Welf reached down to peel Isabel’s clingy hand off of his, crossing his arms in front of his chest so she couldn’t reattach herself. Wasn’t very subtle of a message. Welf and I share that one. Both of us ain’t very subtle. Except I don’t give a shit and he very much cares about trying to be the proper gentleman. Even tilted his head back away from Veronica, tombstone eyes on nothing but the events below.
Good.
“You missed a werejaguar fight a werewolf in a boxing match,” T-Bone informed me, almost fidgeting his way out of his sweater-vest. He’d never been one for covert actions, especially covert actions where he wasn’t behind a computer screen hacking. “The werejaguar won. No one shifted. I’m not sure what it is you see in boxing really . . .”
“Two half naked guys covered in vaseline, hammering on each other with leather gloves, what’s not to love?”
“ . . . what?”
I slipped him a note Vicky had quickly etched in spectro-anima. Didn’t bother to wait for him to read it, instead I played up being restless, standing up again to walk over to the bar. Eyes on me, all eyes on me, Soto Crazy. “Know what? I’m feeling protected at the moment, don’t need to be on alert, do I? Think I’ll make myself that rum and coke and break my pledge. You want another one, Veronica?”
I turned to watch her reaction.
She eyed me for a bit, unsure.
Come on, Soto Crazy, everything is going your way. Can’t you see that?
“Vicky told me I was being unsociable and shouldn’t take out my own relationship problems on other people. So I’m trying to be nice for once,” I further explained.
“That does sound like my dear sister,” Welf murmured.
Isabel’s shoulders relaxed just a tad, not all the way, but enough. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I better stay sober. Mood I’m in and I’ll be dancing naked on the tabletops if I get too much alcohol in me,” she teased Welf.
And you’re also worried I’m trying to drug you now that I’ve had a moment to get something from outside of the luxury box.
I ate a big ol’ bucket of shit with my grin. “More for me then.” While I went about mixing that drink, I also sized up the bottles. Once I found the thickest one, I poured the booze into a small sink set up next to the bar. Waste of good booze. But it was the heaviest bottle. A weaponmaster knows he needs the best tools for the job. Though they usually use katanas and nunchucks and shit. “Jackson coming up soon?”
“After the next match,” Welf murmured some more, eyes still on the ground floor. “They have a large group of corpusmancers putting on a fake wrestling exhibition with ladders and chairs next. Do people find this interesting? It’s just a circus more or less. Not that I have ever attended a circus.”
“A circus with heroes and villains, Welf,” I corrected him, “that’s what makes it fun. The heroes and the villains and all the nutjobs in-between. Mancer World Wrestling? I could dig that every Monday night.”
“It makes a mockery of real competition,” Welf grumbled as he picked up his cane from beside his seat and tapped it nervously against the floor tiles.
The door buzzed just then. “Let me in, please,” came Vicky’s electronic voice.
“She gave me her card, Welf,” I explained over my shoulder, still faking at fussing with a drink. “Let her in, will you?”
T-Bone had a good enough angle to notice what I did and his eyebrows rose on his forehead.
I winked at him.
Veronica pushed herself out of her own seat before Welf could rise. “Let me get it,” she giggled, but her slanted, stolen eyes were suspicious.
Which was just fine.
She was suspicious and looking the wrong way. Look at me, Soto Crazy. Don’t look at that door you’re opening. Just Vicky after all.
She didn’t expect the huge blast of spectro-anima white light directly into her eyes the very second she opened up the door.
For all his propriety and trying to fake interest in the wrestling, Welf must have turned in his seat. His own yell echoed right behind the screech of pain from Isabel.
Me, I was turned away.
Bottle in my hand.
Could’ve thrown it. Could’ve turned that hunk of glass into a nice shrapnel bomb. Only that was messy. Besides, I mostly wanted the thing in one piece. Here’s the thing: bottles only break in Hollywood since they make fakes out of sugar or corn syrup or all of the above.
Takes a lot of force to break a glass bottle over someone’s head.
