs that would take her below the proper Administration floors and to the clandestine mess of hallways and rooms beneath. A clandestine mess housing the sad, jumbled excuse that qualifies as mancer government.
In the Infirmary, she only had to worry about cold sores or stomach bugs, perhaps broken bones and torn ligaments when it was that time of year surrounding the Winter War. It was all very simple most of the time, all ailments that a mundane pill or a dab of Slush could heal. Occasionally they had their emergencies . . . though surprisingly few of them since King Henry Price, Heinrich von Welf, and the girls who had taken to calling themselves the Three Queens had all graduated.
The Three Queens.
Evelyn let out an angry hiss at the thought of them as she still descended the stairwell. Past the floor with the computer banks and the whole analytical team, past where the Recruiters kept their offices, past ESLED’s domain, down she went, one security checkpoint at a time.
The Three Queens.
The Curator had the entire government nervous. They might not be at full war footing like stories you heard of the Counter-Culture War, but it was close enough. A threat, a real threat that couldn’t be ignored any longer. A threat who was stealing students, either before they arrived or after they graduated.
The Three Queens . . . Catherine Hayes, Mary O’Connell, and Teresa Garcia. Isabel Soto too, Evelyn added, having a heap of troubling memories surface at the name. The Infirmary had been stark and silent that last week of Isabel Soto’s stay at the school. Only the present paranoia with the Curator dares surpass it.
King Henry and the Three Little Trips (The King Henry Tapes) Page 8
