The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (The King Henry Tapes) Read online

  “No rush,” the customer said.

  Even in the middle of my nemesis mathematics the voice registered. Whoa, alright.

  I set my pencil down, eyes raising upward slowly, fearing what they might see.

  Tall, barely missing out on six-foot, could have been an actress if not for the Mancy being in her life . . . at least television actress, maybe big screen if she sucked a lot of producer cock. Offensive? Yes. True? Also yes. Would any actress, television or movie, ever fuck me anyway?

  No.

  So I don’t give a shit about offending them.

  Actress would’ve been a waste for Valentine Ward, even without the Mancy, too much brain on her. But we’re talking body, not brain. Gorgeous body, just enough of everything but never too much. Hips, waist, bust, neck. Perfect in slim and curving moderation. You don’t look at her and think sex, not like with Annie B, you just look at her and think: someone paint her portrait already and make her immortal.

  I’d seen hotter women before—Annie B again—seen more straight-up beautiful women too. Hope Hunting actually has a finer bone structure and more classically perfect face, as example. But attractive? Val’s tops. Whatever it is, she’s got plenty. Maybe it’s just a freak chance of genetics, maybe it’s the Mancy, pyro-anima working on that shell not so different from a vamp. All I know is it is there.

  Black eyes without iris, cheekbones that cut, blond sunshine hair shorter than I’d ever seen it, jean-shorts and a red top showing arm and shoulder but not the rest of the goods. I blinked twice at the clothes. The majority of time I’d seen her in my life she’d been wearing pyromancer colors, same commie jacket and pants as all the rest of us. During dances there’d been dresses and during swimming courses in P.E. a one-piece swimsuit, but—normal summer clothes on her—why would that of all things throw me?

  Down, Prince Henry, down!

  She winked at me, lips teasing, getting a good bit of amusement out of my reaction. I’d always amused her . . . it was the greatest key to our friendship over the years despite so many false-starts and dead-stops in our romantic lives. One minute: stolen sex in a closet; next minute: wouldn’t even let me kiss her.

  But always laughter.

  The secret to getting a girlfriend way hotter than you are: get her to laugh.

  So much confusion between us. Eventually I understood the rules, learned to take what I got when I got it and to not ever try for more, never even talk about it in public, just . . . enjoy what she gave me in private. Probably would have given up on the whole thing if the times we’d just hung out hadn’t been so enjoyable too. Coolest girl I’ve ever known.

  Valentine Ward.

  Boomworm.

  In my store.

  Whoa.

  [CLICK]

  “I expected happiness and a peck on the cheek, maybe a few curse words . . . but I’m getting shocked silence from a mute,” Val said, still happy to tease without mercy, “I didn’t give you a stroke did I?”

  “Kinda,” I mumbled.

  I felt terrified. Val got that reaction from people a lot. Us bland, at-least-we-ain’t-ugly people don’t want to hear it, cuz being invisible and passed over and ignored sucks plenty, but beauty ain’t all roses. A little beauty, that’s nothing but a plus, but too much of anything will create trouble. Get good looking enough, male or female, and the majority of the other sex glances on over at you and just says, no chance in hell.

  So why bother?

  And if they approach you: fucking terror you’ll say the wrong thing and make yourself look like a fool to the pretty girl.

  Val ain’t stuck up like some. She likes fools. Doesn’t come across as into herself. Doesn’t use being pretty as a weapon. But . . . she’s still a beauty. Also, she can set your ass on fire.

  And don’t you forget it, King Henry Price.

  Another secret to getting a girlfriend way hotter than you: have the brass to actually ask her out, cuz most guys just give up before they even start.

  “King Henry, are you all right?” Val seemed concerned. I can be for silence, but this bout was prolonged. Only time I’m ever this silent is when I’m concentrating on something . . . artificing, sex, or a fight usually.

  “You cut your hair,” I managed to sputter out.

