Super Genetics

As the two of them neared the building, sounds and movement became clear. Shouts echoed down the street and Kramer fingered his pistol in its holster. Movement snaked in the dark, bodies flashing into view as they passed before the lit up windows.

But it only took him a moment to recognize the sounds as that of laughter. Another moment to see the bodies in the dark were actually people queuing in line at the front door.

When he made the connection, he faltered, coming to a stop.

“What the fuck,” he muttered to himself.

Marcos stopped at his side, his lamp pointed down. “It’s the prince’s club, sir.”

Kramer shot his gaze down to the boy in surprise. “Club? Prince James?”

The boy shook his head, his brow climbing as he recognized Kramer’s confusion. “No, sir. Prince Terry. It’s invite only, they say. But I’ve heard he sometimes hands out fresh fruit or veggies if you wait outside long enough.”

Prince Terry…what in the Underworld was he doing this far from the palace? In a club, nonetheless. Did the Emperor know? He must…

“Does everyone know the prince is involved in this…club?”

Marcos shrugged a shoulder. “Anyone who’s lived on the streets? Sure. The uptown pricks—” He cut off, realizing who he was insulting. “Sorry, sir. Uptown folks, maybe not.”

Kramer let the comment go, too shocked by the revelation to care. But it did place the location and circumstances of this woman’s body in a new light. There was a non-zero chance that the prince was responsible. No matter how incompetent it would seem to dump a body near your establishment, Kramer had seen worse examples of criminality. Fifteen-year-old boys weren’t exactly known for their tact or cunning. Incompetence was always a strong possibility—in any crime.

But the more likely scenario, the one speaking to his gut, was that this dead supe was a message to the princeling. His job was to determine the connection between this Fluorescent and the prince.

There were ways of approaching a suspect—tried and true. But royalty was another beast entirely. One didn’t simply strong-arm the grandson of the local dictator.

“What do you know about the prince?”

Marcos started at his side, clearly not expecting the question.

“Only what I’ve heard from others.”

Kramer growled in annoyance, not looking at the boy. “Don’t hedge now. Spit it out. I’d rather you say something dumb than walk on eggshells.”

He felt the kid glance up at him, a clear hesitation on his lips. Didn’t blame the boy; speaking out of turn was dangerous on the streets. Better to keep your opinions to yourself than invite reprisal.

After a few moments, Marcos spoke.

“They say he’s a modern day Robin Hood.” The boy sounded skeptical. “He’s generous with food and money. Feeds the alley rats and the street urchins.”

“But…?”

Marcos shrugged, spitting to the side, then flashing a look up like he’d forgotten who he was with. “Sorry, sir.”

Kramer waved it away. “Go on.”

The boy sniffed, then shook his head. “Too good to be true, in my opinion.”

“To what end?” Kramer asked. “Building a campaign, but for what? Supplant his father as next in line?”

Marcos snorted derisively, loosening up once he realized Kramer wouldn’t hit or chide him for every little thing. “Campaign? Not likely. The Emperor will outlive them all. There’s nothing to be gained by vying for control of Wichita.” He looked around, taking in the night sky, the pungent fog. “Who would fight over this?”

He couldn’t fault the boy, though Kramer remembered a time before the war, before the fog and eternal night, much better than Marcos.

“What’s your conclusion, then?”

Marcos’ eyes shaded and he looked around subtly before pulling out his notepad. The detective waited patiently as the boy wrote down a single word in blocky print.

QUEST

That stunned Kramer for a moment. How in the Underworld had this boy come to the same conclusion so quickly?

He reached out, snagged the notepad, tore out the piece of paper, ripped it into ten pieces, then shoved them into his pocket. Marcos’ eyes went wide at the display for the briefest moment. Then, he smoothed his features back into place. The detective handed back the notepad, nodding once.

Rubbing at his face, he eyed the crowd lined up outside the building ahead. A feeling was brewing in his gut, that sixth sense that hit him sometimes when he reached an inflection point. He was walking into something much bigger than himself; the moment to turn back was now.

“When you stare into the abyss, sometimes, the abyss stares back.”

The words left his mouth on instinct—something his mentor had told him twenty years ago when they’d been investigating a super-related murder. He’d always interpreted the saying to mean you become what you experience. Mire yourself in murder, deceit, violence, sexual assaults, and your own morality can only be tainted as a result. But his mentor, years later, had explained his own interpretation.

“The abyss is the yawning void of what we cannot understand. By seeking to do so, the unknowable likewise begins to know us. Enter the realm beyond our own ken with eyes wide open…for you enter the den of monsters weaponless and impotent.”

