“You helped enough, Mini,” I grumbled with a swollen, thickened throat and mouth. “Saved my life. And you talking now . . . that’s something.”
I am not talking. You are merely able to hear my vibrations as words due to the poison in your system. If I could talk then I would bring help, but no one outside other fairies should be able to hear my vibrations without aid of a feeding house. I am most unnerved by this experience. Perhaps the Great One has an answer for how it is possible.
“Talking, not talking . . . whatever,” I whispered through another string of blood dripping off my lip. Glancing down at my own chest I saw the anima I pooled grow there beat by beat. “Vega knew about this . . . must have. His casino. Not happy I sided with Castillo to get the fight with Sapa. Gonna kick his ass, Mini. Both of them. Vega, then Sapa.”
No! You must rest! Take in the alcohol and meat you use as substance and sleep the poison out of your system! More exertion or building anima inside of your body would be a mistake!
“I’m gonna try not to hold it against myself that I’ve been drinking so much you think alcohol is substance.” I blinked into a mirror on the elevator wall. Don’t look so hot. Worse than I feel actually. Oh well. “Have enough in me to land a few punches on Vega. Let him know he and his snake friends can’t pull this shit without me finding them and hitting back. Bullies always think they can get away without taking a punch.”
You are in no condition to do such a thing! You can barely stand!
“Just need to find out where Vega is.”
If I had a body I would carry you to your room like a child.
“I thought you were like a kid . . . but you’re like . . . annoyingly scolding. I think you spent too many of your first days on Earth with Miranda, Mini. Can’t be good for a person . . . or a fairy. First word her child speaks is going to be ‘no.’”
I am merely the sum total of the anima I have fed upon. If you dislike my attitude then perhaps you should stop feeding me anima so close to the human sphere and find me a nice feeder or golem to live in.
“Bossy too. Always thought of you as a boy, but maybe you’re a chick . . .” I had an idea. “I think I’ll call my sister.”
Yes, ask your family to care for you!
“Someone hasn’t been paying attention to how my family works,” I mumbled as I picked up my phone and started clicking on it. Didn’t help that the phone buzzed with yellow and baby blue lights, rainbows all over the screen.
Don’t accidentally dial Miranda.
Don’t accidentally dial Miranda.
Don’t accidentally dial Miranda.
Click.
“I’m only picking up the phone to tell you I’m incredibly angry at you right now and that you’re an even bigger moron than I thought you were!” a female voice yelled at me, little wisps of white light leaking out of the speakers.
Good. Got the correct bossy woman in my life this time. “Hey Little Sis, how you been?”
“Are you drunk?” she snapped at me. “Did you force my husband to let you have a death match and then get drunk?”
“Forced him? I ain’t forced anyone to do shit. All I did was get asked a question and say ‘yes’ to it.”
“You are drunk. I barely understand you. Unbelievable! Even from you!”
I focused on my mouth, bruised and bloody though it was, and not the pretty lights. “I ain’t drunk. Wish I was . . . would’ve been a better waste of my time than calling you and trying to apologize.”
“Apologize?”
“Yeah . . . apologize.”
“For what?”
Had to think something up. “For not calling you earlier and telling you I’m okay. I got so busy with everything going down that I forgot about you. That wasn’t right.”
She seemed taken aback. Might have been the first time I’d ever apologized to her in my entire life. “Of course you should have called earlier,” she managed to say. “I’m your sister . . . I care.”
“My bad.”
“You should apologize to Horatio too. Really, you should call this whole thing off,” JoJo decided for everyone involved. “It’s a horrible idea. You could get hurt.”
“Probably will. A little. But I have to do it for Jackson, sis. Still not sure how I forced your hubby into anything either.”
“It wasn’t you?”
“Of course not. Not always me, ya know. Sometimes it was Susan.”
JoJo snorted at the idea of our perfect older sister ever doing wrong. “Was it . . . was it the Curator then? That’s not better. That’s worse!”
