The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady (33 page)

D’Arc shook and not with laugher. Her hands
were white, bloodless, which for a vampire running with such a
heavy pulse is saying something. “Who are you to get in the way of
my justice, you foul mouthed creature?

“Coat gives it away, don’t it?”

“A geomancer, milady,” one of d’Arc’s
biggest goons put in when the countess looked for a loss.
Apparently, in all the planning for revenge she hadn’t been keeping
up with Asylum fashion choices.

Hearing what I was, d’Arc dismissed me as a
threat. I saw it in her eyes.

Big mistake, honey,
big mistake
.

“Of course . . . she hired you to help find
the item we stole; only our trap has caught a scavenger along with
our prey. Let me guess, she paid by letting you bed her?”

“Nah, that got tacked on extra as a tip, I
don’t come cheap.”

D’Arc’s face twisted in disgust. I got the
feeling she’d kept up the whole virgin warrior of God thing over
the years. “You never change, Boleyn, always thinking with your . .
.
twat
.”

Annie B smirked back. “At least I know what
mine’s used for,
maiden
.”

Could these two have been more opposite?

Loyal whore, disloyal saint.

“Really? Hundreds of years and
really
?” I asked, completely horrified by that much lack of
sex. “Eventually you’d just think the thing would go off by
accident in a hot bath or something.”

“Enough!” D’Arc yelled, back to being
blotchy. “The geomancer is as inconsequential as the artifact. This
is between her and I. Any vampire in this room could kill you,
little human, shut your mouth or I will order them to do so.”

She thinks I’m a normal geomancer
.
Pretty easy assumption to make. Artificers are rare enough and an
Artificer willing to hire out to a vampire and who didn’t belong to
the Guild? The woman didn’t know what the coat meant; you just know
she’s out of the loop when it came to my somewhat-fame in Mancy
circles.

Big fucking mistake on her part.

Annie B and I were surrounded by twenty
vampires, one of them a countess trained in war when they knew what
war
really meant. My European history ain’t great, I’m
American, even at the Asylum they’ll only teach you so much about
other countries. But if Annie B
was
Anne Boleyn—which I
still think is bullshit—then Anne Boleyn was around when they were
just figuring out muskets. Joan of Arc was a purely sword and
horses kind of gal. That meant like a hundred, maybe two-hundred
year advantage to Joan.

But I’d been figuring on an even bigger
disadvantage in age when Annie B had been fighting the Duke . . .
Cassius was the name apparently. Really hoping it’s not
the
Cassius, ‘cuz . . . that would be too much. Okay, d’Arc probably
knew how to fight. But a general ain’t a champion. To use one of
Jethro Smith’s favorite stories, Agamemnon needed Achilles for a
reason.

Annie B could take her.

Which left me and nineteen vampires I
figured for gentles. Surrounded. In the middle of the room. No
chance in hell normally.

But it’s not normally.

Genius Joannie D had placed an Artificer
within five feet of the Shaky Stick and thought she had him
trapped.

Why not just give Arnold Schwarzenegger a
Minigun while you’re at it?

If the Shaky Stick was indeed a Minigun, a
weapon and tool, and not in fact something like a thousand-year-old
jade dildo.

That would suck.

There are lots of ways I don’t want to die,
but dying while holding a dildo is Top Five.

“You sure?” I asked d’Arc. “Really sure any
of these underlings could take me? I mean, I’m a fight fan, you
know? And you never have the main event without one undercard bout.
Seems like we should have ourselves one now.”

D’Arc looked at me like I’d mutated into
something worse than a foul mouthed creature. “If you just shut up,
then I promise I will not kill you.”

“Nah, can’t do that. Guess I got to kill one
of your thugs, prove myself, ya know?”

“I will never understand why they are loyal
to you,” d’Arc whispered to Annie B. “What is it about you? There
is not a good quality to you. You betray them, use them, your soul
is as dark as midnight, but they always protect you.”

Annie B and I caught eyes again, velvet and
dirt. Why indeed? Why save someone that ate her own kind? That beat
me up way too often for my tastes. Because I wanted the Shaky
Stick? Because we’d had great sex? Because I wanted paid? Maybe . .
. just maybe . . . because I liked her?

