“Josephine Vega,” I corrected her.
I heard some seething on the other end of the phone. Think I liked the ‘deep breath being thankful I’m alive’ stage a whole lot better. “This . . . wasn’t how I wanted this call to go,” she admitted.
“Yeah, me neither,” I agreed. “Guess we have awhile to figure it out.”
“What was the deal you made?”
“Artificer stuff. Prove I’m useful; buys me some time to start figuring your hubby out.”
She laughed. “By all means, if you do let me know.”
“Not like I trust him, but he loves you.”
“He loves what I represent.”
“What was the deal you made?” I turned the question back on her.
She sighed. “Children.”
“Not been trying? No wonder the guy was so pent-up.”
“You really want to hear about your sister’s sex life?”
“Better than hearing my sister’s sex life back when you were still at home.”
Embarrassed silence.
“Remember Jimmy?” I asked. “Anh Anh Anh Anh . . . I seriously thought about calling an ambulance.”
“You are such a pig . . .”
“Yeah. I always go boldly, don’t I?”
“We’ve tried since we’ve been married, that’s the problem.”
“Adoption?”
“No . . . that would defeat the purpose of us being together . . .”
I frowned at the phone. “Want to explain that?”
“The reason you mancers and all the others are so scared of Horatio. What he can do. What no one else can figure out . . . and what everyone wants eliminated before it spreads. Because then us Weres wouldn’t be the joke of the supernatural world would we?”
“Going to have to explain it to me, Sis, no one else has bothered.”
“He’s a Poly-Shifter,” she whispered just barely, like even mentioning it was something to be in awe of, “when he Shifts . . . he doesn’t become one coyote, he becomes . . . four or five or even more coyotes . . .”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know . . .”
A chill went down my spine. “What does that have to do with your children, Sis?”
“Because . . . I’m a Poly-Shifter too . . .”
[CLICK]
T-Bone has himself a nice house. ‘Nice’ not a word I use a whole lot. ‘Nice’ not a world I’d ever use to describe anything in Fresno. ‘Not shitty’ . . . that’s more like. My place is not shitty. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a garage . . . has cable. Typical not shitty tract-home that makes up ninety-nine percent of Fresno. But T-Bone’s place?
Nice.
It’s older, back before they knew what tract-homes were. Little, but nice. Brick walkway. Angles that aren’t all right but instead are just a little wrong. Unique, the only one in the whole city. Small front door . . . made me wonder how T-Bone managed to fit through it.
I knocked on the door. Under one arm I had a gift. Under my other arm I had a bag of KFC. Bringing a black guy a bag of KFC to apologize for being a dick? Yeah . . . a little racist. But it’s funny too. Besides, I was raised Arky-Okie redneck, I love me some fried chicken, coleslaw, and mash potatoes as much as any human being on the planet. Black, white, red, or Poly-Shifter.
Couldn’t get over that one . . .
Couldn’t figure out how it was possible . . .
Couldn’t help but have a new found fear of Horatio Vega and for my sister . . .
Soon as I heard that term . . . Poly-Shifter . . . I knew I had plenty of life and death in my future.
T-Bone opened the door.
T-Bone saw me.
T-Bone slammed the door shut.
“I’m sorry, man!” I yelled. “This is me on my knees. King Henry Price is ready to kiss your feet, you really going to let that experience walk on by without checking out her ass?”
T-Bone opened the door up again.
He wore a robe, boxers, fuzzy slippers, and not a whole lot else. “Promise me that nothing is going to explode, break, fly through the air at me, or make any loud noise at all.”
Looked like T-Bone was handling his day after worse than I was. I shrugged. “I’m pretty sure the crazy shit is over with for now. I mean, Annie B could be in one of your bushes and Ceinwyn’s still in town but . . . no bullets at least.”
“That KFC?”
“Yup.”
“You racist bastard.”
“Going to turn it down?”
“Get inside.”
I went inside.
After I put the bag on the kitchen table, T-Bone pulled out the bucket of chicken, grabbed a drumstick, and walked into the living room, where he plopped down into an La-Z-Boy recliner, gnawed on the drumstick, and un-paused the video game he was playing. “I deserve a vacation from you.”
“Wasn’t that bad.”
“We got shot at.”
I grabbed a drumstick for myself. Got to be careful with them drumsticks, they go fast. “Survived though, found out a lot of stuff we didn’t know.”
