Death's Mistress: Origins of Supers: Book One

by D. L. Harrison

  It was far too quiet.

  I lost myself in the grief for quite a while, suffice it to say there were tears, and physiological pain involved engendered by the depth of emotion, and once again it was thoughts of Wynn that prevented me from completely sinking into despair and shock. I had to stay functional for her sake. I couldn’t fall into a shocked state and becoming a grieving automaton for weeks or even days. It was close to two in the morning the last time I looked at the alarm clock on the night table, right before blessed unconsciousness finally took me.

  Chapter Seven

  The dawn’s light through the window woke me up, and when I stretched, I reached out to the side to touch my Brad, like I always did. Confusion filled my mind, when I didn’t find him. The sob that ripped through my chest when I remembered he was dead was painful. I curled up in a ball for a moment, and I took deep panting breaths until the surge of grief and deep panic passed, then I rolled out of bed.

  For only four hours sleep, I felt like I’d slept for weeks save the grief weighing me down. That wouldn’t change either. Ever since I’d quickened, I’d needed between three or four hours of sleep at night to be fully refreshed. I suspected a part of that was the fast healing, and that my body simply processed fatigue poisons a lot faster. I could also stay up for days at a time if I needed to, but that wasn’t mentally healthy. Humans needed sleep and I never got in the habit of skipping it.

  Even in my grief, I knew better than to prance around in front of a seventeen-year-old boy in sleepwear, even if it was a pair of loose sweat shorts and a clingy T. I changed and pulled on some jeans and a casual dark blue blouse, then let out my ponytail and brushed my hair out. I marveled a bit at my power over light, because the illusion clung tightly to each strand of hair, to the point it was completely accurate. I hadn’t thought of it before, but the same for my facial features, they were normal, animated, even to the point of micro-expression.

  Despite the earliness of the day, I heard plenty of activity in the kitchen on the way down the stairs. Maybe all supers slept less, because they were all up at dawn, even the teenagers. I paused at the entrance to the kitchen.

  Germaine was a very large man, six foot four at least, and he had very wide and built shoulders. He had short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a handsome chiseled face that gave him a tough look, at least until he looked over at me and smiled. His voice was deep, but it was also gentle in a way that put me at ease immediately despite his appearance. He was obviously very confident in his masculinity, and there was no dominance in his tone at all. He really didn’t need it, the man had presence.

  “Good morning, you must be Bell. Take a seat, my wife’s flapjacks are impressive.”

  I smiled, or tried to, “Morning, it smells wonderful.”

  Maria James was my age, and about five foot seven with dark brunette hair, and a lovely shade of gray eyes. She was quite attractive, with high and prominent cheekbones and full lips, with a dark tanned and creamy skin similar to the fake one I had at the moment in my midnight colored hair disguise as Belladonna. She had sumptuous curves, the kind I’d always envied a little bit as a teen, but I was plenty happy with what I had by that time in my life. Athletically curvaceous, my 34B breasts were even generous for my petite size. Back to the point, Maria’s voice was warm and optimistic, just on the right side of the perky scale so that it wasn’t annoying.

  “Good morning, welcome to the crazy house.”

  My first impression of her was that she’d be the wild one on a girl’s night out, and she had to reign in those impulses in her professional life. Bubbly personality. She gave off good vibes too, just like the others.

  “Morning, anything I can do to help?”

  Debra said, “Too many cooks spoil the pot, take a seat. You’ll get your turn.”

  I grabbed a coffee first from the brewed pot, and then nodded at the two teens who simply nodded back as I took a seat.

  Sarah Carson was seventeen, five foot five, with bright red hair and green eyes. She had fair skin with freckles around her nose, and a generous mouth. She was lithe, her body measurements similar to mine just four inches taller, giving her longer and graceful curves like a dancer. She looked at me a little curiously, but at the same time showed me a smirk I didn’t buy, to tell me she didn’t really care.

  Typical teen angst.

  Joey Rufino was the same age as Sarah, and he was six foot even. He had short light blond hair and brown eyes, with a small wiry build. I ignored the fact he was subtly checking me out, since he was probably a bundle of hormones at that age, and he was actually more subtle about it than many a man I’d met.

  He asked curiously, “Mistral?” in a tentative voice that was deeper than I expected.

  Sarah rolled her eyes, “Insensitive enough?” she asked sarcastically, and gave me an apologetic look.

  I blew out a breath, “Tried to assassinate me, I had no choice. I don’t know how many heroes know about the truth of that place, but from what I overheard the doctor say it’s possible she was the only one. Outside of the human testing staff of course.”

  Speaking of having no choices, I’d have to explore both my sound and light powers at some point. It’s possible my sonic power had less… deadly possibilities, as far as violence went, I mean. Obviously, it had tons of other possibilities in it, including ventriloquism. The light power should grant me all sorts of possibilities, in illusions, or holograms. Nothing offensive, but distraction and surprise were powerful weapons.

  The biggest problem in that was how varied supers were. What would take down a human without killing wouldn’t faze a super at all. That was the risk of course, and why so many super fights had deadly consequences, not just for the fighters but collaterally as well.

