The Glassbreaker Goes Home (The King Henry Tapes), page 15
Gentlewoman Moore finally showed herself a split second later, popping out the front door of her Villa o’ Suckatude. Shell was exactly as King Henry remembered. Tiny, blond, and cute as can be. King Henry waved a friendly greeting her way. Howdy neighbor! Can you believe this unfortunate freak accident? Quite odd, ain’t it? Air conditioners raining from the heavens, what’s next an exploding gas main?
Little known fact: Valentine Ward didn’t like ‘Exploding Gas Main’ as a nickname nearly as much as she liked Boomworm. For some odd reason . . .
Moore’s eyes narrowed in King Henry’s direction. Her movements were filled with bottled energy, what posture she could affect at that diminutive height was ramrod straight, and her too expressive face showed an emotion King Henry had never before associated with Moore. Was that defiance? Or maybe something even stronger. Fury?
It was fury.
Competent, lethally cold fury.
He expected Moore to scuttle back inside, but instead she stalked right towards him. That’s all wrong . . .
Halfway across her lawn, Moore finally noticed Val standing just off King Henry’s shoulder. Scuttling seemed back on the menu for a lone second, but Moore quickly adapted to the Purifier’s presence and returned to her aggressive course. A Gentlewoman vampire meeting two Maximi on equal footing? Moore doing anything besides running for cover?
Warning bells started ringing somewhere in the back of King Henry’s head, but too much was happening at once for him to listen quite yet.
Vega and Old Man Price both came charging out of the Shithole and each let fly a few premium curse words at the sight of the AC unit smashed across the Lexus. Vega’s was in Mexican and involved your momma’s pussy, Old Man Price’s invoked God’s anus, glory be its name. Being it was the 21st century and no matter how macho and male and old school Vega and King Henry’s dad might try to get or that JoJo might be more Vega-ish than Price-ish these days, she was still JoJo, so she followed after them. Her curse was something about male sex organs, the mouths in which you should put them, and pieces of strategically placed female sex toys
Susan came with. She didn’t curse, just gasped. Fucking goody-two-shoes . . .
No sign of Marge. Maybe she had the baby?
Who—odds are—was currently shitting his diaper.
Not out of fear.
Just . . . kind of his go-to move at the moment.
Problem Number One Million With Babies: completely useless in an emergency situation. I mean . . . unless a zombie is attacking you and you chuck the baby at it so you can get away or something.
.
.
.
What?
Moore halted her stare down just long enough to briefly study her car. Must not have an alarm, cuz . . . how could that not have made it go off? Sure made one of the airbags deploy. Them Vamps just have such weak little bodies and all that . . . need their airbags.
Moore visibly breathed out her nose, gaze flickering back to King Henry. Lot going on in them orbs. King Henry supposed the problem with a too expressive face was that too much could hide just as much as too little if you played it right.
Moore stepped down from the sidewalk onto the street’s edge, but advanced no further. Was a carefully considered amount of space between them. An illusion of safety. All three could’ve crossed it in a blink. King Henry had surely seen Annie B fling herself farther distances before.
Granted, Moore wasn’t Annie.
Clothes weren’t slutty enough for one.
Bit sexier than he was used to seeing on Moore though. Not with the idea of showing skin, but a more old school style—one from the 50s or 60s would’ve had a man drooling on his tie. Tight dress, breasts pushed up by some type of corset underneath, while her hips and waist pleasingly curved together at a significant hourglass.
Didn’t seem armed, unless Moore had a Saturday night special stuffed up her va-jay-jay. Which wouldn’t even be in the Top Ten Weird Shit he’d seen vampires do, so . . . maybe she did. If she actually tried to fling herself at them, it would be a tossup if she got hit by a Fireball of Doom or a geo-mine first. Either of which would ruin her night.
That earthquake part of him wanted her to try it.
If only his dad wasn’t standing there. If only Ribera wouldn’t be trying to run on down the street any second . . .
Do it, Moore!
Spy on my father. Kill the poor neighbors. Fuck proportional responses! Do it! I see it in your eyes. Fucking try me, vampire!
