The Glassbreaker Goes Home (The King Henry Tapes), page 3
Old Man Price was.
It almost broke King Henry. Last time he’d seen Dad like that had been at his mom’s funeral. That gloomy room of sniffles and tears and unfathomable pain, of lonely footfalls down a deserted aisle. Where he had first witnessed the Gap in his mother’s chest. Evanescent, all the wrong anima types, and half fever dream, but the absence of it, that he felt so strongly—the proof that Abigail Price gave herself lung cancer, her only out left to escape.
No one ever thought of the act as heroic, yet for a mancer consumed by Madness, it wasn’t so different from throwing yourself on a grenade, was it? Saving all those around you from the lightning bolt or the explosion just waiting to go off when you snapped completely and the person you were faded before the onslaught of anima.
Never again, King Henry thought.
He had that thought often. Had failed to make it reality in these last few years of freedom, yet had never been closer to making it reality. Never again. Yet another more personal thought lingered about now: not Susan too.
Big Sis buried her face in Old Man Price’s shoulder. A big shoulder on a big body, even if he was inching ever closer to retirement. Marge looked small in comparison, most did. She wasn’t in the image of King Henry’s mother . . . that helped. Small, plump, motherly and kind, church-going and a God-fearing woman. Shaped a bit like a pear, King Henry thought, but so far he’d keep his mouth shut on that one. A very different woman from his mom, or Ceinwyn or Val or . . . well, just about all the women in King Henry’s life.
As mundane as oatmeal, was Marge, but she’d fill your stomach or your heart just fine.
Old Man Price let go of Susan long enough to pass her off to Marge. His wet, tear-stained eyes followed her, like he couldn’t believe she was real. Know the feeling, Dad, King Henry thought, stepping forward to grasp hands, man to man, none of that hugging nonsense damn it. “Told you I found her,” he said, automatically defensive.
Old Man Price only nodded, far from accusatory. “Did good, Boy, did mighty good.”
Hate how he makes me feel. Too complicated. Man who beat him with a belt so often King Henry lost count near the fiftieth time. Also the man put food on the table, cooked it, and made sure King Henry ate it on occasion. Tried to raise King Henry. Tried and failed, but tried. Plenty of excuses as to why, just like all the rest of them, and a fair one . . . as far as excuses went. Not as complicated as Mom, maybe, but close. Worse of all: he ain’t gone. Still here and damned if the asshole didn’t go and give up the booze. Had to go and change his ways, had to start looking for redemption. Complicated, yeah, that was King Henry’s life alright. Not a bit of bliss in sight, no sir!
Realizing he’d been silent too long, he started to say, “Like I told you on the phone—”
“I know, I know,” Old Man Price interrupted immediately, “She’s here, she’s safe. All that matters for now, Boy. Let the rest be in the future, you hear?”
“Fine,” was all that King Henry could manage.
Fine.
Fine, don’t take my warning seriously.
But if I have to hogtie your daughter to a bed, you better not punch me!
If the hogtieing didn’t stick they had a packet of Big Fucking Needles in the trunk, just in case. Lady wouldn’t let him leave the Asylum with his World-Breaker or any of his other toys, but she gave him enough sedative to knock out a werebison.
Old Man Price’s gaze found Valentine next, his jaw dropping a little bit. “Well, I’ll be damned, she’s real!”
Val put on a friendly face, extending a hand of greeting. She practiced meeting strangers a lot during all them recruiting trips and had it down to an art-form. Take the grip firmly, pat on his forearm with the second hand, release quickly.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Price,” Val kept up the razzle-dazzle, “and to finally see where King Henry grew up. Thank you so much for inviting me. I know seeing Susan again must have been your first concern, but I’m glad you found the time.”
Old Man Price’s jaw stayed lowered, his eyes only leaving Valentine long enough so they could plead with his son to explain how this woman could possibly have chosen a Price as a boyfriend without mind-control being involved.
King Henry tried not to be ticked, even if being a little bit ticked was his modus operandi for just about every situation. “I showed you her picture a few times. I was even in a couple of ‘em.”
