The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady (11 page)

“Coyotes?” Who would want to turn into a
piece of crap, cat-stealing coyote? “There’s more than one
kind?”

Ceinwyn Dale nodded, pulling me into my new
world, down the rabbit hole, through the looking glass, second star
on the left, strings tight enough to turn me into a wooden puppet
boy. “Grizzles in Alaska and Canada. Otters along the Pacific
Coast. Jaguars in Mexico. Nothing on the East Coast worth speaking
of, the wild life’s been too decimated of large animals, but you do
find the occasional sorority that thinks it’s cute to dabble in
horses or some backwoods people that like badgers or raccoons.”

Horses . . . “So . . . what else is
there?”

“Vampires,” Ceinwyn Dale’s eyebrows shot
up.

“You’re just fucking with me now . . .”

“Such fantasies for such a
little
boy.”

“Hey . . .”

“Unlike Weres, they’re dangerous . . . if
you actually manage to graduate as a four year without getting
expelled then stay away from them. If you’re a seven year . . . be
extra careful.”

Part of me thought she was full of very
stinky shit. A part of me bigger than my stomach or Prince Henry
combined. “What about fairies?” I tested. Fairies real, yeah right.
Tinkerbell this, asshole.

“Corporeal Anima Concentrations. Most last
weeks, a few special cases have been around since Elementalism was
Codified in 490 B.C. Maybe longer.” Mind be blown.

It became a competition to come up with
something that was really fake. “What about dwarves, elves, that
hobbit shit?”

“All extinct. Dragons as well.”

Dragons. Fuck me.
Dragons?
How do you
just throw that out in the conversation and go on eating your
breakfast? “Centaurs?” I wearily asked.

“Corpusmancer and faunamancer
co-experimentation along with minotaurs, griffins, hippocampus, and
chimeras. Outlawed in the 27 B.C. Augustus Reforms. You’ll learn
all about it in your
History of Elementalism
class.”

“Aliens?”

“Now you’re just being silly, King
Henry.”

Fairies, dragons, vampires, Were . . .
coyotes?
Wereotters
.
Werehorse sororities!
That put a
whole new spin on reverse cowgirl.

The ideas were so big, so outrageous, that
my mind kept jumping from one to the other, unable to lock on and
digest anything. It made being able to break a table seem small.
And it is small. For most of us, even Ultras, the Mancy is about
planning ahead, small tricks and little wonders. Breaking a lock,
cutting a wire, bending a lamppost. Not going to war on the
frontlines. Fourteen-year-old-me would take years to accept that.
There were lots of disappointments coming for him, poor little
shit.

But then, sitting across from Ceinwyn Dale,
maybe reading comics had damaged my poor little brain. Stomach big.
Prince Henry big. Brain small. “I broke a table in half the other
day. I think I broke the child-lock on your car too.”

Ceinwyn Dale finished her breakfast and
sipped at some latte coffee drink—ever mancer has their kinks;
Ceinwyn Dale is fond of light or whipped food. “Interesting.”

My heart—another big body part—thumped
heavily in my chest. “Is that . . . good?”

Her eyes smiled again, blue flashes. “It’s
interesting you asked about the Mancy. Most students from
non-elemental families are scared of it and would never admit they
used it for mischief. Their first question is usually about the
Institution of Elements. The classes, how many children, what the
teachers are like, what there is to do on off day, sports, clubs,
that sort of thing.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it? Consider that most students also
don’t have the lifestyle which forces usage like your fighting did.
Or that the Mancy is elemental into thirteen disciplines.”

“So many . . .”

“I’m an aeromancer,” Ceinwyn Dale told me,
as if I hadn’t figured it out. Okay, maybe not the name, but I knew
what she could do. “You’re more than likely a geomancer. Earth and
metal to stop the question before you ask it. You broke a table . .
. a girl in your class you’ll meet tomorrow is a pyromancer, a very
strong one. Do you know how she found out about the Mancy? A
neighbor’s dog was barking while she tried to study for a test. She
told it to shut up only it didn’t and the second time she got mad
at it the dog burst into flames. More traumatizing than breaking a
table.”

“So . . . I feel bad about the dog, but
being selfish . . . if I annoy her, she can’t make me burst into
flames, could she?”

