[Tuesday 4 AM – Northern Ireland]
The moon had disappeared behind the mountains and the Sun had not yet risen. The woods on the mountain were pitch black with only the light of the stars peeking through the overcast sky to provide light. Ninety-seven year old Cain McDougal stood facing his seventeen year old granddaughter, Patricia Ryan, in the mountain snow. They were both barefoot, their feet sunken into the two inch snow.
“Concentrate on the bottoms o’ your feet. Try t’feel the living ground below.” He said, scratching absently at his short, disheveled, more “salt” than pepper hair. Even though it was only 4 AM, his blue eyes were alert, since he awoke at this time every day.
Patricia concentrated as instructed and could feel the soles of her feet become more sensitive to the texture of the ground. It almost felt like she could actually feel her toenails growing, though she couldn’t exactly look while her eyes were closed in concentration.
“Why are your eyes closed?” her grandfather asked as he walked past her. “How do you expect t’see your targets?”
“I’ll feel them,” she answered sagely.
Cain smacked her on the back of the head.
“OW!” she complained.
“Stop quoting Hollywood drivel and concentrate, girl,” he commanded. “Vision is a sense like all others. Removing it from play isn’t going t’make things better.”
“Pay attention t’what your body tells you. Like your dearly departed mother, you have the reflexes o’ a cat and the agility o’ a raptor. Unlike her, you move like a rhinoceros. You also make about as much noise.”
“That makes no sense,” she snarked. “How can I be agile like a bird and yet move like a rhino?”
“Agility is the ability t’manipulate your body once in motion. Your problem is getting into motion, or out o’ it, as the case may be,” he said. “Once in the air, you can twist, flip, pretzelize, and shoot like few I’ve ever seen, but you can’t quickly change direction on the ground t’save your life.”
“Ya English stinks, Granda,” Patricia said.
“You’ll have t’excuse me. I was born and raised American. So that’s what I speak. Merican,” he chuckled. “It only resembles English.”
He stood in front of her, unzipped her coat and yanked it off. Underneath, she wore a long sleeved sweatshirt covered with a leather harness. Two pistols were holstered on her lower ribs under her arms and a number of magazines were strapped above them. Cain took the pistols out and released the magazines. He removed the rounds until only three remained in each and then slid them back into the weapons. Reversing the pistols, he handed them to her.
Once she grabbed the pistols, he quickly removed all of the magazines from her harness and then patted her down.
“Hand it over,” he ordered.
“What?” she asked.
“The magazine you’re trying t’hide in your bra,” he said rolling his eyes.
“What makes ya think --”
”Yer not half as clever as ye think ye are. Hand them over.”
“Hard arse.” Sulkily, she pulled out the magazine and slapped it into his callused hand.
“You ain’t seen the half o’ it yet, little girl,” he taunted. “Now, I’ve left you six .22 caliber rounds. No shoes and no coat. Your task is t’go out there int’the woods and bring back two ducks and two rabbits for our day’s food. Today is the last day o’ training out here, so if you don’t get them then we’re going t’have t’wait until we get back t’the house t’eat. For each unused round you’ll receive a bonus of 100 pounds on your monthly allowance. For each animal you fail t’bring back you will be docked 100 pounds.”
“Wait! I don’t get 100 pounds in a month on ma allowance!” she argued.
“Then it would be a good thing t’not get docked, would it not? And, by the way, you need t’return by 5:30 AM. That gives you about ninety minutes. If you’re not here by then, it will count as no animals retrieved and all rounds used.”
Patricia ran into the woods, grumbling.
Cain turned to look at the two tents when he heard an airliner in the distance overhead. Out of instinct he looked up at it.
---
Marjorie Douglas was on her way home to New York City from the Netherlands. She was sitting at a window seat in the coach class section of the plane, staring at the land flowing by below. She had been negotiating a concert tour for her client and ward, the pop star known as Miranda. Although Miranda was a blushing eighteen years old she was currently one of the biggest acts of the Pop Music Scene, and it was Marjorie’s job to set up the venues, dates, and contract amounts.