  She ran a hand through her shorter-than-usual hair in agreement. It was maybe six or seven inches long with nothing past her chin, compared against a mane that had reached the small of her back at the Asylum. Other than gingers I’m pretty open to anything, but I’d always loved Val’s hair.

  So damn bright.

  “I travel too much to keep it long. I had to make a sacrifice for utility,” she explained, before glancing to the side shyly, “I’m a Recruiter now, you know.”

  That one had been a bit of a surprise on graduation. Hadn’t seen it coming, but when it did come . . . it sort of all made sense. Mancy marks us all. I want to save the world so mancers don’t go mad. Val wants to find teenage girls before they set the neighbor’s dog on fire . . . or worse.

  “I remember,” I said.

  “Ceinwyn’s kind of taken me under her wing as some sort of assistant, makes me follow her around.” Val winked at me again. “She’s even busier than we ever guessed back at school. The woman’s a force of nature. Sometimes I don’t know how I manage to keep up.”

  Valentine Ward is in my shop.

  Boomworm is in my shop.

  Whoa.

  Finally, I snapped completely out of my daze. I glared across my store at the teenagers gaping Val’s way. Knowing teenagers—I was one once, that makes me an expert—they had wood just from being in the room with her. “We’re closed.”

  “But—“

  “Out!” I yelled.

  “Unfair blockage, man!”

  “Cuz you had a shot at her, get out!”

  “Don’t kill the dream, man!”

  “Out!”

  “We’re going, shut up already!”

  I locked the door behind them and flipped over my ‘we’re open/we’re closed’ sign. For a second, I considered running after the teenagers in an escape attempt. Can’t run from this one. Been almost two years, King Henry, time to man up and face your fears. Why was I scared of her? Guess it goes to being a closed-off, emotionally-detached asshole most of the time.

  Val makes me feel.

  More than anyone I’ve ever met.

  “You look good,” I told her.

  “You look . . . the same,” she returned.

  “Bad thing?”

  “Never minded it before.”

  “Doubt that’s true.”

  “Why the coat? It’s burning up out there. We can agree I’m a scholar in the field.”

  I studied her again. Primal studying. Way I sized up everyone, no exception, even old lovers. Val was nervous, occasionally clicking her teeth like when we had tests at school. I make her nervous . . . guess that means she still cares about my opinion of her.

  I shrugged over the coat question. “So I never forget.”

  “That you’re a mancer? Anima at your fingertips isn’t enough?”

  I picked up a girl-cut shirt from a stack, a pink one, and brought it over to one of the print machines. I put it inside and then walked over to one of the design computers. “That I’m supposed to save the world.”

  “Ah.” Val hadn’t moved from her place by the counter other than to put down a purse. Valentine Ward with a fucking purse, don’t know how much more of this I can take. She watched me work the computer for a bit, before adding, “Ceinwyn’s talked about it. You and Anima Madness.”

  “Ceinwyn’s talked about me? Scary.”

  “She talks about you all the time.”

  “Like . . . what?”

  “You almost started a war with the Coyotes.”

  “Oh, that one . . . yeah, I fixed it though.”

  “And you did some consulting work with the vampires.”

  “Pay was shit.”

  “I met Anne Boleyn once,” Val said i
nnocently.

  Shit, shit, shitty shit! “Oh?” I lightly probed.

  “She’s . . . rather . . . good looking.”

  “Never noticed.”

  Val started laughing, apparently not jealous at all. “Oh, King Henry, really? Her?”

  “I know not what you speak of.”

  “Never noticed . . . I noticed, of course you noticed.”

  “No clue at all.”

  “That look where you can’t tell if she wants to pleasure you until you die or eat you until you die? Ring a bell?”

  I sighed. “It’s not or . . . it’s both.”

  “And did you do . . . both?”

  “Having this conversation with a . . . a school sweetheart seems . . . very inappropriate.”

  Val kept laughing and couldn’t stop.