Load of shit, he’d thought at the time. Flowery speak for entering the boxing ring fighting ten weight classes up. The monsters were the supers of the world—the Fairways, their minions, and their enemies. Make yourself known to those entities, and it wasn’t a matter of if, but when, they took you out of the picture. But the sentiment held true; getting involved with this murder could only lead to trouble for him. His eyes were open, though. Had been for decades. He stared into the abyss, waiting for the dagger to come in the night.

But the boy didn’t understand what he was walking into. On a bad day, Kramer might not have offered the kid an alternative; there was something about the runt and this particular case, that caused him to speak up.

“What are you saying, sir?”

Kramer sighed, pausing before they entered the sphere of noise and light surrounding the building.

“What I’m saying is: now’s the time to back out. I can’t guarantee your safety past this point.”

To the boy’s credit, he didn’t bluster or answer instinctively. He paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he seemed to carefully consider what the detective was saying. After a full ten-count, he spoke.

“I’d like to be involved, sir. I…I think I can be of some assistance.” He hesitated, looking at the ground for a moment before glancing back up. “And…I really hate unsolved mysteries.”

Kramer chuckled, slapping the kid on the back.

“Me too, boy.” He eyed the club entrance, noting the heavyset bouncer at the front, and the silhouettes barely visible on the roof above. “Me too…” He eased his jacket out of the way, clearing access to his holster. “Follow my lead. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

He didn’t wait for the boy to answer. Approaching the front of the line, he pulled out his badge and held it up for the bouncer to see. Those waiting in line shouted complaints, but Kramer didn’t miss his stride as he went to push past the bouncer. The large man hesitated and that was all the opening Kramer needed. Before he could react, the detective and the boy were past and into the raucous club.

Though, club wasn’t quite the word he would have used.

Tables were spread out across a large open room, groups of five or six seated—or in some cases, standing with animated expressions—as they…

“Are they playing board games?” Kramer had to shout to be heard over the cacophony of the room. When he looked down at Marcos, the boy’s eyes were wide, an unconscious smile on his lips, as if he’d found the promise land.

There was no time to dawdle. The bouncer was inside now, scanning for them. Kramer tugged the boy’s elbow, pulling him away from where he was enraptured standing over a table.

“Look alive, boy,” he growled. “Need you on your toes.”

Marcos’ eyes focused and he nodded once. They slithered between the crowds of onlookers, making their way to a bar against the back wall. He settled in to order a drink, when his eyes caught on the menu.

With a groan, he knuckled at his eye socket. “What kind of nerd kingdom did I just enter?”

There was nothing alcoholic. Juice, sodas, caffeine-infused drinks of every flavor….but no goddamn liquor. Not even beer.

“Isn’t it awesome!” Marcos was sitting on a stool with his back to the bar, his eyes trailing over the room. “They’re playing DnD over there. And that looks like Axis and Allies at that table. Oh, oh, is that—”

“Marcos.” His voice was low, his eyes catching on the corner of the room. A simple cloth divider hung on a door’s threshold, hiding what lay beyond. But as a waiter pulled it aside to enter, Kramer caught a glimpse into the next room.

To the boy’s credit, he snapped out of his excitement in an instant, his gaze flicking over to spot the same thing Kramer did.

“That’s the prince!” he hissed.

That was Kramer’s suspicion as well, but it was good to have confirmation. Beyond the cloth divider, a teenage boy sat at a private table, his eyes closed while all around him people shouted and slammed dominoes to the tabletop. Then, his eyes tracked up to the creature standing behind the boy.

“He’s got a ghoul with him.” Kramer turned to Marcos to make sure the implication stuck.

The boy’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You don’t think…”

Kramer shook his head. “Doubtful. You don’t dump a body a few doors down from your own establishment.” He continued watching that cloth divider, catching subtle glimpses as the cloth swayed back and forth. The prince’s eyes snapped open and Kramer flicked his eyes away.

Had he been looking at us…?

When he slowly pulled his gaze back to that private room, movement milled behind the cloth and Kramer cursed.

“Should we go?” Marcos was half off his stool, recognizing that movement for what it was.

“No point, boy. Ghoulie could run us down whenever it wanted.” He shook his head, standing to adjust his jacket and smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt. “No. I think we’re about to have an audience with royalty.”

Terry fingered the rose in his hands, tucking it away before addressing Burg.

“Detective Kramer, I recognize. But who’s that with him?”

The others continued their game of dominoes, slamming pieces down with oomph and shouts of triumph. Alan and Tristan were the loudest, while Katie and Peter slid their dominoes out quietly, ignoring the shouts of their opponents.

