Free The Foul Mouth and the Fanged Lady by Richard Raley

covering up, her hands moved to
balance the both of us, out at her sides like she was on some
balance beam going for the gymnastic gold.
    Which left my right hand free to do whatever
it wanted.
    My right hand wanted to beat in some vamp
face.
    The first punch caught her in the throat,
stunning her, trapping air. It wasn’t iron fist , my anima
was burned, my pool was less than a puddle. It was starting to
build back up, drip by drip, minutes from being useful. Second
punch smashed just above her stomach into her diaphragm, pushing
what air was still there out. Third punch clipped her head. All
that I’d done to her and Annie B was still fast enough to make it
nothing more than a glance.
    A reflexive turn of her neck kept me from
delivering the full force of the punch. It still snapped her head
back, and, so close to her, I saw those velvet eyes lock on me.
    In them, I heard that beast in the darkness
give a content little gurgle at what she’d found. A part of me, in
that split second, remembered my Elementalism as a Weapon teacher, Fines Samson, telling me how above all things vampires are
collectors always seeking the best shells.
    The way Annie B looked at me . . . like she
was thinking I’d make a nice vacation home. It stopped my fourth
punch.
    Nope, it wasn’t one of those frozen moments
of pure prey-like fear. Have some faith in King Henry. I kept
moving . . . I just went bigger .
    I threw an elbow instead.
    A nice tight elbow won’t knock a guy out as
easy as a punch, believe it or not. One less fulcrum of strength,
less muscles, all that physics crap. An elbow is all in the
shoulder. Big muscles, compact motion.
    Won’t knock you out as easy.
    But what an elbow will do is cut you
up quicker than an exacto-knife. Sharp bone ground itself against
Annie B’s pale face, right across her cheek. The skin caught on it,
twisted, bone on bone in a clean part.
    She screeched at me, hands finally stopping
their attempt to hold us up. I had a moment to realize I was about
to get my ass kicked.
    It wasn’t a good moment.
    Annie B grabbed at my coat and flipped
backwards, legs flinging out as I twisted into the air, the judo
throw to end all judo throws. There was no hope for me to roll. I
was in the air. Not a place I like to be. Especially when my feet
are closer to the ceiling than my head is. It’s just not natural.
My shoulders, back, and ass took the impact in a wave as I tumbled
over my head and back down. Then I slid a couple more yards just
for fun.
    I got to my feet slower this time.
    But I didn’t gasp.
    In fact . . . I was kind of enjoying it.
    Annie B’s hand found the gash on her face.
Blood dripped. But not human blood. A thick string of the deepest
red you could ever imagine spurted from the wound, like a container
too full had ripped a seam. It hung, crimson goo, until Anne’s hand
rose to it, touched it, pulled it out to stretch over her fingers,
and out until she could study it with her eye.
    The . . . blood . . . moved.
    It curled itself around a finger, finding
its way like some snail out of its shell. It twisted on itself,
Annie B’s hand guiding it back to her cheek. Damned if it didn’t go
worm its way right back into the hole and disappear, the only hint
of its existence the trail of what looked like red slime more than
blood left on Annie B’s hand.
    Her eyes wandered back to me. I wasn’t alone
in the darkness any longer. “I haven’t been forcibly damaged by a
human in years,” she whispered, both amazed and excited.
    “Maybe you need practice at it.” I couldn’t
help myself. Nerve was about the only thing holding me up. My back
ached. My fist was sore. Punching her is like punching concrete
with a layer of padding, not a human. My anima was built up again,
ready for something small, but nothing small was going to save my
ass from whatever she wanted to do to it. I needed to buy time.
    My thumb touched my static ring. Yeah, that
would help. So would some of my other artifacts