Usually there’s just a lot of thudding and the offended party falling on their ass, on the way to concussionville.
Unless the offended party is a super powerful corpusmancer.
Then you’ll need more than the bottle.
Which was why when I rushed across the room and slammed said glass bottle right over Isabel’s head, I followed it up with a SDR blast of electricity right into where I grabbed her wrist.
She practically buzzed. Corpus-anima laced muscle or not, still needs the wires from the brain to work. Wasn’t no vampire that could jury-rig the shell to move with blood manipulation. Super powerful human, but still human. The blast staggered her.
But it still wasn’t enough to put her down.
“You’ve got to be kidding me with this terminator shit!” I yelled in her face as I slammed the bottle over her head again, twice in quick succession. Thud, thud. Give me long enough I’ll prove your head is hollow, Soto Crazy.
Still screeching, one arm over her eyes to block out their newfound sensitivity, Isabel gathered her wits enough to kick out at me just when Bottle Hit Number Four was about to slam into her forehead. The kick landed square in my chest, throwing me back the way I’d come.
“What the hell is going on?” Welf finally asked, woozy and half-blind.
Vicky took a running start and sloppily collided with Isabel, throwing both of them farther into the room. The security door automatically shut behind them. Oh goodie, I thought sarcastically, now we’re safe! None of the bad people can get inside with us!
“Don’t just sit there!” I yelled at T-bone, “save your girl!”
“Who’s girl? You’re attacking my girlfriend, Foul Mouth!” Welf yelled back, getting to his feet and scowling in my general direction.
Isabel, still blinded, punched out at Vicky and landed a fist in her gut. Vicky was never much of a fighter, her Ultra class legendarily bad at the Winter War and her grades in Survival and Defense and Elementalism as a Weapon subpar for her strength in the Mancy. She wobbled back from the blow, retching, arm out trying to find a wall to steady herself against.
“Protect me, Heinrich!” Isabel screamed.
Yup, stupid plan has gone about as expected.
Except . . .
Heinrich von Welf is a douchebag—a huge douchebag, nay, an ENORMOUS douchebag—but he’s a Welf down to his core. Welfs protect Welfs over everything else. The world can burn, girlfriends can be murdered, friends can be enslaved, puppies can be kicked . . . but nothing happens to a fellow Welf while you’re standing by their side.
Which was why instead of sending his Construct at me and ballsing everything up like he usually did, Welf glowered down at Veronica instead, his tombstone eyes cold. “Did you just punch my sister?”
“She hit me first!”
Welf head titled from on high. “In fact . . . why is my sister fighting against you and alongside the Foul Mouth?”
“I’m just protecting myself!”
Welf’s expression was heavy with disbelief. “And you fought both of them off . . . how did you fight both of them off?”
Veronica sniveled. She stood alone in the middle of the room, hand over her eyes, head bleeding where I’d hit her with the bottle, wrist slightly red where the SDR had tagged her. Pitiful again. But I wasn’t feeling it now. Too dangerous. More dangerous than any vampire short of a Divine. Annie B can’t even shake off an SDR that quick.
“Why couldn’t you just let me be?” she whispered. “A few more da
ys was all I needed. You broke it all, King Henry!”
I gave her a don’t-give-a-crap shrug as my only answer.
Blame Fate, Isabel. Sometimes I ain’t the only one she bends over the barrel for a spanking.
“You’re doing it again!” she screamed at me, Veronica Lee’s face shivering in rage. “YOU’RE BREAKING IT ALL AGAIN!!!”
“Mancy save me,” Vicky said in a high, fearful voice, “it really is her.”
Veronica’s posture faded as she straightened herself up, hand leaving her face. Her pupils were almost nothing. A quick, on-the-fly corpus-anima modification to fight off the spectro-anima blast? Isabel peeked out of that façade, body maybe the same, but mannerisms changed. Less playful, less party girl. More strained and pent up, unsure and awkward and not very lady-like at all.