Wait . . . what?
Moore . . .
Moore curtsied.
Not the modern imitation either. Full on, super-bow curtsy. Beyond old school. Like . . . didn’t-know-what-cars-were kind of old school. Bacteria? Pissing down the stairs is a bad idea? I shouldn’t fuck my servants? Why not? Burn the witch! Old school. Hold out your skirts with dainty fingers, knees almost on the pavement . . . the curtsy of all curtsies.
Da fuck?
“Glassbreaker Price and Purifier Ward, an honor to meet the both of you,” Moore deigned her very existence to these immortal powers standing before her. “As far as salutations go . . . might I humbly suggest knocking at the door? To my understanding it is the polite and customary gesture in this culture and age. Perhaps the fault is my own, for not announcing my presence at the very moment of your arrival, but I made the decision to not unfairly complicate your familial duties with political necessities and instead planned to speak with you on the morrow.”
King Henry was dumbstruck by her submissive form.
Would’ve been funny if it wasn’t him getting bitch slapped by the angel of defiant etiquette.
Might have still been funny even if it was him . . . but not with his father in earshot to hear all those titles.
“I think your proportional response is backfiring,” Val whispered from the corner of her mouth.
“Cut the shit, Moore,” King Henry told the vampire. “You go back in your house; I go back in my house. You call your bosses and tell them about my response, then this is over. Making a scene, fucking really?”
Something violent pushed its way to the top of that too expressive face. “Is that not the meaning of this? The game we play? Scenes? One should not start what they cannot finish, Glassbreaker Price. A lesson you are seemingly still in need of learning. I admit I can relate to this fault, as in all my long life I have never learned it myself. Perhaps we should attempt to learn it together here tonight?”
King Henry glanced back at the watching crowd, trusting in Val to keep an eye on the vampire. His father had a mystified look on his face, but wasn’t yet coming forward to join them, instead mostly focusing on shielding both Susan and JoJo with his big, bulky body. Vega was busy calming his own men down, although after her last words the Coyote King seemed suddenly unsure about whether he might not prefer the guns to be aimed in Moore’s direction.
Chaos, once started, has a habit of spreading and Detective Ribera chose that moment to run up on the scene, hand on her firearm. Which made the Coyotes edgy as all fuck—without Vega telling them to watch it, the detective might have been gunned down in an instant. And who knows what would follow that . . . few calls from the Lady at least, I imagine.
Ribera didn’t have time to pull her weapon in reaction to the threat; she was too busy blinking at every other stimuli as they claimed her attention. At the Big Booty AC nearly on top of the car, at King Henry and Val in the center of the road, at Vega—had she ever actually been that close to the object of her obsession?—and finally at Moore, still prostrating herself with maximum insubordination.
Ribera hissed in fury, “What did you do, Price?”
Moore’s head turn to study the newcomer even if her body was as unmoving as any photograph. “A law enforcement officer, I presume? May I inconvenience you to please contact an emergency fire service? It seems my cooling system has had an unexpected catastrophic breakage and I fear it may represent a public hazard.”
“Stop bowing already,” King Henry growled.
With a too-pleased smirk, she did just that, rising with inhuman grace.
Ribera blinked some more, eyes mostly lingering with accusation towards both King Henry and Vega. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
“Untouched. My automobile bore the brunt of it . . .”
“Explain this right now, Price.”
I mean, I knew I’d have to, but the vampire not quivering in fear is making this extra chancy, ain’t it? He played indignant, his only sure out. “What you think I did? Pull a whole AC off the roof of some stranger’s house?”
Vega forced a fake laugh while motioning for his men to the do the same. The three other Prices were too shocked or worried or confused to do likewise. Score one for the moron thugs.
“I believe the colloquial phrase is . . . a freak accident?” Moore suggested.
Ribera just glared at King Henry like he was the anti-Christ. Still no proof on that one either way . . .