“The detective called him Marcos. Lamper, if I had to guess.”

Terry snorted. Lampers. As if the sanguine would announce themselves before attacking. Though the Artifacts known as lamps were powerful, even they couldn’t be on all the time. But he shouldn’t judge them for their caution. He understood why a normie might need a token of comfort in this dark and bloody world.

“Send them in. Let them know they’re not in danger.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Terry stood from the table, cracking his back with a sigh. He had been analyzing the white rose for six hours now—a moderate session, but even superhuman physicality got weary from inactivity.

“Where you going, Terry?” Katie didn’t look up from her dominoes right away, but then glanced up when he didn’t answer.

I have a feeling something terrible happened, he didn’t say.

“Don’t mind me, just a business meeting.” He forced a smile on, flashing her a wink. “Smash them while I’m gone, yeah?”

Alan and Tristan shouted good-natured protests, but Peter and Katie shared a smile.

“As my prince commands!” Katie shouted, slamming down a domino with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

Terry gave them all a smile before picking up his coffee and heading to the booth at the back of the room. Sliding in, he closed his eyes and returned to the analysis of the rose, a strand of his mother’s hair wrapped around his pinkie finger.

So close…so damned close…

“Pardon the interruption, my prince.”

Terry tied off the thread he had been analyzing, storing it in memory so he’d be able to pick it back up later. His eyes opened, taking in the detective and the teenage lamper. The lamper was small—nearly a head shorter than Terry—though the peach fuzz on his upper lip suggested he was a bit older. Terry examined him first, noting the steady gaze, the straight back. He had nerve, that was for sure.

Blinking once, he turned his eyes to the detective. He knew of the man—made it a point to know all the good ones…and the bad. But by all accounts, Kramer was the former, though he’d had a few unlucky cases—especially since the sanguine had arrived. His arrival in the Break Room was a bad sign. Feed Wichita hadn’t been exposed, or it’d be Whipvine or possibly Fletcher standing before him now. But there was no possibility of good news with Kramer’s appearance.

Opening his senses, he examined the two past their physical appearances. His aura quested out, wrapping around them, examining their inert auras, the emotions rippling there. The lamper was excited more than afraid. His eyes kept flicking back to the main room and he struggled to contain his energy. The detective, however, felt trepidation; not fear, but a definite anxiety.

Kramer’s aura suddenly shifted under Terry’s presence, a weak flicker into a particular shape. Terry started in surprise.

The man knew the undead greeting shape.

“You a Fairway?” Terry tried to keep the bemusement from his voice and failed.

Marcos glanced toward his boss in confusion at the question, then went wide eyed when he realized the man wasn’t denying it.

Kramer coughed into his fist in a show of embarrassment. “Distant relation. Cousin of a cousin. I think.”

A wry smile touched Terry’s face. “What can I do for you, cousin?”

“I wanted to ask you about a murder that occurred down the street. Last night or early this morning.”

Terry didn’t let his face shift, kept his aura loose—still wrapped around the two of them. Through it, he felt the expectation of the detective and the careful attention of the lamper.

They suspect this murder is closely related to me. The sanguine or the Emperor?

“A murder? Down the street?” He shook his head, not exactly feigning surprise—he wasn’t surprised by the killings anymore—but giving face to the emotions he had learned to bury deep. Suppressing his natural naiveté had been one of the first things he had to learn once he had formed the Break Room and Feed Wichita. “I’m an open book, detective. What’d you need?” He waved for them to take a chair and they both sat across from him.

Kramer took it with a sigh, his eyes glancing around the room before settling back on Terry.

“The victim was found in an alley, three blocks south. Cute, mid-twenties, strawberry blond hair.” Kramer’s eyes bored into Terry’s now, but he didn’t let his growing horror show. “We have reason to believe she was killed by…” He trailed off, glancing around once more, hesitation on his lips.

Terry understood the unspoken implication. “Burg.” The ghoul slipped into sight from the shadows. “Can you tell the others to form a perimeter.” He glanced back toward the detective, then said the rest silently, flicking his aura out in a complicated series of patterns that he was sure Kramer felt, but couldn’t decipher.

No supers or sanguine in earshot. This is a delicate matter.

Burg shaped his aura in the affirmative, then loped out the back door. Terry heard him clamber up the side of the building, felt him give orders to his brothers with his aura. The three of them sat in silence for a few moments until Terry felt Burg settle into a waiting stance on the roof.

Terry turned back to the detective.

“You can speak freely. No one can hear us now.”