“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” she hissed. “I’m sorry! That was Catherine! Don’t you understand?!? I’m better now! I can ignore her! I can ignore anyone I want to! But . . . they broke me out! I’m not alone anymore! I had to do what he wanted! None of you would’ve been hurt! I asked! I begged! I made sure you’d be safe!”
Welf’s face went pure white as he finally caught up to everyone else. “Mancy save me,” he said, same cadence as his sister had used. “That’s impossible!”
“None of you would’ve been hurt! But now . . . you broke it! I tried to make you understand, but you still broke it! You think I’m trapped, King Henry?” Isabel asked in snarl. “You’re the one trapped in here with me!”
I nodded. “I like that comic book too. Only thing, Isabel? We got real superheroes in the room with us.”
Her head tilted, unsure what I meant. It only made her look more deranged.
“Any day, T-Bone,” I said.
Unlike with Annie B, T-Bone made damn sure he was accurate with his stun-blast this time. “Yes!” he yelled, pumping his fist in the air when Isabel fell down to her knees and then all the way to the ground. “Did you see that? I did that! Me!”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Hero,” I ordered him, “now help me cuff her to a chair before she wakes up and goes all T-1000 on our asses.”
Session 53
I woke up in the dirt.
When I say ‘in the dirt’ I don’t mean face first or ass backwards, clothes all dusty and my eye turning a deep shade of purple from a properly administered beatdown. I mean in the fucking dirt. Buried. Arms. Legs. Everything below the chin. Prince Henry thought he felt a worm getting a little too fresh if you understand my meaning. Sand in my ass crack. Pebbles in my shoes. Waiting for a scorpion to show up so it could be a proper Western scene.
Dog pissing on my head.
Horse laughing at me.
Redskins drinking my fire-water.
Fucking etcetera.
I moistened my mouth, spitting out some grit almost directly in front of my face. Didn’t say anything, didn’t want Plutarch to know I was awake yet. A quick look around at the statues surrounding me marked it as his home. His backyard to be exact. Dirt from toes to shoulders, but sand near my face. Some of it stuck to my skin. More of it clumped in my brown hair, a slightly lighter shade of shit than the rest of me.
I tried to move my arms, but got nowhere. Could’ve had twice the muscle mass and still would’ve gotten nowhere. That much dirt packed together don’t give in to metal shovels, much less measly flesh and blood. Thought about pooling some anima, decided against it. Now that I was in the dirt and not trying to hide from him, I could feel the strange presences all about Plutarch’s house.
In the statues mostly.
But . . .
Also swirling in the dirt like schools of fish in the water.
No idea if they were tuna or sharks though.
Plutarch sat near me, dozing in a lawn chair.
If he’d actually knocked me out straight and dragged me back here then I would’ve felt a small bit of respect for the old bastard. But he hadn’t. Not with his fist at least. Instead he took a punch to the gut and then stabbed me in my arm with the Giant Fucking Needle.
My greatest enemy at the Asylum. Forget the Three Queens or the Eriksons or Welf or Dingle’s trigonometry tests. Damn you, Giant Fucking Needle!
Damn you straight to hell!
Which is where I’m already at.
A five-minute-pool and I could’ve escaped.
Easy.
Would’ve been badass the way I rose up from inside the dirt. But Plutarch would feel it. If he was a light sleeper. Anima pooling didn’t always wake you up. If it did, then no one would ever sleep at the Asylum. Especially extra sensitive people like Vicky Welf.
Vicky . . .
The sky was still dark, but it lightening by the minute. Meant I’d slept through the night thanks to all them Giant Needle knockout juices and now tomorrow had snuck a march on me. I’d told Vicky to stay with her friends and to not leave their sides, not even for a teacher, but if Catherine really pushed . . .
And here I am . . . stuck. Unable to give the bitch my official warning of back off or face the consequences.
Not that the warning would be very effective if the Three Queens could see me now.
“Wake up so we can get this over with, you creaky son-of-a-bitch!” I finally yelled, having had enough with the situation.