  I finished with the design I wanted and began adding text. Still not looking Val’s way, I guiltily admitted, “She thought she was going to die.”

  After the laughter stopped, she kept mocking, “Used by the most perfect looking woman I’ve ever seen, poor King Henry.”

  I paused to give Val a meaningful look. “Not the most perfect I’ve ever seen.”

  She winked at me. “Charmer.”

  Back to the computer to position the text. “Ceinwyn never talks about you.”

  “And I immediately take back the ‘charmer’ comment.”

  “It’s true. Haven’t heard a thing about you.”

  “Never asked?”

  I clicked the button to finalize the design. “You ask about me, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Common courtesy.”

  I clicked the button for ‘are you sure?’ that they put in for the fucktards who are incapable of making up their minds. “Guess I made more of an impression than I thought.”

  “If you make anything, King Henry, it’s impressions.”

  “Now it’s just shirts.” The printer started up.

  “And artifacts.”

  I nodded toward the back door like a boy bringing the girl-next-door some flowers. “Want to see my shop?”

  “Why else would I be here?” Val smiled nervously.

  Apparently not for my shop. Val in town checking up on me . . . I could survive that easy enough. Short, out in the open, in semi-public, then goodbye and here are some more memories, kid. No problem. Didn’t have to feel but a tiny sliver, didn’t have to remember all the heartbreaks and heartmakes, didn’t have to care.

  Easy. No pain.

  Val needing something from me . . . needing my help with something important enough to be worth sacrificing an out of the way trip to a shithole like Fresno . . .

  Life’s grand, what could possibly go wrong?

  Valentine Ward needing to ask me for a favor . . . that’s what.

  [CLICK]

  I showed her the shop. We kept up the same teasing, on the edge of straight-up flirting as always. Back and forth, keeping score by how often I got Val to laugh and how often she got me to shut up. She won this time.

  Except when I showed her the vampire sex cuffs. She giggled for two minutes straight, hands over her mouth in horror.

  “And these are the famous lightning rings?”

  “Static Defense Rings, SDRs,” I grumbled as I pulled one out of a drawer. I had ten or more at my shop at any time now. With anima vials in supply I could put one together in less than an hour. I ordered plain copper rings in bulk for the ESLED rings, though occasionally an outside order would come in for silver or gold. One French billionaire even made me work on precious stones for a wife’s birthday gift. Can you believe that? Frenchman actually looking to get laid by his wife and not a mistress. What an odd world . . .

  “So small,” Val whispered, picking up the standard model I’d handed to her.

  “Size doesn’t count I’ve been told.”

  “She was lying.”

  “Always suspected it . . .”

  She handed the ring back to me. “I’m glad you’re finding success, King Henry. I was worried the Guild would crush you into tiny bits when I heard your plan.”

  “Yeah, the cocksuckers have tried plenty, but I’m still in the fight.”

  “And you do love a fight.”

  I grinned at her in agreement as I put the standard model back and pulled out another from a second drawer. I pushed it across my metal artificing table towards her. “Consider it payment for all the birthdays, Christmases, and Valentine’s Days I missed at the Asylum.”

  Val put her hand on the box but didn’t open it. “The first gift you ever gave me was more than enough for those.”

  “Still got it?” I asked.

  “On my bedside table.”

  Feeling, fucking feelings. God damn, fucking son-of-a-bitch. “Then for the last couple I’ve missed.”

  Val finally opened it. Silver, not gold. But not a standard band either, shaped like jewelry, not a tool. Rubies and topaz, like burning flame, surrounded an engraved V.W. at the top and along the band I’d etched a symbol that was half burning fire and half dancing woman—melding and mixing, neither separate from the other.

  The fact she’d just mentioned my first gift gave the moment more impact. Her silence as she studied the ring made me want to find a shotgun barrel to eat, just to end the panic slowly building inside me. Did I go too far? Did I insult her somehow? We’re supposed to be just friends after everything and this wasn’t just friends but . . . damn it, Val, why do you have me so screwed up?