“What if there’s a gas leak up there?” Val went with her stupid Aussie accent again, now that Ribera was around. “It can’t like . . . choke us or something, can it? I have a really small throat hole. Really! Don’t ask how I found out . . .”
Ribera pointed at King Henry. “Go nowhere.”
“Bet she’s gonna use her special detective radio,” King Henry told Val.
“Ohhh! So cool!”
Ribera looked about as unhappy as King Henry had ever seen her. Even worse than when ESLED as them fake feds told her to drop the charges the first time around. She still went though.
You’re a good person, Ribera. Can’t say if it will get you into more trouble than my mouth will me, but . . . guessing our futures are both gonna be extra complicated.
Especially since . . . did he fuck this up somehow?
“Boy—” Old Man Price tried to start in immediately, but King Henry waved off the incoming barrage.
With his other hand he did some pointing of his own, right between the vampire’s eyes. All them warning sirens finally blared and what he subconsciously knew flew to the forefront of his brain. “Who the fuck are you? And what did you do to Moore?”
Vampires switch shells.
Because of course they do.
And this? This wasn’t Moore.
This . . . was a whole lot worse. A vampire that wasn’t scared of either the Glassbreaker or the Purifier. A vampire that enjoyed killing just as much as it enjoyed feeding, enjoyed destroying lives, enjoyed consuming them completely.
Something old and bored.
A deadly little smirk appeared. “Ah . . . so that’s where our difficulty lies. And here I hoped you made such a grand demonstration to honor my presence. I apologize for not perceiving the problem sooner, truly. My usual shells are . . . quite loud. My presence is not often mistaken, nor do I encounter such a brazen declaration of challenge. This feeble excuse of my species was loaned to me for the purpose of this assignment, you see. A way to . . . blend in. Very . . . simple, isn’t it? Slight and slim . . . much weaker than what I am accustomed to as well, but one does try to adapt.
“As for your queries about its previous occupant . . . it is my belief that she was liquidated along with the rest of the San Francisco Embassy. Their shameful failure in allowing a Maximus to access and then even possess a World-Breaker was untenable when it was assumed that very World-Breaker was destroyed, but with it now very much intact . . . there was a price for all involved to pay.”
“Liquidated,” Val whispered.
“A word and meaning your kind has borrowed, but much more apt for my species, isn’t it?” Not-Moore enjoyed once again affronting her audience. “The liquid state is quite natural for us, so much easier . . . you can even accomplish it with a kitchen blender if you are careful.”
“There’s a vampire living across from my fucking father?” JoJo took that moment to shriek at Vega.
“Vampire?” Old Man Price mouthed.
Vega started muttering, “Josephine, this is neither the time nor the place—”
“You knew! Of course you knew!”
“You were pregnant and then you gave birth to Nicholas and I didn’t—”
“You told my brother just so this would happen!”
“I did not! We . . . perhaps came to an arrangement on the matter, but I—”
JoJo quivered in rage. “Your mistake, husband, is that you assumed King Henry would just kill it, but you forgot he’s a moron!”
“Well . . . this went well,” King Henry decided.
“Moore’s gone,” Val didn’t let herself become distracted by the audience. Her posture had also taken on an edge. “Who are you then?”
Again with the full curtsy, if not maintained this time. “My present identification is the Countess Sariel.”
“Countess. Not Nii-Vah then. You are part of Inanina’s revenge bullshit,” King Henry realized aloud.
Danger slithered just under those eyes. “Presently our desires align.”
“Why pay for the house with the baronial accounts then?” Somewhere behind King Henry, Horatio Vega was still getting his kingly ass chewed out. Don’t think either of our plans are working out very well, brother-in-law. Imagine if instead of trying to manipulate me, you’d just came clean and we’d worked together . . . but, nah!
Sariel’s shrug was as full bodied as her curtsy. Insolent deference learned in some foreign court yet again. “Currency has not been my concern for many millennia now; one imagines it is even less of a concern for the Divine Inanina.”
Money meant Pwent had helped.
Maybe meant Nii-Vah wasn’t involved.
Yay?
Valentine picked up on one phrase in that answer and followed down the thread, “Just how many millennia is many?”