“You did,” Old Man Price admitted. “Just thought . . . maybe you got ‘em off the Internet and did that photoshopping nonsense they do nowadays.”
Now King Henry was ticked. “When I ever been the sort needed to lie about having a woman?”
“King, I don’t think you want to have a conversation about the type of woman you usually have in front of this lady.”
Val laughed it off. “I accepted your son for who he is quite a long time ago, Mr. Price. He has his flaws, many, many flaws—”
“Thanks for helping, Val.”
“—But I don’t think you’re giving him his due. That’s probably his fault, since he keeps his work out of your sight, for your protection. You’re not the only one. He doesn’t allow many others to see it in the first place, but he’s a very special man, and when he cares enough, you might be shocked at what he can accomplish and the kind of woman he can convince to put up with all those curse words.”
“You like the curse words,” King Henry grumbled.
Her hand found his face this time. “Yes, I do.”
“And you’re just being extra nice cuz it’s making me uncomfortable,” he accused.
Val’s smile twisted, her dark eyes sparkling extra. “Maybe.”
“Huh,” was Old Man Price’s only comment, glancing back and forth between them like they were a puzzle needed solving.
Susan chose that moment to lean in, stage-whispering in his ear, “Valentine dumped him for a new job, but Little Bro went all the way to London to get her back. After he spent months being an idiot drinking and fighting and getting into all sorts of trouble, of course, but eventually he did what he had to do and went all that way just to tell her he loved her.”
For one of the few times in his life, King Henry blushed. “Simplifying that a bit, Suze.”
“Makes a better story that way,” she happily ignored reality.
“Love,” Old Man Price muttered, glancing between King Henry and Val again. “Well, I always thought my boy was a better person than he did and I know from practice that us Price men always aim high when it comes to women, so, I guess you fit in here just fine, young lady. Valentine, was it?”
“Yes, sir,” Val affirmed, still smiling.
Old Man Price took her in his grasp this time, just like he had Susan before, only now he led them all back inside. “You okay with spicy food?”
“My favorite.”
“Good, I’m cooking King’s favorite enchiladas tonight.”
“I can’t cook,” Val pointed out quickly, horrified by the thought that she might make the kitchen explode.
“No need, no need. Susan was always my best assistant anyway, ain’t that true? We’ll have you chop some veggies. Not like you can burn some veggies with just a knife, can you?”
Daddy Issues 101
King Henry’s room was clean.
Maybe weirder than the new AC unit. He wasn’t quite sure. The new AC unit was pretty weird. I mean, AC at Shithole Price . . . what the fuck?
Still, this was weird too.
A different kind of weird.
A clean room.
This room . . . being clean.
And tidy.
Fucking tidy!
Not like he was an overly messy person. Gross, disgusting, and of course foul, he’d cop to all that, but not messy. Not now at least. Back then . . . more messy. Still, his small area among the communal bedrooms at the Asylum had been kept nice enough and his graduate apartment had been so clean as to be spartan.
Nowadays his workshop was always organized, if only to his unique specifications. Or it was before I surrendered the whole thing to my dumbass new life as a government stooge.
Steal knowledge from the Pit and end up caged in ways he never expected, impossible to miss that irony. Pit of No Return and in more ways than one.
Changed his life, maybe, but did it change him? Didn’t think so. Still felt conflicted. Still felt like all them rewards, no matter how they shined, weren’t enough, never would be enough. One enemy disintegrated, thank you very fucking much, but plenty more windmills to tilt at. King Henry Price was still King Henry Price, but his new life . . . it felt odd and yet, somehow, not odd enough.
Why the Lady signed off on this whole excursion probably, to let him connect his past to his future and all that new age shit the Asylum loved. Maybe even keep him from getting too frustrated with her before he even sat in his first Council meeting. I vote free blow jobs and muff dives for everyone, who’s with me? Also . . . world peace, heard that’s a good idea. Up to me, I’d vote world-in-pieces, but what I know?
Connection?
King Henry found very little of it with his old bedroom.
His old, clean bedroom.
