The Glassbreaker Goes Home (The King Henry Tapes), page 14
“No?”
Shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what about. Still wasn’t sure of anything when it came to vampires. “Shit Meteyos has mentioned in passing and the way they don’t seem to fit in the Mancy . . . starting to wonder.”
“Maybe we should ask Detective Ribera her thoughts on the subject?” Val speared him with what was luckily some playful sarcasm.
“I was trying to distract her with information so I could deal with this vampire neighbor situation. It was working too and I didn’t really give anything away. Just . . . some names. Welf and Massey. Wasn’t until I thought about how frustrating the Lady’s been that I almost went too far. It was working!”
“Might want to leave the spying to Eva from now on,” Val pointed out.
“How was I supposed to know a little plate of food was all it would take to give her a serious mind fuck?” King Henry complained.
Val winked. “You’re welcome.”
He gave her hand a thankful squeeze. “Would’ve been fun to see her reaction though . . .”
“Perhaps if this ever comes up again, you should think about what’s best for the other person and not the entertainment value,” the sarcasm was less playful that time.
“I did . . . mostly,” he grumbled. “Was all partly for her benefit too. Some of the shit she thinks—all the frustration, all the holes in her theories—it’s the exact same feeling that made me rob the Guild. Only, it’s making Ribera sit in a car at 11PM on a way-too-busy street instead of being home with her wife and kid.”
“And as we see, stealing from the Guild has solved all your problems and you now have zero questions whatsoever. You’re not spending hours and hours pondering and brooding instead of visiting with your family,” Val got him good yet again. “Or your girlfriend.”
“Spending all that time in your apartment wasn’t enough attention for the year, was it?” he asked, bit less troubled than he’d been a few seconds ago. “Need me to take you in the street right now, Miss Ward? Do have a thing for dirt, I seem to recall.”
She blushed a little. “I don’t think the detective or Vega’s men would take that show with as much grace as Poug did.”
“Probably not. Guess we’ll have to settle for dealing with the bloodsucker right now and then wait until the house clears out for the other. Assuming we both fit in that bed.”
“There’s always the floor.”
“Rather not, still got rug burns on my ass from London. Facing Lotus position, every damn time . . .”
“I mean you could sleep on the floor,” she dryly corrected.
“Oh. That’s cruel, Val.” Her laughter reminded him of her little act he needed to ask about, “Do want to know one thing though: what . . . uh . . . was that? The . . . uh, thing? With the . . . hamster wheels turning and the voice and all that?”
Judging by her massive grin, Val enjoyed his discomfort immensely. “It’s a Recruiter persona of mine. You spent a month on the road doing intern work with her, so surely you’ve seen Ceinwyn use a few of them?”
“Recruiter persona. Huh. I thought that was just Ceinwyn being Ceinwyn.”
Val shook her head. “We all have a few. Usually whatever will work best to sway the parents. The children are easier once they understand the Mancy. The parents . . . they need help. So we give them what they need, even if it’s not one-hundred percent truthful.”
“Okay, I get that. If that’s all it is, then Ceinwyn actually had me do it once. She forced me to put on a suit of all things and play good boy Harry Price for Max Lamont’s momma.”
Val’s lips pursed. “Every time you bring up his name I still get the urge to throttle you.”
“Probably be a good idea if we wait on that until tonight too, whether it’s the floor or the bed.”
“I don’t know, the Coyotes might cheer me on.”
“Still a sore loser, ain’t ya?” he teased her.
“You cheated!”
“Never complained about it before.”
“It wasn’t directed at me before!”
“Ya know, Miranda did smack me,” King Henry recalled.
That brought a smile back to her face. “A warning sign for our relationship that you seemed to like it so much . . .”
“Yeah. Was almost as sexually confusing as seeing you play dumb.”
Val did the valley girl giggle again.
“So very wrong . . . and yet . . . damn.”
Her smile twitched as she enjoyed his reaction. “No promises about tonight . . . but maybe in the future. When you least expect it, of course.”