  Like my husband. I clamped down on that thought hard, not wanting to break down again.

  Debra plopped a plate of pancakes stacked six high in front of me, and then sat next to Germaine with her own plate. I grabbed a couple of slices of bacon and started in. My appetite surprised me, even if it shouldn’t have. I’d known supers ate a lot, burned a lot of calories, but the reality of it was a bit surprising.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about gaining weight, or my ass getting fat again. Really, my ass did look fantastic. I’d almost forgiven the guard for drooling over it, and all it had cost me was my husband.

  That random though took the wind out of my sails.

  Shit.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  Joey said, “There’s probably more. Some have to know, or at least suspect and have decided not to rock the boat.”

  He probably wasn’t wrong, but that wasn’t proof.

  Germain echoed my thoughts, “Most people believe the lies. We have to give them the benefit of the doubt until they prove otherwise.”

  Joey and Sarah both rolled their eyes.

  Debra said patiently, “None of that. We know the truth, but most don’t, they refuse to see it.”

  Germaine asked, “What are you two up to today?”

  The two teens exchanged a look, then both of them shrugged. It was clear to me in that moment Joey had it bad for the girl, and she had no clue.

  Joey said, “Not sure. Might go by a friend’s house later. Be home by dinner if I do.”

  Sarah said, “I’m going to the mall with Gina and Stace in the afternoon, but I’ll be around all morning.”

  Perhaps it was premature, I’d just met them and had little more than first impressions to go on, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not picking up my sweet girl until I could get my own place. They weren’t perfect, no one was, but all five of them were good people. I felt it in my gut.

  After we ate breakfast, I helped clear the table, rinse, and fill the dishwasher. The domestic task was comforting in a way, familiar, something that hadn’t drastically changed in my life.

  They all went in different directions at that point. The three my age to get ready for work, while the teens went to do whatev
er it is they did. I won’t go in detail, but my next task was shopping for potty training diapers and all the other things that my daughter would need from bathing, to clothes, to food.

  I headed back up to my room when I returned from shopping, and I put it all away. I opened the drawer then. I stared at the tiny stretchy black suit for a long time, it looked sized for a ten-year-old, if it didn’t stretch that is.

  I made sure the door was locked, then stripped down and picked it up. I figured I should at least try it on before I decided, and I started to pull it on. The fabric was as soft as it was tough, and it breathed well. I wondered where Glenn even got it from. It was tight, perhaps it would even be uncomfortably so for a normal human, like a sports bra was, but with my powers it felt like a nerf costume. A full body soft hug if you will, even the tightness and support around my breasts was comfortable, as I opened the closet door and looked in the full-sized mirror secured on the back side.

  I looked really good, but I blushed at how tight it was. There was nothing left to the imagination at all, except perhaps my nipples, and it didn’t outline the fine details below either. In truth, it covered everything, and was far less revealing than a bikini would’ve been. Of course, I wouldn’t be wearing it to the beach, would I?

  I sighed as I twisted slightly, my ass looked even better than it had in the tight jeans, which was saying something. When I dropped the illusion, it looked even better with the contrast of the lighter tanned skin of my hands, neck, and face, not to mention the rich golden blonde hair I was coming to miss. The only lack was a good pair of boots, and I gave serious thought to going back to raid my closet for my favorite pair of calf high black boots with two-inch heels. But going home again just seemed like a foolish risk.

  Debra’s words stuck with me, what if I did get into a fight before I could get away with my daughter? Having my shirt ripped off or burned off would be a lot more revealing than the super-suit. I also looked… amazing. I finally admitted the truth to myself, and there was a warm and somewhat naughty feeling associated with that I didn’t examine too closely, at the idea of being seen in public like this. It was all mixed up with the grief, anger, and sense of injustice from yesterday.

  I turned invisible as I opened my door, with the last of the cash I had tucked in my sleeve, and I headed for the front door. As soon as I was outside, I took off and stayed low, hugging the buildings and city streets until I got to my favorite shoe store. I couldn’t rescue my daughter without boots. The salesman looked up, then shook his head in confusion when there was no one there as the door closed, but he seemed to dismiss it a moment later and went back to fiddling with his phone.

  It didn’t take me long to find a pair of calf high black boots in a size six that I liked. I turned visible and tried them on where the salesperson couldn’t see, and the black leather looked really good against the shimmering black of the suit. They were also really comfortable, but to be fair, as I’d indicated before, stone shoes would feel comfortable to me now.

  Which, was really awesome actually, no more sacrificing comfort for fashion.

  I ripped off the tag and then allowed my sounds to escape as I walked out of the aisle and over toward the counter. I almost smiled when the young salesman goggled at me, and not just from how I looked in my super-suit, but in surprise that anyone was in the store.

  When his stare grew uncomfortably long, and not at my eyes, I dropped the tag on the counter and said with annoyance, “Ring me up.”

  He stared for a moment longer, like he thought he knew me but couldn’t place it, and then turned away and swiped the tag. Then he didn’t look like he knew what to do with it.

  I said, “Just toss it.”

  He nodded and dropped it in the trash can, as he gave me the price.

