“‘Fuckballs’ was always my favorite,” she admitted, “and my first initiation.”
“The first time I met him, he accused Miss Dale of getting him a black friend.”
Vicky leaned over to put her head on his shoulder. “I wonder what he’s doing right now . . .”
*
Josephine Vega arrived an hour later to greet them, apologizing about keeping them waiting. “Horatio just flew in from the casino and had to deal with a few matters that popped up while he was away,” she explained. “Even with me taking on a larger roll at court since the pregnancy was announced, there are still some things that Coyotes will only accept from you if you have a cock.”
Once again on seeing JoJo, Tyson was assaulted with the vision of King Henry in a dress . . . even if she was far too feminine for the vision to hold long . . . although it was completely absurd while it lasted.
Like my clear heels and my g-string, T-Bone?
Tyson blinked his eyes furiously in horror.
About the only features JoJo actually shared with King Henry were her temperament and her coloring. She was small, slight, pugnacious, and could curse like a sailor. She was also pretty, made friends easily, and was more guarded than King Henry with her opinions or even desires. The last time Tyson had seen her she’d been in formal wear that hid a good deal of her past life, now she wore a spring dress of a pale pinkish color, her ears filled with earrings, and a number of tattoos clearly visible.
Vicky threw her arms around JoJo in a hug. They had both been quick to befriend the other at the Ouroboros, engaging in a long conversation about fashion and spectro-portraits and setting this entire venture up. They made squeaking noises as JoJo hugged Vicky back, only letting go to immediately grab each other’s hands, which ended up collectively feeling JoJo’s still flat stomach.
More squeaking about the ride, the airport, Tyson, due dates, Vega being busy at all hours, Esme being a lifesaver, a promise that all their personal items had already been moved to a guestroom on the third floor, assurances that Vicky would only need them in their best clothes tomorrow not today, thanks to the heavens at a few hours of relief and the first mention of a formal dinner that night to greet them, fears about Vicky having nothing to wear, more assurances that these were Coyotes and that jeans and cowboy boots were considered formal to a large part of their number, and begging off a tour of the house in lieu of starting work on the portrait immediately.
Tyson trudged along behind them, content with the fact that this was the woman’s sphere and he would only be making a blunder by inserting himself. Like King Henry would have, he thought.
Sure I would’ve! Where’s the fun in being silent? Probably would’ve made a crack about how JoJo should just go naked in the portrait too . . . maybe even have Vega doing her doggy-style as a werecoyote or some shit . . . yeah, she’d chase me down this hallway trying to kick me in the shin, but it would be better than being silent, right? Go ahead, T-Bone, do it! Got to be better than what you’re doing now . . . what the hell are you doing now anyway?
He was checking for more bugs and cameras, keeping an eye on the people that crossed paths with them as they maneuvered through Vega Hall. Most were deferential, but a few glared at the back of Vicky’s head like she didn’t belong. Many were male, busy, and armed. Like JoJo had joked, you saw a great deal of western clothes in the form of cowboy boots, while others looked Americanized with proper business suits. No sign of people you would stereotypically and maybe even prejudicially call ‘gangsters,’ but there was an air of violence about many of them.
It’s the something extra, T-Bone. All the Weres have it, even fuckups like Hector Vega. Ain’t human, not completely, not any more. Got the extra senses, the extra muscle, makes you act differently. Ain’t the same as being a mancer . . . ain’t the assurance of a fireball or a lightning bolt, but it’s better than nothing. Of course . . . sometimes better than nothing gets you in a whole lot more deep shit than just plain nothing would.
Smaller rooms on a smaller hallway gave way to a larger hallway without any rooms at all, only pillars and walls. The walls were decorated with paintings, many Picassos, even a Pollock. “I didn’t know you were a collector,” Vicky said, face bright as she studied a particularly colorful landscape.
“Horatio’s work before I even married him,” JoJo explained. “Trophies of any sort, you understand? Paintings, cars, me for some reason, even artifacts . . . now a spectro-portrait. I might have pushed for the gift, but he’s besotted with the whole idea now. I didn’t even have to push to get you the third and fourth portrait sessions.”
