Day only happened cuz King Henry Price got pushed into a corner.
All week long and it wasn’t me jumping, but me being pushed.
Eureka.
The city with the perfect name.
Eureka.
Just another name for epiphany.
[CLICK]
Only thing better than falling asleep next to a beautiful woman is waking up next to one.
Even when said beautiful woman managed to steal all the covers and judo your ass out of the too-small bed to the floor sometime during the night.
Hey, she was only a couple feet away, still fucking counts.
Plus, ain’t the first time my ass woke up on the floor.
Least I didn’t have a hangover this time around.
Felt good if anything.
Felt rested.
Felt right.
Way my days are supposed to start.
Next to Val.
We’ll work on the Me Actually In the Bed part tomorrow night.
Wherever tomorrow night happens to take place.
Lucky, lucky me, don’t just get to wake up next to Val today, get to go trick Obadiah Paine too.
Just got to call him and listen to him gloat first.
Let’s agree to skip over the part where I took a shit, brushed my teeth, and got dressed this time around, alright? Alright, alright.
Early in the day.
I like that time of the morning.
Always have.
Not a morning person, so usually I’m coming at it from the other side. Just getting ready to sleep about 6AM. Never be the early bird or get the worm, but the walk of shame I know well. Ain’t just humans waking up at that hour. Whole world coming alive. Sunrise on the horizon, ozone from the day before faded enough you can even see it. No cars on the street. Small window of coolness about to be obliterated by summer yet again. Birds, squirrels, all that shit waking up.
Stood over Val for a moment, watched her sleep. She sleeps hard. Always has. So concerned about controlling herself during the day that sleep was a release for her. Place where she can dream and be free, without worrying over consequences. Seeing the strain all that power and responsibility puts on her, starts to make a fellow glad he’s so fucked up to not care about what havoc his earthquakes cause. Lot easier being me than being a hero.
Didn’t risk a kiss on her cheek, not even a single touch. Let her get another hour of sleep in. Another hour of dreaming. Guess she’s all the dream I need.
Yeah, yeah, sappy as shit.
Got it bad and it ain’t going nowhere.
But I was.
Opened my office door into T-Bone’s domain of servers, computers, and more monitors than the NSA. Man himself was already awake, dressed in a black sweater-vest, even with a dress shirt and a tie added for maximum seriousness. Extra respectable T-Bone to combat Mama Welf. Like even ten layers of clothes will help where she’s concerned.
“All quiet on the mancer front?” I teased him in a whisper, nodding at our outdoor feeds.
“Not quite,” he whispered back, pointing at some activity outside.
Constructs were on patrol.
Recognized Autumn. Same one Welf used at the Ouroboros. Dark haired, but eyes the same jade as the Jinshin Ken. Three more of them. All wearing that servant clothing of black and white every Bonegrinder seemed to order from a catalog. No idea which was which, but had to be Winter, Summer, and Spring. One was a slight man with blond hair and green eyes, another bald and bulky and even paler than other Constructs, while the third was a redheaded woman with dark eyes and tanned skinned.
There was a fifth as well.
Tried not to think about it.
Tried to not hate Welf for what he’d done.
“He’s called Belisarius,” T-Bone filled in awkwardly. Wasn’t his classmate, but T-Bone was still First-Gen like I was and not happy about the whole undead body business we mancers politely shared with the Vamps.
Belisarius used to be named Jason Jackson. Jason without life. Jason in a suit instead of his usual jeans and football jersey. Jason with almost invisible black lines running along his skin and over his face. “Welf think he’s gonna re-conquer Rome or some shit?”
“He was his only real friend . . . kind of sad, really,” T-Bone muttered, turning back to one of his monitors.
Expected gibberish of code to be on it, instead it looked like a letter. “You doing okay with the whole Vicky’s Mama thing?”
“She hasn’t threatened me yet. Not that she’s had a chance to get me alone, being as it all got a bit buried under the whole Catherine von Welf fiasco you unleashed . . . before you went and hid in your office with Valentine.”
