Let’s just say that the eggs, despite the skills Dad had belted into me, tasted not-so-hot. It wasn’t the eggs fault either. Or my cooking. Just my attitude.
The doorbell ringing distracted me. Not just the noise but the fact that there was a doorbell. Doorbell, suburb housing, uniforms—damned Asylum.
The mundanity of it all—taking magic, fucking magic and making it not so special at all. Looking back on it, I’m pretty sure the effect is intended. These people wanted four-hundred usable tools graduating each year, not heroes trying to save the world. Ultras get a bit more about the whole story, but not much. I learn so every day. You will too, kiddies.
Mundane . . . take the door for example, I got ready to open it expecting any number of possible badass people. What I got was an old lady. Wrinkly, little chunky, veins showing and skin patching like a farm during summer, probably had saggy tits somewhere under her burgundy sweater too. She looked about as excited with me as I was with her.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“I see . . . our late recruitment. Aren’t you a cute little boy in your uniform?”
A great beginning to a legendary relationship. Well . . . infamous relationship at the least. But I never got caught, that’s what counts. “Can I help you?”
She had one of those old lady metal-canes with the four rubber prongs on the end, which she used to prod me out of the way.
“Where’s Ceinwyn?”
“Shower, I guess.” I frowned at her as she walked into the kitchen like she owned the place. Technically she didn’t own it, but then . . . no one was going to claim she didn’t either, so what’s the point quibbling over the fine points of possession? “Are you like a friend or something?”
“Something more than friend if I had to classify the relationship,” the old lady mumbled, starting to eat what I hadn’t finished of my eggs, which on account of my brooding over my mom had been quite a lot of the plate. “My . . . these are very good. Touch of rosemary?”
“Yeah . . . I was kind of eating them.”
“Really? Oh well . . . you could use the protein it looks like . . . I must say, I don’t know if I’m more surprised that a little thing like you knows how to cook or that Ceinwyn has food in her house. I wonder, how does it get here? I really should know . . .”
She went on eating the eggs. “Good, but needs a sauce . . .”
I started trying to make her cane crack in half. Yeah, I know, I’m a troublemaker. Sue me. Not like I got any success on that front anyway.
“I see Ceinwyn has already put you in your badges and your colors. Always showing initiative that girl. One of the brightest students we’ve ever had.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh yes, first of her class—90’ or 91’ I can’t remember which. Used to annoy Obadiah Paine to no end, I remember that. He was a geomancer like you. You are geomancer, yes?” the old lady asked, pouring herself a glass of water. “Had a bit of an accident on the trip in to let Ceinwyn know what you are, did you?”
I got distracted from answering . . . I got distracted a lot back then. Mancy, legs, boobs, Valentine Ward making books explode, it was horrible. This particular time, was because instead of using the faucet, the old lady poured a thin stream of water directly from a finger. “Ain’t that a waste of animal or whatever the hell it’s called?”
“Anima, that’s what it is called . . . and anima . . . anima gets easier as you get on with age, one of the few parts of life that does. I have got on with a great deal of age, so anima is a great deal of easy.” A flick removed the stray remaining bead of water. “Ceinwyn must have found you difficult to begin an introduction class; usually she ignores recruits the moment the papers are signed.”
If I hadn’t seen the hallway wall with the pictures, maybe I could have agreed and sized Ceinwyn Dale up as a professional, but it didn’t really fit. She’d annoyed me, she’d pushed me, but I figured she cared somewhere in her hollow aeromancer heart. As long as I kept being interesting at least.
“I broke the child-lock on her car,” I said proudly. What a little badass I was. Broke a child-lock. Watch out world.
“Isn’t that something.” The old lady took a sip of the water. Which I think may be considered cannibalism. Cannibalism or a very odd form of recycling. “Did you break anything else perchance?”
Like they were going to throw me out . . . why not? If they did, I’d get to find a cigarette. “Bunch of shelves, a table, and some kind of wall art thing, you can still see it—what’s left of it. Been trying to break your cane since you poked me with it, but no luck.”
