Night Shadows (Children of Nostradamus Book 2)

by Jeremy Flagg

“Glad to see you’re not a complete pussy.”

  “Says the cyborg,” Mark said with a sly smirk.

  Mark could tell by the stance, Goddard would come in with his fist wide, hoping Mark blocked, leaving his ribcage exposed. As he stepped forward Mark watched his movements seem to slow. He ducked under the hook and punched the guard solidly in the lower torso. He had the groin shot, but he didn’t want this to end. He wanted to make an example.

  “You’re predictable, Goddard. Stupid men always are.”

  The charade of boxing vanished. Goddard moved in tight, wrapping his hands around the Mark’s head. He rolled, landing on his back with Mark in tow. He wedged his foot against Mark’s stomach and kicked hard, sending the novice fighter down in the ring. Goddard jumped upright to see Mark was already waiting for him.

  Mark’s knee crunched against the man’s lower jaw, threatening to shatter his teeth. Goddard rolled backward, getting back to his feet. His eyes narrowed, studying his prey, trying to figure out how Mark had gone from a soft, whiny man to a fighter.

  “Are we done? Or do you need me to school you some more?”

  “You’re itching for a bruising, aren’t you?”

  “You have to hit me first,” Mark spat back.

  Goddard was going to step inside his reach. He was going to try and pull Mark’s face down onto his knee. While he cradled his broken nose, Goddard was going to slam him down on the mat, leaving him immobile. Mark knew exactly what the man thought in that moment.

  As Goddard rushed him, Mark dropped down low to the ground. He reached through Goddard’s legs and lifted hard, sending the man onto his back. Mark jumped onto him, slamming his gloved fist into his face over and over again. He finally got his moment, his chance to pulverize the annoying, useless security guard.

  “Mark,” cried the men on the side of the ring.

  As he brought his fist back, he examined the bloody face. Goddard’s nose had broken and both of his eyes were swelling shut. Mark wanted to continue, go until the man’s body stopped moving. He wanted to feel the muscles slump underneath him. He wanted to hear the final breath escape Goddard’s lips.

  “Oh my God,” Mark whispered.

  Blood coated his gloves and the front of his shirt. He was covered in Goddard’s blood. He wanted the man dead. He wanted nothing more than to watch the man die. He pulled at the gloves until they finally slid off. He sat back, staring at his rival, watching the man’s head tilt from side to side as he tried to make sense of the world.

  Mark stood, his legs trembling from the lack of adrenaline in his system. He turned to the three security guards. “Take him to the medics. Make sure they patch him up.”

  “What if they ask what happened?”

  Mark raised his eyebrow at the questioner, appreciative of their loyalty. “If they ask, tell them he rubbed me the wrong way.” What was he saying?

  The guards didn’t try to hide their surprise. The man standing in the ring, he wasn’t the same man they had grown to know. Goddard’s presence irritated Mark until the worst of him came out. He wished he could say he didn’t like it, but there was something seductive about the power as he hovered over the man. He had to pull himself back before he did something he’d regret for the rest of his life.

  Ivan gave a slight nod. Mark assumed he was there to discuss the empath again and what they should do to bring him out of the coma. Mark wasn’t entirely sure what they were doing to the kid was ethical, but it sedation or the entire center trying to kill one another again. For now, he’d keep to arguing with Ivan about best practices.

  Mark stepped off the ring and walked to the door leading to the locker room. He turned to watch the three men climb into the ring to pick up their supervisor. Pulping Goddard wasn’t the smartest idea, but eventually gossip would start and people would realize he wasn’t somebody to take lightly. He wasn’t stupid, however; there was only so much pushing he could do with Goddard before it escalated to something dangerous. Right now, he remained too satisfied to care about the risks.

  With only a dozen lockers, two benches, and three showers, the room was modest. The sleeping quarters had more space for the security detail stationed with the center for the long term. He pulled off his bloody t-shirt and tossed it into the trash can. He slid his shorts down and grabbed his towel hanging on the door to his locker. He stopped for a moment when he caught a glimpse of himself naked in the mirror.

