Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  CHAPTER NINE

  2033

  Conthan’s gut tightened, similar to when he received Eleanor’s letter. The image on the cell phone was of him and Gretchen halfway through a black disc hovering in the air. Among the thousand New Yorkers at the press conference, a single camera captured their superhuman departure.

  “Find us? Who the hell sends a text like that?” asked Dwayne.

  Skits snatched the phone off the kitchen counter and hit the call back button. She held up her finger while the phone rang. Conthan held his breath as he contemplated who might pick up the line.

  “Disconnected.” Skits tossed the phone back onto the counter. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “Do either of you remember seeing anybody with a camera?” asked Dwayne.

  “Oh, right, it must have been the lady with the walker and the pink knitted sweater. No, Dwayne, too busy seeing two men get slaughtered.” Gretchen stopped midway through her snide remark. “Sorry. I need a bloody drink.”

  Conthan ignored the girl’s outburst. Whoever sent the message knew who they were sending it to and incorrectly believed they had the resources to find the sender. Had Dav5d been there, he would have hacked something, traced something, or deduced something, anything. Staring at the phone, Conthan realized for a room filled with people capable of extraordinary abilities, they were helpless.

  “The sender knows we can find them.” Dwayne held the same logic. “How would we find somebody, a group of somebodies?”

  “How do we know if we should?” asked Alyssa. Everybody took a breath as they focused on her. “I do not mean to slow our pace, but couldn’t this be some clever trick by the Warden?”

  Conthan had to admit it was possible. In an act of superiority, Ivan would lure them out, giving them false hope before shattering their chance for redemption. The telepath spoke torture as if it were his native tongue. “She’s right. It is possible.”

  Dwayne shook his head. “I don’t agree. This is too cryptic. Whoever sent this is being dodgy for a reason.”

  “How do we find somebody who hasn’t given us any clues?” asked Gretchen. With a loud pop, she pulled the cork out of a fresh bottle of whiskey. After filling five shot glasses, she pushed them out to the others. Conthan didn’t argue as he downed liquid fire. A slight nod from Alyssa prompted Gretchen to down the shot on her behalf.

  “Hi, we’re looking for some sketchy person who photographed my friends. Oh yeah, they’re the ones who killed the president. Know any whacked people willing to help them?”

  The shot glass hit the kitchen table. “Actually, I do.” Gretchen wiped the side of her mouth with the back of her hand. All eyes turned to her. “Years ago, I was in a club and the military showed up looking for collaborators. A guy opened fire screaming about the police state. He nearly got Jed and I killed. Needles could probably help a sister out.”

  “Needles?” asked Skits.

  “Yeah, I assume it’s a nickname he earned peddling drugs.”

  Skits took the bottle of whiskey and swigged straight from it. “Needles never touched drugs. Weapons, fake passports, information, those were his bread and butter.”

  “You know Needles?”

  “Haven’t seen him since he invited me and a friend to this underground rave—”

  “Guys.” Alyssa held up her tablet. “It’s getting worse.”

  With a couple of taps, she turned the volume to the max. The video replayed the scene from earlier, the two men threatening the Warden. “We have confirmed intelligence that the two Children of Nostradamus and their human associates are, in fact, Canadian. Tension between the two countries continues to mount. This news rides on the heels of the military force that had been firmly situated in California moving east toward Illinois.”

  “Oh shit,” said Dwayne. “Jasmine…”

  “While the president hasn’t formally responded to the advancement, it is clear he is moving into place to protect the Windy City’s residents.”

  “Fake news,” Skits groaned.

  Conthan grit his teeth. “About this Needles guy?”

  Gretchen wrestled the booze from Skits and drank. “He’s my first guess. Good luck finding him, dude is like a ghost.”

  “I know of somebody,” Skits added. “Years ago, I used to be tight with a nun. She knew Needles. He’d forge documents for hookers to help get them away from abusive johns. She might have some insight.”

  Conthan caught Dwayne looking uncomfortable with the conversation. Sharing a bed with the man didn’t make Conthan any more knowledgeable about his past. He’d let slip the name Michael, a former lover. But of all the things he remained tight-lipped about, his little sister topped the list. Skits offered the information without regard for herself, but it left a question remaining in the mouths of everybody in the room.

  Dwayne quickly filled the silence. “I’ll take her to see the nun.”

  “Okay, let me grab my jacket and we can go,” Conthan said.

  “No.”

  Conthan’s spine straightened at the force of will in the single word. “I’m not letting the two of you go alone. You—”

  “I said, no.”

  No. Gretchen had said they were soldiers in a war. Conthan found himself comfortable with the family of outlaws. The lines on Dwayne's forehead deepened into a stone-cold expression. If he had eyebrows, they’d hold a stern look. Conthan found his innards a swirl of emotion—pain, hurt, anger, love. His fingers balled into a fist before he realized he was doing it.

  No. The expression on his partner’s face reminded Conthan, they were indeed soldiers.

  “Don’t,” Alyssa said, holding his forearm.

  With a growl, he turned to Skits. “Where am I dropping you off?”

  * * * * *

  “Don’t be a hero.” Jasmine grabbed Cooper by the back of the head and pulled him forward. Their lips remained just out of reach as she rested her forehead against his. His breath was warm against her chin and reeked of the cigars he had a habit of smoking when he needed “thinking time.”

  Cooper laughed at her statement. “You realize it is in my job description, right?”

  The wind whipped along the pier overlooking Lake Michigan. The influx of synthetics would make it impossible to hide for long; eventually they would come looking for the notorious trio of women. With the last of the refugees safely in Canada, they agreed their presence in Chicago was more a detriment than helpful.

  Already Cooper’s walkie-talkie had a flood of calls about synthetics invading homes and scanning people on the street. The only positive sign had been the growing military force west of O’Hare International Airport. It appeared as if Chicago was about to be the line in the sand and a battle was inevitable. While she had no love for the robotic army belonging to the Warden, at the head of the military was a General she vowed to kill. Neither side’s victory had a decisive win attached to it.

  “I’ll be pissed if you died,” she whispered, trying to stay in the moment.

  “I’m glad to know you care.” Cooper rested a hand on her cheek. “Do me a favor and keep yourself alive. When this is over, maybe we can renegotiate our arrangement.”

  Jasmine resisted the tug of her facial muscles, trying to hide the grin. The smile on his face gave away her failure. “I’d be open to renegotiations.”

  His hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling them closer. The stubble above his lip dug into her skin. The sensation wasn’t unwelcome. With a light bite of her bottom lip, he pulled away. His eyes held more emotion than she was ready to process.

  “I— “

  Her hand covered his mouth. “Save it for when I get back.”

  His nod gave her all the assurances she needed. The sound of water beating against the cement wall below reminded her of the approaching storm. The wind picked up and for a moment, she had to wonder if nature itself knew about the war unfolding. A crack of lightning off in the distance made her think of Dwayne. The Child enjoyed standing in open spac
es while lightning threatened to take him off his feet.

  “They need you, Jas.”

  “Do you ever think about turning your back on it and running away?”

  He nodded slowly. “Every day. The world has gone crazy. I’m a human with a badge, what can I do against a robotic army? What can I do against people who can read my thoughts or wield lightning? Didn’t you say a girl can turn herself into fire?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Every day I think about it, Jas. But we weren’t meant to turn and run, were we? I’ve sworn to protect the innocent. I’ll put my life on the line as long as there’s a chance I can make a difference.”

  Jasmine thought back to the Child in the school. She struggled to understand why Eleanor forced her to save that girl only to have her die in Troy. For months she had been angry at the psychic, confused at the woman’s mysterious meddling. But now, standing in front of Cooper, a man who truthfully believed in his commitment, she started to understand.

  “I know you would.”

  “I reckon you’re not too different, Jas. You’ve risked your life more than once to save those Children. You’d make a pretty good cop.” He let out a laugh. “Except for that whole being-an-outlaw thing.”

  The idea of a lover, let alone a family, had never crossed Jasmine’s mind. The bomb attached to her neck prevented thinking too far into the future. The General, the man with a finger on the trigger, prevented even imagining a family. She wondered if the life of a soldier would wash away or if the stench would cling until her death.

