The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5)

by Richard Raley

  “Typical political I-don’t-have-that-power-I’m-not-a-real-king bullshit,” I spat.

  “As you yourself said, you are very hard to kill,” Vega made it all sound reasonable. “How can you be so angry with me when I put such faith in you surviving the attempt?”

  “I should make an attempt of my own right now if that’s how you’re playing it,” I spat some more.

  “Killing you gives me nothing, has always given me nothing at all, in fact it detracts from my holdings since it would bring such pain to my dear Josephine. The only time I ever even considered killing you was before she spoke to me about who you truly are. After that there could be nothing but peace between us, no matter how rough that peace, no matter if you and Hector had your little accident.

  “It has never been valuable to me to kill you, King Henry Price. But standing between you and the Eternal Order after you so desperately put yourself on their list by acting like an arrogant, all-powerful mancer to every Nation Head worth the name? No, I will not risk all I’ve built over you. Better to trust you can survive the test and learn reason so the next never happens.”

  “Well, I did survive . . . had to burn up every artifact I got to do the job, had to be beaten, had to be drugged, but I survived. I’m here in your lair calling you out, King of the Coyotes. You might think it’s fine to stand aside and not give warning, but to me that’s just being a special kind of asshole.”

  Vega showed me some teeth, teeth hidden behind a smile. “I would think you would be used to allies stepping away from you. After all, how is my realization with you any different than the one Ceinwyn Dale came to? Better to let King Henry Price be King Henry Price we both thought, did we not? He is not a child. He created this problem. Let him fix it. Doesn’t this all sound familiar?”

  I stood there in silence, thinking about smashing those teeth into pieces. Too angry to talk.

  “Really, my friend,” he said, moving over to take JoJo’s hands in his own. “What is more likely? That I conspired to kill you for Hector after so many months of buying artifacts from you? Or perhaps we even forget that point and move on? We are to believe that King Vega is so emotional that you and Javier Castillo working behind my back with the Curator sent me into a rage. Such a rage that I used Zhou’s Order, with all the chanting and ceremony and chance of failure that it includes, to kill you before you could taste the fruits of your scheming.

  “Or would it be more likely if King Vega did wish to kill you—for any reason whatsoever, scheming or a dead nephew—that King Vega would lure you into his house as a family member and do the deed himself? For he is very capable of it.”

  I showed my own teeth now to scare him off of the idea. “Try it, Horatio. Personally I’d like to see how many coyotes you turn into and what happens to the others when I smash one of their skulls in. Same thing that happened to Hector? Gonna end up with a bunch of dead naked Horatio Vega’s on the floor?”

  Vega flinched at that, hands tight on JoJo’s. “You told him,” he whispered heatedly.

  “So he would understand what you see in me,” she whispered back.

  “Ah, my Josephine.” Vega pulled her hand up to kiss it. “He would only have to see you to judge your worth. You are so much more to me than the special skill we share, never think otherwise, my love.”

  He dropped her hands, like the show of emotion had slipped out of him. Turning back to me he was again in control, playing with his words. “Or more likely still . . . would King Vega stand aside when one ally asked him to? In the hopes both allies would survive, perhaps even that one ally would be too hurt in the assassination attempt to get himself killed trying to fight the Curator’s monster. You have a good excuse now to call off the fight, my friend. Or to let Mr. Welf make the attempt himself, as you should have in the first place. Someone tried to kill you, you were hurt and drugged, no one could say you weren’t right to let another take your place, even the Curator . . . unreasonable though the man is.”

  “Never,” I told him. “Sapa’s mine.”

  “Even if you defeat the monster, the master will be untouched.”

  “His time will come.”

  So will yours no matter how many pretty words you use as shields.

  “You don’t know him as well as you think if you believe that to be true. Nevertheless, it is a positive in our conversation to see you turned from blaming me for Zhou’s actions. A better path, one where I won’t have to kill you right where you stand, in front of your sister,” he added matter-of-factly.

  Oh, now he’s got a big Coyote dick again, does he?