“It’s cuz she’s so purdy,” I teased.

A smile split Annie B’s face, her tongue
flicking out to tap her top lip. “Don’t die,” she told me.

“I got this.”

Muscle number left stepped up to the plate.
“Make it quick,” d’Arc said tiredly, “It’s getting late.”

Lefty had half a foot on me and at least
one-hundred pounds. He looked like he belonged on some of the
t-shirts I used to wear as a kid. He probably did this kind of
thing a lot. A tough for a high-ranking vamp. Probably found d’Arc
her food, took care of donors, protected her from anyone that gave
her crap.

He was dressed in a suit without a jacket,
but not a modern suit design, something older, turn of the century
maybe. He had some years on him but not enough to do what Annie B
did. I’d beaten her . . . that means I could beat him.

Right?

Only I couldn’t use the Mancy.

I’d been pooling like crazy. I had a little
less than half of what I’d had in the car trunk. Which meant I
could have smashed Lefty like a bug. If I had to. I didn’t want to.
I had to save that anima, had to keep it for the Shaky Stick. Means
the Mancy’s out. I had to
actually
beat the vampire straight
up, keep my pool, use it later. I’m not fighting the guy for any
loyalty towards Annie B. I liked her enough to give her
I’m-going-to-die sex, but not to actually die for her in some
white-knighting futility. I fought Lefty for
time
. I needed
to find out how big of a pool I could manage.

It’s the only chance I had to use the Shaky
Stick and not crack a piece of California into the Pacific. In this
case, bigger is better.

So time . . . so beating a vampire without
the Mancy.

This is exactly why I’d rigged my static
ring to fire off on impact.

Lefty took a couple practice swings, big
looping punches that would have crushed my head into goo if they’d
connected. I stretched a bit, even did a jumping jack. It got some
laughs. Lefty grinned at me. He knew a fighter when he saw one and
I wasn’t acting like a fighter. I was acting like a lot of the loud
mouth douchebags that I had smashed into the ground over the
years.

I took a stance, feet a foot too far apart,
right hand too high, left hand too low. Lefty saw the opening,
grinned even more.

He took a stance too, doing a little
wiggling, got some laughs for himself. I faked a gulp, paused . . .
readied myself . . . then I pleaded with Annie B with big brown
what-did-I-get-myself-into eyes.

The punch I knew would come the moment I got
distracted landed with a thud on my face. Annie B winched, then I
lost sight of her and I staggered back, pretending I’d never felt a
punch before.

The vampires hollered. D’Arc looked bored,
but nonetheless said, “Do you think he will last two minutes,
Boleyn?”

“Which one are you talking about?” Annie B
asked with some nice bite.

Lefty hadn’t thrown barely anything into the
punch. It was all snap. Hadn’t really hurt at all. Don’t get me
wrong—punch is a punch. Knuckles ain’t pads. But this thing wasn’t
even an arm punch, it was a wrist punch. Would have been a point in
amateur boxing . . . but this ain’t boxing.

I righted myself, got back in my screwed up
stance. I bounced on my feet a little, playing it up again. If I
sucked at this stuff and had never done it before, what would I do
this time? Throw a punch, I figure. So I threw a punch, wild,
looping, even used the left arm instead of the right. Lefty’s fist
slammed into my stomach. I grunted.

Okay, that one had a little more on it.

I toppled over, landed on my knees. Tried to
get up, fell back down. Yeah, just give me the Oscar already. Lefty
pushed me over with his foot. I rolled convincingly. My pool of
anima kept growing.

Getting to my feet again, taking my time, I
rubbed at my stomach to the jeers from the watching vampires.
“Going to eat you, little boy!”

“Going to wear you to your family’s
thanksgiving dinner and dinner’s on them!”

Yeah, yeah, you sun-fuckers, I hear
you
.

Back to my stance. This time . . . leery.
Lefty punched at me and I backed up. Punched again and I backed up
again. He gave me a sneer. “Entertain me or I just kill you,
mancer,” he told me. His voice had such a low pitch it sounded like
rocks grinding against each other.

The perfect time to get real.

I’d gotten five minutes or more of extra
pooling. I backed up close to the table with the Shaky Stick. Lefty
still didn’t act serious;
he thinks I’m a pushover
. Best to
surprise a guy when he least expects it.

