Love for the Cold-Blooded (42 page)

“Wow, Mom, that’s awesome,” Pat said, genuinely impressed. “The scaly lost primeval cave thing is new, right?”

This time, her laughter was bubbly and girlish, and she grinned delightedly, fangs glinting. “A little trick I picked up from a group of serpent worshipers. Impressive, isn’t it? I can’t wait to see the superheroes quaking in their boots. Scaring the stuffing out of them is one of my favorite things. It’s hilarious to watch them spout their righteous speeches when they’re white-faced and trembling.”

Silver Paladin wouldn’t be white-faced and trembling. Not because of a trick of the voice, and probably not for any other reason, either.

The Serpent Minions had sprung into activity again. They were hard at work unpacking the shipping crates that had been piled up against the far wall, and were spreading out various component parts of furniture and equipment. Someone began drilling holes into the wall behind the throne, and four particularly tall and muscular minions staggered in under the weight of huge wicker baskets.

Cat strode by with a toolbox and a broad grin, high-fiving Pat as she passed. Jaguar was allowing her to stay for Serpentissima’s ascension, and she already had most of the other Serpent Minions firmly under her thumb (Hell was impressed, and Hell did not impress easy). It wouldn’t be long at all until Pat found himself one of Cat’s minions, he bet.

“Let us leave my faithful underlings to their tasks,” Serpentissima said, tugging Dad towards a vaulted stone arch at the far end of the hall. “My lair is almost finished — only some minor details remain to be seen to. My minions will do so, and then withdraw. By the time we return, everything will be in order and we’ll have the throne room to ourselves for the evening.”

Putting the finishing touches on everything to prepare for the arrival of the heroes. For Nick, who would be certain to be among the leaders of the hoagie force, who would —

Cea elbowed Pat in the side, hard. When Pat whirled to glare at her, he recoiled involuntarily; she was all hollow-eyed and sickly green, washed out by the baleful light of the bio-luminescent fungi that lined the corridor’s walls. Even her evil older-sister grin was stained with green.

“What?” Pat hissed, inexplicably rattled. His mom was explaining something about the booby-trapped and entirely hero-proof ventilation system, and everybody else seemed to be listening with rapt attention.

“Stop
pining
,” Cea hissed back, and jabbed her sharp elbow into his side again. Pat squawked and tried to retaliate, but she was too fast. “Gods, Patpat, you shouldn’t have diddled anyone ever, if you were going to be this much of a loser about it.”

“Diddled?” Who spoke like that? Cea was stuck in a particularly uncool decade of the previous century, seriously.

But Pat took the hint and tried to banish all thoughts of Nick from his mind. It wasn’t every day he got to visit his mom’s awesome new lair with his entire family. He didn’t want to miss out because he was too busy brooding to appreciate the experience.

“What would you like to see first, kids — the labs or the dungeons?”

They voted three to one for the labs, with the sole dissenting vote being Zen’s (she’d always been a dungeon lover). They’d definitely made the right choice, too, because the labs were brilliant: a winding labyrinth of dark, claustrophobic spaces that made you want to huddle in corners with your arms wrapped around your head, interspersed at irregular intervals with cavernous chambers flooded with a glaring white light harsh enough to leech all color and beauty from existence. Everything was carved from bedrock, the stone walls rough and uneven for added drama. Rubble to trip the unwary hero was laid out in strategic spots, and there were numerous atmospheric touches like chemical burn marks, stone walls scored deeply as though slashed by huge claws (probably Cat’s), and a slow, echoing drip of water with no visible source. (“It’s computer-generated,” guessed Cea, correctly.)

The last of the vast chambers was buried deep in the heart of the lair, protected not only by the surrounding labyrinth, but also several massive steel doors. Huge vats of amber liquid clustered in the center of the cave, hooked up to control panels by cables that spread over the floor like the root system of a high-tech tree. A crown of clear tubes as thick as Pat’s arm topped each vat, trailing up to the ceiling to disappear into channels tunneled through the rock.

Serpentissima smiled, fangs sharp and white against her full, blood-red lips. “This is the key to my plans — my magic-infused synthetic amber. The amber solidifies immediately upon impact with a superhero, encases them completely, and holds them suspended in stasis until I deem fit to release them. It will trap even Star Knight, thanks to the magical component.”