  He froze as he was about half done counting out the money that I’d handed him, and then looked at me in terror.

  I should’ve expected something like that, and it made me feel really self-conscious. Terror, of me? It just didn’t fit with my expectations or with how I saw myself. I was Christabel Moore, mother, wife, and a confident and good person by my estimation. Not to mention petite and fetching. A harmless looking golden blonde, not… terrifying.

  He was truly freaking out too. His hands were trembling, like the worst serial killer in history had just walked into his store. Obviously, he’d caught my story in the news and had finally recognized my face.

  “My change?” I prompted lightly. My natural voice was dulcet and maybe a bit sweet, but he flinched back like I’d threatened to kill him and maybe eat his family if he wasn’t fast enough.

  It was truly a shock to me, and a part of me felt a little guilty for causing him such distress. I decided not to shop as myself ever again. I just hadn’t wanted to have to go back to the house and change back into the suit all over again before getting my daughter. Likely it wouldn’t come up again, my suit was complete.

  At the same time, there was a small part of me that… not enjoyed it exactly, but there was a shallow and petty visceral thrill to it. In the hind part of the brain where our ancient instincts resided. The same man who had just been eye-screwing me, was terrified, and obviously still attracted at the same time.

  I know that might sound a little hypocritical, and possibly psychopathic, after all I enjoyed how I looked in the suit, and I liked to be looked at. But a woman wanted to be noticed and admired, not leered at like an object.

  There was also guilt and shame for that thrill, but I never said I was perfect, and consistency was a sign of a small mind. It was all mixed up in my head, and the grief for my husband and simmering anger at the government wasn’t helping me to hold a clear mind either.

  He nodded nervously, and started counting over, but twice as fast. His shaking hands had trouble counting it out, but he got there eventually and handed me back my change.

  I said comfortingly, “Think of it this way, you’ll have a hell of a story to tell.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy, and like his seconds on this Earth were numbered very low. I just shrugged, and then walked out of the store as I turned invisible and tucked my change into my sleeve.

  Chapter Eight

  The sky was bright and blue as far as the eye could see. There were some puffy white clouds here and there, but not a whole lot. I was hovering over the address where my daughter was at about two thousand feet. That it turned out, was the limit of my light power, a little over a third of a mile. Any higher, and I couldn’t zoom in to the ground.

  Because of course I wasn’t really zooming in like a lens did. Regardless, I was invisible, at two thousand feet, and looking down suspiciously.

  Suspiciously, because I didn’t see even one superhero down there. Much less the bunch I expected all wearing infra-vision goggles. Which may or may not work for them. I suspected the suit may be proof against that, but then it wasn’t covering my head.

  Regardless, I was currently doing the laser mic thing and pulling up the sound waves hitting the house’s windows to my ears. So far, all I’d heard was my daughter asking to see me, and an exasperated female voice telling her she couldn’t. From the sounds of things, she was baking or cooking, and my daughter was down the hall in another room.

  No other sounds in the house, no supers in sight. I have to say it scared the hell out of me, because I had to be missing something. There’s no way they weren’t watching my daughter, even if the psychics hadn’t gotten a vision of me reclaiming her, they’d have to suspect it right?

  Unless, none of the other heroes were in the know as I’d hoped, and they assumed I was either too far gone to care about my kid, or perhaps that I’d crawled in some hole last night and died this morning like the SAB claimed I would.

  There were a few cars in the street, as well as a van, and I was pulling at their windows as well. So far, I hadn’t seen or heard any movement in any of the vehicles.

  I had to be missing something, but I’d be damned if I could figure out what, for the long
est time I just stared down suspiciously.

  It wasn’t until my paranoia prompted me to check the windows of other houses around it, that I discovered the super teams waiting for my arrival. They were in the house across the street, and on the house to the left of my target. Turned out I wasn’t paranoid after all. Or at least, not paranoid and wrong. I also had to assume they had heat vision devices as well, or at least the hero that Solar Wind had been referring to the previous night.

  My daughter asked for me again, and the woman answered back in that same exact exasperated tone, saying the exact same words. That made my eyes narrow, did they know about that too? Maybe they just suspected, perhaps the doctor had put together the powers I’d exhibited, and their conversation, as the reason I’d escaped. Had guessed that I’d heard them, because why else would I have run for it?

  Point being, I was no longer sure that my daughter was even in that house. She could’ve been moved, and I was probably listening to a ten-minute sound and voice recording that was on a loop.

  I can’t express to you, the level of absolute rage that engendered in me. Not the trap, that was fine, but the fact my daughter was out of my reach. My first thought was to trigger the trap and beat the heroes up until they gave up my progeny. The second one was to go back to Glenn and demand he find her again.

  I was very angry, but I dismissed both of those options as far too risky. I was probably the strongest and toughest super in the city, maybe even the fastest flier, but I had zero resistance to energy attacks. Springing their trap would just get me killed, and not find or reunite myself and my daughter.

  They might also suspect I’d go back to Glenn’s, but I’d already put him in enough danger, and he’d helped me enough as it was. There were subtler ways to make contact, and he’d get me the information I was sure, if he could find it.