“I was hoping for five or six,” Vicky admitted.
JoJo shook her head. “To you, Vega Hall must seem busy, but trust me: this is a light day. Even as a light day, we might find ourselves in the middle of a riot in a moment.”
JoJo paused their passage in front of a pair of large double doors.
Double doors, T-Bone, ain’t nothing fucking good ever comes out of double doors, not even at a strip club, the King Henry on Tyson’s shoulder commented.
Maybe I should go to a mentimancer and see if I’m going a little loopy . . .
I’m just your inhibition free id given substance in your head, man, don’t make it any weirder than it needs to be. I’m the part of you that just can’t stop thinking about what a nice ass Vicky Welf’s got . . . which goes to show I ain’t me, cuz I wouldn’t be talking about Vicky Welf’s ass like that, would I? Damn! I’m about to start humming a Sir Mix-a-Lot song!
JoJo turned to Tyson for the first time. “Nice to see you can find better company than my brother, Tyson. Can I call you Tyson?”
“Of course,” Tyson agreed. “And I don’t do everything with King Henry.”
I like big butts and I cannot lie!
Her brown eyes flickered to his face and then away. “I haven’t spoken to him since I told him I’m pregnant. How . . . is he? The assassination attempt, the cage, trying to get my life back to what it was if not making it normal, I . . . it’s made calling him very difficult.”
Tyson considered what he knew about JoJo Price and Josephine Vega and the mix-mash that the woman was. King Henry had remembered to confide a bit more to Tyson, Jesus, and Pocket on the ride home. It wasn’t that he was keeping secrets from them again, just that there was so much information that he’d kept over the year that expelling it took prompting. Horatio Vega was something called a Poly-Shifter . . . so was JoJo. Obadiah Paine had let slip that Poly-Shifters were created when a mancer joined a Were Nation. “My niece or nephew gets to that Coyote sacrificing age of puberty and the little shit will start a war, T-Bone . . . part of me just wants to get it out of the way.”
“Or we could work to move our truce with the Coyote Nation into an actual alliance with them, where your niece or nephew becoming a mancer would be seen as an honor,” Tyson had pointed out.
“Yeah . . . could happen, right? I mean, I’ll probably be dead in twelve years anyway. Leave it for someone else to handle, ya know?”
“Not quite what I was getting at.”
JoJo bit her lip anticipating bad news. Tyson had noticed that King Henry often expected bad news too. “He’s been very busy rebuilding and remodeling just about every design he’s ever had,” Tyson told her. “He worries, about you and the business and enemies . . . but not your husband like he used to. I think he’s accepted your choice finally and is looking forward when it comes to the child.”
JoJo grinned, hand on her stomach. “Yes, yes, everyone is looking forward to the bundle of joy before he’s even got a nice seat for his nine-month-long wait, all while I do the hard work.”
“Do you know it’s a boy?” Vicky asked.
JoJo rolled her eyes dramatically. “Horatio thinks he can smell it on me, so I humor him.”
“Fathers to be . . .” Vicky rolled her eyes too.
You other brothers can’t deny! Crap . . . what’s the second lyric? Google that shit, T-Bone!
“About King Henry,” Tyson tried to ignore his own brain’s rising psychosis, “he’s maybe too busy and could use a distraction. A phone call from you would be nice . . . he’ll complain, but . . . that’s King Henry.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” JoJo muttered a half-hearted response. “We have far too much pomp and circumstance today!”
“Oh dear . . .” Vicky whispered as music started playing beyond the double doors.
*
The entryway . . . better to call it an entry cavern. Homes weren’t supposed to have rooms thirty feet tall with stairs all the way up to a balcony that overlooked both the entryway and the grounds surrounding Vega Hall as a sort of rich man’s wizard tower. Even most mansions didn’t.
Esme Castro and another man waited together for JoJo.