All I got was a shake of the head, not even a batting eye. “Indeed . . . so much effort to harm someone.”
“It doesn’t work when I try, seems like . . .”
She laughed. Unlike Ceinwyn Dale she had a real laugh. But old like the rest of her, worn out and tired. “Thank God for that. You’d cost more than you’re worth.”
“Not worth anything since you lot took all my stuff.” I started staring at the cane. Face might have gone red from the effort too.
“Taking ‘stuff’ is school policy. I’ll let you in on a secret, what you say?”
“Sure.” Face went maroon.
“Our goal is to form community among the students, so we try to give you nothing but each other. See how it works?”
“I don’t like other people.”
“You’ve gone purple, dear, do stop.” A flick of a finger and what was left of the water in her glass splashed into my face like it shot from a hose. Which I think may be considered flinging bodily fluids. “I’m tired feeling your efforts.”
“You can do that?”
“You’ll learn . . . you seem dedicated enough. Or at least committed. And the right kind of committed too. We get both kinds.”
“Who are you anyway, old lady? Don’t you have to go play shuffleboard or take your pills or something?”
She laughed again. This time it neared crackling. “And you’re fearless, which can be such a good quality if you’re also a survivor. If not, at least you’ll have a death worth writing about.”
You’re noticing the habit that Asylum types have of talking over students’ heads I hope. Annoyed the hell out of fourteen-year-old-me. Ceinwyn Dale and the Lady were the worst, but hardly the only ones. My math teacher, now there’s a woman who loved to pretend she’s talking to herself.
I came back with, “I’m not a toy, you know. You people seem to be forgetting it.”
Lint got picked off her sweater. Tiny balls of string discarded from the whole. “We don’t belittle you . . . you’ll understand soon. With Elementalism there is so much to see we often don’t look at the right clue, or don’t have time to coddle you with so many wonders and terrors happening around us.”
“Yeah, whatever—still looking for a name, lady.”
“She’s Maudette Lynch,” Ceinwyn Dale said as she finally walked into the kitchen dressed for the day. “And even if you don’t respect me, you should respect her, King Henry. She’s the Dean of the Institution of Elements and Head Chair of the Elemental Learning Council.”
Like I knew what that meant. I’m still working on communal here. “That some kind of teacher?”
“Lovely quality in the United States school system these years,” the Lady muttered to herself.
“She’s our Charles Xavier,” Ceinwyn Dale simplified for my comic book prone mind.
“Oh . . . like a principal.”
“Yes, you have it.”
“My last principal liked wearing glow-in-the-dark latex. So as long as she’s not into that, we’re cool.”
Ceinwyn Dale actually took it in stride. “There’s a condition I haven’t heard before.”
“Sounds uncomfortable,” the Lady muttered some more. I call her that, though fourteen-year-old-me didn’t know it yet, because Maudette Lynch’s nickname is ‘The Lady of the Lake’ and that’s all she’s ever called.
The way the story goes is that the Asylu
m was founded in 1920 and the year it was founded, the first Dean came upon three-year-old Maudette walking on the waters of Lake Tahoe. She was adopted after the news came out about a boating accident which had killed her parents. She’s seen every year the Asylum has existed. A hydromancer, a Riftwalker like our good lord Jesus Christ. Well, that’s another rumor at least. Don’t worry, fundies, they’re probably both full of shit.
The Lady kept on grossing me out, “Awfully lot of work to get into, I’d assume.”
“Surprisingly not,” Ceinwyn Dale said, winking at her.
“Oh . . . just wrong . . .” I whispered, “Shove some air or water in my ears, man.”
They ignored me. Of course they ignored me. They were grown women. What’s new about that? “I’m going to have to cancel. King Henry still needs tested and Russell will be whining through the whole process. Best if we start it early.”
“School first as always, Ceinwyn,” the Lady agreed, picking up her cane like it was a sword. “Place him before he breaks something expensive.”
“I’ll find time for lunch.”