As they neared the Shithole again, King Henry led her off the sidewalk and into the middle of the road. Sharp still had eyes on them, but there was no shadowy form leaning over Ribera’s backseat, so it did look like all that mindfucking had done its job on her. Or . . . maybe it was the food. Are some damn good enchiladas . . .
Other than the werepython, there was no sign of Vega waiting to cause more problems and Moore still hadn’t preemptively appeared to stave off the retribution heading her way. Think hiding is gonna work, do ya? Street was quieter than before, time having ticked them further into the deepest night. Only signs of movement were a few stray cats sulking about; the only loud sound a dog barking off in the distance.
King Henry caught sight of Susan’s silhouette through the den’s front windows. The silhouette shook with laughter. Seeing it made him feel something . . . but what? Good to have her back? Sad it was the first time in a decade? Suppose that’s my life: all fucked up, but broken enough to work.
No time for family now. He turned away from them and towards the vampire. Yes, he was aware enough to recognize the symbolism. Didn’t quite keep your word with Suze, Bitch-Queen, but then I didn’t exactly get in a brawl with Vega, did I? We’ll call it square, what you say? This next bit is chancy . . . I’m gonna behave myself, so you’re gonna behave yourself too, right? Just a little Crazy, so don’t start trying to stick anything up my ass now, you hear?
Whatever happened, at least he got to do this with Val by his side. King Henry did love an audience. “Vega tell you who’s in there? Or he just send you out kamikaze style?”
Her irisless eyes lost some of their sparkle for once. “Please tell me it’s not Anne.”
That idea got him grinning. “If it was her then I’d just step back and let you two go at each other. Might find a hose to spray some water and hopefully make a little mud though . . .”
Them irisless eyes rolled plenty. “I don’t hate Anne. And I don’t want to fight her! I just . . . even if I trust you—”
“I’m still with everyone else in our lives that think it might be a mistake on your part to do that by the way.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “—I know her intentions, for whatever reason she has them. I wouldn’t call it jealousy, but . . . knowing the way you feel guilt over her being Glassed and knowing she’ll manipulate that guilt one day . . . I feel protective about it, about you.”
“It’s okay to be jealous about one of my exes, Val. Mancy knows there’s enough of them . . .”
“Not jealous,” she singsonged.
“Well, as much fun as that would be . . . ain’t Annie B in there. Who it is, is little ‘ol cutie pie Gentlewoman Moore.”
Val frowned at that revelation. “That’s interesting.”
“Ain’t it? So, shall we?”
“What are we doing, exactly?” Val asked carefully.
“That would give the surprise away.”
“I don’t have to Fireball of Doom anyone, right?”
“Nah. All me. You just sit back and enjoy.”
“So you’re not killing her? Or breaking her legs? Or maybe ripping the blood-thingy out of her shell and throwing it in a fish tank?”
King Henry blinked. “It’s Gentlewoman Moore. That’d be like kicking a puppy. Ain’t her fault, that’s on whoever put her here.”
“And who is that?”
“No fucking clue, so here’s hoping we find out.”
Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for whatever her boyfriend was about to do, Val waved at the house in question. A little smirk appeared. “Just don’t burn down the Mound again, Mr. Price.”
“As so ordered, Miss Ward,” he mockingly returned with an off balance bow.
Val shook her head. “Jackass.”
“But I’m your jackass.”
“Those enchiladas aren’t going to last forever,” she reminded, while waving him on.
King Henry’s eyes flicked up to that massive AC unit on the roof. Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket. Reluctantly, he took a few steps away from Val and towards his target. Needed his space—like a pitcher on the mound. One of the ugly ones only threw knuckleballs and rubbed snot across the seams.
Or a musical conductor.
Okay . . . maybe not a musical conductor.
More of a Welf analogy, wasn’t it?
Still . . . at the center. Just him and his target. Yes. He. Was. One chance to make his mark. One bit of conjure work to make his point. That AC unit was just obscene. Big ol’ booty of an AC unit on a crappy little house only got itself a butterface. Oh yeah, darling, had you sized up since I got a good look at the place. So much curve them jean buttons are ready to burst, ain’t they? Just waiting for me to work my magic and release that junk in the trunk!