Marjorie was a chubby woman of average height. She appeared to be in her early fifties, but most would be hard pressed to actually pin an age on her if asked to do so. Her dark skin and black hair indicated a heritage of Mediterranean or southwest Asian influence and she wore just enough makeup to cover any blemishes on her skin. Her hair was tightly pulled back into a bun and tied with a cream colored ribbon. She wore a goldenrod colored woolen business suit with a mustard yellow blouse and black pumps. On her nose sat black framed glasses whose lenses distorted the view of her brown eyes. There was nothing memorable about Marjorie, and that was exactly the point, as her persona existed only to be forgotten.
Holding this body shape took vast amounts of energy which Marjorie was replenishing by slowly draining it from the mass of sleeping passengers around her. She had hired a gigolo before leaving Amsterdam to gather a quick boost of energy. Unfortunately, the life energy from the man she had hired was of poor quality. In the past she would have just fully drained the man and gotten her fill, but in this modern world, shriveled dead bodies drew unwanted attention.
Another unfortunate circumstance for her was that she had never taken the time to visit this part of the world. Until fairly recently, her dark skin stood out far too much in the northern European regions. In any other part of the world she had droves of men with good quality energy that she had previously tagged who would have willingly sacrificed themselves to serve her needs. But that, sadly, wasn’t the case right now and she was relegated to this slow, indirect, and not very pleasurable method.
Marjorie focused, again, on the landscape sliding by outside the window. She saw that a range of mountains was approaching. By her calculations they should be over Northern Ireland and then the long trek over the ocean. She’d get some sleep then since there was nothing to look at.
Suddenly she felt a tingle, the pull of a long lost lover. 77 years to be exact. Over her long life very few men had left this kind of impression on her, one where she was as addicted to them as they to her. Men whose energy was so overwhelming, and sexual prowess so developed that she desired them. And this was one of those.
“Cain,” she whispered to the window longingly. “So this is where you ran to. I’m glad that you’re still alive.” That mob bitch had told her that he had been killed back in ‘36. Cain would be almost one hundred by now. He would probably have started a family and have grandchildren or even great-grandchildren.
Thinking about Cain and the years they had lived together had only served to exacerbate the longing and enhance the frustration at having to replenish so slowly.
The front door to the cabin opened and the co-pilot stepped through. She had exchanged a short, perfunctory chat with the man before boarding. He seemed to be a decent enough fellow. His face dropped in disappointment when he didn’t see a stewardess serving in the section. He closed the door behind him and quickly surveyed the passengers. As he was about to head further back into the plane, his eyes met hers.
He walked over to her and held out his hand. She rose and squeezed past the two sleeping passengers to take his hand.
“You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen,” the man whispered into her ear. “Interested in having a good time with me?”
Marjorie smiled. “It’s as if you’ve read my mind,” she whispered back.
The two of them headed toward first class. As they passed through business class, they passed a shapely young stewardess collecting trash. Marjorie guessed that she must have been the one he was originally searching for due to the look of open hatred on the woman’s face.
“Why’s he interested in that four-eyed cow?” she heard the stewardess mumble as the cabin door closed.
She followed him up the spiral staircase and into the sleeping areas for the crew. The other members of the crew glanced back and a couple cocked their brow at the co-pilot’s selection for companionship. The two quickly stripped down and hungrily got to business.
“Is it just me or do you look different than when we met earlier?” the man asked after they’d finished, lying together in the afterglow.
“Do you not find this me alluring?” she asked.
“For some reason I find you heart stoppingly gorgeous either way,” he replied still lying on top of her.
“As it should be,” she answered. “For the rest of your life, I’ll be your vision of the perfect woman.”
“You definitely are perfect,” he said before kissing her and resuming their activities.
---
Cain was pulling the butane lighter from the backpack as the airliner passed directly overhead. Suddenly, he felt a familiar, intense presence. He dropped the lighter back into the backpack and dove into his tent as if to keep her from seeing him.
