Of Superior Design

by Matt Rogers

  Chapter 8

  They were sitting at an outdoor cafe enjoying the view when the child asked yet another question.

  “Uncle Johnny?”

  “Yes, Daemon?”

  “Where do waves come from?”

  They were in the world of make-believe, a place so different from where he called home it might as well have been on another planet altogether; the land called California.

  “What waves?”

  “Ocean waves.”

  The child was full of questions, always attempting to find an explanation. Why was the sky blue? How did birds fly? Who would voluntarily eat asparagus? He answered what he could and passed off what he couldn’t.

  “Ask Aunt Melissa.”

  Melissa had taken over the responsibilities of raising the youth because, quite frankly, Johnny was incapable of raising himself let alone the savior of their species.

  “They come from the moon, Daemon.”

  “Really? How?”

  Johnny half-listened for a second while his half-sister, mate and Matriarch of Third Clan explained the moon’s influence over the waters on Earth. He gave up because the child appeared to be grasping what he could not. Johnny was not a details oriented person. He was a small, weak, lazy and interested-in-little-else-than-his-own-survival type of person. He was also, however, a big-picture guy which fortunately for him fit perfectly with his desire to remain alive.

  “And then what?” Daemon asked.

  “And then the tides rush toward land where they run into the continental shelves and…”

  Johnny’s understanding of Mother Nature and her intricate design were somewhat tempered by the fact she’d chosen him, among all others, to find an answer for Heaven. She could’ve made Daemon previously, he wasn’t so hard to imagine, Johnny had done so as a child but she didn’t. Instead, she played her survival of the fittest game and let those who were weaker bear the brunt of her decision. Johnny hadn’t sulked, hadn’t given in to depression, no, he went along with his burdensome life of avoidance until the time came when the trait could be abandoned.

  “Uncle Johnny?”

  “Yes, Daemon?”

  “Something’s coming.”

  The child, he had to admit, was quite amazing. Johnny’s cloaking properties came about because his blood, his circulation, was of universal type. Each individual blood cell held the genetic pattern of everything and everyone who had ever come into contact with him or his forbearers. Every creature he or any of his ancestors had ever eaten, shared water, mated, mixed blood or any other type of activity where another’s DNA could be introduced was stored, tabulated and saved. His blood carried the genetic information of virtually every land, plant, marine or edible element on Earth. It was why he could not be detected by other Superiors. To them he appeared Human for it was one of the scents his blood carried. If he were to dress as a horse he would appear to those he met as the ferociously fast four-legged equine. His power was similar to Vampires except while they could alter their skin color to blend and hide he could alter his scent, his pheromones, the essence of who he was into whatever species he felt he should be. All species were primal in Nature and their senses employed to locate and determine outside environs. Of the senses, when it came to registering higher forms of life, scent reigned supreme. Sight and sound were secondary for they were not from the creature, they were products made by the creature. Sight was photons bounced off the opposing species, sound was made by the other individual. Scent was the entity. It came from them and was them. It could not be altered for it was of their blood. Perfume could add an overlaying but couldn’t eliminate what was at the base. If Johnny were to stand still and not move, all things being equal, if a creature was unaware he was there and suddenly came across him their other senses, sight and sound, would be overridden by scent and he would appear as a plant, pig, or any other insignificant entity Johnny and his ancestors had ever ingested. It was how he had survived the Superiors. It was why Heaven was blind to his whereabouts.

  “Mistress Melissa?”

  The man who stood before them was in his fifties, wearing khaki shorts, golf shirt and loafers. He appeared as one of millions in the Earthquake State and held in his hand a piece of paper. On the paper was a description of Melissa for even though she was Matriarch she refused to allow her identity to be viewed by others without her consent.

  “Yes, and you are?” she responded.

  “I am Ralph Withers, Mistress, my Mistress bids you welcome.”

  He had a bronze tan, athletic build and ivory white teeth. He was also dead.

  “Take us to her.”

  The vehicle ferreting them to the meeting was the preferred option for those with wealth; a large black SUV. A tank masquerading as a people-mover.

  “Uncle Johnny?”

  “Yes, Daemon?”

  “What’s that smell?”

  Johnny’s gift came in two forms. First, it hid him from his own kind and the Heavens. Second, it was a potentiate. Any who shared the genetic traits of his blood, when in his presence, were also invisible to detection. It wasn’t as though they disappeared, they merely blended into the surroundings. To the Heavens it appeared their very molecules would separate and fuse with everything around them. What was once a Superior became nothing and everything at once. To other Superiors they would appear as Humans; insignificant and of little interest. It gave those who shared Johnny’s blood an overwhelming advantage.

  “That, Daemon, is cancer” Johnny replied.

  Ralph Withers was a driven man. Everything he’d done in his life was for the accumulation of money, power and prestige. He was a closer; a sales-pro with the reputation of getting the deal done. He earned money which gave him power and prestige quickly followed. His life was the high kind; high-rise condo, high-stakes poker, high-tar cigarettes. The cough he ignored until visual shock shook him to the core for bloody sputum will do that to a person. He visited his doctor who sent him to a specialist who recommended he get his life in order for the next one. He was forty-four years old but appeared in his fifties. He lived on the coast and bought into the lifestyle. Sun-tanning was a rite of passage and he passed with flying colors and a few unseemly discolorations which never went away. He was a doubles player; double-major in college, double-down blackjack better and two-for-one cancer recipient which not only spread from his lungs but also his skin. His prognosis wasn’t bleak, it was terminal and the end of the line was fast approaching. The realization sank in and depression soon followed. What was wealth’s purpose except to spend? He sought out his financial planner and determined his course. It changed everything.