Wow, seriously? That was awesome — at least as cool as mechanical dolphins and mind control rays. Mom must have teamed up with a mad scientist at some point.

“Apart from its inestimable value in combat, it has aesthetic qualities that are hard to match. The amber remains translucent upon hardening, and its outer shell assumes a pleasing crystalline shape. This means that my vanquished foes will make a lovely decoration for the throne room! I’ve had suitable alcoves built into the walls, and cannot wait to tastefully showcase my trophies. What better way to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies?”

Hell nodded, eyes shining. “That’s amazing, Mom. The things you could do with this…”

“The things
we
are going to do with this, sweetie,” mom said. She pulled Hell into a loving half-hug, smoothing a few strands of hair from her forehead. “My wicked, first-hatched little snakeling, do you know how much I admire the woman you have become? Your venom grows more potent with every year, and even now your enemies quiver in fear of your ascension.”

Mom always took the time to tell each of them how proud she was of them. You’d think that — being the eldest and thus having had the most practice receiving Mom’s little speeches, as well as being hailed far and wide for her almost supernatural sang-froid — Hell would handle undiluted parental approval with something approaching equanimity. You’d think that, yeah, but you’d be wrong.

Hell blinked and smiled almost hesitantly, flustered in a way she usually never got. It was pretty adorable, actually, and Pat exchanged fond grins with Zen and Cea.

In Pat’s pocket, his phone buzzed with a new text message. He hung back slightly to read it as everyone else took a closer look at the amber vats and the control units.

I told the pastry chef to copy your cake,
Nick wrote.
She refused. She may or may not also have called me names in a language I do not speak, which I prudently instructed AI not to translate.

Looked like the serving heart had its limits — at least when pitted against the professional pride of a star-bedecked chef. Nick might have known, except of course that he was the most oblivious guy this side of the ocean.

Pat grinned down at his phone and typed out a reply, drifting along in the wake of his family.
Good on her. Nobody does diagonal cake like Patrick West. Accept no substitutes.

“Something with venom, perhaps?” Zen was saying as they turned into the corridor leading to the dungeons. “Serpent Venom. Venom of Fury — no, fury makes no sense.”

“Venom makes no sense either,” sniped Cea. “The amber isn’t poisonous. The name should allude either to its actual properties or its purpose. Hero’s Bane, for example.”

Pat had no idea what they were talking about. He shot off another quick text.
So you liked it? You never said.

He caught a sideways look from his mom, but fielded it with a smile and a shrug. He was too young not to text obnoxiously at family gatherings. It was practically a requirement.

The dungeons were a bit of a let-down after the awesomeness of the labs. Sure, they were all dank and gloomy and ‘abandon all hope’-y, like dungeons were meant to be. But dreadfully foreboding or not, in the end they were nothing more than a decorative curlicue added to the lair as a nod to tradition, with no actual practical purpose.

“I was considering adding a couple of skeletons in this corner,” Serpentissima mused. “I could even add some manacles — go all out, no holds barred.”

“No way, mom.” Zen made a face, and Pat had to agree. “That’d just be tacky, not to mention far too old-fashioned. What’re you gonna use this place for, anyway? Moving anyone in here seems like an unnecessary security risk when you have the Hero’s Bane option.”

The ensuing argument about tradition versus practicality took them all the way back to the throne room, and bagged Pat another text about his infamous and inimitable diagonal cake.

It was different,
wrote Nick, cagily.

What a faker.
And you so liked it. Don’t front.
Why else would he have asked his cake lady to copy it for him?

This reply took no time at all to pop up on Pat’s phone screen.
It was uniquely inept.

“Patrick, are you texting your young man? Why don’t you invite him to join us for dinner. You evidently have no attention to spare for anyone else, anyway.” When Pat glanced at her, the glint of Mom’s fangs was a little too bright to be friendly. “Tell me where he is and I’ll have someone pick him up. Your father has prepared plenty of food.”

“No, no, that’s okay. He’s real busy. We’re done anyway.” He fired off one last text, though:
Yeah, and you loved it.