Plutarch’s lone eye fluttered open. The way he sat in his chair, he had to lean over so he could squint across his nose and eyepatch at me. “At the dosage I gave you, you shouldn’t be awake for four more hours.”
“I’m developing a resistance to it from all you teachers drugging me every time you turn around,” I snarled at him.
“I did warn you this would happen,” he reminded me, sitting up and stretching. As he stretched, his plaid work-shirt rose up to reveal more dark skin thick with lighter scars, all of them following the curve of his stomach. I’m not an expert, but I’m pretty sure someone tortured the fuck out of Plutarch once upon a time. Or else he’s into some extremely kinky sex. And I don’t ever want to know who he’s into it with.
“I thought you’d try to punch me out, not cheat with the damn needle!”
“I picked it up after I checked in on the Infirmary to see what you stole yesterday.”
I snarled again, but without accompanying words.
Too pissed off to think them up.
Even ‘fucktard.’
“Our little friends can’t see everything. ‘See’ isn’t even the right word, but we’ll use it in place of their senses, since we lack their perception of the world.” Plutarch got up and stretched his legs out too. Sand flew close to my face, but came just short. “Oops, didn’t get you, did I?”
“Let. Me. Out.”
“But you haven’t learned the lesson, Junior!”
“Experience beats youthful exuberance, duly noted; now let me out.”
“That’s a good lesson,” Plutarch agreed, “but not the one I’m aiming for.”
“Don’t underestimate your opponents?”
“No.”
“Always have a place ready to bury the body?”
“No and very morbid. But Fines would agree . . .”
“We don’t control the earth, but the earth controls us?”
“Hmmm. That’s your best try yet, but no . . . mine’s simpler: sometimes you have to accept another’s help even if you don’t want to.”
I glared up at him. Murder in my eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Pappy.”
I started to pool anima.
All those geo-sharks around me got really excited, instantly.
I reluctantly let go of my pool.
Plutarch smirked down at me like I was a good little doggy that had just shown for the first time that it could be trained to pee on the newspaper instead of the carpet. “I’ve spent my entire life befriending concentrates. They will do just about anything for you if you show them the proper amount of respect and loyalty. Stand guard, tell you secrets they’ve overheard, even perform small mischief like opening locked doors.”
“Why h
ave I never felt them around campus?” I couldn’t help but ask, curiosity again my undoing when all I wanted in the world was to be really pissed off.
Plutarch’s smirk broadened. “Like most parts of existence, it takes both natural skill and years of training to learn to ferret them out. Even then they can hide their aura somewhat. Don’t feel bad, Junior. I’m sure you have talent in other areas . . . like punching people. I’ve heard you’re very good at punching people.”
“Let me out and I’ll show you.”
“No.”
“I have places to be! A class to teach!”
“Irrelevant compared against your own training. I’ve known the Dean since she was a newly minted teacher at this school; I dare say she’ll give me a pass for kidnapping you for a few days. She might even want to come and say ‘hello.’ Take a picture or two. She used to love Polaroid cameras, especially when those instant film versions came out. Had whole collages of her classes over the 60s and 70s in an album.”
“Just kill me and save me from this torture,” I grumbled. I tried to push at the dirt. Every bit of muscle in my legs clenched, but again made no movement.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be out here lecturing you, that would take up too much of my time,” Plutarch informed me while stepping back to motion at some of his statues. “Late night gossip to catch up on.”
“You’re a spy, ain’t you? Like Samson?”
“Sometimes you need a man with a blade, other times you need a man with an ear,” was the only answer I got, but I took it for affirmation.
“Retired. Quote-unquote-bullshit just like Samson too.”
Plutarch nodded. “Life used to be more interesting. Now I just listen to the gossip and get to torture the occasional student.”
He kept smirking down at me.
I kept snarling up at him.
“Want to know what you need to do to get out of the hole?” he eventually asked.
“Say I’m ‘sorry’ and promise to be a good boy forever and ever?” I mocked.
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 29