“Val and I had our own bit of talking to do.”
“Yes,” he said sarcastically, “we all heard your talking.”
My shrug admitted to some guilt this time around. “Could’ve tried for some yourself . . . be like back at school.”
“Without even the privacy curtains,” T-Bone pointed out, “and I never . . . not in the communal dorms. None of my class did.”
“Your class was weird.”
“We graduated without one of our students getting murdered, so that was a plus.”
“Might take one in thirty odds it means having sex for four years instead of going without.”
“Not that I don’t enjoy our amazing discussion on the most important of philosophies,” T-Bone got extra sarcastic, “but do you think you could find someone else to terrorize? I’m a bit busy and I want to finish before Vicky wakes up.”
“Do need to call Paine,” I admitted, “think he’s awake?”
The typing stopped. “I never imagined the Curator sleeping.”
“Might be a monster, but he’s a human one. Shits. Sleeps. Fucks Isabel while she’s facechanged to look like Ceinwyn even.”
“Didn’t ever imagine that either,” T-Bone pleaded.
“It’s my lot in life.”
“Let. Me. Finish. This. Please.”
“Anyone else up?”
“Heinrich is.”
“Oh, you and your buddy Heinrich, huh? Turns his black friend into a meat puppet and thinks he can steal mine, does he?”
“King Henry, I’m begging you, please.”
“Fine, fine. Take a hint. After I ignore the first three or four. What you even doing?”
He started typing again, trying to ignore me. “Just writing my parents a letter . . . in case something happens.”
Right. “You’ll be fine,” I felt like I had to say. “I’m the one doing the trade. You’re just backup. Keep an eye on Vick, be ready to jump into one of the SUVs quick as you can. Stuff like that and you’ll be fine.”
“This could go very wrong, King Henry,” he said, but kept diligently typing away on his possible last words.
“Guess I’ll go bug Welf then.”
“You do that.”
Welf wasn’t in the front room. Dark in there, since Vicky put up curtains over the glass, tiny amount though it was compared to most storefronts. Pizza that was left over had gone stale. Ice in the styrofoam had melted into cold water, soda cans bobbing on the surface. Coffee was set to warm, with barely half a cup left in the pot. I corrected that. If I’m gonna spend who knows how long in a car with some of these people, gonna do it with caffeine in my system.
After my eyes adjusted, I finally took a guess at which bundle or covers or sleeping bag was each person. Took the two big bundles interlocked together to be Pocket and Jesus. Form on the airbed wearing pink sweatpants and hugging a pillow must have been Vicky. Which left Mama Welf on a foldout bed. See, Moira Welf slept. Paine must sleep too. Ceinwyn was in a hammock she’d strung up. Me, I’d have twisted that around and face-planted in the middle of the night, but Auntie Badass looked more peaceful than she had since I dropped the Paine bombshell on her. Aeromancers like hammocks . . . because of course they do.
Wasn’t until I eased my way outside until I found Welf, sitting on that same bench
as Ceinwyn the afternoon before. As far as conversational partners go, Heinrich Welf ain’t exactly the top of my list, even when my main goal is just pissing him off. Wasn’t my goal now. If anything, I felt like I owed the guy an apology. One, for getting Vicky involved. Yeah, yeah, she’s a modern grown-up woman and all that. Welf and all that. Responsibility and all that. But even I have protective instincts and every one of them says to keep Vicky Welf safe. Fucking T-Bone and his letter have me thinking the worst.
Two . . . well, guess it’s as I said aloud to him, “I’m an asshole for not telling you sooner.”
Welf took a sip of coffee. All them manners, but he never heard the rule about the last person taking a cup of the stuff refilling the machine. Probably has a servant at Welf Manor does nothing but grinds and boils coffee from scratch using only his pinkies. “You are an asshole for a great many reasons, Foul Mouth, but sharing this secret was not your duty.”
