The Foul Mouth and the Cat Killing Coyotes (The King Henry Tapes) Read Online Free Page B

with a hand the size of my head.  “Least ya’ll don’t look like Projects Santa Claus.”
    “Yeah, as if not getting to wear makeup isn’t bad enough, they put me in red and white,” a Hispanic chick with a nice ass on her and some kind of accent agreed.
    “Red and white?” a short girl with a cute smile but a nose in need of some plastic surgery laughed, “I’m in yellow and freaking rainbows!”  Yeah, I got to agree with her on that.  Corpusmancer colors are bad, but spectromancer colors are just plain evil.
    “Know what?” the black kid said, “You ’re right . . . and it makes me feel better.”
    “ Fucking retards . . .” I whispered under my breath, but on account of the acoustics and my detox, sounded louder than I intended.  Twenty pairs of eyes swiveled my way.  Shit , fourteen-year-old-me thought.
    Shit’ s pretty much how I felt.  As if the headache from the day before wasn’t bad enough, it also felt like every bone in my body wanted to break.  All I really wanted to do was go back to sleep or shank someone for a cigarette, but there I stood, listening to my classmates worry about clothes.
    Me?  I styled the same look I had since I’d arrived at the place.  Geomancer deep brown head to toe, undershirt un-tucked, and my coat unbuttoned.  I’d have looked better than the rest of them if I hadn’t been leaning against the wall in pain, my whole face covered in sweat.
    I’m off my fucking game , I thought.  I’d already made my point not to mess with me the day before, now I was getting involved.  Not my style.  My style’s to sit back, watch, lurk, pounce at the greatest opportunity.
    Can a fucker get a cigarette in this place?
    “What the hell’s your problem, punk?” the big black kid asked me, about twice my size.  Not like the way Welf’s taller than me either.  A whole different ballgame.  It came to a fight and I’d get thrashed.  Iron fist or not.  “You knocked out white boy last night, and that shit was funny, but you better watch who you including in retardation, feel me?”
    “I feel you, big man.”
    “Then what’s your problem?”
    I tried to stand up straight er to at least be five feet.  You got as little height as me—you learn to maximize what you have.  “My problem is that I’m going through nicotine withdrawal . . . no, that’s not it . . . my problem is that the sun is barely out . . . no, that’s not it either . . . my problem is that we’re in a magical school and you decided the most important thing to talk about is clothes .”
    The girl in the rainbows laughed again.  “ Magical school .”
    A few others joined in. Including the tall boy I’d knocked out. “Dale must have scraped the bottom of the barrel for you,” he told me, but doing so far enough back so he could run Hanks’ way if I started something.  His voice sounded funny, like he had an accent but one so weak as to barely be there.
    I grinned something feral back at him.  “Let me guess . . . family full of mancers?”
    The boy got a little taller , his pure black uniform stretching.  “Seventeen generations.”
    “Well . . . I just found out about it three days ago,” I shrugged, “and I already kicked your ass.”
    “You cheap-shot ted me,” he snorted, expression dismissive.  “In a real fight I’d wallop you.”
    My grin got more feral.  “Never did get your name.”
    He pointed at his nametag.  “Can’t read, guttersnipe?”
    “ Heinrich von Welf ,” I read.  “What are you, some kind of Nazi?”
    Before things got more serious, Patrick Ha nks finally walked up with stragglers in tow.  “That’s enough talking,” he murmured, “We are already . . . five minutes behind schedule.  Everyone, follow me!  Keep up or you’ll get lost!”
    [CLICK]
     
    You get twenty or so minutes of breakfast, during which I wolfed down some serious bacon and sausages, not to mention eggs, a bunch of tater-tots, and two cups of coffee.  Fucking yes,