  Despite the blood strewn across his face, he admired what the mirror showed him. He still had a gut, but he had more muscle than he had in years. He almost had definition on his chest. He flexed his pecs for a moment to make them more pronounced. His legs had always been thin, the legs of a runner, but now they were starting to show some bulk. He was impressed with his physique.

  “I’d fuck me.” He laughed.

  He hoped he could keep up this progress and eventually he’d be ripped. There was something satisfying about his work shirts starting to feel tight some place other than his gut. He would catch himself flexing, showing off his muscles, making the secretaries stare at him. He wasn’t perfect, but he was well on his way. Even Elizabeth had been shocked to see him last time he visited.

  He snatched his towel and headed to the shower. He turned the handle, giving it a spin until it reached the perfect temperature, scalding hot. He stepped into the stream and let the water pulse against his face. The blood washed down his body, disappearing into the drain. As the fight began to slip from his mind, he started thinking about the last time he had seen Elizabeth. She had been thrilled when he mentioned he started going to the gym. She had even commented on how bulky he had become as he lifted her off the ground with one arm.

  “Looks like the prison life is treating you well, Mr. Davis,” she said jokingly.

  “Have to make sure I don’t turn into somebody’s prison bitch,” he returned.

  She paused at his candid language. “Since when did you start using words like ‘prison bitch? I’m not even sure you knew what that meant a year ago.”

  He laughed a little at the memory. She was right, something about this place was rubbing off on him. It wasn’t enough he tried to look like an Adonis, but now he started to play by their rules. He wasn’t sure if he liked what it was doing to him, but he couldn’t refute the progress he made.

  He leaned his face into the spray, letting the water wash over his head and down his back. Between power plays with a scared, childish security guard, they made progress, real progress. The cybernetics division was being merged with a private company and housed at the center. The Genesis Division had been doing similar research, and with their breakthroughs in human-robotic integration, they were on the verge of a revolution.

  Then there were the mentalists, three individuals he had hoped would pave the way to save an entire subset of their species. They were years away from making any serious developments warranting attention, but for now, small victories happened daily. They developed, with the aid of the Genesis Division, a method to help inhibit Penelope’s empathy. Even Arturo learned to control his abilities with the help of Ariel. Project Nostradamus made strides, even if not as quickly as he hoped.

  The thought trailed off into nothingness. The image of Elizabeth, his sexy wife, naked on their bed, filled his head. The expression on her face was priceless as he pulled the shirt over his head and dropped his PJ pants. She stared at him in fascination, blushing when she realized she had been caught. He climbed on top of her, brushing his lips along her torso, working his way slowly up her body. He paused at her breasts, kissing the spot where they touched her sternum.

  He stared into her eyes, waiting for her to make one of her goofy comments about how he worshipped her body. She pushed him to the side and climbed up onto him, straddling his torso. She kissed along his neck and bit his ear, her signal that she was ready for something a little more energetic than usual. He watched as she adored him, and he couldn’t help but think he was the luckiest guy in the world.

  The next
two hours they traded positions, playing a game of one-upping in the bedroom and working harder to satisfy the other. He ultimately found himself on top of her, holding her hands above her head as he thrust. She cried out and at some point he heard the sound of her cries turn from ecstasy to pain. He continued, determined to make them both climax.

  “Mark,” she said, “you big lug, you’re a bit stronger than you used to be.”

  He refused to relent as he pinned her wrists. There was something satisfying about watching her writhe each time he penetrated her. Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried to pull her hands free from his grip. With two more thrusts he felt the wave of pleasure start in his groin and radiate throughout his body. She arched her back, crying out as they both came. He fell to her side, basking in the radiance of his orgasm.

