“Excuse me?” T-Bone squeaked.
“Bodies,” Falschein repeated. “Two are your Miss Reti’s victims I believe, judging by their laceration wounds. The third is some type of shapeshifter. I am never sent to kill them so I rarely pay attention to their names, no clue if he is someone important. Regardless of her killing two of them, there must have been many more judging by her current state. Who would have thought the Curator had such manpower? It’s very good the Divines have taken this task from the counts and given it over to me.”
“Get in line,” I told him.
Falschein smiled like a maniac. “Be faster then, Mr. Price.”
“Go check on her,” Welf said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
T-Bone nodded that he would stay too. His fingers were twitching like he kept imagining himself throwing lightning bolts at Falschein. Might kill him too. Not sure. His shell doesn’t look like it’s anything special. Have a feeling that’s the whole point of it . . .
I went deeper into the office. That was reception with the fucked up circle, there’s where the secretaries sit, and now we’re down a hallway. Row of offices for the dentists. Teeth cleaning rooms. There’s the breakroom with the dead bodies. More teeth cleaning rooms. The whole place was a mess. Dark, cramped, wrappers of candy and fast food and soda cans all over the place.
I imagined the scene at night. Last night, that’s when Eva must have scouted the place and made a run at finding out who was inside. How did she find it in the first place? Curator’s lair in Las Vegas. Maybe I was wrong about him not leaving his asylum. Or not. Maybe he just had people he trusted to set Sapa up. That circle . . . Three bodies. Sapa himself. I’d always thought of Paine as one little tumor to cut out, but maybe he was spreading. The Brotherhood of Evil Mancers, just what I need after the Serpent Society makes itself known. Where’s the Legion of Doom or the Sinister Six while we’re at it?
I found what had to be the surgical suite, but stopped outside of it for a moment. Had to steady myself for what might be inside. Eva. Don’t realize how much you care for someone until you might lose them or do lose them. Never realized I had so many good memories of Jason Jackson before the last couple days. Now here was another and . . .
This is how Ceinwyn ended up so scared of it all.
Loss on top of loss and then she’s stringed up, chained down.
Won’t let it happen to me.
No matter the price.
I went inside.
Let out a deep breath filled with relief.
She didn’t look good, but . . . she wasn’t bloody. Had an IV drip in her, bag of salt, sugar and all things good strapped to the chair. I rushed forward to grab her hand. I just held it for awhile. Felt chill, but not corpse-like. Whole building was chilly. Vampire fucked with the AC to keep his shell regulated.
I always forget how tiny her hands are. How tiny she is.
“Eva,” I finally said, “you ready for another adventure?”
No reaction to my voice.
She had on the same nondescript clothes as the day before. I leaned over her, put my hand over her mouth to feel her breathing. Checked her pulse. Gave her a slight shake. Forced open an eye to see a dilated nonresponsive pupil surrounded by a thin sliver of gray iris.
Not good.
Coma.
But not dead.
Just . . . I didn’t know what was wrong with her.
She needed a Rejuvenation Society doctor at the least, someone who understood that anima existed.
Just have to convince Falschein to let us out the door without a fight.
[CLICK]
I stopped by the breakroom to check on the dead bodies despite being told not to.
She’s alive.
That’s enough.
She’ll get better.
Except as I studied her, I was pretty sure she was a couple inches taller than she used to be. Muscles were more solid too. Still beautiful in her own way, still with that gymnast physique that could climb a rope for miles or easily win bets that she could cartwheel down the whole length of the Field. But . . . something wasn’t right.
You know what they did.
You put it all together.
You just don’t want to admit it happened to her.
Evidence first.
In the breakroom, I popped open the freezer.
Fuck me.
Falschein hadn’t considered burial needs so much as the practical effect of keeping the bodies cold and free of decay. He’d broken half their bones to make them fit. I couldn’t get at one of them without pulling at pieces of the others. But I didn’t need to. I knew the guy on top of the pile, big ass shaggy beard with crazy eyes.