Ceinwyn Dale gave a sharp ‘
ha!
’ for
that one. But she didn’t bother to answer me. The conversation was
over. Back to the road and moving towards the Institution of
Elements, wherever it was. Maybe I
should
have started
asking questions about the place first.

“Don’t forget your picture, King Henry.”

Ceinwyn Dale handed me the piece of paper
with the crayons. Only the haphazard crayon piles were gone.
Fourteen-year-old-me had no clue how she did it, but I know now.
The piles were placed, charged with anima to puff out in a dust at
the same time. On top of that, a sheet of air is pushed down so the
dust coats the paper about as well as any laser printer and with a
more aesthetic sheen. Ceinwyn Dale, impressive as always. I’ve seen
other aeromancers do it, my classmate Miranda Daniels among them,
but Ceinwyn Dale . . .

The picture had Mom and Dad at the kitchen
table; how they’d looked the night they’d spent talking with
Ceinwyn Dale about my schooling. Dad looked tired. Mom looked
happy. I still have it today. It’s in a nice wooden frame that
Pocket made for me.

“
Elementalism as Art
, Bi’s take it
during second year,” Ceinwyn Dale told me as I cradled the paper
more carefully than I had my broken earbuds. “Your teacher is
scheduled to be Rainbow Greenbrier. Very good spectromancer . . .
bit of a flower child, though.”

[CLICK]

North of Fresno is just as boring as south
of Fresno. More cows, less asphalt.

Question and answer session seemed to be
over. Typical Ceinwyn Dale: make me fight for something and then
refuse to give it up. Testing, always testing and calculating,
weighing and measuring. I’m graduated, a grown man, and she’s still
doing it by having me make this stupid tape.

It’s not her fault; it’s just the Asylum
way. Especially with Ultras. We might be rarer than diamonds but if
one of us is going to snap and let off a suicide tsunami on the
Pacific Ocean, then the Asylum needs to know, needs to be prepared.
Part Gandalf—part Freud.

Back in that car, fourteen-year-old-me
wasn’t as forgiving. Ceinwyn Dale had taken me out of my shithole
but she was treating me like seven-day-old dog crap, even if she
was treating me like
adult
seven-day-old dog crap.

“So where is this place?” I asked to try to
ride the current.

We drove past some more cows. How many
hamburgers does America need anyway? “Lake Tahoe, near enough.”

One of those ‘Ds’ was also in geography.
“Where’s that?”

“California.”

“So very fucking helpful.”

“Do you want another mouthful of air or your
first papercut? Your choice.”

“So very helpful,
Miss Dale
. You’re
the best teacher ever.” I probably glared a little bit too. Might
have considered flipping her off as well.

“In the mountains, close to Nevada,” she
explained. “Nevada is the state to the east of California.”

“I know that.” Got a ‘C’ on that test.
Helena, Montana. Montpelier, Vermont. “How long’s it going to
take?”

“Few hours.”

“Like five hours or like three hours?”

“As many as it takes.”

I went back to my collection of comics I’d
brought with me. Spider-man and Captain America and the rest of the
Marvel Universe lasted me until we got to Sacramento. Big city. No
idea if it has more people than Fresno or not, but Fresno is wide
and spread out. From the highway, Sacramento has some big
buildings. Bigger than any I’d ever seen up until then. It was
still in the Valley, so they were probably shithole big buildings,
but they were impressive in that big, phallic kind of way men and
boys enjoy. Enough that I gave up on the comics. Didn’t want to
reread them anyway.

“What’s the school like?”

Ceinwyn Dale gave me a smiling glance. “Why
ask now?”

“You said most kids do, so I figured I
should at least know what they know.” Even back then, when I wanted
to know about something I devoured it. I was only bad at school
because it was boring compared to fighting and stealing and five
minute grunting and humping sessions. I probably read more than
half the kids my age, it just wasn’t school books or literary
rich-people-with-marriage-problems shit, it was comics and
magazines.

“Interesting,” she said yet again but didn’t
answer me.