  But I bought the explanation . . . this time.

  Made me bitter, but I bought it.

  “Fine, you win, I don’t blame you,” I told him. “But now I need you to tell me where Zhou is at.” You’d think the snakes would be the cowardly ones, but it seemed like the Coyotes had them beat. Horatio Vega, slipping out of the trap again, not even a tuft of fur left behind. “Not very neutral to protect him from me, is it?”

  Vega had me beat there as well. “Sadly, my friend, after it was clear you survived the attempt, Master Zhou returned to China. Apparently, as a survivor your name has to be added to some tablet and dear Rojas’ Totem needs to be removed before it pollutes the rest of them with his failure. A very curious group, aren’t they? Very different from my own, but always the best of allies for our kind. One allows eccentricities in someone who has proven themselves.”

  Like with me, I got it, Horatio, stop fluffing or I’ll change my mind and punch you out of principle.

  Still, I played nice. “Like giving you a guard.”

  He nodded slowly, taking in the fact I’d made the connection between Zhou and Sharp. “Josephine’s guard now. But, yes, half of the Order performs the ceremony you just experienced with wayward mancers, while the other half is given over to Nation heads who have proven themselves worthy by putting all shapeshifters before only their own.”

  “Guess Javier Castillo ain’t ever getting one then.”

  Vega’s smile turned a bit colder. “No, I would guess not. Especially given that he just took a mancer’s money, a mancer that the Eternal Order very much wishes to see initiated in their mysteries above all others.”

  JoJo finally spoke up a bit, “By killing him? By drugging him?”

  “Josephine—”

  “Horatio, you may have talked my brother out of one of his usual moronic rages and sweet-talked me a little, but don’t think this is finished and over!”

  “Josephine, I did all I could! He’s fine! A little stoned and bloody, and yes, he doesn’t realize he’s massaging his dagger like a two-year-old who has found his wee-wee for the first time, but really . . . it was all to protect him from this Sapa beast. You don’t know the Curator like I do!”

  “Think I know him pretty well,” I interrupted the lovers’ spat, which shows my intelligence hadn’t improved a whole lot, even if I wasn’t trying to beat up Vega any more. “That’s why he came to me first with his little offer.”

  “First and last: he knew you are foolish enough to accept,” Vega snapped in my direction.

  “You even met him, Vega? Or you just pull the same move as the Vamps and send in a strike team that ended up erased? Heard that from you the first time, didn’t I? But you held back, I’m thinking. Bit more personal than you made it out to be.”

  Vega left JoJo’s side to approach me, to actually get in my face for once. “He held me for five days. There was no Curator then, no dark legend to scare with. Just a whisper on the street of an Artificer willing to craft you any artifact as long as you had the money to pay for it. Ten years ago now, my Eternal Order guard was new to the Coyote Nation and not trusted. Not a werecoyote, and you’ve met the man, Jack doesn’t speak much. Very hard to trust someone so taciturn, harder than it is to even trust a braggart like you, my friend.”

  “Yup, I‘m just loveable.”

  “This was why I always left him behind when I dealt with the mysterious
Artificer. I was perhaps not as untouchable and rooted of a fixture in the supernatural world back then, but still, I had been a Nation head for many years. This Artificer, whoever he was, was not a vampire, and they were the only ones I feared. I dealt with him squarely in very secluded spots, never receiving a name, never hinting at anything outside of an outline. Always personally, always King Vega himself to receive the artifacts. He was the only one selling to my kind, so of course I came. What did he do with the money I handed to him? I heard rumors. And perhaps as the months went on the makeup of his parties became more professional. Perhaps he sold to more than just the Coyotes.

  “A year into our relationship, still not knowing his name, he finally spoke more than a few words to conclude our transaction. He asked me if the rumors were true. Is it true you are a rarity, Horatio Vega? Have you hidden the answer to one of my many questions? Are you a Poly-Shifter? I had never heard my skill given a technical term before that day and had guarded the secret jealously. It wasn’t spoken of, even whispered of, as Josephine should not have spoken of it to you, but especially in those days all were silent. Worse, this Artificer told me he wished to study me to understand why I was special. In his voice I heard the desire and also I realized that to him I was nothing more than an answer to a question . . . for one of the few times in my life I overreacted.