Sariel laughed eerily. “One loses count after the first handful I’m afraid.”
No one else found it funny.
Old Man Price had turned green. Susan’s hands were white on his arms where she was preparing to yank him into the house if anima starting flying. JoJo barely heard, being she was repeatedly kicking her husband in the shin.
“I am . . . quite old,” Sariel continued. “Not as old as Atlas, a newborn to our shared coexistent dream, and yet surely too old for the rigid ranking the children have grown so attached to. My ability is quite beyond it as well. Yet . . . it does have a semblance of accuracy concerning my desires. So . . . countess for now, maybe something else in time. There are few like me, at most in the dozens. Yet we do try to be so very patient.
“The Divines are quite understanding and let us roam where we may, my brothers and sisters especially . . . it has been difficult for us since father was slain. Occasionally they find tasks like the one I have now been applied to, and we rejoice in them, but only my brother False has been blessed with true purpose as of yet.”
Well . . .
‘Fuck’ just don’t even begin to cover it.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
.
.
.
Nope, didn’t work.
I mean . . . that’s some good work, Fate. Made me want it, even made me think I got lucky, didn’t you? And Vega, couldn’t forget Vega’s contribution with that picture of Moore’s shell. Expected a wimpy little Vamp like Moore and instead he got Falschein’s near Divine sister.
My own hubris at being a big badass Maximus didn’t help. And Val trusted me . . .
Better paying tonight than with a blood tentacle up his pee-hole when it really mattered, King Henry supposed.
Only . . .
“Bullshit,” King Henry growled. Felt his knuckles flex white too. “What are you doing here? To kill an old, mundane man? Even if he’s the Glassbreaker’s father? Really? Inanina hate me that much, does she?”
“Watch your temper, Boy,” warned that same old, mundane man.
A third time with that stupid curtsy. “Our assessment period has come to an end, Glassbreaker. The law enforcement woman is returning. Have no worry, I will deal with her.”
“Hurt her—”
“And what?” Sariel’s eyes brightened. “Are you even capable of subduing me should I choose a weapon beside words?”
“I am,” Val whispered.
Sariel nodded with the slightest respect. “Perhaps you are, Purifier. It would be an enjoyable bit of destruction I have little doubt . . . regardless, I mean to only twist words with the human.” A silent for now hung in the air. “All of you should be away in any case. But before you do leave—to answer your question, Glassbreaker, and to leave you no ambiguity as to my purpose or my capability—yes, even with eternity in my hands, my time is far too important for one simple human. Keep making your declarations and your father will die first, but after . . .” She glanced at all the houses surrounding them. “Inanina promised me this whole city. A resurgence of the old ways . . . I do so hope you continue on the path you walk. Give me annihilation, Glassbreaker. I do so crave it! The blood! The screams! Whole cities riven! I beg you, unleash us from peace! Release us from these chains!”
.
.
.
Huh.
Old Man Price put his jaw back in place. “Boy, I’d like your Long Conversation right about now.”
Fucking . . . fucking vampires! Always with this shit!
“Yeah, Dad. Let’s wait until we’re sure I’m not under arrest, okay?”
And right on cue, there were the fire truck sirens.
Show and Tell, Supernatural Style
King Henry let Val do it.
Yup, I’m a coward.
Announce he was a Maximus in front of the entire assembled Guild?
Sure . . . no problem!
Face down Paine like a BAMF?
Best day of his life!
Finally deal with his crippling childhood trauma like an adult?
FUCK THAT SHIT!!!
King Henry took solace in the excuse that Val taking the lead was the rational move. Val did this all the time. Hundreds of times, probably. She was a Recruiter after all . . .
Made sense.
Right?
It wasn’t that . . . he couldn’t do it.
The whole family gathered up in the den, sitting down or standing or in King Henry’s case: pacing. Marge had been talked into keeping Baby Vega entertained in the master bedroom. The cops and fire department had both come and gone. A tow truck carried off the Big Booty AC. A second tow truck carried off what was left of the Lexus. Ribera was Extra Super Mega pissed, but had no evidence to do anything with and since all them Coyote goons were still milling around Shithole Price, decided to just glare a whole lot. Someone’s wife is getting some furious scissoring tonight.