“Didn’t kill anyone else, did he?”
“He went around Horatio and made a deal will Javier Castillo to set up the match. Apparently after you threatened them, the corporate board was more than happy to see you fight for your life.”
“Ain’t they just grand?”
“Only Master Zhou sided with Horatio against it.”
“I’ll bet he did.”
“The Curator scares Horatio. I can count the number of people that do on one hand. They’re usually vampires, but this mancer . . . he won’t even tell me why he’s scared.”
“Sure he just tells you everything.”
“More than you give him credit for,” she snapped back at me.
Maybe he does. Fool in love and all that. Maybe telling them the truth is how you keep them close. Say the three little words even. Braid that string word by word, truth by truth.
I realized I’d been quiet for a minute when JoJo asked, “King Henry, are you there?”
Gave my head a shake. “Curator scares me too. Mark of sanity if he does.”
“Then help Horatio talk Castillo and the others out of this.”
“Nah. Just cuz he scares me doesn’t mean I can back off of fighting his monster, JoJo. No way around it. Have to do it.”
“This isn’t stupid man up bullshit, is it?”
“About doing the right thing actually. About being the only one that can do the job in this place and time.”
“You are my brother and not that Facechanger, right? Did you just hear yourself?”
“Guess we’re both growing up.”
“I suppose we are,” she said, sadness coming through even with all the drugs in my system.
“Hey, no reason to get worried about the inevitable. We got a few days left until the time is upon us anyway.”
“That’s true.”
“In fact, I’m just lying around right now . . . why don’t I come up and visit all of you? You in some luxury box watching the Day of Finesse?”
“No . . . you’ve made it a very busy day for us.”
“Politics ruin everything, don’t they?”
“Not everything. Horatio is very good at politics.”
“Always thought he was the type. What you all doing, working the phones? Bet you’re just broken up about not having to fluff all those special Were dignitary balls.”
She ignored the innuendo. “We’re at Horatio’s office . . . in the casino. Office. It’s a penthouse. I look back on being a kid and sometimes I wonder if it’s stranger that I’m a werecoyote or that I’m so fucking wealthy. I have maids, bro . . . and a cook.”
“Good for your hubby on the last bit.”
“Not my fault Dad always taught you instead of me.”
“Yeah, not like you always had to use the bathroom when he offered.”
I heard a low growl from the other side of the phone, but no reply. Dad’s a bigger sore spot with her than he even is with me.
“Penthouse at the Ouroboros . . . I’d like to see that,” I told her.
“We’re very busy . . . on your behalf.”
“Come on! Are the toilet seats gold-plated snakes? A fellow needs to know!”
She snorted at me, relaxing a little bit. “Do you promise you won’t call him names and start trouble?”
“I would never do that.”
So much absurdity drew a little scold out of her, “Forget Horatio, I’ll handle yo
u myself if you act like a hoodlum up here. The two of you need to learn to get along without all this friction. He’s my husband. You’re my brother. He overlooked you killing his nephew for the sake of the future nephews and nieces you’ll have of your own one day, King Henry. Seeing you a year ago made me realize that I needed to start accepting that. I have accepted it. I’m not the teenage girl Dad chased out of the house one too many times, I’m not the street kid stealing food and booze and purses, I’m not one of Igor’s flock. For better or worse, I’m the Queen of the Coyotes.”
“Didn’t realize you were so far gone, especially after that little show you put on in the Welf box, Josephine Vega,” I said bitterly, blood still leaking from my nose.
“I’m not gone,” she whispered, “I’m still your sister, but if you get to grow up then so do I.”
She has you there. Even if she’s growing away from you in the process.
I forced out some pleasantries, “Well, see you in a little bit, Sis. Make sure the guards don’t shoot me, okay? Would hate to cause any problems for you. Or get blood on them golden toilet seats.”
“Remember what I said about handling you myself. Royalty or not, I can still kick a shin or find a roll of duct-tape to keep you still for longer than a minute.”
“Yeah, yeah. Promise I won’t throw the first punch. All grown up, the both of us, right?”
I clicked the phone off and pressed the elevator button for the lobby.
“Here I come, Horatio,” I growled.
Dirt King, this is a horrible idea, the only other non-person near me said.
“Don’t worry, Mini. I got this shit. Assuming I can get through the casino without licking the wall for thirty minutes cuz of how tasty it looks.”
There was a thudding vibration from my glass-metal dagger. Pretty sure Mini just did the fairy equivalent of a facepalm.
“I got this shit.”
[CLICK]
I did not have this shit.
But I found the casino elevator, hit the right floor number, and still lumbered on forward.
Top floor of the Ouroboros casino, Operation and Control. The casino equivalent of an aircraft carrier CIC. Except less launch the nukes and more catch the card counters. Had themselves enough computers and video feeds in there to give T-Bone an electromancer stiffy.
If I’d been thinking, I’d have called him for backup.
But I wasn’t thinking.
Was just acting.
Not even acting.
Less than acting.
Instincts running head first into psychedelics.
Not acting . . . just one-hundred percent clusterfuck.
Trying to ignore all the weird lights and strange movements around me.
Trying to ignore my talking dagger.
Trying to ignore some small piece of self-preservation at the back of my brain screaming about what a bad idea it was to confront Horatio Vega while hopped up on monk mojo juice, with no artifacts, barely any anima in my pool, and a body that wasn’t in one piece.
Better than the pieces Isabel ends up in. Least I got my toes. Can’t feel ‘em, but I got ‘em.
Horatio Vega’s office, or at least the front part of it, sat above and behind the operations floor. Had itself a huge glass wall that filtered whatever went on inside of it as a soft, yellow light, all to not disturb the darkness of the operations floor, which was itself only lit by computer screens.
Eva would like this room.
Too bad she’s off chasing shadows.
Or Isabel just in case her shadow is also hunting Isabel.
I’m really too wasted to be thinking about this wheels within wheels shit. Should think about something simpler . . . like punching Vega in the face, that’s simple.
The Coyote guard outside the room had flinched at the sight of me first stepping off that elevator, but led me through the doors and through the operation room all the same. “Do you want to freshen up before your meeting, Mr. Price?” he advised.
“Why would I?”
“Your nose is bleeding, sir.”
“Must be the altitude,” I managed to quip.
Being around people wasn’t helping at keeping my mind straight.
I count Weres as people. Might have put on anima cloaks made from dead animals, but they’re still mostly people. Vampires . . . not so much. Wonder what I’d see if I found a vampire right now? All the Weres had this greenish-brown layer around them. Some were uniform, others looked slightly different. Took it to mean different Were-types, the most common being Coyotes. Whatever the Were-type it wasn’t the strongest of layers, very light in most cases. But it was there. Nice trick this . . . if only Rojas wrote down the formula before I lit his ass on fire. Even better than the Weres, a few mancers were working in operations and I could pick out their anima disciplines as easy as glancing at them.
This what it’s like for Vicky all the time?
Except without the room slowly spinning under her feet?
And the hangover I’m guessing I’ll have tomorrow morning.
Vicky Welf high as fuck . . . I’d like to see that before I die.
Best not die in the next few minutes then.
No promises.
Guard met up with another guard and both of them took me the rest of the way. “Is he bleeding?” the new guy whispered.
“I don’t think he cares,” the other one whispered back.
“His pupils are the size of quarters too.”
“I don’t think he cares about that one neither.”
“Sure he’s cleared?”
“He’s Vega’s brother-in-law. He’s always cleared.”
“That beat-up druggy is Price?”