  “Bullets were nothing to him. Less than a hindrance. He made no pause to even break our guns like you. My men were blasted into pieces around me, one by one. Before I could even think to Shift and kill him myself, the trap I did not know was under my feet activated and . . .

  “Five days until my still untrustworthy Eternal Order guard found me and freed me. Five days in the Curator’s sanitarium. Five days were he killed me again and again and again, each way more creative than the last, because I always had more bodies left alive for him to play with,” Vega finished.

  JoJo came up behind him and threw her arms around him, leaning into his shoulder. She said nothing, but you could see the concern in her expression.

  “So I tried to save you, if bloody you a bit in the process. Just like Ceinwyn Dale and so many others have tried to save you . . . how many of us are there, now? A dozen? Two? Yet you keep charging into the fire. King Henry Price. We’ll tell stories about you one day, I know that. I just doubt you will live long enough to hear them told.

  “Live to make a family of your own,” he added, turning to give JoJo a kiss on her cheek. “Have someone in your life who brightens your day. Even if she has a troublesome brother who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Says the man who let a guy try to kill me instead of just talking to me about how the Curator makes him piss his pants,” I growled. “Says the man who could’ve told me all this the first time I ran into the Curator, but didn’t.”

  Vega turned to fully give JoJo a peck on the lips. “Please tell me I can kick him out of our home. Please accept why I didn’t try to save him from himself any more than I had to . . . lest it put you in danger.”

  “I’m not in danger,” JoJo whispered.

  “Especially with Sharp at her elbow all the time,” I put in.

  Vega’s eyebrow rose. “Sharp . . . a fitting name for him.”

  “I always call him Tag-a-Long,” JoJo teased her husband, who gave a low throaty chuckle as he kissed her again.

  Urgh, it’s worse than watching Vicky and T-Bone. Not quite as bad as watching Welf and Isabel though.

  “Name aside, I’d like to know why he’s guarding her and not you.”

  Vega’s teeth flashed in a full grin, as happy of a grin had ever been. “She carries my child!”

  Both of them turned to see my reaction.

  Which was guarded.

  “You’re going to be an uncle, King Henry,” JoJo told me in a tone that wasn’t so much joyous as nervous about the future. Like a person that was finally, after all this time, noticing the cage bars surrounding her might be made of gold, but they were still bars. “Surprise!” she forced out.

  “Surprise,” I whispered. “Sorry I’m not . . . just tired is all, Little Sis.”

  “It’s okay,” she told me. “Horatio is happy enough for everyone.”

  “That I am, my Josephine,” he said before landing another kiss on her lips. “A new Vega growing in the woman I love? What more could I ask for?”

  I feel like throwing up. Could be the drugs . . . it’s probably the drugs . . .

  “Well, on that note . . . since I guess it wouldn’t be polite of me to beat up the father of your child—even if he’s a piece of shit who finally sold me out, no matter how pretty his words are,” I decided. “I’ll be going before you start straddling him, Little Sis. Try not to slip on one of the candy bars, okay? Might break a hip.”

  “Have you ever thought about leaving without being an asshole?” she shot back at me.

  Instead of answering with more words, I threw my anima pool into that big window behind me. I’d conjured with my monocle taped to my eye before. Seen what it all did. Seen what I usually just felt. But this . . . it was beautiful watching the way the geo-anima in the glass spread and broke it all, piece by piece until it all went crashing down to the floor.

  Break, break, break.

  Vega and my sister both had their jaws drop in surprise.

  Vega more that I dared to do it.

  JoJo at seeing just what I could do with anima.

  I threw a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll take the short cut.”

  Session 159

  I spent the night in a bathtub, covered in liberally applied Slush.

  Not my best look.