Little known fact: Valentine Ward didn’t like ‘Exploding Gas Main’ as a nickname nearly as much as she liked Boomworm. For some odd reason . . .
Moore’s eyes narrowed in King Henry’s direction. Her movements were filled with bottled energy, what posture she could affect at that diminutive height was ramrod straight, and her too expressive face showed an emotion King Henry had never before associated with Moore. Was that defiance? Or maybe something even stronger. Fury?
It was fury.
Competent, lethally cold fury.
He expected Moore to scuttle back inside, but instead she stalked right towards him. That’s all wrong . . .
Halfway across her lawn, Moore finally noticed Val standing just off King Henry’s shoulder. Scuttling seemed back on the menu for a lone second, but Moore quickly adapted to the Purifier’s presence and returned to her aggressive course. A Gentlewoman vampire meeting two Maximi on equal footing? Moore doing anything besides running for cover?
Warning bells started ringing somewhere in the back of King Henry’s head, but too much was happening at once for him to listen quite yet.
Vega and Old Man Price both came charging out of the Shithole and each let fly a few premium curse words at the sight of the AC unit smashed across the Lexus. Vega’s was in Mexican and involved your momma’s pussy, Old Man Price’s invoked God’s anus, glory be its name. Being it was the 21st century and no matter how macho and male and old school Vega and King Henry’s dad might try to get or that JoJo might be more Vega-ish than Price-ish these days, she was still JoJo, so she followed after them. Her curse was something about male sex organs, the mouths in which you should put them, and pieces of strategically placed female sex toys
Susan came with. She didn’t curse, just gasped. Fucking goody-two-shoes . . .
No sign of Marge. Maybe she had the baby?
Who—odds are—was currently shitting his diaper.
Not out of fear.
Just . . . kind of his go-to move at the moment.
Problem Number One Million With Babies: completely useless in an emergency situation. I mean . . . unless a zombie is attacking you and you chuck the baby at it so you can get away or something.
.
.
.
What?
Moore halted her stare down just long enough to briefly study her car. Must not have an alarm, cuz . . . how could that not have made it go off? Sure made one of the airbags deploy. Them Vamps just have such weak little bodies and all that . . . need their airbags.
Moore visibly breathed out her nose, gaze flickering back to King Henry. Lot going on in them orbs. King Henry supposed the problem with a too expressive face was that too much could hide just as much as too little if you played it right.
Moore stepped down from the sidewalk onto the street’s edge, but advanced no further. Was a carefully considered amount of space between them. An illusion of safety. All three could’ve crossed it in a blink. King Henry had surely seen Annie B fling herself farther distances before.
Granted, Moore wasn’t Annie.
Clothes weren’t slutty enough for one.
Bit sexier than he was used to seeing on Moore though. Not with the idea of showing skin, but a more old school style—one from the 50s or 60s would’ve had a man drooling on his tie. Tight dress, breasts pushed up by some type of corset underneath, while her hips and waist pleasingly curved together at a significant hourglass.
Didn’t seem armed, unless Moore had a Saturday night special stuffed up her va-jay-jay. Which wouldn’t even be in the Top Ten Weird Shit he’d seen vampires do, so . . . maybe she did. If she actually tried to fling herself at them, it would be a tossup if she got hit by a Fireball of Doom or a geo-mine first. Either of which would ruin her night.
That earthquake part of him wanted her to try it.
If only his dad wasn’t standing there. If only Ribera wouldn’t be trying to run on down the street any second . . .
Do it, Moore!
Spy on my father. Kill the poor neighbors. Fuck proportional responses! Do it! I see it in your eyes. Fucking try me, vampire!
Wait . . . what?
Moore . . .
Moore curtsied.