“What they call it when the military launches just a single missile? Blow up some bridge only five people use and act all badass about getting the bad guys back?”
Val, having watching an unhealthy amount of CNN in her lifetime, answered immediately, “A proportional response.”
Proportional response.
That’s the ticket.
Just enough damage to send a message. I know what you’re up to, better fucking watch it. Or better yet: might be time to think twice about having your little backstabber stationed here being she’s about to fry herself to crazy town this week without air conditioning.
If he did it right then the Lady and Ceinwyn probably wouldn’t even yell at him. They might never even find out about it. He could act all surprised. For them and his dad and Ribera, all three. Well that AC falling out of the sky was fucking weird, wasn’t it? Hey, anyone up for another root beer float?
Proportional response.
Type of shit the military used to do before they droned the humus out of every poor goat herder drank out of the wrong oasis.
Would be surprisingly tricky, anima-wise.
Nothing compared to the raw, instinctive power of the Geo Realm or the precise complexity of artifact anima channels, but difficult still. Was the height really. Geo-anima hated being flung about on principle, but flung into the fucking air? The earth was its home. Nice, solid earth. Going up a steel beam, fine, I guess. But not this . . . blue clear vaporous shit!
Usually he would have just pushed it up the house’s wall and up the roof, but was no telling what geo-anima might leak along the way and leave signs of its passing. Wasn’t like he was just breaking off a chunk of his pool and letting rip either. Not a crunch job. Not a smash job. Plutarch always did marvel about King Henry’s anima control and this time he did his Pappy proud. Something nice and good and genuine about this conjure work. Wasn’t big dick stuff, but boy did it flick a bunch of King Henry’s buttons.
Up into the air and then split into four pieces. Unyielding chunks of geo-anima, but King Henry maneuvered each one with the right amount of precision to get the job done. The front prongs came in lower than the back, to angle it all. If he was big dicking it, then he just could’ve unleashed a wave at every piece of metal in the house, a huff and puff to make the Big Bad Wolf look like a bitch.
But . . . proportional response.
Diplomacy . . . even the gunboat style ain’t as fucking fun as no Shock and Awe!
Those four prongs hit just right, striking at the main metal support structure for that Big Booty AC unit. King Henry even spared a tiny bit of anima to slide down and crimp shut the gas pipe. Yeah, I kinda lit this house on fire and burned this vampire alive. My bad. Val’s really regretting her joke about the Mound in retrospect . . .
Nope, not on his fucking watch!
When you think King Henry Price, the first thing you think about is his one-hundred percent safety record!
That Big Booty AC unit had never looked more massive than it did now, gravity starting to wake up to the fact that something was wrong with them nasty steel beams. Bit more anima flew from him. Slashed some more pipes and the vent duct. Ragged cuts mimicking stress fractures. If you’re ever going to assassinate someone with a Big Booty AC, kiddies, remember to hide your work, cuz this ain’t fucking Math class, is it?
Last was the smallest bit of anima yet. Call it a Finger-poke of Doom. Type of conjuration you learn at the very beginning of your schooling as a Single. Nudging that metal cube your Elementalism teacher gave you just a few inches at a time.
Only . . . this metal cube was extra big and it had a lot farther to drop than just off the edge of your desk.
The Big Booty AC shifted like an avalanche, so slow at first. So big. King Henry wasn’t sure if it was a Vamp’s need for grandeur on display or just that instinctive fear they all had of any temperature above seventy degrees. Only reason you need that Big Booty AC is if you’re sliding the gauge down to the fifties. Like you got a house filled with polar bears or . . . big ol’ beef sides hanging on meat hooks. Or you’re a vampire dealing with hundred degree summers who only goes out to eat once a week.
Vampire in Visalia lost their AC unit, they just might have to leave for a few days until it was fixed . . .
If you could fix it.