That’s why I threw a kick. Not some flailing
thing at his head or some karate move which had me twisting around
like a movie star—this is no nonsense kicking. Real kicking. A leg
kick right at his knee. Lefty was so busy concentrating on my
stance, on that huge hole in my guard he could have punched through
at any time, his eyes were caught high. He didn’t see it coming.
It’s always the one you don’t see coming that hurts the most.

THUD
.

Lefty’s face crunched in on itself as my
shin snapped right into his thigh muscle. His gaze reflexively
shifted to see my foot pull back to the ground. Being a big bad
vampire, Lefty did what you’d expect him to do when he gets hit: he
punched back, right into the hole in the guard that I’ve had for
minutes.

Only it’s not there anymore.

When his eyes moved, so did my hands, right
into the correct positions. But why risk it? I knew exactly where
he would punch. I didn’t need to take the punch on my arms. I could
just dodge the whole thing.

I stepped to the side, bent my shoulders,
and watched as a big bad vampire punch flew past my chest without
hitting a single part of me. My whole life had been about assuming
you’re the smallest and finding a way to survive it, whichever way
you could manage. I guess vampires run the opposite direction. They
always assume they’re the best, the smartest, the strongest, the
toughest. Bullies the whole lot of them, even Annie B
sometimes.

I can’t stand bullies.

My first punch of the fight went to his wide
open side, my left arm, a hook to his kidney, nasty painful punch.
His arm that had missed flew back towards me, backhand trying to
catch me with an elbow or forearm but I ducked under it. Not hard
to do that given how tall the fucker is. Throwing a backfist like
that, Lefty’s already getting into things, realizing I’d been
playing him.

Time to end it.

It’s not a situation to take chances in. I
still had the Shaky Stick waiting. Didn’t need to go into using it
bruised and bleeding. I’d need all my concentration.

The thumb of my right hand found my static
ring, turned it around so the KHP got centered and then my fist
flew. I’m going to tell you the truth . . . I’d have loved to brand
my initials right on his forehead, but it was way out of my
reach.

I’d reworked my ring to take pressure as its
trigger. Not as safe as anima, but it needed a nice sized bit of
pressure, not just smacking someone on the ass either. I needed
bone. Needed a place without lots of clothing like his chest,
something that didn’t move like his arms, and something that didn’t
give like a man’s stomach or balls.

I aimed for his hip, right on the pelvis,
and I punched downward into it as hard as I could.

Maybe all the running had built up an extra
charge, I don’t know, but the ring did a lot more than taser. It
sizzled Lefty in his boots, from his feet to his head. His teeth
clamped up on themselves, his jaw bounced, and his whole body kind
of shook before he collapsed, every muscle in his body out of it.
Vamp or not, biology is a bitch. You use our bodies as shells then
the shell works the same as our bodies. This guy didn’t have the
skills to leave his shell like Annie B did. He was stuck, like a
car without a spark plug and a fifteen minute walk to get a new
one.

Ever heard nineteen vampires gasping?

Sounds great.

“That was too much damn work,” I mumbled to
myself, using the excuse of the fight to sit on the table, right
next to the Shaky Stick.

D’Arc studied Lefty like she wasn’t sure if
she was angry at him or at me. “Did you kill him?”

“Nah, he’ll get up little after Annie B
kills you.”

Blotchy came back. Looks like she decided
who she’s angry at. “You finding God’s favor does not mean she
will.”

I shrugged, still acting all tired. “Not to
be sacrilegious, but I think I’m probably going to be more help to
her than God will be.”

D’Arc raised her sword. “I have changed my
mind again. After Boleyn dies, so do you.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Only be sure to get the
name right on the tombstone. King Henry Price. And right after that
put Artificer.” I picked up the Shaky Stick. Earned me another
round of gasps.

I had their attention. “Anyone interferes
with this fight and I use this thing, got it? Then we see just why
the San Francisco Embassy is scared of it.”

Know what sounds better than nineteen
vampires gasping? Nineteen vampires crapping their pants.

“Do as he says,” D’Arc commanded in a tone
not to be disobeyed. “I will deal with her myself. No trickery
before the eyes of God.”