Not the modern imitation either. Full on, super-bow curtsy. Beyond old school. Like . . . didn’t-know-what-cars-were kind of old school. Bacteria? Pissing down the stairs is a bad idea? I shouldn’t fuck my servants? Why not? Burn the witch! Old school. Hold out your skirts with dainty fingers, knees almost on the pavement . . . the curtsy of all curtsies.
Da fuck?
“Glassbreaker Price and Purifier Ward, an honor to meet the both of you,” Moore deigned her very existence to these immortal powers standing before her. “As far as salutations go . . . might I humbly suggest knocking at the door? To my understanding it is the polite and customary gesture in this culture and age. Perhaps the fault is my own, for not announcing my presence at the very moment of your arrival, but I made the decision to not unfairly complicate your familial duties with political necessities and instead planned to speak with you on the morrow.”
King Henry was dumbstruck by her submissive form.
Would’ve been funny if it wasn’t him getting bitch slapped by the angel of defiant etiquette.
Might have still been funny even if it was him . . . but not with his father in earshot to hear all those titles.
“I think your proportional response is backfiring,” Val whispered from the corner of her mouth.
“Cut the shit, Moore,” King Henry told the vampire. “You go back in your house; I go back in my house. You call your bosses and tell them about my response, then this is over. Making a scene, fucking really?”
Something violent pushed its way to the top of that too expressive face. “Is that not the meaning of this? The game we play? Scenes? One should not start what they cannot finish, Glassbreaker Price. A lesson you are seemingly still in need of learning. I admit I can relate to this fault, as in all my long life I have never learned it myself. Perhaps we should attempt to learn it together here tonight?”
King Henry glanced back at the watching crowd, trusting in Val to keep an eye on the vampire. His father had a mystified look on his face, but wasn’t yet coming forward to join them, instead mostly focusing on shielding both Susan and JoJo with his big, bulky body. Vega was busy calming his own men down, although after her last words the Coyote King seemed suddenly unsure about whether he might not prefer the guns to be aimed in Moore’s direction.
Chaos, once started, has a habit of spreading and Detective Ribera chose that moment to run up on the scene, hand on her firearm. Which made the Coyotes edgy as all fuck—without Vega telling them to watch it, the detective might have been gunned down in an instant. And who knows what would follow that . . . few calls from the Lady at least, I imagine.
Ribera didn’t have time to pull her weapon in reaction to the threat; she was too busy blinking at every other stimuli as they claimed her attention. At the Big Booty AC nearly on top of the car, at King Henry and Val in the center of the road, at Vega—had she ever actually been that close to the object of her obsession?—and finally at Moore, still prostrating herself with maximum insubordination.
Ribera hissed in fury, “What did you do, Price?”
Moore’s head turn to study the newcomer even if her body was as unmoving as any photograph. “A law enforcement officer, I presume? May I inconvenience you to please contact an emergency fire service? It seems my cooling system has had an unexpected catastrophic breakage and I fear it may represent a public hazard.”
“Stop bowing already,” King Henry growled.
With a too-pleased smirk, she did just that, rising with inhuman grace.
Ribera blinked some more, eyes mostly lingering with accusation towards both King Henry and Vega. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
“Untouched. My automobile bore the brunt of it . . .”
“Explain this right now, Price.”
I mean, I knew I’d have to, but the vampire not quivering in fear is making this extra chancy, ain’t it? He played indignant, his only sure out. “What you think I did? Pull a whole AC off the roof of some stranger’s house?”
Vega forced a fake laugh while motioning for his men to the do the same. The three other Prices were too shocked or worried or confused to do likewise. Score one for the moron thugs.
“I believe the colloquial phrase is . . . a freak accident?” Moore suggested.
Ribera just glared at King Henry like he was the anti-Christ. Still no proof on that one either way . . .
“What if there’s a gas leak up there?” Val went with her stupid Aussie accent again, now that Ribera was around. “It can’t like . . . choke us or something, can it? I have a really small throat hole. Really! Don’t ask how I found out . . .”
Ribera pointed at King Henry. “Go nowhere.”
“Bet she’s gonna use her special detective radio,” King Henry told Val.