Like, you know, in a normal malfunction with the pump going bad or a fan belt fraying or a fuse shorting out.
But if some geomancer happened by and broke the metal supports and then he slashed all the pipes and then—just as an extra thumb up your ass—he gave it the perfect little tippy tap on one side?
.
.
.
GLORIOUS!!!
Watching that Big Booty AC unit smash down the roof, tilt on the edge, then keep fucking going in a tumble all the way to the fucking ground was pure fucking nirvana. Fuck yeah! Fuck fuck fuck! Fuck the fucking fuckers!
Nirvana itself. If your nirvana was loud. Really loud. Car crash loud. Action movie loud. Not quite Celine Deon loud, but then . . . King Henry was pretty sure she was a vampire too, cuz it just seemed right, didn’t it?
Wasn’t over yet either.
Of course he’d take credit for the next bit, since it had been in his hopes and dreams, but even King Henry hadn’t expected to pull it off. Anything at all could have happened once he let that Big Booty AC go. Could’ve crunched right through the roof of the house. Could’ve rebounded off the chimney and slammed down into the middle of the driveway. Could’ve even done nothing at all.
Sometimes you get lucky.
Even King Henry Price.
What happened next was so good it made Val step back in alarm.
Thankfully . . . there was that Lexus he’d noticed earlier. Parked right on the curb, perfectly parallel to the sidewalk, all nice and civilized like. King Henry could imagine Moore just sitting there all night hoping some asshole would come along to try to steal it, so she could get some righteous he-just-a-thief delivery grub.
Guess what, Bob? Today, you get to live! But tomorrow I’m coming back for your can’t-take-his-drugs ass! Be elsewhere!
Nice fucking Lexus. No trees between it and the house, just grass. Ain’t exactly a boulder, but you give a cube enough speed and mass and that son-of-a-bitch will move. Moving so fast, in fact, there was a slight possibility that Big Booty AC might even have made it to the street. If, ya know, the car didn’t get in the way.
More nirvana as metal smashed against metal. Even got to enjoy some windows breaking and the clatter of glass splashing across pavement. Tires popped, door shrieked, and paint was stripped. Big Booty AC even lost some of its structural integrity, had insulating foam and wires poking about all over the place like it had a bad perm day. Just a giant mess of metal and asphalt and glass and . . . basically everything a geomancer loved, especially the type of geomancer takes after an earthquake.
.
.
.
KING HENRY SMASH!!!
Put a predator’s grin on his face. Might have even been a tear in his dirt-brown eye. So fucking wonderful. Next to him, Val laughed out some relief. He took another off balanced bow. “Ain’t the Gordian Knot, but as far as solutions go . . . does the trick, don’t it?”
“Well, good thing you aren’t quite as much of a braggart as Alexander the Great, isn’t it?” Val threw some sass his way to go with the laughter.
There was one downside to how he played it.
Slight downside.
Given the noise, wasn’t any hope that they could keep up their privacy or slip away unnoticed. It was about as noticeable as solutions got. But also explainable, he hoped. Or unexplainable, which was even better.
Bullshit my way out of this, have another celebratory root beer float, see off Vega, JoJo, and the PEZ Dispenser, take Val to bed, grunt and hump her to complete euphoria, then get pushed out on the floor halfway through the night as I try to dodge them mole enchilada farts.
Who’s awesome?
This fucking guy!!!
“Incoming,” Val warned.
Every single one of Vega’s ride-along thugs piled out of their SUV the instant their first moment of shock faded. Came out of it like clowns at a circus. Four, five, six . . . eight? Vega had eight fucking guys stuffed in that SUV? Really?
Few of them were in suits, few others in sports jerseys and jeans. Wasn’t a single white wife beater in attendance. Whatever they were wearing, all of them looked riled up and ready to rumble. A couple even pulled their handguns out and glanced about for someone to shoot. Some survival instinct kept them from pointing the guns in King Henry’s direction.
Best stay civil. Get testy with me and I’ll make that Big Booty AC start rolling again and go eat your SUV same as it did the Lexus.