I ignored them, focusing instead on walking without tilting to the side or tripping over my feet. Was like a newsroom or CENTCOM up in there. No sign of Vega in the office window overlooking it all, but you could imagine him there, surveying his kingdom of electronic odds and lost hopes.
I caught sight of a feed from the Day of Finesse. Looked like it wasn’t too far into the competition for the day, put me at 4PM, maybe 5PM. Crowd was sizeable, if not as packed as the day before when they watched Jason die.
Only been one day?
Time flies when you’re chasing after Facechangers and burning werevipers alive.
Hector Vega turned back into a human after he died . . . wonder if Rojas will do the same? Or if there won’t be enough of him left for his body to even bother to Shift? Charred flesh is charred flesh, snake or human . . .
Yeah, pretty fucked up way to kill a guy.
Not that chopping him up with a machete would’ve been much cleaner.
But fire . . . last way I’d want to go. Rather drown before that. Not that most of us get to pick.
Vega’s office had security doors that put the luxury box versions to shame. Guards had to each give a palm scan to open the thing. “There’s no other way in or out,” the new guy informed me. “You’ll be safe in there . . . whatever happened to you, Mr. Price.”
“You ain’t coming in with me?” I glanced back at all the guards watching over the people working the computers. No reason to hide for the public here, so they were all armed with submachine guns or better. Garlic, holy water, and stakes too, if only those worked.
“Servants, guests, and family only.”
I grinned at the open door. “Well . . . I’m family.”
Please do not go through that opening, Dirt King! my dagger yelled at me one last time.
Didn’t listen to him.
Come on, not like you listen to your Chihuahua, is it? Why I got to listen to my fairy?
I stepped through.
The door shut and locked behind me.
No escape. Unless Vega let me out or I broke my way out.
Break, break, break, some part of my mind called.
Break, break, break Vega’s nose, I agreed with it.
JoJo was right about the place being an odd mix of an office and a penthouse. The décor
said I’d walked into a living room, but a secretary or functionary or minion, whatever you want to call her, stood there to lead me around by the nose. “Mr. Price, the Vegas are honored you could find the time to visit with them, but as of now both King Vega and your sister are busy elsewhere.”
“What’s the matter, someone else get killed at the Exhibition?” I asked just to be polite. Whatever Vega was busy with, it was my fault. No idea what JoJo was doing. Trying on blood diamond jewelry maybe.
The minion kept her face emotion free. “Nothing like that. It seems there was a small fire on one of the hotel floors. It’s already been taken care of, but our guests need to be contacted about changing rooms until we can clean up the damage—mostly from water, not the fire itself. It’s nothing King Vega can’t handle, likely beneath him even, but it is a bit of a public relations problem so close to the other incident.”
“Always thinking of the little man, that Horatio Vega,” I baited her.
Again no emotion. “Regardless, as you wait, I’m to stay with you at all times and see to any need you have.”
“Just swell,” I grunted out.
I could hear JoJo speaking at someone from the penthouse portion of the office. Not surprising. She’d always been loud. Always wanted you to know what she was saying even if you weren’t part of the conversation.
Guess we ain’t so different that way.
Except JoJo needed your opinion, whatever it was, even if it made her angry. Me . . . just like my usual shrug, I don’t give much of a crap most days. Unless your name is Welf or Vega or Paine, then I get a little touchy.
Realized I’d been standing there silent for over a minute again, so I made some kind of motion at the minion.
Finally some emotion, just the barest hit of disapproval. “Would you prefer going directly to the office itself or perhaps a quick stop in a restroom where you can clean up your . . . face?”
I studied the minion for a moment. Late twenties, lighter skinned latina. Not tall, not particularly beautiful, but the way she talked you around in circles . . . that was familiar. I studied her aura next. Got some monk mojo juice in me, might as well make it useful. Yeah, that looks the same. A Coyote like most of the rest. Had a much stronger covering of anima about her. A testament to her or to the coyote she sacrificed? Wasn’t sure how that worked.
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 47