“You owe me so much . . .”
“I know, man. I promise I won’t lie about what I’m planning ever again.”
“Better not.”
I watched T-Bone play some RPG swords-and-dragons shit for awhile. “No guns?”
“Never play an FPS again . . .”
“Give it a few weeks.”
He paused the game, made a plate of mashed potatoes, gravy, and biscuits, then returned to his hobbits. Didn’t even bother with a spork, just went all in with the biscuit as a utensil. “How long until Vega threatens us?”
“He’ll play it nice until he gets a few floro-seeders.”
“Then?”
“Then he’ll push for the back half in a fifth of the time.”
“So probably a year.”
“Yup . . . a year. Then we play another round.”
“Need to be ready,” T-Bone mumbled angrily through a full mouth.
“We will be.”
“You need to teach me how to do that split pool trick,” T-Bone said.
“Alrighty.”
“Not fair you’re the only one that gets to look cool.”
“Says the guy that lightning bolted a Coyote.”
“And a truck.”
I nodded, sitting down on his couch and watching some goblins get chopped in half. “So that all I need to do to make it up to you? Some lessons on the side? Fill you in on the secret infos?”
T-Bone thought about it. “Stop calling me T-Bone.”
“Come on . . .”
“Stop calling me T-Bone.”
“What about Bonnie-T?”
“Tyson.”
“Iron Mike!”
“Tyson.”
“Electro Mike!”
“Tyson.”
“I’ll try . . . but it will probably slip out occasionally . . .”
“Tyson,” he repeated slowly.
“Tyson,” I muttered.
He nodded at my gift. “What’s that?”
“It’s kind of a laser sword.”
Tyson . . . urgh . . . dropped his controller. “Don’t mock me with my dreams!”
“It’s an artifact . . . light-sword, maybe? Whatever you want to call it. Spectro-blade?”
The gift wrap was off in record time, the artifact was out of the box even quicker and then the metal, mirror, and glass cylinder was in his hand. “This button?”
“Yup.”
No noise. Come on, people. Imitation maybe, but more to see if I could do something resembling the on screen Hollywood masterpiece that is whomp-hiss action, than to actually make something that worked the same way. No noise, just a blade of blue light, reflecting and channeled with the Mancy. Didn’t even look like a—
“Oh my God, I’m holding a lightsaber!”
“Spectro-blade,” I corrected. “You can’t call it that, George Lucas would sue the crap out of us. In fact, the condition of this gift is that y
ou can’t show it to anyone.”
“Aww . . . come on!”
“I got King Vega to worry about; I don’t need King Bearded Chin too. In fact…it’s not even a blade…it’s a wand…a spectro-wand. Nothing to do with swords at all…”
He tried to cut his table in half but the light blade went into it like it wasn’t there, reflecting a little at the focus point of the blade. “Weak!”
“It’s spectro-anima, it’s not heavy enough to do anything but be pretty.”
Good thing too, because T-Bone . . . Tyson . . . went into a spin and a few slashes that would have impaled the TV and cut Tyson’s leg off. Spectro-things . . . made fake for geek safety.
“King Henry . . .” Tyson said, getting over that he wouldn’t be saving any princesses any time soon, “This is still the coolest gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“I try . . .”
“No lying?”
“No lying.”
“Call me Tyson?”
“Going to try that too.”
“Guess we can still be friends then.”
Friends . . .
I nodded at him, arms crossed as I watched the light show. Didn’t succeed at anything in the last few days. One screw-up after another. Kept the status quo . . . but the status quo couldn’t last. The center could not hold. Poly-shifters. Vampires. Two Ultras. Didn’t succeed at anything . . . but here . . . I did pretty well here.
Maybe the two of us were enough.
Maybe a year was enough time.
Maybe I’d get through the year without someone walking through my shop door causing me problems . . .
Yeah, good luck on that one, King Henry.
About the Author
Richard Raley was born and raised in Fresno, California and even still lives there on account of the city being an evil vortex you can’t escape. He grew up on Star Wars, Transformers, Legos, and Everquest—he never escaped them either. The Foul Mouth and the Cat Killing Coyotes is the second novel in The King Henry Tapes; it will not be the last. Keep an eye out for King Henry updates at:
http://richardraley.blogspot.com
www.twitter.com/richardraley
[email protected]
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The Foul Mouth and the Cat Killing Coyotes (The King Henry Tapes) Page 25