  “You asshole,” she said, sitting up. “I guess the bigger the muscle, the stupider the man,” she said as she stormed off to the bathroom. It took a moment for him to realize what happened. They had both been rough in the sack before, but nothing like that. She hadn’t been thrilled. He thought about getting up and knocking on the bathroom door to apologize. Instead he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  The memory excited him. He stared down to see he was erect. He thought about taking care of business but decided it’d give him motivation to speed through the day. He shut off the shower and stepped outside to towel off. As he wiped the last of the water off his body, he could see a single red spot on the white towel, a speck of blood that must have sprayed onto him earlier.

  “It’s one thing to be cocky, it’s another to be a cock,” Elizabeth said the next day. The rest of his week with her had been magical, but they had avoided discussing that night again. As he stared down at the drop of blood, her words continued to loop through his head.

  “Being a cock is going to keep me alive,” he said, throwing the towel into the trashcan.

  Chapter 20

  2033

  The flash grenade sent him wheeling backward. Pain radiated through his back as he hit the ground, bruising the base of his spine. He blinked several times, trying to remove the bright orbs dancing about in his vision. Sound seemed to come and go, waves of silence followed by the rushing of water and then silence again. He tried to stand but he couldn’t get his bearings.

  A man stepped through the smoke. He wore body armor similar to Jasmine’s Paladin uniform. Conthan held out his hand and tried to find the spot in his mind that gave him access to his powers. With a simple thought he’d remove the man’s head. All he found was the likelihood of hurling all over the ground.

  The orbs began to vanish. He could make the man out more clearly now. He wasn’t much older than Conthan, maybe a year or two. The Corps recruited them young and raised them within their ranks. He had no doubt the man was laced with artificial muscle enhancers or synthetic eyes. He tried to focus, but there were no superhuman abilities for him to grasp at.

  The man pointed his rifle at Conthan. With only a few feet between them his brains would certainly smear across the floor. Conthan’s mouth moved, but there was no voice. The soldier laughed and raised the gun sight to his eye. Conthan pushed backward, trying to put distance between them.

  The man jerked his gun to the side, firing off into nothingness. Conthan flipped over to get to his knees. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. He turned just in time to see the man’s head jerk to the side like he was hit with a sledgehammer. The man swung his arm out and Gretchen flickered into sight. She landed on her back with an “Oomph.”

  “There’s two of them,” came another soldier’s voice.

  “She didn’t show up on the infrared.”

  Conthan could barely make out the voices shouting at one another. The moment Gretchen’s eyes opened, she vanished again. It was hard to believe she was a Child of Nostradamus. Unlike him, she hadn’t spent the last year training. She didn’t have Dwayne chucking lightning at her, or Dav5d telling her how to optimize her abilities.

  “Where the hell did she go?”

  Conthan didn’t think as he hurled himself at the soldier in front of him. He grabbed the gun, pushing it to the side. Gripping the man’s tactical vest, Conthan lifted his legs, pulling the man to the floor. Instead of hitting the weathered wooden planks, biting cold encompassed their bodies. The darkness of his portal wrapped around them. As quickly as it vanished, they emerged twenty feet in the air.

  The soldier’s face tightened as he threw a fist, connecting with the teleporter’s jaw. Conthan grabbed on tight to the man’s vest and braced for impact. They slammed into the ground, the floor boards splitting and cracking from the crash. The man’s head battered a piece of stone fallen from one of the columns. Conthan rolled off him, his entire body radiating pain.

  “What the fuck?” yelled the other soldier.

  He raised his gun but before he could pull the trigger, Conthan watched the color in the room shift. It took him a moment to realize he was seeing the world desaturated, almost as if they were in a black and white painting.

  “He can’t see us.”

  Conthan looked down to see Gretchen clutching his ankle with both hands. He had seen her use her abilities, but she might be more capable than he gave credit for. The punker had more tricks up her sleeve than he thought. He touched his ear and then pointed to the soldier.

  “No sound. He doesn’t have anything that can find us.”

  “Damn,” Conthan whispered, impressed with her abilities.