He was lying in the tent, his heart pounding, and his breathing ragged.
“Damn! Misty,” he spoke her name for the first time in almost eighty years. “How is it that you still affect me after all of these years?”
A voice from his past rang in his mind: “For the rest of your life, I’ll be your vision of the perfect woman.” He had heard those words just before he felt the sting of her mark being set.
Sixteen year old Cain McArthur celebrated the occasion of being accepted into the ranks of the Family. His father, Walter McArthur, was the head accountant for the Irish Mob in New York City. The two of them had fled Ireland after some falling out between his father and mother that Cain was too young to understand. Their flight to America had been long, circuitous, and exhausting.
That had been long ago and Cain barely remembered it. What he had remembered was his father telling him that his mother was an extremely dangerous person and that he needed to never draw attention to himself lest she find him.
A single gunshot in the distance yanked Cain from his reverie.
Cain had only had the fire going for five minutes when he saw Patricia approaching from the woods. She had nothing in her hands.
“It looks like you gave up too soo--” he started.
Patricia had stopped at the edge of the clearing. She was shifting and shuffling while staring at Cain. After a moment she continued forward, reached over her back and dumped three rabbits and two ducks onto the ground in front of him.
“Where are the ducks’ heads?” he asked.
“They went flying when I killed the ducks with ma knife,” she answered. “Probably a good ways down the stream by now.”
“Knife?” Cain asked, his look questioning.
“I’m not telling ya,” she steadfastly said.
“Hand them over,” he demanded.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Patricia looked at him blankly.
“The weapons?” he clarified.
Patricia gave him her pistols.
“There’s only one round missing,” he said counting the bullets in the magazines.
“Three rabbits, one bullet,” she stated. “That means that ya owe me a bonus of 500 pounds.”
“That was supposed t’be a maximum of 200 pounds,” he said.
“If ya’re willing ta dock me 1000 pounds for failing, then ya should be willing ta pay me 500 pounds for exceeding expectations. Or I can bring it up ta Nana and ya can deal with her.”
“Not shy about pulling out the big guns, are you?” he laughed.
“Ya always told me ta never engage into a fight that ya aren’t willing ta go all out ta win.”
“I did at that,” Cain admitted.
“When ya’re talking about this kind of money, tis no joke. Do ya know what I could do with 500 pounds?” she asked.
“Pay rent?” he suggested.
“Ha. Ha,” Patricia said.
“Get serious now. Clean the rabbits. Then I’ll show you how t’handle the ducks,” Cain said. “Oh, and by the way, the slug is probably still in whichever rabbit was hit last. Make sure t’remove it. I don’t want t’chip a tooth at my age.”
[Monday 3:59 PM – NYC]
Lynne stood just inside her penthouse door to the heliport of the building. It was 3:59PM and she was watching for the arrival of her new plane. She wore a very expensive, full-length formal white dress with an intricate lace upper. She also wore a triple stranded pearl necklace and had strands of pearls hanging from her earlobes. Her hair was fashioned into an elegant updo.
An attendant ran over and opened the door, blasting her with a hard gust of cold air.
“Ma’am, the plane is approaching from the North and will be here in the next few seconds,” he yelled over the howling wind. “Are you sure that you don’t wish to put on a coat?”
“I’m fine,” she told the attendant. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”
Suddenly, the deafening sound of the turbines from the jet struck them as the jet flew over the doorway. The plane made a hard 180 degree turn like a helicopter, then settled onto the helipad. The engines throttled down and the nacelles rotated into a 45 degree position to minimize danger to the ground crew and passengers.
“Quite loud isn’t it?” The attendant said. “Much louder than a heli. I’m sure we’ll get some complaints about it tomorrow,” he sulked.
“This is my building,” Lynne said. “The whole top floor is my home. If anyone can hear it below that and they still want to complain, I’ll deal with it.” She walked out to the raised platform as the ramp-door on the underside of the jet opened. Lynne pulled up the front of her dress and quickly mounted the stairs into the passenger cabin.