Grant Little.
The Wolf Nation Alpha who Vega had sent tracking Sapa.
Fuck me.
Closing the freezer, I returned to the reception room. Falschein had let T-Bone pick up one of the machines from inside the thirteen small circles, which he fiddled with. Welf also went about the scene with a pair of glasses on his face. I recognized them as being similar to the pair Paine wore the first time I fought him. I’d reverse engineered the idea into my monocle.
Which I set on fire with Zhou’s Boy.
“She’s alive,” I said to get their attention. “But she’s not waking up.”
Falschein gave me an encouraging smile. “As I said she would be.”
“So you’re the new Divine. Shell’s a bit shit for a god, ain’t it?”
Falschein had deposited his camera and replaced it with evidence bags. He went around the room, putting little scraps inside of them and marking the bags with numbers. “Function over form, Mr. Price,” he told me. “My shells keep me invisible, whichever country I may be inside. For all her coveting and the beauty of her homes, it helped Eresha none at all in the end.”
“They did not . . . being a twenty-foot-tall blood angel almost did the job though.”
Welf started squinting my way in disbelief. “You were present when the Divine died?”
“Ain’t you a little young to know about that, Welf? Or yo’ mama give you that info too?”
“I overheard a phone call,” he mumbled, “and put two and two together.”
“More than being present, Mr. Price landed the blow to avenge her and slay her attackers,” Falschein informed Welf. “Pity that after earning such goodwill he cut off another Divine’s head and then stole information from under another’s watch to squander it all.”
“It was a busy few days,” was the only comment I had for him.
“Not that anyone can be sure Mr. Price stole the information, since the baroness responsible for reacquiring it was almost slain in the attempt,” Falschein kept talking as he worked.
“Too bad for her,” I grunted, trying to study the scene myself. Didn’t have glasses that let me see anima like Welf, but I was a geomancer and I could feel the heavy strains of geo-anima in the metal circles. The whole thing was an artifact, just not contained.
“A very sad story,” Falschein agreed. “Her failure earned her six months in glass.”
Suddenly I didn’t care about what Paine was up to.
In glass.
In.
Glass.
“What?”
“The best Nii-Vah could bargain the penalty down to I’m told. Thankfully the remains of the information were recovered elsewhere or it would’ve been far worse,” Falschein said matter-of-factly. “Actions have consequences, Mr. Price. Baroness Boleyn must care for you greatly to take such a punishment without uttering your name once.”
I just stood there trying to calm down.
Annie . . .
They ripped her out of her shell and put her on that wall.
She was in a glass bulb.
Boiling hot.
Unable to feel anything but pain and heat.
Tortured
For six months.
“Only a couple more months to go,” Falschein chatted, “she’ll be fine once she’s back in her
shell. I’m told you have no actual memory of while you are in the bulb, just reflex triggers at heat and coarse surfaces. Eventually even that goes away. Still . . . she must care for you so, and by your expression you never even knew she took all of your punishment on her own shoulders. Such a loyal whore, isn’t she? I always thought so.”
“King Henry,” T-Bone whispered in warning.
Don’t be stupid, don’t fight the vampire pushing your buttons, got it.
I returned to examining the tracks. The geo-anima was placed so it all flowed towards the Totem in the center. I glanced at the smaller circles and the devices in them. “That thing pumps in anima, right? From a vial?”
T-Bone nodded. “Bigger vials than you use.”
“His supply is more stable,” I mumbled, going over to check the Totem.
In.
Glass.
Annie . . .
I’m so sorry . . .
Falschein had switched to fingerprinting the devices themselves. He watched me carefully. “I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Price. I have heard so much about your anger and yet you keep it bottled in. Perhaps you’re learning?”
“Lucky for you I am,” I warned him.
“You still haven’t given me thanks for saving Eva’s life.” Falschein smiled a shit eating grin.