“Ohhh! So cool!”
Ribera looked about as unhappy as King Henry had ever seen her. Even worse than when ESLED as them fake feds told her to drop the charges the first time around. She still went though.
You’re a good person, Ribera. Can’t say if it will get you into more trouble than my mouth will me, but . . . guessing our futures are both gonna be extra complicated.
Especially since . . . did he fuck this up somehow?
“Boy—” Old Man Price tried to start in immediately, but King Henry waved off the incoming barrage.
With his other hand he did some pointing of his own, right between the vampire’s eyes. All them warning sirens finally blared and what he subconsciously knew flew to the forefront of his brain. “Who the fuck are you? And what did you do to Moore?”
Vampires switch shells.
Because of course they do.
And this? This wasn’t Moore.
This . . . was a whole lot worse. A vampire that wasn’t scared of either the Glassbreaker or the Purifier. A vampire that enjoyed killing just as much as it enjoyed feeding, enjoyed destroying lives, enjoyed consuming them completely.
Something old and bored.
A deadly little smirk appeared. “Ah . . . so that’s where our difficulty lies. And here I hoped you made such a grand demonstration to honor my presence. I apologize for not perceiving the problem sooner, truly. My usual shells are . . . quite loud. My presence is not often mistaken, nor do I encounter such a brazen declaration of challenge. This feeble excuse of my species was loaned to me for the purpose of this assignment, you see. A way to . . . blend in. Very . . . simple, isn’t it? Slight and slim . . . much weaker than what I am accustomed to as well, but one does try to adapt.
“As for your queries about its previous occupant . . . it is my belief that she was liquidated along with the rest of the San Francisco Embassy. Their shameful failure in allowing a Maximus to access and then even possess a World-Breaker was untenable when it was assumed that very World-Breaker was destroyed, but with it now very much intact . . . there was a price for all involved to pay.”
“Liquidated,” Val whispered.
“A word and meaning your kind has borrowed, but much more apt for my species, isn’t it?” Not-Moore enjoyed once again affronting her audience. “The liquid state is quite natural for us, so much easier . . . you can even accomplish it with a kitchen blender if you are careful.”
“There’s a vampire living across from my fucking father?” JoJo took that moment to shriek at Vega.
“Vampire?” Old Man Price mouthed.
Vega started muttering, “Josephine, this is neither the time nor the place—”
“You knew! Of course you knew!”
“You were pregnant and then you gave birth to Nicholas and I didn’t—”
“You told my brother just so this would happen!”
“I did not! We . . . perhaps came to an arrangement on the matter, but I—”
JoJo quivered in rage. “Your mistake, husband, is that you assumed King Henry would just kill it, but you forgot he’s a moron!”
“Well . . . this went well,” King Henry decided.
“Moore’s gone,” Val didn’t let herself become distracted by the audience. Her posture had also taken on an edge. “Who are you then?”
Again with the full curtsy, if not maintained this time. “My present identification is the Countess Sariel.”
“Countess. Not Nii-Vah then. You are part of Inanina’s revenge bullshit,” King Henry realized aloud.
Danger slithered just under those eyes. “Presently our desires align.”
“Why pay for the house with the baronial accounts then?” Somewhere behind King Henry, Horatio Vega was still getting his kingly ass chewed out. Don’t think either of our plans are working out very well, brother-in-law. Imagine if instead of trying to manipulate me, you’d just came clean and we’d worked together . . . but, nah!
Sariel’s shrug was as full bodied as her curtsy. Insolent deference learned in some foreign court yet again. “Currency has not been my concern for many millennia now; one imagines it is even less of a concern for the Divine Inanina.”
Money meant Pwent had helped.
Maybe meant Nii-Vah wasn’t involved.
Yay?
Valentine picked up on one phrase in that answer and followed down the thread, “Just how many millennia is many?”
Sariel laughed eerily. “One loses count after the first handful I’m afraid.”
No one else found it funny.