The steward flipped the switch that raised the ramp and scooted past Lynne.
“It is a bit louder than I anticipated,” Lynne commented to a man sitting in the seats opposite her entry.
“We’re working on that, Ma’am. VTOL craft aren’t intended to be used in urban areas,” he said.
“Isn’t that exactly what we’re trying to design? A high-speed VTOL craft that can be used in urban areas?”
“Yes, Ma’am. We have a few ideas on lowering the noise profile,” he said handing over a clipboard of drawings.
Lynne flipped through them quickly. “Are any of these going to be of use for stealth operations?”
“Maybe,” said the engineer.
“I believe I read a report that the US Military has something in that arena that they’re playing with,” she mused.
“Yes, Ma’am, but it’s classified,” he started.
“Get it. No excuses,” she ordered handing the clipboard back to him.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded and headed forward into the cockpit.
The steward returned from the back of the plane and offered her a glass of champagne.
“Thank you,” she said taking the glass without looking up.
“You’re welcome,” came an unexpected female voice from beside Lynne.
Lynne looked up to see her daughter-in-law and Executive Secretary Tonya standing beside her. She was wearing a navy blue, sleeveless tuxedo dress, paired with black heels. A pearl necklace, earrings and a black watch stood out brightly against her deeply tanned Brazilian skin. Her shoulder length wavy black hair was adorned with pearl encrusted golden combs.
“What are you doing here?” Lynne asked.
“That depends on the context of the question,” Tonya said flopping down in the seat next to Lynne and counting on her fingers. “One: You’re fairly helpless without me. For instance, I bet you forgot the contraceptives I left you, didn’t you?”
Lynne blushed.
“Thought so. Two: William got called in to STRATCOM suddenly. They’re seeing weird readings in the telemetry of the satellites, and I didn’t want to be at home alone and bored. Three: The boys are at friend’s houses before school restarts. Four: I’m curious about this plane.”
“I get it,” Lynne said, waving a hand. “You’ll keep making up excuses ad infinitum.”
A small white bag was plopped into Lynne’s lap.
“Put them in your purse. Now. I’ve talked with Daisuke. A lot. He’s serious,” Tonya said elbowing Lynne’s arm.
“OK, fine,” Lynne said stuffing the bag into her tiny clutch purse. “But I don’t think it’s what you think. He’s married. For 10 years if I remember correctly.”
“I researched it,” Tonya said with a wide smile.
“Of course you did,” Lynne said sarcastically then finishing her champagne with a gulp and holding up the glass for a refill.
“Damned straight!” Tonya gleamed. “By the way, be careful with that. You don’t want to get drunk before you get there,”
“Alcohol has no effect on me. Remember? My ‘special heritage.’ Damned shame. Sometimes I need to get wasted and simply can’t,” Lynne said nodding to the steward who had just refilled her drink.
“Oh. Yeah,” Tonya said non-committally, indicating that she really didn’t remember but acted like she did. “Well anywho, first off, his marriage was always a sham. Her family bought the marriage with investment money that his company desperately needed at the time. The girl has no interest in men whatsoever. Despises them actually. You see, she’s a flaming lesbian; doesn’t try to hide it even for the sake of appearances, and her family was getting tired of her antics. So they set her and him up to look like a nice married couple to save the family name in Japanese polite society. And here’s where it gets interesting for tonight: since you’ve purchased the company and bought all of their stock holdings, her family could no longer hold him to the contract.
She leaned forward conspiratorially, “As of some hours ago, midnight Tokyo time, his divorce from her is final. You’re free to sample his goods guilt free.” Tonya laughed holding up her hand to request a champagne of her own.
“You presume that --” Lynne started.
“Don’t play coy,” Tonya interrupted. “I’m an expert in lust, with several advanced degrees in the subject, and you, dear Mother, are positively fawning for that man. Over the last year it’s grown to the point where you can’t even be in his presence for long without losing your train of thought.”
Lynne squirmed uncomfortably.