“Yes, yes, that will be lovely.” The Lady turned to me. “Thank you for the eggs, King Henry Price, and welcome to the Institution of Elements, Learning Academy and Nature Camp. I wish you best of luck in your testing.”
“You owe me breakfast.”
She laughed again as she walked out the door, metal prongs limping before her. “We’ll call it even for you trying to break my cane, young man.”
Session 108
The place we rolled into looked more like an insane asylum than the Asylum ever did. It was walled. Big, thick, prison walls meant to keep in and keep out, that said ‘this is my space, asshole’ better than those lying beware-of-dog signs ever do.
The walls were made of white stone, topped with preening angels and carved along the top with Latin script, which is outside the edge of even my overindulgent education to translate. The gate our car—we’d stolen another after the last flip job—went through was just as thick, crisscrossing metal that hummed as it moved. Metal resonating . . . music to my ears.
“You people don’t like visitors, do you?” I asked Annie B.
“God, it’s hot,” was her only answer, flapping the neckline of her shirt to get cool air against her skin. It’s a miracle the woman wasn’t constantly getting arrested for public indecency.
My first trip to San Francisco and I can’t say I thought much of the place. Sure, there’s ocean, but I’m not a water kind of guy. The water didn’t help. There’s just too much of it: too many bridges, too many wharves, too much water trying to trap you in on three sides. The earth actually under my feet . . . half of it was worse than dog-shit—it was human-shit.
Trash, waste, broken buildings. It wasn’t really soil or bedrock, it was fake, man-made. It made me feel sick, like I’d ordered bacon and got that tofu-turkey imitation stuff. No wonder the city kept trying to kill the people living in it.
Humans don’t belong to the ocean—we come from dust. Vamps though . . . they belonged in the water still, made them right at home. Aphro-fucking-dite rising up from the seafoam. Sirens giving a call. Yeah . . . myth fits sometimes.
The roads of San Francisco were even more crowded than Fresno, created by the same problem: too many people. California’s problem as a whole. Too many people. People getting in each other’s faces, people getting pissed and resorting to violence, people fighting over jobs, people fighting over supplies, people fighting over road space. All the time, fighting, and not the fun kind of fighting, just the pissy kind. Learn to drive that tank, bitch. Fuck off, asshole, buy a real car next time. Music to my ears more than the metal gate.
Guess overpopulation is good for the vampires too. If your business is eating people, then business is booming. If your business is selling condoms, doesn’t look like you’re doing your job, douchebags.
Before I met Annie B, I sized the people I saw based on their threat level to me. First off, are they a mancer? Second, are they physically dangerous? Third, are they female and hot? If yes, four, do they look crazy? Now though . . . I saw a little differently. Instead, I saw veal-shank over here and lobster-tail over there. Food, so much food. Vampires and mosquitoes and ticks and leeches and bed-bugs, blood brothers all. Each more disgusting than the last.
“You’re basically naked and it’s not even sixty, how are you hot?” I rose to the bait. I was still in my brown geomancer coat and my jeans, both of which looked like they’d been through a tough day of blue-collar work. Pair of fights will do that to you. I also had a circle of dried blood wrapping around my throat, where I’d been strangled, and the band-aid on my hand were Annie B had fed on me. Not my best look, I admit, but at least I actually could have passed for a normal guy on a winter day, not on some tropical island as part of the chief’s harem of dancing girls.
Annie B parked the car outside the asylum-looking building. I don’t know architecture, but it looked old. Same white stone as the walls, it could have been a church once upon a time. Now, it was the San Francisco Vampire Embassy.
Just about any town north of one-hundred-thousand people has one, but this was the oldest in California. Vampire presence in California predated the state and the United States, so the Embassy, if not the building, was the oldest west of the Mississippi. Vampires follow human migration about as well as the Indians used to follow the buffalo. The gold rush brought more than prospectors in gold, it brought prospectors in blood. Plenty of time for it to build its fair share of secrets . . .
No one was outside to greet us. Just trees and grass, a hint of fog with a hint of sun.