Rolling down the window to remind her about
the child-lock, I threw out the comics to flap behind us as we sped
along. I figured by then—and I was right on the money—that the
Institution of Elements people were going to take them from me.
Maybe the way I did it, some poor homeless guy could burn them for
warmth or something. Besides, I liked doing things on my terms.
Might not have been broken like the iPod, but it’s the same in the
end.

“Do you think if I try hard enough that I
can break the axle on the car?”

“I know you could. When you’re trained at
least.”

“Badass.”

“The Institution of Elements has
sixteen-hundred four-year students at any given time. Plus staff,
seven-year Ultra graduates, and teachers, we’ll call it an even
three-thousand people . . . but it varies, usually higher.” She
paused to get my thoughts.

“That’s more than I figured.”

“There are more Mancers given population
numbers but that’s the extent of how many we can handle. Those we
can’t include go mad eventually. This particular problem is getting
worse . . .”

It cut me. “Like Mom.”

“Yes. It’s hard to lose them, but we can
only take the best of what we find and even then we don’t find them
all. Your mother isn’t even in the Institution records as an
identified mancer, which means she was missed completely. It
happens, even with Ultras . . . which is harder still.”

“You keep saying that word.”

“I do,” she agreed.

Okay . . .
“Why keep track of mancers
you don’t train? You could get them help, I guess . . .”

“Think, King Henry.”

“What?”

“About your own situation.”

“Oh . . . so you check to see if they have
kids that are mancers.”

“Correct. See, you
can
use
reason.”

“Especially these Ultra assholes.”

She finally answered me. “An Ultra is a
special mancer.
Ultra vires
. Beyond the powers. Rarer. They
have abilities and affinities that a normal mancer can never hope
to have.”

“Badass again . . . Am I one?”

“We’ll see.”

I was one.

“One in a quart, that’s what you meant,
that’s how rare Ultras are.” I
could
use reason.

“Class is in session from September until
the last day of July. Good students are given a week off Christmas
and Easter, your mother however signed an agreement to see you stay
with us all year around.” I must have scowled. “Don’t blame her;
she wants you to get away, to get the training she never did—so she
made a sacrifice for the both of you.”

“She knows? What she is?”

Ceinwyn Dale frowned for once, the smile
dropping off her face. “Let’s say she suspects you’re special like
she is. She doesn’t know the rest.”

I wiped at my face, turning my head away and
changing the subject. “All year . . . for four years at least.”

“You aren’t the only one. All of the
exchange students stay. As well as those from poor families. Those
that leave for August are usually four-year students from families
you’ll probably hate anyway.”

“But some kids have parents that went to the
school, right? They know all this stuff going in.”

“Old families exist and, yes, you’ll have a
number in your class. It isn’t genetic, but the Mancy likes to find
itself.”

“No promises on me not beating them up.”

Pretty sure she ignored me. “A school week
is Monday to Saturday—”

“Six days!” I yelled.

“—from six in the morning until six at
night,” Ceinwyn Dale finished with a special smile just for that
cruel little fact.

Twelve hours
. Fourteen-year-old-me
almost threw
himself
out the window.

Yes, twelve hours, five morning classes,
three afternoon classes. So much work and pressure. It’s named the
Asylum for a reason and the teachers and faculty are masters at
learning just how far to push us before giving a break. It’s
difficult . . . but at the same time I occasionally find myself
missing the place—and comparing it against a normal high school
experience . . . a little crazy is good, ain’t it? It better be . .
. every mancer is . . . some more than others.

If Ceinwyn Dale really uses this tape for
new recruits and that’s who you are listening to me . . . don’t
worry, if I survived, you’ll survive. God damn it . . . Why the
fuck am I doing this? Fucking Plutarch . . .

[CLICK]

We didn’t stop our trip until we were up in
the mountains. I didn’t know it at the time, but Ceinwyn Dale took
a roundabout way to the Asylum. Who knows why? Perhaps she liked
the view or, looking back on it, she could have decided I needed
the extra day with her to accept the changes I was about to go
through.

We took the long way and I passed the
mountains that would become my home for seven years. Ceinwyn Dale
might not have wanted fourteen-year-old-me to get ahead of himself,
but I’m as Ultra as you get. And what better place to teach a
geomancer than surrounded by all that good soil and granite, hills
and peaks flowing with minerals?