“Look,” Tonya continued, taking the offered champagne from the steward and waiting for him to depart. “You’re the leader of a huge covert organization whose size is larger than almost every government on the planet. You control wealth that makes even the US Treasury look like a pauper, and a military larger and more well equipped than most European nations. Over the last 70 years you’ve pulled together a loose conglomeration of disconnected organizations, thousands of years old, whose sole mission was to find and protect the Chosen into a single, efficient organization that not only performs the original mission, but also protects and serves millions of Erokan people all over the world. In addition to that, you own and operate how many corporations in how many industries, including this one tonight?”
Lynne stayed silent.
“The world can’t afford for you to get scatterbrained over a hangup about a little hedonistic sex. Let this man screw your brains out for a night, have some fun, and enjoy yourself. Tomorrow you’ll be back to your normal self. Assuming, of course, you don’t get addicted.”
“You can stop right there,” Lynne laughed. “I’m at least four times his age and I’ve lived through the loss of two men already. If he asks, maybe I’ll humor you both. But love or attachment isn’t in the cards for now. They’re too much trouble.”
“Good to hear. Just sayin’ that a little regular sausage now and then makes for a happy breakfast.”
“You!” Lynne said pushing Tonya. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t see what my son sees in you.”
“I take pride in my dirty mind, I’ll have you know! And for the record, MOM, his is even dirtier than mine. I wonder where he got it, Madam Lyona?” Tonya laughed.
“Hey! Don’t use that name in public,” Lynne complained.
“We’re not in public. Ma-dam. Ma-dame. Oh hell, just say it: lead hooker Lyona’s in the house boyz!” Tonya yelled laughing.
“That was a long time ago,” Lynne said sipping some of her champagne.
“What’s this? No more than a few hours ago who said ‘so what if it was in the 1860’s, sex is sex.’,” Tonya said effecting a nasal parody voice.
“I don’t sound like that!” Lynne protested.
“Yes you do… just like that, over the phone. ‘sex is sex’,” Tonya repeated in the voice.
They roared in laughter.
[Tuesday 6 AM – Northern Ireland]
Cain and Patricia jogged up to the parked SUV that they had arrived in five days prior. The jog had been downhill and even with their heavy backpacks the run had been fairly easy and had been much faster than a normal jog.
“One hour t’get back here,” Cain said checking his watch. “Not bad for a 97 year old man, eh?”
Patricia supported her backpack on the hood of the vehicle. “Uhhh. Granda, ya might wantta take a look in the mirror.”
“Why? Do I have something on my fa – SWEET JESUS!” Cain cried.
He looked at Patricia. “How long?”
“Since before I came back from the wood,” she answered.
He looked again. Instead of his normal highly wrinkled, aged appearance, Cain looked to be a very fit man in his mid-fifties. His hair was still the same gray-shot-black that it always was, but somehow forty years had disappeared from his body.
“So. Are ya really 97 years old?” Patricia asked hopping up to sit on the hood next to her pack.
“Yes, I am 97 years old. However, what that means for me is different from a ‘normal’ person. For who I am, 97 is akin t’being just about nineteen years old for a ‘normal’ person.”
“Ya’ve used the word ‘normal’ now twice,” Patricia remarked. “Does that somehow mean that ya’re not ‘normal’ normal?”
Cain smiled a mocking smile at his grand daughter. “We’re all abnormal. Since you’ve got my genes, you’re abnormal too. But I think everyone already knows it,” he said punching Patricia in the shoulder. “People would classify me as a demi-human, tho’ me and everyone like me are as human as anyone else, we just have more forms than most.”
Patricia stared at him sidelong. “Demi-human? Forms?” she asked disbelieving.
“You know all o’ those fairy tales and ancient myths?” he asked.
“Um,” she nodded.
“Most o’ the creatures in those are real – or were. Many are extinct now. The rest are in hiding. As you may be aware, people are very intolerant o’ those who are not like them. Saint George hunted the dragons, for instance.”
“Dragons? Now ya’re stretching it. I think people would notice giant lizards tromping round,” she mocked.