  Glad no one took pictures.

  Imagine I looked a whole lot like a short, naked smurf.

  We’ll call him Fucktard Smurf.

  Jesus and Pocket had procured the Slush for me, not sure how they did it or how much it cost me. Just knew if I was fighting a walking monster in less than forty-eight hours that I would need the stuff. Even if I had to chance it reacting negatively with the monk mojo juice—which it didn’t. Small victories. The only difference to a normal Slush bath was that with the monk mojo juice active I could see the hydro-anima vapor rising up off me. It reminded me of Fresno during the winter, when the Fog finally died its final death near noon, but not without a show.

  Fresno.

  Home.

  What a miserable life I have that those two words go together.

  By the time I was in the tub I could no longer understand what Mini said, just heard the metal cacophony of his incomprehensible vibrations. Took that as a plus. Also . . . the walls weren’t as psychedelic. Also a plus.

  Pluses all around. Survived the fucker trying to kill you and hey, your slimy ass brother-in-law wasn’t even behind it, he’s just on the side hoping you’d get a broken leg or two or three. He cares, King Henry! He really cares! He promises! Ain’t his words so sweet? Ain’t his smile so charming?

  And now his spawn was inside of my sister.

  Uncle King Henry.

  Not that big of a deal, I guess. Not like JoJo or Vega would ever make me babysit.

  Except for the fact Vega would use the kid as leverage on JoJo.

  Or me . . . if I decide to care enough about the little shit.

  More strings.

  Baby string . . . stinking, regurgitation-smelling, feces-covered baby string.

  And how long until they made my niece or nephew sacrifice their own coyote to the family Totem?

  Or . . . what if the kid was a mancer like ol’ Uncle King Henry?

  Problem for another time, Fucktard Smurf.

  Got more than enough to keep you occupied at the moment, even with Master Zhou running his ass back to the Eternal Order headquarters and Vega showing his hand about not killing your ass over Hector.

  Cross two off the list, still plenty left waiting to kill me.

  Conan Sapa.

  Whatever Eva was up to.

  Isabel being somewhere nearby.

  All th
e lies and secrets I need to man up and tell the others.

  Plenty on my list.

  Not to mention getting the monk mojo juice out of your system and a decent night’s sleep.

  Bathtub is surprisingly comfortable, if a little cold.

  Pocket brought me a pillow.

  Jesus brought me some food and drink. Mostly sodas and whatever was left of the meal Isabel made for me, since I’m the only one crazy enough to eat it.

  Never wanted to kill me, did she?

  Just wanted to destroy my love life so it was all about her needs, her knowing and being and all that crazy shit she spouts. Forget what I want. Forget what my real partner wants. Not that I have a partner at the moment.

  Hard to not feel sorry for yourself when you’re alone in a bathtub, smell like stale water, and are bleeding from five or six places, but I tried not to think about Val this time. Mostly succeeded even. Distractions, so many other distractions.

  Got my wish in the end.

  Isabel Soto.

  Only the Mancy was fucked up enough to give people insane amounts of power, the cost of which made those people a little too Anima Mad for their own good, to say nothing of society’s good. Even if you pick out me or Ceinwyn or Moira Welf or the Lady . . . all of us have our eccentricities. Would I be so earthquake hungry, breaking so much in my path if I wasn’t a Maximus?

  Don’t know.

  Need to find out before it kills me.

  But that’s in the future with the nephew/niece problem. Maybe not as much. JoJo didn’t look pregnant. When women start showing? Never really paid attention. Yes, I am a single male. So she’s two months, maybe three? Should have asked. Wasn’t thinking very clearly in the moment though—too much monk mojo juice, too much bullshit flowing from Vega’s mouth. All I could think about was getting out of there. Getting out of there and breaking something. Window did a good job for that.

  Could I survive six or seven more months without finding out some of the secrets of the world? Getting me some truth, not some hypotheses on what the truth could be. Gonna have to steal it. But who could I steal it from?

  Future, Fucktard Smurf, all in the future.