The whole room waited for JoJo, their eyes locking on her and then on Tyson and Vicky. Some glared, others frowned, a few even hissed. A few were what he had come to expect: violent men lounging about and waiting to be told what to do or to be needed in action. Others were normal . . . middle class . . . many Latino but a number not. All of them were in a line or crowding about, hoping to get a word in with Horatio Vega or another member of his court. They stared hungrily at even Esme Castro, trying to get her to meet their gaze, while JoJo’s small frame was taken in with reverence.
JoJo forced herself to smile and set her shoulders, again visibly showing that she wasn’t comfortable as an authority figure even if she was trying more than her brother ever would have in a similar situation. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Coyote Nation, I must regretfully inform you that Vega Hall is closed to petitions through the weekend. As you leave, give your calling card and information to Court Secretary Castro and she will place you directly at the front of the line when petitions resume on Monday.”
There was very little in the way of protesting, just furtive scowls aimed at Tyson and Vicky as the mancers were blamed for everything. Always the outsiders, isn’t it? Tyson felt like more of an outsider in this room than he ever had before. Even more than during family photo time. Even more than when I finally told my parents I was a mancer.
“They can’t all live on this land,” Vicky decided, “surely some of them have made the trip from far away?”
“My uncle’s territory extends all the way to Texas,” the man who waited with Esme proclaimed proudly. “And many of these aren’t even Coyotes, but from other Nations . . . a few are even mundanes. If their petition is worthy of King Vega’s time then they’ll find a place to stay through the weekend, if not . . . let them try the Jaguars or some other Nation, there they’ll find an even higher price for the favor they ask.”
The man was a few years older than Tyson, perhaps thirty. He had the pearly off-white skin of Horatio Vega but very dark eyes and hair, though that hair was chopped close to the scalp and barely visible. A blocky build, with apparent muscles on his shoulders and arms, covered only by a t-shirt. He wore jeans and steel-tipped boots, with a six-shot revolver holstered on his right side.
JoJo smirked at his answer, turning back to Vicky. “This is Antonio Vega, another nephew from the middle of Horatio’s brothers. He’s responsible for security in the First Lie Ranch and is the reason your vehicle has been checked over so thoroughly.”
Antonio nodded at Tyson. “No offense meant, but you can’t be too careful.”
“It’s a paranoid world we live in,” Tyson forced a laugh.
“So you’re the business partner.” Tyson opened his mouth to respond but Antonio cut him off, “Don’t bother apologizing for what Price has done . . . especially for Hector. My cousin Esme and her sisters might be emotional, but I’m not. Hector was a fucking traitor . . . I’m just jealous I didn’t get to put the bullet in his head myself.”
“Oh,” Tyson grunted. Yes, no emotions there at all.
Petitioners filed out, one by one or in groups. Esme had produced a smart phone from her pocket and ticked at some list. They must have the Nation rolls and Vega’s schedule all digitized . . . very efficient. You didn’t think efficiency when you thought of Weres . . . just . . . general chaos. You don’t think of a king with his court either, just growling animals.
“You two are dating?” Antonio bluntly asked, pointing between Tyson and Vicky.
“Well, not dating as such . . .” Tyson thought aloud. “Not that I’m against it, it’s just been a time thing . . .”
“Sex, lots of vigorous sex,” Vicky blurted with a grin.
JoJo started coughing into her hand, her smirk oddly reminiscent of King Henry when he was enjoying himself. “Let’s go up to the balcony, shall we? That’s where we’ll be staging the portrait; it’s really a beautiful view. No, not you Antonio, you stay here and watch over the petitioners and make sure they leave peacefully.”
Antonio frowned. “You shouldn’t be alone with them.”
JoJo put an arm around Vicky’s, linking the pair of them. A few of the petitioners gasped, others growled. “I’m perfectly safe with our friends here; Horatio wouldn’t have invited them if he thought otherwise.”
“As you say, Josephine,” Antonio gritted out like he was chewing rocks.
Vicky smirked mischievously at the other woman as they took the stairs. “Nicely played.”
JoJo smirked back. “For years I was afraid of using the power of my position, but now I’m really starting to enjoy the way they just frown in constipation.”
