Night Shadows (Children of Nostradamus Book 2)

by Jeremy Flagg

She tried to hold her smile, but the edges of her lips couldn’t maintain the farce. He stood up and adjusted his tie. He eyed a spot on the carpet. “Is this where she died? I was always curious.”

  “You think she’s the only one who’s made an attempt on my life? Mr. Griffin, men have come with armies to remove me. You have two lackeys and three mindless sacks of flesh.”

  Dikeledi started to laugh. Her laughter gave away who had the upper hand. Cecilia couldn’t fathom the forces at work, but she believed Dikeledi borderline crazy. The president almost cracked a smile, a light chuckle escaping her lips. She motioned with her hand, and both synthetics aimed their weapons at the empath.

  “Make an example out of her.”

  Everybody froze, everybody except Dikeledi. The laughter faded and she raised her eyebrows. “She’s confused. Her fear has a hint of anger.” She verbalized the president’s emotional state, unnerving the powerful woman.

  “It should.”

  Jacob motioned with his hand for the synthetics to stand down. As Cecilia’s eyebrows rose and her jaw dropped, he smiled. “I’ve been waiting for years, Madame President.”

  “Finally, a crack in that armor of yours,” Jacob said. Her thoughts were muddled, as if they were being swallowed by ambient noise. He adjusted the tie around his neck. As his hand slid down the fabric, Jacob shoved power into the president.

  There was a moment of silence as Cecilia tried to comprehend what happened. Where Jacob had been standing, another man stood in his place, somebody she hadn’t seen for decades. She leaned backward, half sitting on her desk, grabbing the edge to steady herself.

  “It has been years,” he said, his voice taking on an entirely different timbre. “I’ve missed the games you used to play, child. A powerful woman, scared by her own genetic limitations.”

  “But how…”

  “What amazes me is you didn’t have the foresight to predict the product of your own machinations.”

  Lily rested her hand on his shoulder, taking delight in the befuddled expression on the face of the most powerful woman in the world. “The irony, Cecilia killed the only woman who could have foreseen this.”

  The president stuttered, unable to complete a single word. The curtains of the Oval Office shut with a quick flick of the telekinetic’s wrist. It was the first time he shared in the memories of the other man, the sensations of his past washing along his skin. He had difficulty separating himself from the man he portrayed.

  He dragged one foot in front of the other, creeping toward the terrified woman. With each step the image in front of her faded. One man transformed into another until a familiar man from her past stood in front of her. He watched as the reflection in her eyes aged into a thick powerhouse. It took a moment, but the terror flooding her eyes let him know she finally connected the dots.

  “Davis? No, Volkov…”

  ***

  Conthan stepped through the portal with Gretchen in tow. He clenched her hand tightly, their fingers interwoven to be sure they didn’t lose contact. He only had a moment to pull her to the side of the portal and duck. The air on his neck stood on end as the first burst of searing white light shot through the room.

  Dwayne held out his fists, electricity pouring out of him as he exited the black disc hanging in the air. The synthetics were hurled across the room, the metal covering their torsos ripped apart by the ferocity of his abilities. Not long before, Conthan had watched the man break down and question his role; now, he served as their heavy artillery with frightening efficiency.

  Electricity tore at metal, frying wires and melting circuit boards. Seven people occupied the Oval Office, but he only recognized the president. The most powerful woman in the world and three people in white dress clothes dropped to the floor. The men in bomber jackets with their creepy smiles didn’t budge at the destruction.

  The two synthetics hurdled into the wall, breaking century old plaster. Dwayne looked for his next target. The smell of charred carpet, burning fabric, and gunpowder hung thick in the air. Dwayne directed his fist to the two women clad in pristine white garments on the ground closest to him. After the display he put on, Conthan didn’t think anybody would dare to put up a fight.

  “Lily,” the man said.