  “Can you teleport us out of here?”

  He nodded.

  “Sir,” the soldier barked. “Both are gone. I can’t see them on thermal or motion sensors. It’s like they were never here.” He waited for a reply. “No, he’s dead. Fucker just got accepted to be a Paladin.”

  Conthan’s ears perked up at the mention of Jasmine’s former team. He didn’t know much about them, but he couldn’t resist getting more intel on the situation. He held up a finger to Gretchen, telling her to wait.

  “Yes, it was her,” he said. “The synthetics were waiting. Seems the president wants her too.”

  Conthan couldn’t imagine what they would want with the owner of an art gallery. Even with her abilities, she wasn’t very high on the list of dangerous Children. It seemed there was more to the story than Gretchen let on.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  He reached down and took her by the hand. They stood and he watched as the soldier checked the magazine on his rifle and started surveying the damage. Conthan didn’t feel remorse. He didn’t feel anything in the pit of his stomach as he flicked his wrist. The portal was small, but it was enough to sever the soldier’s spine. Conthan closed it as fast as he opened the rip in space. The man’s body froze and collapsed to the ground in a thud.

  “What did you do?”

  He didn’t answer. He opened a portal next to them. Gretchen stepped through. He eyed the dead man’s face one more time before he entered the cold. They were at war. It dragged him down, forcing him to become one of them. He wasn’t sure if it was worth fighting or if it was time to make peace with what he had to do to survive.

  ***

  “Better hope you’re right about this,” Alyssa said.

  “Do you have a better idea?” Jasmine wasn’t thrilled to be barreling through the streets in the old beat-up car they found near the gallery. She couldn’t hijack a modern car, the tracking system would alert the police within a matter of seconds. Instead, she found one that had been on the road since before she was born. The odometer was nearly at 200,000 miles and by the sound of it, the vehicle might drop dead before it got there.

  Skits sat in the passenger seat with the book open wide, her fingers grazing the old pages. She had snapped the visor off the ceiling and used the vanity mirror light to read the psychic’s scribblings. She flipped through quickly, looking for anything that would explain how the book got in the art gallery.

  “Eleanor P. Valentine’s maiden name is Bouvier.”

>   “I don’t care,” Jasmine said, trying to hide her annoyance. She spun the wheel, sending them into a slight spin as she banked left toward the location of the warehouse. Both Skits and Alyssa pressed against the door, holding on so they wouldn’t fall out of the speeding vehicle.

  “It’s like a diary. Some of it is dated, some of it doesn’t make sense. Maybe she was crazy?”

  “Maybe?” asked Alyssa.

  “Hey,” Skits barked. “I know crazy when I see it.”

  She flipped through the book again, starting from the back pages. She skimmed and continued flipping. “Got it,” she said. “She hid the book outside of the sanctuary so Malcolm couldn’t find it.”

  “Who’s Malcolm?” asked Jasmine.

  “It seems he was her protégé.”

  “This damned woman is a royal pain in my ass,” Jasmine said as she spun around another corner. The car thumped twice as it jumped over railroad tracks. They left the part of New York City that outsiders knew so well. Now they were heading into the industrial complexes and the shipping areas that most New Yorkers ignored. It was a treasure trove of jobs, but it wasn’t where the residents of Chelsea would find themselves at this hour.

  “We don’t have much time,” Alyssa said.

  Jasmine looked to the clock. They only had a half hour before the curfew began. Anybody on the streets would be deemed a criminal and eradicated by synthetics. She assumed they were crawling about the streets of downtown, but how many synthetics found themselves near the harbor? It had been a while since they had seen any machines. She hoped they wouldn’t come this far away from the residents.

  “He was a telepath,” Skits added. “Apparently she found him impressive. Though she said she didn’t think he’d be fitting for the head of the Society.”

  “The Society?” asked Alyssa.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Read faster,” Jasmine barked.

  “Stop driving like you’re angry at the road,” replied Skits.