Welf was dressed for the day, but his suit wasn’t the clean or pristine look it was most of the time. I think he slept in it. Given he rarely took off his colors until his privacy curtains were closed and how distraught he got any time we had to camp out or someone saw them Welf pectorals . . . guess it ain’t much of a surprise.
“Wasn’t my duty, but . . . did lie to you about it a few times. Try to tell the truth much as I can, you know that.”
Welf looked at me like I’d gone Anima Mad. “You must be joking.”
“Pulling a play is different.”
“It is not! It’s lying and deception and even worse. Keeping a secret is nothing compared to some of what you’ve done. How can you possibly not see that?”
“Guess we’ll have to disagree . . . again.”
“Hardly the first time, I suppose.”
“Want to talk about it?” I asked with a canine grin.
“No,” he growled. “What do you have behind your back?”
“You didn’t fuck her, did you?”
“What?”
“Catherine. You didn’t fuck her, right?”
“Of course not!” he yelled at the very idea.
“Think about it at all? Crank one out imagining your big sister’s tight little ass, did ya?”
Took another sip of coffee to keep his temper down. “I’m sure you have about her.”
“Yeah, well . . . my mind is pretty depraved, must admit, but never did touch any of the Queens. So . . . still haven’t fucked your sister no matter how much you’ve worried about it over the years.”
“No, you just managed to pull Victoria into this mess, to say nothing of all the . . . unladylike activities she’s engaging in with Bonnie.”
“You try to fight him for her honor and she’ll kick your ass,” I prophesied.
“I know,” he said, thin smile on his long, aristocratic face. “I miss her at the Manor . . . it’s even lonelier now that she’s gone.”
“Convince your mom to back down and not to kill him, maybe they’d visit some,” I pointed out a simple man’s logic.
Welf didn’t see it that way of course. “Maybe if all goes well today.”
“Sure you didn’t sleep with Catherine?” I couldn’t help myself.
“Yes,” he growled at me. “Very sure. Ignoring Soto’s depravities with us all, the only girl I was with our entire stay at the Institution was Hope, until you ruined that too. . . with a secret better hidden I might add.”
“Wasn’t about you.”
“Sure felt like it was, Foul Mouth.”
“Didn’t have to break up with her.”
“Of course I did! She was . . . the Huntings . . . they were our friends and they never should have done something like that. Even if I accepted the manipulation, even if I accepted that she truly knew nothing of the plot . . . what might Boris Hunting’s experiments have done to that union’s children? Who knows what that anima might have done to her womb? Hope and the children being more susceptible to Anima Madness would be the least dangerous possibility.”
“That’s all it takes, huh?”
“All?”
“Could find out Val was barren, I wouldn’t care. Could find out she was going to die at thirty, I wouldn’t care. Hope might have problems due to all the experiments helped birth her and you ran quick as can be? Shit, Welf, I thought you were just pissed over being lied to. Always more fucked up than first glance when it comes to your family, ain’t it?”
“You and Valentine again . . .” Welf whispered, like he heard nothing else.
“Yeah. All grown up and adult this time too.”
“Is that what you call your little victory lap last night? Adult?”
“Sure the fuck wasn’t PG . . .” I still couldn’t help myself, even though I knew it would piss him off more than anything else we’d barbed each other with.
How he seethed.
In silence.
The Welf way.
“Didn’t mean to punch you this much,” I tried to head back down the path we’d been walking.
“Just can’t help yourself . . . speaking of children,” Welf got out.
“Might have had one of your own by now if you stuck with Hope. Ever think about giving her a call? Works with your dad and her dad, right?”
He nodded. “On Project Cassandra, as you well know.”
“Not done bilking the Asylum for money yet, huh?”
“Close . . . closer every day. As for Hope . . . no. That’s the past. Even if she and Boris both apologized to me . . . no. For good or ill I’ve chosen my mother’s sphere of influence over my father’s.”
“Gonna let her pick your wife for you too?” I mocked him.
