Night Shadows (Children of Nostradamus Book 2)
Page 31
“Eleanor P. Valentine.”
The marble had been chipped and scratches were etched in the form of numerous swears. The spray paint that once tagged the grave was all but washed away by time. Jasmine imagined how upset people must have been when they asked to bury the assassin. She wondered if the family had once been buried somewhere else in the cemetery. The isolation of the markers made her think they had been moved for the sanctity of the entire graveyard. She was happy to see Eleanor with her brother and both parents. It warmed her heart.
She secretly hoped there would be an envelope waiting on the stone, the next in Eleanor’s mystical guiding steps. No letter waited on the base, no name etched in beautiful calligraphy, the hallmark of the psychic. With no letter, she was left with her own thoughts, herself and the psychic alone together for the first time since their paths crossed a year ago.
“I hate you,” she admitted. “I hated you the moment I told the girl to run. I listened to what you said. I did the one thing you asked of me. I saved her.”
Jasmine let her chest heave, an attempt to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. “You gave me hope. You gave us all hope. Look where it’s gotten us.” Once they fled the White House, they knew it was only a matter of time before they were marked as public enemy number one. The videos given to news outlets showed her holding the President of the United States, and moments later squeezing her head until it exploded. The Children of Nostradamus had gone underground because of them. Had Eleanor never gotten involved, she would still be part of the military, removing deadly threats from the streets.
Emotion overtook her and she didn’t have any outlet except to cry. She hated this feeling, the uncertainty of what unfolded around her. In the Corps, she had to be in control, and now she was victim to the ravings of a madwoman. “You didn’t tell us how bad this got.”
She didn’t know what else to say to the ghost of a dead woman. She was angry. She wanted to scream at Eleanor, but found she was even more upset that she had fallen short. She had been part of something bigger, and even as a collective, they failed. She didn’t understand how Eleanor could have brought them together and given them no hope for success.
“You tried to change the future.” She thought back to the image in the locker room. “You said you could change it. Does that mean we can too? I need answers.” The anger subsided, drowned out by the weight of responsibility pressing down on her from all sides.
She reached out and touched the stone. Her abilities were heightened from her emotions and they looked to synthesize the marble and change the density of her skin. She looked at the base of the stone to where a dandelion rested. It took a moment to realize the weed’s white fuzzy tips hovered in the air. A pebble hovered off the ground along with several blades of grass, suspended like they had always been there.
She stood and took a step backward. She bumped into somebody and spun about, fist drawn back, ready to swing. The woman wore a green body suit, similar to something you might see on an old school mechanic. The wrinkles in her face gave away her age, but even with the obvious years written along every line, her eyes made her appear even older.
“Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter,” she said. Her voice was warm, exactly how you would imagine your grandmother. Behind the words was a confidence allowing her to stand without flinching at Jasmine’s drawn fist. Jasmine lowered her hand and wondered who could have found her here of all places.
“Eleanor sent me.”
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Acknowledgements
I must acknowledge some awesome people who helped bring about this book. The Metrowest Writers, my Wednesday night crew, for helping guilt me into writing instead of watching reruns. Thank you to Cristina Alden for keeping me energetic while writing, Jennifer Allis Provost for wasting time on Facebook with me, and E.J. Stevens for talking about writing until 3 A.M. in the hot tub. Thank you to Erin & Marc Fitch for reading early copies and helping shape the story into what it eventually became. And thank you to the New England Horror Writers and the many fellow writers who have given suggestions and support during this project.
About the Author
I’m high school graphic design and marketing teacher, at a large suburban high school in Massachusetts. Working as a high school educator and observing the outlandish world of adolescence was the inspiration for my first young adult novel, “Suburban Zombie High.”
My inspiration for writing stems from being a youth who struggled with reading in school. While I found school assigned novels incredibly difficult to digest, I devoured comics and later fantasy novels. Their influences can be seen in the tall tales I spin.
I took the long route to becoming a writer. For a brief time, I majored in Creative Writing but exchanged one passion for another as I switched to Art and Design. My passion for reading about superheroes, fantastical worlds, and panic-stricken situations would become the foundation of my writing career.
I participated in my first NaNoWriMo in 2006 and continue to write an entire novel every November. Now I am the NaNoWriMo Municipal Liaison to the Massachusetts Metrowest Region. I also belong to a weekly writing group, the Metrowest Writers.
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For more about Jeremy Flagg, visit www.remyflagg.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue