The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady (37 page)

“Not quite that.”

“Then what? That sounds like shit that’s
going to fly back up my ass at the first chance it gets.”

“Do you think anyone really wants you
investigating a
crime
, King Henry?”

“One minute you’re telling me I’m your long
lost nephew and here you are slapping me around . . .”

“She wants to have the string, King Henry,
give it to her.”

I’ve found that the problem with strings is
that once you get a few, you figure one more ain’t a big deal. Then
you count and you realize you can’t move on your own. I counted to
make sure I had room for one more.

“Fine,” I decided after awhile.

“The shop would also have to be within a
day’s travel of the Institution,” Ceinwyn went on.

“I ain’t going back to Visalia.”

“We’ll decide on it later. Reno maybe? Or
Sacramento? The Guild also has three considerations before they
sign off on it.”

“Fuck the Guild and their racecar hogging
monopoly.”

“That’s what they worry about; you’ll be
direct competition, so they want guarantees of their own.”

I crossed my arms and sighed. “Let’s hear
the bullshit then.”

“They expect you to experiment; however,
they don’t want you creating destructive weapons for the use of
anyone but yourself and even then have asked you to experiment with
defense in mind, not hurting anyone.”

“Fine . . . it’s not like I’m going to make
a lightsaber or something . . .”

“Number two: they also require that you can
be brought before them in trial should you do anything worth
explaining.”

“Does ‘
suck my dick
’ count as
explaining?”

“And number three: they want the designs of
anything you create.”

My whole body went still. “They’re joking,
right?”

Ceinwyn shrugged. “I told Massey it would
never go over, but he made me ask just in case you agreed.”

“Massey doesn’t know me as well as you
do.”

“Apparently not.”

The sun dipped down some more in another
bout of silence.

“A shop.”

“Yes.”

“Like what? Comic store?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,
you would never get any work done. What about stationary?”

“Yuck.”

“Or a bakery.”

“The FBI will think I’m a drug dealer.”

More silence.

“It’s a lot of strings, Ceinwyn,” I finally
said.

“I know,” she answered. “Please say yes
anyway.”

So many strings. Strings to the Asylum.
Strings to the Guild. Strings to Ceinwyn. Strings to my hopes and
dreams. But like I found out when I first said yes to the Mancy
seven years before, sometimes you just have to grab on or else
you’ll fall on your face. It’s not even as bad as back then . . .
now I know who held onto me. I knew how to rip that son-of-a-bitch
away from them if they tugged too hard.

And I could rip plenty hard.

“I’ll do it.

“Let’s stop it . . .”

Ceinwyn Dale gave me another smile, not
interested or scary or humorous at all. One she really meant that
time. Her best kind. “Thank you.”

“Says the woman who’s going to own me.”

We got up from my bench.

“I promise solid rates.”

“Do you have any idea how much anima vials
cost?”

We started walking down the Mound, toward
the buildings below.

“Do you have any idea how much artifacts
sell for?”

“Only after I invent them. The Guild will
lowball me on the designs they’ve already got.”

“But time is on your side. You’ll pay me off
eventually. Twenty years give or take.”

“Is that all?”

We reached the Field, cutting around it to
the Administration building.

“You know, you never told me what Plutarch
wanted,” I said, thinking back.

Her smile got interested. “Instead of
teaching, I got him to agree to a series of tapes about your time
at the Asylum, so that recruits could learn from your mistakes. I
promised him I would make you do it as part of the loan.”

“That sounds fucking retarded. Who wants to
listen to me for hours?”

To which I ask you: really motherfuckers,
you don’t have something better to do?

But if you really have to listen, with
Ceinwyn Dale smashing the headphones on your ears probably, trying
to get you to come to the Asylum at all costs . . . that’s the why
of it. The why I am what I am.

I want to help them.

I want to help you.

That’s my why.

That’s why you accept strings.

That’s why you do a tape like this.

Now . . . I just have to actually do it . .
. fix the world.

One teapot at a time.

A kiss dragged me softly from the darkness.
Guess that makes me Sleeping Beauty . . . who’d thunk
it?

I opened my eyes. I was in the backseat of
the car; Annie B was outside, leaning in over me through the open
door. The sun was finally out, having pushed back the gray for the
few hours it could manage. It only poked through slots in the
clouds, but more than I usually got to see in the winter.

It was nice.

So was the kiss.

So was the expression of gratitude on Annie
B’s face.

Right up until the moment she smashed her
closed fist into my stomach so hard I stopped breathing for a good
ten seconds.

“If you ever try to pull something like that
to me again!” she yelled. “If you ever don’t tell me what you’re
doing beforehand! If you ever let me think I’m going to die without
telling me you have an ace up your sleeve! If you ever—”

“If I ever,” I sputtered, “I got it. No
evering
.”

“If you ever . . . I’ll kill you next time .
. .”

“I hear you, Annie, I hear you.”

Her hands grabbed my coat at my
shoulders.

Shit
, I thought a moment before she
yanked me out of the car and let gravity do its thing to smash me
down onto the pavement ass first. My poor ass . . . I’m telling ya,
it’s not plump enough for this abuse.

“There’s no reason for theatrics. Theatrics
get you dead, King Henry. I thought you were levelheaded, Ceinwyn
said you were levelheaded!”

“Ceinwyn . . .” I mumbled, “is a
pants-on-fire liar. Just like
you
.”

I was too tired, too worn out to stand back
up right away. I’d taken a beating from Lefty. I’d saved Annie B.
I’d used the Shaky Stick and barely survived it. I caused an
earthquake but stopped it before it got too big . . . I think I
deserved a quick rest, even if it was on the ground. That’s where
I’m most at home, after all.

Annie B glared down at me. “What’s that
mean?” she growled.

She looked like shit. Worse than I did.
Guess fighting a vampire countess bent on your death to the point
where they’re making elaborate plans will do that to you. Joan of
Arc . . . vampire . . . still can’t believe it. Anymore than I
could believe Annie B. Her clothes were torn and cut and bloody . .
. or gooey I guess. Especially on her hands. So red they were
scarlet. But her stance . . . it was damned sure of itself. Annie
B.
B
. Shit me. Couldn’t believe it’s real.

“You know what I’m talking about, Baroness
Boleyn
.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts, face
framed in a ‘
V
’ of forearm from where I looked up at her.
Her neck choker just barely peeked over the edge. “You’re the one
who thought I’m some crazy woman screwing with you based on
your
name.”

“I saw your picture once, you don’t look
like it,” I decided.

“That portrait was made five-hundred years
ago,” she pointed out. “We didn’t have digital cameras back
then.”

“Still . . .”

“Fine . . .” she agreed. “I’ve changed a bit
to keep up with the beauty of the times. It’s my shell, I’m
allowed.”

I studied her harder than I ever had before.
More than the first time I judged her in my shop, more than the
times I’d judged her since, more than even when we were in that
bed, grinding against each other.

Face was a bit different, but not as much as
I thought. Eyes were the same. Skin color’s the same. Whatever time
period, she’s beautiful. A woman to bring down a kingdom. My
namesake didn’t have a chance.

“I did ask you directly one time, you told
me you weren’t.”

She thought about it for a bit. I didn’t
mind. I was comfortable on the ground.

We were outside my shop, I noticed. Far away
from the crazy ass vampire gated community. Vampire duels in the
community recreation center, what’s wrong with those people?

KING HENRY’S HIDDEN TREASURES.

My sign. Hidden treasures all right. The
cold ring worked like a charm. So did my second little helper. I
solved my problems the Artificer way.

“Anne Boleyn was a silly little girl,” Annie
B said finally. “I’m not her.”

Guess that’s true. “But when did you take
over in the story I know . . . that’s the question, ain’t it?”

“The vampire . . .
leaders
. . . had
been looking at a way to pay back the Papacy and the Catholic
Church since the Inquisition caught and killed so many of my kind,”
she explained coldly, without emotion, like she hadn’t lived it or
played a part in it all. “Luther’s Reformation had already sprung
up on its own but it was decided that it could use a push. All
across Europe, what reformers there were weren’t fairing well.
Small pockets, hidden meetings, even more hidden books on the
subject. They needed a beacon and England . . . an island
backwater, important but not
too
important, but with
possibilities, not a large army, but also well defended by
geography and the ocean, as the Spanish would eventually learn . .
.”

“Got to love them natural disasters,” I
snapped with a smile.

She smiled too, but ruefully. “I can’t
believe you destroyed the Earthquake Baton.”

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“How you know until you strip me naked to
check for it?” I asked, very curious. I hadn’t expected to pass
out. If I’d been awake, I never would have let her touch me . . .
but passed out . . .

She expression seemed insulted. “I did
search you, not naked . . . but I touched more pieces than I want
to ever again. I don’t trust you
that much
.”

Now that’s interesting. Cuz here’s the game
if you haven’t figured it out yet. Shaky Stick’s still around. It
was hanging out of my coat pocket. If you opened my coat, you
couldn’t miss it. The thing I destroyed in front of the Vamps was a
replica made for exactly that purpose. Fine bit of artificing on my
part. Even more fine bit of acting on my part.

I’d hoped Annie B would buy it too. But she
hadn’t. She’d checked.
And she hadn’t seen it
.

What is this thing?

“So Vamps hate the Pope,” I distracted the
conversation, “How do you come in?”

“A . . .
leader
. . . was personally
dispatched to oversee the ploy and searched for a suitable human
girl to split inside and spawn a new vampire,” Annie B said. “Anne
was chosen . . . I was born and ordered to seduce the king away
from the queen. You know the rest of the story.”

I frowned. “What about Elizabeth?”

She didn’t like those memories. I could see
it in her face. “Our shells can do everything humans can, King
Henry. Even children. Even lose children . . .”

“Your
whatever-the-fuck
made you
manipulate your body into still-birthing?” I thought aloud,
figuring how the plots were weaving.

“An heir was forbidden. She wanted England
at war with itself like the country was a testing ground for
further conflicts into the next century,” she explained. “Only . .
. my husband grew tired of me despite all my skills and wiles . . .
at politics and in bed—”

“Very nice wiles, I got to say.”

“—And I grew tired with hiding what I was
and got careless, slept with other men from Anne’s past as a way to
try to remember what it was like to be human even though those are
just memories I’d stolen. He even caught me feeding once, though he
thought it to be witchcraft.”

“Explains that one.”

She nodded. “I was arrested and ordered to
be executed. My mistress grew furious with me.”

“And you got your head cut off,” I remember
from school.

Annie B nodded again, dropping herself down
onto the pavement with me. Her hand moved up to her choker and
undid the latch. I was shocked to see a smooth scar around the
length of her neck. She enjoyed my reaction. “My one mercy was a
very talented executioner. One stroke to the neck.”

“Which doesn’t kill a vampire . . .”

“No. They put me in a coffin and buried me.
I burrowed my head back to my body and then attached it just as you
saw with my arm. Even as a servant, I’ve always been very skilled
with my true body’s manipulation.”

“Then why the scar?” I asked.

Her velvet eyes glinted. “To remember I’m
not human.”

There was that . . . “Guess not. Kind of
still like you though, especially when you ain’t punching me.”

Which earned me a hammer-fist to my
forehead.

Ceinwyn always said my big mouth was
going to get me into trouble
.

“I like you too, King Henry,” Annie B smiled
down at me.

I rubbed my forehead. “Especially when . .
.”

“Especially when you let yourself care,” she
decided.

“Yup, that’s me. Caring all the time. Used
to have the band-aid to prove it.”

She got herself up and helped me up too. We
brushed off, then we just stared at each other for a bit.

People were out in the shopping center,
walking by us, but giving us wide berths on account of the bruises,
scrapes, cuts, and blood. After all that fun, it was over.

“That’s it, I guess,” I finally said.
“Unless you want to have I’m-glad-I’m-still-alive sex.”