Cain suddenly vanished and in his place stood a griffin. Patricia squealed and instinctively scrambled to the opposite side of the vehicle. After a few moments she peeked around the front of the truck to look, her pistols in her hands.
The first thing that Patricia noticed was that Cain’s clothes lay empty on the ground. Where her grandfather once stood, a large griffin now stood majestically. It was easily the size of the truck that Patricia hid behind. The monster looked at Patricia and made a low squawk, its head motioned for her to approach. She paused for another moment to view it from a safe distance.
The creature’s hind quarters were those of a buff-colored lion and starting just behind the front shoulders its form transitioned to that of a golden eagle. It had large majestic golden wings and its golden feathers reflected the morning sun. Its talons were sharp and black and even standing idle they pierced deep into the soil, its beak was deep amber and glistening. Patricia looked into its eyes and saw her grandfather’s presence.
“Granda, is that really you?” she asked carefully approaching, her weapons ready.
The griffin chirped softly.
She approached and put her hand on the lion’s rump, slowly circling behind and around. Her hand never leaving the side of the monster.
She headed forward and examined the feathers. They were extremely stiff, completely unlike the duck feathers that she had plucked earlier that morning. She rounded the front of the griffin and its head towered above her even though its back was only at her chest.
The griffin lowered its head and pushed her back. Suddenly she was looking at her grandfather again.
“How did ya get even younger!?” she asked.
“This is my true human form for my age at the moment,”
“I don’t understand,” she admitted.
“The academic term is Theriantropy. It’s the ability o’ some humans t’transform into animals. But, t’be honest, that’s not actually the case. I am a griffin, but to be griffin is also to be human. We’ve existed on this world longer than Homo Sapien. Us and dragons were creating cities when ‘normal’ humans were speaking in grunts and bashing each others skulls with clubs.
“Originally, griffins spent most o’ their time in their non-human form. It is easier t’hunt and travel that way. But that form tends t’scare other creatures away; especially the other bipedal human tribes. Since griffins also have a human form, it allowed us t’live in harmony with those around us. Eventually it became more convenient t’stay in biped form. The downside being that humans forgot that we also have our other form and when we used that forms it caused problems.”
“Ookaay. So how come ya’ve been three different ages in just this one day?”
He sighed. “People get uncomfortable around those who don’t age in the ‘right’ manner. As you see me now is my age for the number of years in my lifespan, which is about 800 years, give-or-take. I cannot shift ‘younger’ than my true age, but I can make myself look older. Since I am truly 97 years old, I make it a point t’look how people expect a 97 year old man t’look.”
“And your age a few minutes ago?” she queried.
“We’ll not discuss that. Anyway, this form is a little older than I was when I married your grandmother, but I looked about like this at the time,” he admitted.
“I can see why she – wait a minute!” Patricia said. “If I remember correctly, Nana was much older than ya were when ya got hitched.”
“Yup,” Cain said smiling beautifically.
“So, she’d be over 100,” Patricia said completely missing Cain’s expression. “But she looks about sixty. Is she a griffin too?” Patricia asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked, nor do I intend ta. I love her the way she is and that is that. I have secrets that I don’t want her t’know, and I’m sure it’s the same for her… Which reminds me. You absolutely cannot let anyone know about this. Especially your grandmother.”
“Why not?” she whined.
“Firstly, I don’t think your grandmother can take the information. Secondly, there are people who are looking for me. If they find me, they will kill everyone I’ve ever had contact with and use my progeny as lab rats. So if you don’t relish the thought of spending the rest o’ your life as a lab experiment, you’ll keep this all t’yourself.”
He walked over to the vehicle’s mirror and adjusted his look until he was the same man Patricia started the morning with.
“Let’s get on the road. Tara is expecting us back today,” Cain said climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
“Who’s Tara?” asked Patricia slamming the door after it failed to close the first time.
“Shit! I mean Makaila. Forget that too,” Cain said pulling the vehicle onto the gravel road.