  Nobody moved a muscle. Dwayne emptied his lungs as something thrust into his gut throwing him from his feet into one of the charred curtains and out the window. Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating the damage the human lightning rod inflicted on the Oval Office. Conthan expected the president, but he didn’t know the extra two women were. For a moment he thought he saw the Warden standing near Cecilia. He had the look of a villain, a certain arrogance only cultivated by a man trying to destroy the world.

  Conthan started to step forward, but Gretchen tugged at his hand. She grasped his fingers tighter, reminding him this wasn’t their battle. The others could yell at him later; he focused on the man in the middle of the room and opened a portal. When nothing happened, he raised his free hand for dramatic effect and tried again. The man’s innards hadn’t been torn from his body. For a moment, he stared directly at Conthan.

  The teleporter didn’t hesitate as he flicked his wrist and another portal opened. Skits dropped out of the black void. She kicked hard, her foot catching the white woman in the face and sending her onto her back, unmoving. Skits’s hands flared blue as she pivoted to slam her fist into the black woman’s chest. With her hands drawn back, she stopped attacking.

  “You do not want to fight,” said the black woman as she got to her knees. Skits froze instantly, the light around her hands dimming to the point the liquid fire vanished. Her shoulders slumped, her body appearing as if it might crumple to the ground.

  “But she does,” Skits said with a smile.

  Alyssa fell through the portal, landing on the ground. As she touched down, Conthan clenched his fist, closing the black void. Alyssa, already in motion, punched her. The black woman threw her up hands to defend herself, obviously unaware of Alyssa’s level of anger. She changed the direction of her punch, knocking blood from the woman’s mouth. Her victim fell backward as Alyssa landed an uppercut.

  “Get them, girl,” Skits said with a lackluster tone.

  She was fast. Conthan’s stomach tightened as the three men in bomber jackets approached her. She spun about, the heel of her boot connecting with the closest bomber jacket. As spit flew from his mouth, Conthan realized where he had seen the creepy face before. He turned back to Gretchen. “They belong to the Warden.”

  “There’s a plan,” she said. He realized her hand shook. She gripped him tighter. There would be no improvising, no changing plans for her. She put on a brave front, but she had no idea what she got herself into when she agreed. Right now she had one job, and despite the shaking grip, she was determined to do it. He squeezed her hand back.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  Alyssa snapped the man’s neck and punched another in the throat, sending him to the ground. She was about to block a punch from the third bomber jacket man when her body rose up off the ground and slammed into a blackened wall. When she hit the plaster, she crumpled. She slid up the wall, thumping harshly against the ceiling before she fell to the ground.

  Conthan saw movement as the white woman pushed herself up from the rug, her hand balled in a fist. He didn’t need to ask questions to know she must be a mentalist. He had never seen a telekinetic before, but he was amazed at how easily she took out two of the most skilled fighters he knew. He wondered if an idle Skits would be the next tossed about like dog’s chew toy.

  “What the fuck, Jacob?” asked Lily.

  The man, his name was Jacob. Conthan remembered a time when the Warden was possessed by another man. He recognized the smug man, the body might be different, but the Warden resided inside the pompous looking man. The remaining man in the bomber jacket reached into his pocket and pulled out a razor. Could the Warden be stopping him from opening a portal in the man’s chest? Would that even harm the source o
f the problem, or just this temporary vessel?

  “No,” Gretchen said.

  She snapped him back to reality. He wanted to kill the man, but he didn’t know if it would actually kill the Warden. He wondered if this would happen to Vanessa if she died. Would her mind run rampant, possessing other people?

  “Something is not right,” Jacob said.

  The man surveyed the room while straightening his jacket. Vanessa had assured them as long as Gretchen’s powers extended to them both, they’d be invisible to the telepath. He squeezed her hand again. “Keep focusing. You can do this.” He didn’t know if it was because Gretchen was terrified, or if Jacob was that powerful; either way, he didn’t want to falter.

  A snap filled the air before the flash of light burst through the windows. He pulled Gretchen close and wrapped his hands around her. He held her tight as the room exploded around them. “Don’t stop, Gretchen,” he said in her ear. He lifted her and worked toward the back of the room, hovering over her, shielding her from debris.

  “Fucking Children,” Lily screamed.

  ***

  Jasmine hit the ground and somersaulted forward. Her muscles pumped with adrenaline; she was ready to kill. She wanted to feel the woman’s skull in her hands, squeezing until the bone snapped and drove into her brain. She’d wait just long enough for her screams before finishing the job. Every muscle in her body moved with a purpose, to destroy the woman while savoring her pain.

  She froze, scanning the scene around her. The shrubs shook in the breeze while the dozen beds of roses left the air smelling fragrant, almost sweet. The landscape stood in juxtaposition to her current mood. The portal dropping her into the rose garden blinked out of existence. She knew people were being put in position around the White House, preparing for an assault against the president.

  The sound of pumping hydraulics broke the silence. She turned just in time to see the machine’s fist closing the distance between them. Her jaw spun, snapping to the side, and she was impressed with the accuracy of the punch. She wondered if it was the machine or Dav5d making the newest model of synthetics so dangerous.

  She grabbed at the arm, grappling it just above the elbow. The metal tore as she pulled. She planted her foot on the machine’s chest and continued pulling. The weapon on the forearm sprung to life and she dug her fingers into the barrel of the gun before it fired. The laser on the shoulder popped up, but instead of firing, the synthetic drove the knuckles of its other hand into her temple once and then again.

  “Jesus,” she grumbled.

  She stabbed her fingers into the machine’s throat and latching onto the metal conduit connecting the wires to its head and torso. She ripped the pipe keeping its head afloat, sending the machine falling onto the ground. As it landed in a bed of roses she kicked, the toe of her boot tearing the head off its body.

  Picking up the machine, she tossed it behind the shrubs in an attempt to hide the deed. She stayed low as she worked her way through the rose garden, taking care to avoid the delicate flowers. She admired the bushes’ determination to stay bright and vibrant even while the world fell apart around them. It wouldn’t be long before the White House itself joined the rubble of the rest of the country, another building in disrepair, victim of a war nobody understood.

  She had a moment of clarity. What if the world knew their problems were due to a conspiracy? she thought. On one side, Children of Nostradamus, and on the other, a secret organization filled with mentalists. Humans were in the middle, unaware they were the fodder of this war.

  Even in the daylight, a bright light flashed from the circular room to her left. The exterior of the building cracked, barely able to contain whatever unfolded inside. Whatever Dwayne was doing, the noise would bring wave after wave of synthetics running to defend their president. She wasn’t sure she’d be enough to stop them. She watched the doors and windows, waiting for the onslaught, hoping she could slow them down enough for Dwayne and the others to do what they needed.

  “Holy shit,” she said as a window exploded.

  Smoke billowed out of the broken window as something landed in the flowers. She watched as the burning fabric rolled about in the dirt until Dwayne threw back a layer of cloth. He tried to get to his knees but toppled, unable to get his feet to cooperate. She ran to his side and grabbed his arm, helping him up.

  “They’re in there.”

  “Thanks, genius.”

  “The others are in place,” he said, slumping and relying on her to keep him on his feet. He held up his fist and sparks shot out, barely leaving the surface of his skin. “I need more juice.”

  The doors leading into the garden burst open as two synthetics rushed toward them. She let go of Dwayne, sending him to the perfectly manicured grass. The first machine rushed at her, hands extended, as if it would grab for her throat. She grappled with its hands as it knocked her to the grass, trying to use its weight against her. She slugged its head as it tried to grapple with her fists. The second synthetic pinned her free hand, its claws biting into her metal hide. She tried fight back, but they moved quicker than she recalled.

  “I liked you better when you just shot me,” she hissed.