Bed made perfect, carpeted floor spotless with not a single dirty piece of clothing in sight, and a neat stack of comics arranged carefully on the bedside table where before they’d been more of a pile. Old Man Price had even freed Clanky Fan from that chain-lock King Henry rigged together. Plenty to pick out as wrong, but the smell was worse. Should’ve smelled like teenage body odor.
And blood.
And sweat.
No tears though, not by the time I left. Tears got all beat out of me long before then.
Wrong, all wrong.
Yet . . . it was still the same room where King Henry made his first big decision.
Maybe his biggest, even considering all the ones that had come after.
He decided to go to the Asylum, right fucking here.
Accepted seven years of imprisonment then, wonder how long I’m accepting now?
Rest of his life, maybe.
Thought made him itch, especially his knuckles.
He picked out a few random comics from the neat stack and was leafing through them when Val finally walked in, apparently having escaped from the horrible ordeal that was veggie chopping.
Had a bright grin on her face, so bright it lit his heart and pushed back the cynicism clouding his head.
Valentine Ward . . . she don’t suck.
Well, not in that definition of the word at least . . .
Pausing just inside the door, her irisless eyes squinted in his direction. They’d never been closer and nowadays she always seemed to know where his mind was at. “Having naughty thoughts, are we, Mr. Price?”
Caught out, figured he might as well admit to it, “It is me, so . . . odds are, Miss Ward.”
She took the room in a quick glance. Wasn’t a whole lot to catch your eye. Outside of the bed and the comic stack, the only added addition came between the greeting at the door and Val getting kidnapped to help with cutting veggies. Namely, King Henry had made a couple trips to the car and deposited their luggage.
King Henry’s was a duffel-bag contraption that contained exactly two pairs of jeans, two tighty-whiteys, an extra pair of socks, and two standard-issue geomancer coats, bought just last week from the Asylum tailors. Didn’t even have a single speck of blood or dirt on them yet. And no bullet holes either!
Val’s was a hard-case, with rollers and a handle, pure black but with all manner of dents and bangs along its length, not that you could see most of them with the massive amounts of stickers she’d collected over the last few years as a Recruiter. Name a large metropolitan city in the United States and it was there, most the big countries in Europe and South America as well.
Val settled down next to him on the bed. “Not very big . . .”
Yeah, it wasn’t exactly of the ornate or comfortable variety. “Bigger than the one at my shop was. We managed then, suppose we’ll manage tonight.”
She didn’t respond right away, transfixed with the mostly blank white walls. Nope, the bed wasn’t big and neither was the room itself. Tiny room for a tiny boy, really. “Given how few personal effects you’ve moved into our new place, I suppose I’m not surprised you never knew what decorations were as an adolescent either.”
Made his lip curl, a bit of canine peeking out. “Given how I was as an adolescent, you’re lucky I don’t have holes in the walls and cigarette burns in the mattress.”
“Cigarettes?” she teased with some self-deprecation. “Rookie.”
“Hmm. No Fireballs of Doom while I’m in the bed with you. We ever get bored enough with each other we’re considering measures that drastic, I’ll just let you peg me instead. And don’t bother buying a new one, just ask Hope for the one she used on Welf all those years at school. We got to be frugal now we’re supporting a household, right? Plus, that way me and Welf will be peg bros.”
Yeah, that one did it. Same reaction he’d sought since he’d first realized he could get that Boomworm chick to laugh. No noise came from Val’s mouth, but her whole body. Her face even disappeared into the comforter as she doubled over. “Peg bros?”
“Brothers of the Peg? Pegothers?”
“You have to stop,” she pleaded, “The mental images I’m having are terrifying!”
“Me and Welf ass-to-ass with money being thrown at our faces like in Requiem for a Dream?”
Actual giggles escaped her as she hid her face again. “Enough! Forget the mattress. I’m burning my eyes out now!”
“The flaw in your plan,” King Henry matter-of-factly pointed out, “is that you don’t burn, love of my life. So you always got to put up with whatever mental image I decide to give you. ”
She shook a few times in silence, hands covering her face since apparently the comforter wasn’t doing a good enough job.