  Ralph’s financial advisor was a bitter man. He was bitter at his job, bitter at his boss but mostly bitter at the arrogant and immoral people he was advising on their finances. He hated people of success for he could never seem to find it himself. He worked hard while others did nothing and achieved the lifestyle he dreamed of. He only needed a break, a chance to become what he was meant to be. His gift-horse came in the form of Ralph Withers who confided he had only weeks to live. The plan was simple; have Ralph give him the power to liquidate everything, allow Ralph access to some of his funds and keep the rest for himself. Ralph only had weeks to live after all. He had no family to speak of, gave to no charities and lived for himself. How much could the man possibly spend? How much did he even know he had? The adviser, the clever rascal, decided to take a risk and fudge the numbers a bit. A bit being three-quarters less than Ralph actually possessed. Who cared? Ralph was part of the one-percent. His income fluctuated with the tides but never dropped out of elite status. The plan was perfect and the advisor put it in motion. The only flaw? He never foresaw the dying wishes of those who knew the end was near.

  Ralph decided to donate everything and when his advisor found out he fled the country. Ralph, a man with only a few weeks to live had nothing. Law enforcement would look but Ralph knew it wouldn’t matter. He’d converted everything to hard currency when he was leani
ng toward going out in sin and style. His advisor would be found living on some island or nation where the authorities would be more than happy to let him remain for a pittance of Ralph’s hard earned money. He was disappointed with himself, angry with life and in a murderous frenzy at his conniving advisor when he went to the papers with his story.

  It was then when his financial advisor’s life became forfeit and Ralph became an SUV limo-driver and errand-boy for Victoria Beech, Matriarch of Food Tribe for Third Clan. Victoria was a Vampire who offered Ralph an opportunity. She’d give him time to fulfill his quest and seek vengeance on the man who stole his life in exchange for his blood. The trade-off had been done for centuries. Offer those with terminal illnesses the chance to live a little longer in exchange for their circulating serum. Human blood fed pregnant Vampires during hibernation and was necessary for infant Superior survival-rate. The Vampires’ immune systems viewed the unborn as invaders and attacked. Removing half the Vampire’s blood and replacing it with Human thwarted their anti-body’s ability to do so. The dilution allowed the embryo just enough strength to resist. Vampire blood was viral, it took over any system it invaded and since it was resistant to disease or deformity any illness the Humans had were put on hold until the blood ran its course. The Humans would still die but not until the time of the Vampire’s choosing. They were essentially dead and undead; Zombies.

  “Uncle Johnny?”

  “Yes, Daemon?”

  “Are we there yet?”

  Johnny looked out the rear windows and wondered if maybe the boy wasn’t the answer to their prayers after all. They were on the Pacific Coast Highway and to the right he could peer down a cliff over a hundred feet deep and view the waves breaking on the rocky, boulder-strewn shoreline. To the left was the rest of the wall which rose another three hundred-feet to the top of the ridge. Nowhere was a house to be seen.

  “No, Daemon, we’re not there yet” he replied.

  “Then why do I sense others?” the child asked.

  Both Johnny and Melissa instantly became alert.

  “Driver!”

  “Yes, Mistress?”

  “Stop!”

  The order was issued for a couple of reasons. First, if the driver was indeed following his Mistress’ orders it would become apparent instantly. Zombies obeyed their controlling Vampire first and other Superiors second. Proper protocol was to issue generalized commands and then specify another for courtesy’s sake. If the visiting Vampire ordered a Zombie to do something then they were to obey unless it ran counter to their controlling Vamp. If the Zombie Ralph did not stop the vehicle then his controlling Vamp was breaking an unwritten rule and they would know.

  The SUV skidded to a stop.

  The second reason was a bit scarier because Daemon was one of a kind. He was a lone Superior bred from an Alpha Wolf and a Matriarch Vampire. He had no siblings for he was not of a litter. He was a sole-born. He held the power of the Werewolf, the anonymity of the Cloak and another which came as a surprise to everyone who knew; the invisibility of the Vampire. He was also of Johnny’s blood for he was bred from Johnny’s bloodline, the exact bloodline for he was the child of Lucifer and Stephanie, the twin sister of Johnny’s sire, Isabella Satan. Daemon had the power to sense as none had before. Since the Zombie stopped he was following protocol and another factor might be in play; other Superiors or, even worse, Heaven.

  The SUV pulled over to the shoulder as cars rushed by.

  “Do you sense anything?” Johnny asked Melissa.

  “No. Daemon, are you sure?” she asked the child.

  “Yep, they’re right above us.”

  Melissa and Johnny were out of the car in a flash. Well, Mellissa was out in a flash and she’d taken Daemon with her. Johnny wasn’t made of flash material so was a bit slower. Both looked up and in the clear blue skies above saw a black speck.

  “Daemon?”

  “Yes, Aunt Melissa?”

  “Point to where you sense the others.”

  He pointed straight at the speck. As they watched the speck began slowly circling and they realized what it was.

  “Johnny?” Melissa asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Any chance you can sense others in helicopters a thousand feet above your head?”

  “Nope.”

  And they both looked on in wonder at the three-year old whose powers were growing exponentially by the day.