Everybody was watching him when he looked up, including the enormous boa constrictor curled up on Mom’s onyx throne. Pat crossed his eyes at them (especially at the snake; was that really moody old Marlene?) and demonstratively returned the phone to his pocket, holding up both empty hands in surrender.

Dick,
Cea mouthed at him, her back safely turned to their parents. Pat briefly mimed clutching at his chest, and then gave her the flattest, most unimpressed look he could muster.

The minions had done a great job of putting the finishing touches on the throne room. It had been impressive before, but now it was monumental and breathtaking. Serpentissima’s logo gleamed on the wall behind the throne — a giant, stylized S set within a jagged gold diamond. Like the throne itself, the steps leading up to the dais were made of onyx polished to a high sheen, gloriously black and glossy. Golden, silver and bronze cushions were scattered about the dais in careful disarray, creating a pleasant hint of decadence that would later be enhanced by the Serpent Sluts lounging indolently at their dread mistress’s feet.

The room’s high columns and arches were now complemented by massive bronze chandeliers, and ornamental potted trees lined the walls to either side of the throne. Snakes of all colors and sizes basked underneath heat lamps, explored the room and climbed the trees. On the throne, Marlene (presumably) coiled on the onyx seat, her body gleaming like rubies, alabaster and diamonds.

The black iron grill in the corner, glowing with the red-hot heat of coals perfectly fired up for barbecuing, fit the lair perfectly. The plastic coolers standing next to it less so, but whatever. Nothing was ever perfect.

A cone of light shimmered down over the throne and the open space in front of it. Lighting had clearly been a priority in the lair’s design; every move of Serpentissima’s sinuous serpent form as she slid forward into the light made sparks gleam and jump from her scales. The effect turned even her most casual movements majestic and imposing.

“My beloved children.” Serpentissima raised herself until she towered above them by several lengths. She spread her arms to command the entire cavern’s attention, and her loose hair writhed majestically around her head and shoulders. “My beloved husband. Know that everything I do is done for you. I will conquer the world for us. Nobody will be able to stand before my might. All shall tremble before me, and whatever you wish shall be yours.”

She paused for exactly the right amount of time, just long enough to allow the hissing echo of her words to fade.

“My plan is simple, for all that it is cunning… and it cannot fail. I will turn my enemies’ expectations against them and give them an opportunity — so they will believe — to extract my poison fangs before I am prepared to sink them into their throats. But when they attack, they will not find me unprepared… quite the contrary. And thus, I will begin my reign with the showdown, rather than end it.” She smiled, and the excellent lighting made her fangs’ needle sharpness stand out even from a distance. “Here, where my power is strongest, I will defeat them and laugh as they are encased in amber, fated to hang decoratively upon my walls as I complete my conquest.”

“Encased in
Hero’s Bane
,” came Cea’s loud stage-whisper. Mom ignored her.

It was a glorious plan, yet Pat’s heart sank as he imagined it unfold. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his mother to conquer the world. Of course he did; she was his mom, and she deserved it. He just didn’t like Mom’s world conquest going hand in hand with Nick hanging on a wall encased in amber (or whatever). Nick should be free to geek out in his lab and fly around in his suit like the pompous self-righteous hoagie he was, happily pursuing his own weird-ass pastimes… as long as those pastimes didn’t involve foiling Mom’s plans.

It was all pretty tangled up, and Pat had no idea what to do. He didn’t want either Nick or Mom to end up bowed, bitter and defeated. They couldn’t both win, though, so he hardly even knew what to hope for.

He looked down as something nudged his foot, a small weight edging onto his shoe. It was
his
snake — the small green and gold one Pat had met and befriended at the West family dinner. It affectionately nosed his ankle and began climbing up his leg just as Pat’s phone vibrated in his pocket. His mom was speaking again, but Pat had caught enough of her words to know that he didn’t need to give her his full attention. It was one of her standard before-dinner speeches, all about family, glory and eternal dominion.

He sneaked his phone from his pocket, glancing down to find that Nick had written, simply:
I did.

The way Pat’s heart skipped a beat and then started up again in double time was a bit ridiculous, considering they were talking about cake. Nick’s admission that he’d loved Pat’s diagonal cake, uniquely inept as it was, felt like something altogether more important, though… something altogether more wonderful.