“Thanks,” I forced out in a grunt.
“Very good, Mr. Price.”
“We’re leaving. Hope I never see you again, Iscariot.”
“Falschein,” he corrected, “and you will. I will be very active until the Curator and every one of his followers are dead. Good luck with Conan Sapa, Mr. Price. Know that if you die in the cage, I look forward to finishing your work for you.”
“Come on, Welf, let’s find a wheelchair. If we can’t then Autumn will need to carry her out.”
T-Bone reluctantly left the anima vial dispenser behind. “How bad is she?’
“Not good,” I whispered to him. “Not dead though. She’s a fighter, she’ll pull through.”
“Mr. Price!” Falschein called from his work before I could even get down the first hallway. “Don’t forget your consultation on what this apparatus accomplishes!”
“If I had to guess . . . it takes in thirteen anima types, mixes them, and stores them into a Totem at the center,” I told him. Only not animal anima. Or maybe a mix of it and mancer anima. Paine, how is it I find out Annie B is in glass and you’re even more disgusting to me than what the Divines did?
“The two chairs?” Falschein prompted
“You already found Eva almost dead in one and Grant Little very dead in the other. You know what it did.”
“What about what I don’t know?” Falschein asked, tone a little heated for the first time.
“It’s an artifact and the half of it that transfers the Were essence into the mancer is missing. They took it with them . . . whoever they are. Paine’s numbers are growing. Which ain’t good for my kind or yours. Consultation enough for you?”
Falschein pulled out his camera to take more pictures, especially of the cement near the center Totem. “Very good, Mr. Price. You may leave now. Have a wonderful evening.”
Session 56
After the sun set and the summer day cooled into a chilly mountain night, Class ’09 gathered at the top of the Mound. Where else would Ultras go to have a powwow? Our old dorm room was occupied by a new class of Singles, and the classrooms, the Hall, and even the Gym were locked at that time of night. So what better place to meet than the Mound?
Val lit lanterns, our spectromancers—Quinn, Curt, and Malaya—passed out small light crystals that shined with a light clearer than any glowstick could’ve dreamed of doing, and the floromancers urged the trees dominating the crown of the hill to move their limbs and block out the wind. Raj and Miranda were responsible for treats, Debra’s lot for drinks, and Hope and Welf’s Old Mancy kids with extra seating so we would all fit.
I sat down at a bench between Pocket and Jesus, one of the last to arrive, from a day that never stopped with Plutarch. After the Lady told me how things would be, there were more discussions on why mancer society had developed to be so top down and why the school’s only Artificer making it his mission to fight off the school’s most talented Winddancer would be a very bad idea.
Plutarch also brought out a few artifacts examples for me to see.
Which was a bribe.
But like with the beer I couldn’t complain.
The way geo-anima had been laced and woven inside of those artifacts . . . it was like this heavy, anima-tight garment. Nothing could get through geo-anima that heavy, not if you did your job right and if you did your job right . . . what could you do with the other anima types then?
It was the prettiest string I’d seen since Ceinwyn first told me about the Mancy. Something new that was mine. I felt like some king covetously claiming a crown on nothing but divine right. Mine. Born for it. King Henry Price was supposed to be an Artificer. It was happening . . . just had to learn the right words and the process of the coronation and the secret handshake and then . . .
I’d be so tied up I’d be little more than a slave.
But hey, nice crown, buddy.
Buy it on layaway?
“You okay, dude?” Pocket asked me.
“Pooled about ten times today,” I answered, hiding my real discomfort.
Jesus chuckled. “Metrics?”
“They make everyone do it?”
“Asylum always been about ranking, El Rey. Rank where you are in class, rank how you fight in Winter War, rank the size of your shit too probably.”
Pocket snorted at the act. “If you’d stop faking it and actually show off a little maybe you’d rank higher.”
Jesus shrugged sheepishly back. “Don’t matter. Don’t need good grades to do what I’ll be doing after school.”