He sighed. “Maybe I should. Maybe Welf’s aren’t allowed to love.”
“Should just say ‘fuck it’ and marry Miranda then. Have a right miserable life, wouldn’t you?”
One of the few times we might have laughed together instead of at one another. Eventually, he nodded behind my back again. “Will that explode when I open it?”
“Doubt it. Just . . . you fenced at the Asylum and I gave something to everyone else . . . this wasn’t mine, stole it from the Guild, but it fits you.” I handed him an object about three feet long with an obvious crossguard that had been hastily taped with gift-wrap. “So in summary: sorry about the Catherine thing. Thanks for coming, even if it’s not for me or Susan. Probably the only time in my life I tell you that, but there it is, so enjoy the memory of it.”
Welf held the object in both hands, coffee cup on the bench. “You stole it from the Guild?”
“Yeah.”
“Miss Dale said there was more going on in London than she could tell us, but . . . you stole from the Guild?”
“Mostly information, except for that.”
“And you really have a World-Breaker? You didn’t destroy it like all the rumors say?”
“Be pretty stupid doing this without one.”
Welf glanced away like he was embarrassed by something. Frustrated. Maybe even offended. Not sure I’ll ever understand him. Never be able to be around him for longer than five minutes without snapping at him. “I suppose I should open this,” he managed.
“Usually what’s done,” I quipped.
Once the wrapping was off his mouth had dropped. “I thought you stole from one of their factory lines . . . this is . . . what is this?”
I shrugged like it was no big deal. “Just a sword ain’t quite a sword.”
“It’s not just a sword! It’s a prime artifact! It’s . . . it must be from before Elementalism was Reformed, maybe even from before it was Codified.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “Anyway . . . you’re welcome.”
“Foul Mouth!” he called out when I started walking towards Pocket’s RV. “Thank you . . . for the sword. But also for finally telling me about Catherine. Now that I know, I can finally deal with her.”
I squinted back at him. “Deal with her how?”
Again that confusion. “She’s my sister . . . whatever her reasons in our yo
uth, she’s now turning Anima Mad . . . what else should I do but end her pain?”
Do what you want with your sister, Welf, but you look sideways at mine and I’ll stuff that sword down your throat.
[CLICK]
RV was as good as any place to call Paine.
Had a toilet nearby if all the gloating made me want to throw up, for one. Two . . . I found a Dr. Pepper in the fridge. Didn’t search anywhere else, cuz I had little doubt that somewhere on that RV there was a jar of anal beads. Unlike with Waldo, your parents don’t give you a pat on the head for finding those.
Question for Catholics: If anal beads have been up Jesus’ ass, does that make them a sacred relic?
Had to be 6:30AM by now . . . even if Paine did sleep, wouldn’t be rude of me to call now, would it?
Cuz King Henry Price, he’s all about not being rude.
I picked up my phone.
Pulled the trigger.
First shot of the day.
So far down the Pit of No Return, none of us could see what we were about to unleash.
Hey, Gavrilo Princip, you ain’t alone no more, buddy.
King Henry Price to the rescue.
Biggest fucktard ever.
[CLICK]
Call every place a shithole, so I guess I should call Eureka one too. Had people in it, so I’m sure there was plenty of shit to be found. Actually, going through Eureka made me start to wonder if it wasn’t the places that cause the shithole to appear, just the amount of people living in them. Eureka is small for a city. Way smaller than Fresno, even smaller than my hometown of Visalia. Guess it made me think of how old people describe Fresno of yesteryear, only instead of a railroad and farming city, you got yourself a mining, logging, and fishing city.
City so small that Highway 101 running through it is the main street.
Part of California, but a forgotten piece of the golden puzzle. More so than even Fresno gets bullied by Los Angeles and San Francisco. Not even big enough to matter. What better way to describe it than my usual, to say it was blissful and ignorant of big city worries or troubles. Not a bad place to steal a quiet life for you and your kids. Overall . . . as far as shitholes go, well, it wasn’t the worst.
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 74