*
The view from the balcony was spectacular. Three-hundred and sixty degrees of indulgence, be it the now empty entryway below or the sweep of greenery and blue cerulean water that surrounded that arc of Vega Hall’s surrounding hill.
Tyson felt Vicky’s hand on his as they both leaned against the railing to look out. In the distance you could make out the same rugged landscape as the rest of First Lie Ranch and above it the Sierra Nevada mountain range towering above your head.
“It’s my favorite part of the mansion,” JoJo said. “I like to come up here in the summer and watch the sunset cast shadows over the hills. Will it do? You said I should find a view with layers and I couldn’t think of any better.”
Vicky gave a content sigh as she watched the wind blow through the fruit and nut trees, splash waves across the small lake, and push boats against the wooden dock. “It will do very nicely.”
“Good!” a voice declared behind them, “I would hate to have insulted so many of my people for no reason at all.”
As always, Horatio Vega appeared as a whirlwind of energy. Here he was followed by hangers-on in the form of Antonio and Esme, plus the Eternal Order guard that King Henry called Sharp. Vega gave Tyson a quick, firm handshake. “Stormcaller Bonnie, it is good to see the calmer head of King Henry Artifacts Limited.”
“I noticed our floro-seeders on the way in,” Tyson returned.
Horatio Vega smiled like a politician, but this one was specifically the smile of a crooked politician. “Not where you expected them I would guess, but isn’t the world a place of unexpected wonders? As an example . . . what a wonder the stately, talented, and beautiful Beaconkeeper Welf is in our presence!”
Vicky nodded her head with an accompanying curtsy. “The honor is mine, King Vega.”
Vega strolled up to the railing, nodding at the view as well. “Space . . . land . . . you can’t beat it as a sign of your place in life. I grew up in a horrible projects house in Merced. My parents died young . . . and stupid. I was left to my grandmother and she never had what money but what was given to her by the government. An elderly British-American woman, three mongrel boys, two younger mongrel girls . . . all in one cramped home.
“Not now.” He spread his palm out towards the view below. “Now I share my land with the people of my Nation. I could show you a map, I could show you figures of my wealth, I could drag you through the halls and point to paintings and sculptures, but what more needs said than what you see before you?”
“Josephine has chosen the spot very well,” Vicky agreed.
; Vega motioned for Antonio to put down one of Vicky’s suitcases, which he carried with him. “This contains your equipment. The rest of your and Stormcaller Bonnie’s possessions are sitting in your room.” Vega gave Tyson a nudge with an elbow. “One room. I was unaware of the two of you . . . yet Josephine tells me that I’m partly responsible since it was my casino that made the match possible. Victoria von Welf with a First-Generation mancer . . . what scandal!”
JoJo gave her husband a look. “You’ll excuse Horatio, for all his progressive laws for the Nation he’s quite the traditionalist when it comes to beds and who should use them together and what jewelry should be on which finger.”
Vega bent down to give her a kiss. “You would rather I had affairs to show off my machismo?”
“We both know you have nothing left after I tire you out,” JoJo whispered in his ear loudly enough for everyone to hear. Strangely enough, Antonio was the only one who blushed, awkwardly fiddling with the handle of Vicky’s suitcase.
Vicky took it from him, placing it on a nearby dining table. There were also chairs . . . Tyson assumed that you could have a meal up here as well as watching the view when the weather and the amount of petitioners whispering below allowed it. “You found no bombs in our luggage then?”
Vega gave no reaction to the scold. “None. Not one of your mother’s Constructs, or some strange artifact device from my brother-in-law, or even spying equipment from Stormcaller Bonnie. Antonio was very disappointed that his vigilance went to such a waste.”
Again Antonio blushed. Vega motioned his way, including Esme. “Both of you go and return to your own work. The queen is safe with me for the next four hours. See refreshments are brought up from the kitchen, perhaps even something with a little kick to it, and most of all: see I’m not disturbed by the many fools who no doubt think they know how to spend my time better than I do.”
“Of course, King Vega,” Antonio said, just barely holding off from saluting.
Esme only nodded before exiting through a hallway.
King Henry and the Three Little Trips (The King Henry Tapes) Page 6