“Ain’t peed your panties again, have you?”
A hand franticly slapped at him and he finally stopped, satisfied just to watch her for a few moments. Eventually she gasped, wiping away tears, and steered clear of any more mental images, rude or otherwise. “Feeling better then? Emotions all settled after those feelings on the patio riled you up?”
“Mostly,” King Henry admitted. “Still worried about Susan saying something and JoJo hasn’t made her grand entrance yet, but it’s going good so far, right? Unless you cut off a finger cutting veggies?”
“I did not.”
“Accidentally sneeze in the mole?”
She made a disgusted face.
“Singe my father’s chest hairs?”
“Nope.” Encouraged by his mood, Valentine asked, “What do you say about giving me a tour?”
King Henry just blinked over that idea. “This is my room?” he deadpanned.
“Yes,” she sarcastically agreed. “There’s more to the house, though?”
“You’ve seen the kitchen and the den, the guest bedroom is a stale-as-shit guest bedroom now, and I ain’t showing you my parents’ room. There’s limits, Val. Pegging in twenty years when we’re bored out of our minds? Sure. Showing you the place where my dad pounds Marge all the way to orgasm-town? Ain’t crossing that one.”
No laugh for that one, instead she quickly listed out his hospitality deficit towards her. “I showed you my parents’ house, and my house I shared with Miranda, and my London apartment.”
Why did the woman always have to make such fair points? “Suppose you did. Can’t say I liked the place with Miranda though . . . since, well: Miranda.”
“She saved your life.”
“Just . . . well . . . okay, so . . . we don’t talk about that.”
“Kept her head, cleaned your wounds, and covered you in Slush. Alone. I was very proud of her.”
“Violated me with her ginger hands and her demon soulless eyes,” he corrected. “She’s seen me naked and I ain’t ever seen her naked, how’s that fair?”
Val clicked her teeth like she did when she was working through a problem. Or her boyfriend’s sometimes confusing logic. “I didn’t think you’d want to see Miranda naked.”
“Fuck no, of course I don’t!”
More teeth clicking. “Then?”
“That’s too much power for Miranda to hold over my head is all.”
“Oh,” Val let him carry on, “of course. That makes perfect sense.”
“I’d one-hundred percent throw up after I did see her naked, but it’d be worth the price to balance the scales, ya know?”
Val nodded skeptically.
Feeling like his battle lines weren’t holding up so well, King Henry switched to another flank. “As for your parents’ place, the problem with that one . . . well, I’m pretty sure the house is watching me.”
“Oh, it is. It’s quite modern. Dad has the whole house rigged up so you can use a voice command for just about anything. Only you aren’t in the system, so it doesn’t recognize your inputs. Probably a wise decision, because if you were you’d have it playing Sir Mix-A-Lot and ordering strippers in about sixty seconds . . .”
“I would not. Well, maybe Sir Mix-A-Lot. Especially if T-Bone was around. But my stripper days are years behind me. Except if I have to go see the Tsar . . . and I never touch!”
Val’s eyes went mockingly wide in shock. “You’re such a good boy that I bet you don’t even look.”
“Of course not,” King Henry agreed in a grumble. “That’s what the blindfold is for. Promise.”
Val just stared at him, smile twitching as he squirmed on the hook.
Routed again, ain’t I? What was this conversation originally about? Oh yeah . . . “Also, I like your mom a whole lot, but the food she makes is the hippiest shit in existence. Even vegans couldn’t get that stuff down. Maybe not even Ethiopians been starved for six months.”
Val had to admit the truth of that defect for Casa de Ward, loyal daughter or not. “Yes, well . . . thank the Mancy that curry doesn’t include gluten or animal by-product or I’d never be able to get it down either.”
“Ain’t enough pepper in the world, Val.”
“You like my dad.”
“Not to scare you off with the word, but as far as future father-in-laws would go, well . . . he hasn’t shoved a shotgun in my face,” King Henry had to admit Peter Ward was an okay guy.