  She gave a little hiccup and collapsed into a chair. Tears. The ring disappeared in her hand, cradled to her chest.

  Fuck me! I just had to add the etching. Couldn’t stop at precious stones . . . had to show off . . .

  “Thank you,” she whimpered, then pointed at herself, “this isn’t about the gift. I’m just . . . I’m overwhelmed, King Henry. This is too much to . . . too much.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” I said warily.

  “I do,” she whispered.

  “I thought you deserved it too.”

  “That I don’t know about . . .” she studied the ring one more time before sliding it on her right ring finger. “I’m a horrible person . . .”

  I pulled up another chair, sat down next to her. Men have a habit of placing touch and tactile contact in the same realm as support and all that. Friend feeling down? Slug him in the arm. Teammate make a play? Slap his ass, butt helmets, grunt fucking grunt! We want to touch in a situation like this. I’d learned from my sisters that it is a colossal failure of all men in this situation to do so.

  So I clasped my hands under the table and just waited.

  I sat there as Val pulled herself together, wiping away tears, sitting up straight, head going high and ready to face the world. “Now I’m embarrassed.”

  Not more than I am. Feelings. Embarrassment. Urgh. “I promise I’ll cry in front of you one day.”

  “Oh Mancy . . . there’s a scary thought.”

  Some more silence. Val clicked her teeth and wiped at a spare tear on her cheek. “Thank you for the kind present.”

  “Next time we’ll see if I can’t make you pee your pants.”

  She laughed and then I laughed too.

  “We’re fools, King Henry.”

  “Yup.”

  “And you’re making this very hard on me.”

  “Don’t mean to . . . want me to ask questions? That make it easier?”

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  One of Val’s few faults has always been that she’s so good at handling her own problems and helping her friends with their problems that she doesn’t do help well. Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised she wouldn’t want to come out and tell me her problem.

  “Did you shoot a man in Reno, just to watch him die?”

  She rolled her eyes, refusing to give me ammunition.

  “Do you have gonorrhea? Need me to drive you to the clinic?”

  She sighed. “This was a bad idea.”

  “I know the guys at the clinic; I’m
always in there, so I think they’ll give us a discount.”

  “A very bad idea . . .”

  I studied her for a few seconds, dropping the jokes. Val . . . the star . . . but a tired star, a worried star. I thought about who she was, about who I was. Why come to me? Why be so hesitant to ask me the favor? Ah. This wasn’t Val the schoolmate. This wasn’t Val the girlfriend. This was Val the Recruiter. What made me useful to a Recruiter?

  Ah.

  My pain.

  My story.

  My dead mother.

  “It’s July,” I said.

  Val’s dark eyes flickered. “Yes.”

  “A recruit won’t come to the Asylum,” I stated.

  “Worse than that.”

  “How?”

  “We tried to get her to come or make her parents force her . . . last year. I begged, fought. I got the Lady to declare a special dispensation due to her not turning fifteen until December of this year, not last year . . . but . . .”

  “Still a ‘no’?”

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to get through . . . they don’t understand. They see me fine as can be and they don’t believe . . .”

  I nodded my head along with every word. “So . . . now you want me to tell her about my mom. You want me to scare the living shit out of the poor thing and her parents.”

  “I’m asking a lot, King Henry, I wouldn’t—“

  “Enough, Val,” I cut her off. I made sure she met my eyes. “If it helps even one kid . . . it’s worth it. Besides . . . I’d do more for you than just tell this story if you asked it of me.”

  She smiled, brightening some. Star on the rebound. “Thank you, King Henry.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, this means you’re going to have to put up with me until we get wherever we’re headed.”

  “Palo Alto,” Val supplied.

  Huh, I thought, interesting coincidence. “Aren’t you from there? After the whole Australia huge spiders and crocodiles thing?

  “Yes.”

  “Huh,” I said aloud, then as an afterthought, “What’s her name? The girl?”