Old Man Price had turned green. Susan’s hands were white on his arms where she was preparing to yank him into the house if anima starting flying. JoJo barely heard, being she was repeatedly kicking her husband in the shin.
“I am . . . quite old,” Sariel continued. “Not as old as Atlas, a newborn to our shared coexistent dream, and yet surely too old for the rigid ranking the children have grown so attached to. My ability is quite beyond it as well. Yet . . . it does have a semblance of accuracy concerning my desires. So . . . countess for now, maybe something else in time. There are few like me, at most in the dozens. Yet we do try to be so very patient.
“The Divines are quite understanding and let us roam where we may, my brothers and sisters especially . . . it has been difficult for us since father was slain. Occasionally they find tasks like the one I have now been applied to, and we rejoice in them, but only my brother False has been blessed with true purpose as of yet.”
Well . . .
‘Fuck’ just don’t even begin to cover it.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
.
.
.
Nope, didn’t work.
I mean . . . that’s some good work, Fate. Made me want it, even made me think I got lucky, didn’t you? And Vega, couldn’t forget Vega’s contribution with that picture of Moore’s shell. Expected a wimpy little Vamp like Moore and instead he got Falschein’s near Divine sister.
My own hubris at being a big badass Maximus didn’t help. And Val trusted me . . .
Better paying tonight than with a blood tentacle up his pee-hole when it really mattered, King Henry supposed.
Only . . .
“Bullshit,” King Henry growled. Felt his knuckles flex white too. “What are you doing here? To kill an old, mundane man? Even if he’s the Glassbreaker’s father? Really? Inanina hate me that much, does she?”
“Watch your temper, Boy,” warned that same old, mundane man.
A third time with that stupid curtsy. “Our assessment period has come to an end, Glassbreaker. The law enforcement woman is returning. Have no worry, I will deal with her.”
“Hurt her—”
“And what?” Sariel’s eyes brightened. “Are you even capable of subduing me should I choose a weapon beside words?”
“I am,” Val whispered.
Sariel nodded with the slightest respect. “Perhaps you are, Purifier. It would be an enjoyable bit of destruction I have little doubt . . . regardless, I mean to only twist words with the human.” A silent for now hung in the air. “All of you should be away in any case. But before you do leave—to answer your question, Glassbreaker, and to leave you no ambiguity as to my purpose or my capability—yes, even with eternity in my hands, my time is far too important for one simple human. Keep making your declarations and your father will die first, but after . . .” She glanced at all the houses surrounding them. “Inanina promised me this whole city. A resurgence of the old ways . . . I do so hope you continue on the path you walk. Give me annihilation, Glassbreaker. I do so crave it! The blood! The screams! Whole cities riven! I beg you, unleash us from peace! Release us from these chains!”
.
.
.
Huh.
Old Man Price put his jaw back in place. “Boy, I’d like your Long Conversation right about now.”
Fucking . . . fucking vampires! Always with this shit!
“Yeah, Dad. Let’s wait until we’re sure I’m not under arrest, okay?”
And right on cue, there were the fire truck sirens.
Show and Tell, Supernatural Style
King Henry let Val do it.
Yup, I’m a coward.
Announce he was a Maximus in front of the entire assembled Guild?
Sure . . . no problem!
Face down Paine like a BAMF?
Best day of his life!
Finally deal with his crippling childhood trauma like an adult?
FUCK THAT SHIT!!!
King Henry took solace in the excuse that Val taking the lead was the rational move. Val did this all the time. Hundreds of times, probably. She was a Recruiter after all . . .
Made sense.
Right?
It wasn’t that . . . he couldn’t do it.
The whole family gathered up in the den, sitting down or standing or in King Henry’s case: pacing. Marge had been talked into keeping Baby Vega entertained in the master bedroom. The cops and fire department had both come and gone. A tow truck carried off the Big Booty AC. A second tow truck carried off what was left of the Lexus. Ribera was Extra Super Mega pissed, but had no evidence to do anything with and since all them Coyote goons were still milling around Shithole Price, decided to just glare a whole lot. Someone’s wife is getting some furious scissoring tonight.