“Dog whisperer?” Pocket guessed.
.Jesus shook his head.
“Goat fucker?” I guessed.
Jesus nodded enthusiastically. “I just can’t help myself! They make me so horny!”
Friends are good. I needed the laugh.
“Serious, dude, what’s up?” Pocket asked again while we watched Hope take the time to perfectly place the chairs in a circle with the four benches already placed atop the Mound. Cyromancers are a bit anal retentive—reason why they make good scientists. Hope could go that route if she wanted, she was sixth-in-the-class, just after the High Five. Plus . . . it was in her genes. Boris made sure of that.
Welf was out of the Infirmary. He hadn’t even needed Slush, but he still scowled in my direction with unhidden fury. Everyone was here, even Isabel rocking a sort-of Taylor Swift-ish Nashville Rodent look, except . . . over-endowed by her creator: Isabel herself and her love of massive slappypouches. She noticed me looking and gave me an offering wink.
I smiled, friendly enough, but turned back to Pocket. “What the girls do to Mary and Teresa by the way?”
Val was nearby, placing another candle, and answered before Pocket could, “Hope froze them to the wall. Teresa almost melted her ice, but I sucked up every ember into my palm the very second it formed. It was like a little sun before I closed my hand and snuffed it out. She was very impressed,” Val added with a grin.
The kind of grin when she’s about to jump into the fire, my stupid ass trailing behind her. Like when she burned down the very Mound we stood on. And I got blamed for it.
Like always . . .
“What about Mary?”
“She provided us with an extensive list of anatomy that we could manipulate to our mutual pleasure,” Val carefully worded.
“You took pictures, yes?” Pocket asked, since it was expected of us and I couldn’t say it this close to a breakup with her.
Val only playfully stuck out her tongue at him before moving off to place another candle, this one near Welf and Hope—both settling down just like everyone else in the class. With that last candle placed, Val went over to another bench and sat between Raj a
nd Miranda.
“You’re a traitor, Raj,” I called.
Val and Miranda each took one of his arms and this time doubly stuck their tongues out in my direction. Raj attempted a helpless shrug, but couldn’t move. Poor friend-zoned fucker!
“Aren’t you supposed to be sitting with me?” A voice pouted to my left.
“Not until after Sunday,” I said automatically.
Naomi had her own bench, Sandra and Jessica sitting next to her as well as Rick Brown with Robin White. Timeeko was off with Samuel Bird and Curt’s group. Jessica, of course, should have been with the Old Mancy kids and was still friends with Hope, even if her new status as an out-of-the-closet lesbian had shocked Hope enough to make the ice queen sputter in undignified surprise.
Those first groups had shifted over the years.
But mine was pretty set.
Except for Raj . . . the evil, no good traitor. I think I’d even take Miranda’s disgusting freckled flesh touching my other hand if it meant Val would sit next to me again.
“You can go if you want, El Rey,” Jesus teased, “Pocket and I just snuggle with each other for comfort at your abandonment.”
I elbowed him in the ribs and stayed in place. “Keep your hands to yourself, Goatfucker.”
“So sexy!” he whined. “Those little tails! And the horns!”
“Ain’t it the males with the horns?”
“Depends on the breed . . . and how drunk I am.”
Across from us, Hope cleared her throat. “If we could all settle down for once?”
“Meaning me?” I asked.
Hope’s return smile was colder than the wind. “And don’t you have something you need to do, Foul Mouth?”
“Oh . . . yeah, if I have to.”
Her smile dropped a few degrees, so cold it would even freeze other cryomancers. “You do have to.”
So I stood up and faced Welf. “Sorry I punched you, Welf. Next time I’ll just let Mary and Teresa jump you and shove burning-hot tar up your ass and carbonated water up your urethra.”
The Foul Mouth and the Mancy Martial Artist (The King Henry Tapes Book 5) Page 54