Annie B got out of our car and glanced up at the bright orb, her eyes glaring disgust. “Not only hadn’t I fed for days before you provided such a wonderful breakfast, I haven’t slept for days during the course of this investigation. We don’t need sleep like humans, and can go without it for extended periods if required, but the longer we go, the more difficult to stay cool it becomes. To put it simply: you’re not seeing me at my best.”
I exited the car, watching her as she shaded her face with an arm. The same arm I’d seen buried under our last car. “What do you do when it’s really hot and you have an investigation?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.
She looked away from the sun, back my way. I couldn’t help but think it would be so much easier to hate this creature if she wasn’t so appealing to my hormones. Every part of her and you wanted to stare. Not all Vamps are like that, some are the last you’d expect, but Annie B . . . a walking problem. I had to keep reminding myself this was just the shell. It helped . . . but only a little . . .
“I eat well, sleep through the day, wear as few clothes as possible, and take a great many freezing showers,” she said.
“Guess that means you don’t cuddle,” I teased.
“No . . .” she whispered to herself, “no cuddling with humans. You’re too warm . . . walking furnaces heating up at all the wrong times . . .”
That got a laugh from me. “Shit . . . it’s really too bad you want to eat me, you know? You might just be the perfect woman. Can kick ass, don’t wear clothes, perfect body, into freaky sex, and no cuddling. Damned shame . . .”
Her eyes caught mine. “But I’m not a woman.”
I shrugged; maybe she’s not so horrible after all. “There’s always a damn string on the deal, haven’t I learned.”
As she walked past, Annie B elbowed me in the stomach hard enough that I forgot how to breathe. Yeah, and maybe I called it too early.
[CLICK]
I almost walked back outside. Whoever ran the Embassy loved AC more than I did, which is saying something, since I’ve been known to freeze out many an old lady shopping for teapots. Again, not the best for sells, but it gives me some peace and quiet.
“Santa’s hairy tits,” I mouthed since I couldn’t speak on account of my vocal cords freezing shut. Didn’t help the weirdness vibe when Annie B let go a little moan the moment the cold
air hit her. My only reaction was my balls working their way up my prostate. I’d never expected to get frostbite on this gig, but it had just become a possibility. Cold, very cold, cold as Hope Hunting’s twat cold.
Annie B walked over to a closet right by the door, pulled out a pair of gloves and handed them to me. There were fur sweaters and thick jackets inside too, but I guess she didn’t like me enough. Pair of gloves, that’s what I’m worth. “For our human guests. We understand our differences concerning . . . bodily needs.”
“Yeah . . . bodily needs,” I mumbled as I put on the gloves that didn’t do a damn thing for the majority of my needs. “I don’t think I’m ever going to pop a stiffy again after this.”
A small smile cut her face as she led the way down the hall. “I find that hard to believe given your reputation.”
Fog dripped from my mouth, frosting the air around me. Couldn’t even escape the gray indoors. “Even I can’t overcome biology.”
“I can.”
Our steps were loud in the empty hall. Had to be other people here, right? And how big was this place? It’s San Francisco, realty was insane . . . but this place wasted this much space. It was a sign, I guess. Along with the walls and the cold, no one greeting you: get out and stay away. Annie B headed for a pair of closed doors, but you’d expected a waiter or something, like the little Igor asshole from the movies, scuttling around like a cracked-out midget.
She can, I thought. “I’m not rising to the bait.”
She still answered. I would have dreams and nightmares over the answer for months. The kind of crazy shit where it mixes and you ain’t sure which it is, one moment it’s all good, then you’re getting stabbed or ate . . . or a girl is telling you she’s pregnant. Horrible stuff. “When I’m inside a human, I can manipulate their blood flow just as I manipulate my own. How strong it is . . . where it goes . . .” She gave me a look, tongue tip finding her lip, “How long it stays there.”
“So . . .”
“Hours upon hours . . . no relief . . .”
The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady (The King Henry Tapes Book 1) Page 12