Kramer chewed his lip, while the lamper’s eyes flicked to where Burg had left. After a moment, the detective spoke.

“It was the suckers, most likely.”

Terry settled back against his booth, nodding wearily.

“They’ve been growing bolder, that’s undeniable. But the location. You think it’s meant as a message for me, don’t you?”

The detective nodded. “Not just the location. She’s a supe.”

Terry didn’t react, his face set in stone, his heart rate steady and unaltered. But in his mind, behind the facade he’d learned to cultivate, despair crashed on him.

Flore…those bastards!

“What makes you think that?” He kept his tone casual, interested rather than the ravenous need he was feeling internally. “Was she wearing a costume?”

The detective shook his head and Terry let himself feel a flicker of hope. Maybe it wasn’t Flore? It wouldn’t make it any better if it was some other poor innocent. But her powers were the lynch pin of Feed Wichita. More than that, she was the team leader. Without her, their plants would be starved of light, while the team members would lose hope.

“No costume, my prince.” He looked over at the lamper pointedly.

The teenager started as he realized both of them were staring. He cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly.

“Uh, my prince, I—”

“Terry, please.”

Marcos looked to his boss, who nodded subtly.

“Uh, Pr—uh, Terry. I recognized her.”

Terry could see the lamper fighting against the anxiety, also recognizing the way he’d trained himself not to stand out, to avoid the attention of those that could crush him with ease.

A street boy, Terry guessed. Smart and capable, clearly. The anxiety is clouding his thoughts though.

“Please, no need to be anxious. Marcos, was it?”

His eyes went wide, no doubt wondering how Terry could possibly know that when neither of them had introduced themselves.

“Yes, Pr—Terry.”

“You’ve heard stories of me, I’m guessing?” Terry kept his voice soft, as if he were approaching a skittish animal. “Have you heard of me disappearing anyone or hurting them in anyway?”

Marcos bit his lip, turning toward the detective before glancing back.

“No…Terry. I’ve only heard good things….”

The way he trailed off was subtle, but Terry could hear the hesitation in his voice, feel the doubt in his aura.

“But?”

Marcos sighed, lifted his chin and met Terry’s eyes. “In my experience, people who work so hard to seem good, usually aren’t.”

The detective went wide eyed, then his face set in obvious fury. Before he could scold the lamper, Terry held up his hand.

“Please, detective. I’m not offended in the slightest.” Terry thought back to his once-idol, the super admired across the fractured city-states of America and the world. “He’s right to be suspicious. I’ve rarely met one of my heroes and come away anything but disappointed.” He met Marcos’ eyes with a wry smile. “Not that I’m a hero to anyone. Simply to say, I understand the sentiment.” Terry felt the detective’s aura relax, pleased the man wouldn’t hold a grudge against his charge’s impudence. He sighed, bringing the conversation back on topic. “You recognized the victim, then?”

Marcos nodded, a soft look settling on his face. “Yes, sir. She would hand out food to us—to the slum kids.” Terry’s stomach flipped, the truth finally unavoidable. “Her supe name was Fluorescent.”

Nobody spoke for a handful of breaths and Marcos continued glancing between Terry and the detective. Eventually, it was Kramer that broke the silence.

“You know her, then?”

Terry rubbed at his chin, sighing heavily. “I know her, yes. She…” He considered giving them nothing more; he would get to the bottom of this regardless. But he liked the two of them and stranger than that, he trusted them. “She was part of my team.”

Marcos frowned. “But she was a B-ranker,” he blurted. He realized a moment later and clamped his mouth shut.

Terry smiled, though he felt no mirth at the moment. “Yes. And?”

“Just…never heard of a B-ranker joining an E-ranker’s team.”

“Oh, you know my rank?”

Kramer shot Marcos a look. The lamper glanced to the table, realizing he’d been speaking more than the detective.

Terry didn’t mind the lamper’s enthusiasm and let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I’m an E-ranker. But I’m also a prince, for whatever that’s worth. And it should be no surprise that I have high-ranking backers, given my ancestry.”

“Forgive him, my prince, he didn’t mean—”

Terry waved away the detective’s concern. “Please, detective. You think I care about formality or the like? Look where we are.” He indicated the Break Room with a nod. “I actually prefer his straight forwardness, to be honest.”

He leaned forward now, letting them feel the anger he’d been hiding under the surface.

“But don’t let my casual nature fool you. Flore was one of mine. She had my protection. If the sanguine murdered her, left her to send a message to me.” He felt his aura tremble and was forced to rein it in. Images of teleporting into Blood Alley and slamming metal rods into vampire hearts filled his mind. “Then I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”