  The laser popped out on both shoulders. Red lights lit up in the barrel, preparing to fire. She turned her head and closed her eyes, expecting the stinging in her cheek. The high pitched hiss of the lasers made her freeze, but the lack of pain made her partially open one eye. She was surprised to see Dwayne on the synthetic’s back, each of his hands covering a laser. She imagined the powerful weapons would slice his hands from his body.

  The man’s eyes glowed red. She had seen him overcharge himself several times when they sparred. She knew his body was in pain, and he’d start screaming at any moment in an attempt to burn through all the power stored up in his cells. Still, she wasn’t used to seeing his eyes leaking energy, and red was a new color on him.

  “Oh shit,” she said.

  The electricity poured out of his skull, pushing through his eyes and out of his mouth. If he screamed, it couldn’t be heard over the hissing metal and popping hydraulics. He turned his head and red lightning slammed into the standing synthetic. The machine held up its hands to block the blast, but all that remained were metal stubs when its skull went limp.

  “There,” Jasmine yelled, pointing toward the wall he came out of.

  Now he roared. The bloodcurdling scream grew louder as the lightning tore out of his chest, leaving his skin blistered. She shielded her eyes from the light as it intensified. Like his sister, he was typically immune to his own abilities, nature’s gift for giving him so much destructive force, but now, a rash spread across his bare torso and burns started to show.

  The side of the Oval Office exploded and debris flew in every direction. The windows shattered, sending glass into the room. Plaster and wood tore apart as Dwayne bombarded the structure with energy. She squinted through her fingers; he gritted his teeth as he pushed out every last ounce of energy. He had spoken about giving in to the euphoria, and there was no doubt, as his eyes relaxed and his lips turned upward, he was experienced a moment of bliss.

  She shoved the synthetic on top of her off to the side. She pulled at its stubby arm and used it to smack him along the base of his neck. He staggered, but the blast didn’t stop. She drew back her fist and punched him squarely in the jaw, sending blood into the air, which evaporated as it hit the lightning. He’d be mad, but at least he’d be alive.

  “Jesus,” she said, “the only victory we have is downing my own team member.”

  Chapter 27

  2033

  The chill worked its through her skin and deep into her muscles as she slid through the portal. Her feet touched down in the small control room. Men barked orders at one another while hovering over monitors showing the White House’s interior.

  “Sleep.”

  The dozen men were out cold, draped across the computer equipment. With the security center out of commission, the others had a chance t
o do what they needed. Even as she kneeled onto the floor, her vision blurred, the world washed away until only the bright white room remained.

  From the corners of her vision, black gobs of liquid oozed, coating the walls. It only took a moment, but her white room had turned dark, corrupted by an unseen presence. She rested her physical hands on her legs and took deep breaths, steadying her mind.

  “It’s not like last time, Vanessa. Not even by a little.”

  “Who said it was?”

  She wanted to ask who was in control. She saw the young man in a white suit appear, but something about the way he stood reminded her of the Warden. Despite having killed him once, the man’s arrogance remained the only thing more powerful than his telepathy.

  Vanessa stepped backward, her wings fading into the darkness, and slowly the black ink washed over her body, removing her from sight. She watched the man smile at her parlor trick. He took pleasure in her newfound confidence, admiring her willingness to play his game. She couldn’t understand his satisfaction in the situation. Is he so sure he’ll win?

  With a thought, she appeared behind him. She lunged, her hands stretched out, claws ready to tears through his flesh. He moved quickly, faster than anybody should be capable of. With a simple swipe of his hand, he effortlessly knocked both of hers to the side. He thrust his other palm forward, catching her in the chest and sending her reeling into the shadows.

  He’s baiting me.

  “I’m glad to see you’ve matured since our last encounter. I hoped you would take my words to heart and let the shackles of morality fall away. It seems unfortunate you can’t shake being human.”

  She knew her friends waged a war in the physical world, attempting to thwart the man who had brought them so much misery. She only had to distract him. Her goal was to remove his abilities from the playing field, and she knew his hubris would make it possible. The man in the white suit might be a new vessel, but underneath, the arrogant bastard remained.