  Cooper wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in tight, letting her nuzzle her face against the chest of his jacket. He squeezed her tight, ignoring the soft sobs. If she stopped to think about how comfortable she was with him, enough to cry, she’d find herself spiraling and never want to leave.

  “I just think you’re stubborn and need reminding once in a while. I think that’s why Eleanor gave you that damned letter. She didn’t do shit except give you a moment to breathe and figure out who you’re fighting for.”

  Deep breath. “Semper Fi.”

  “Go be the Marine we need, Jas.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  2033

  Skits never hesitated. His little sister was a hothead, fearless, even reckless, but cautious, no, that’s not a word he’d use to describe her. Yet there she stood, unmoving.

  The walkway leading to the convent, a massive brick building, invited them with lanterns on either side of the path. The soft light illuminated a well-kept landscape, while a large wooden door waited for them. Skits froze, her eyes locked on the door at the end.

  “I can go alone if you—” he offered.

  “No.” Her voice came across as numb, as if she waged a war to keep her emotions in check. “It’s just been a while.”

  “How do you know this woman?”

  “She…” Skits eyed her brother, assessing him. “She got me off the streets when I was younger.”

  Dwayne nodded. In five years, she had never spoken about the time between their parents dying and when he rescued her from the hospital. The guilt of abandoning his flesh and blood when his powers manifested kept him from asking questions. Every word from here on would be a revelation.

  “Who is she?”

  “Sister Muriel.” Skits started forward, at a slow pace. Her eyes remained downward, going back and forth as if looking for a tripwire.

  “Did you live here?”

  “You…”

  Skits stopped at the door, her body stiff. Dwayne imagined at any moment she’d turn and run. He suddenly wished they were the type of siblings that hugged.

  “You might hear some things that change your opinion of me.”

  Dwayne rested a hand on her shoulder. There were no words to capture his regret. Years ago, in a moment of teenage confusion, he ran from home. Lightning had jumped from his limbs and he feared being cast out by his family. He beat them to the punch and fled. Right now, he understood how much the mistake cost him.

  Her hand rested on his for a brief second before she lifted the cast iron knocker. It was the most physical contact he’d experienced with her. Maybe we still have a chance, he thought as a smile curled his lip.

  The door pulled open with a groan. A woman in a nun’s habit greeted them. She ignored Dwayne; instead, her eyes went wide as she recognized Skits. The nun’s girth did nothing to slow her hug. Muttering something incoherent, she squeezed his sister, lifting her feet off the ground.

  “Agatha!”

  “It’s been so long. We worried something horrible happened.”

  The nun set Skits down. Skits pointed to him. “Agatha, this is my brother, Dwayne. I got into some trouble and what do you know, my family came through.”

  “God has a way of helping us in a time of crisis.”

  Dwayne reached out and shook Agatha’s hand. A small spark jumped from his fingers to hers. He and Skits froze, waiting for the woman’s reaction. With a slight giggle, she clasped his hand between hers.

  “Nostradamus or not, we are all God’s children. Besides, you’re not the first,” she said.

  Dwayne smiled, thankful for her acceptance. She ushered them into the foyer of the convent and shut the door. “Thank you for understanding about my sister and I,” he said.

  “Wait.” Skits held up her hand, the blue glow starting to radiate from her palm. “Sister Muriel didn’t know I was a Child.”

  Agatha pointed them toward the sitting room to the side of the foyer. Her eyes held a bit of devious mischief. Dwayne could only imagine how bad the woman might be at poker. She turned and gestured for them to follow and have a seat.

  “Child.” Her voice cracked in excitement. “You weren’t our first, either.”

  * * * * *

  “Just like I remember it.” Gretchen pointed down the dank alley.

  “I’m going to say it again, you’re a shady bitch.”

  “We should wait for Dwayne and Skits,” Alyssa said.

  “No,” Conthan said firmly. “He wanted to do his own thing.”

  “Don’t act in anger,” Alyssa warned him.

  “I feel overdressed,” Gretchen said.

  “Says the girl who asked me if I had a dog collar matching her boots.”

  Gretchen didn’t turn around, instead holding up her middle finger. She meant business, having spent too much time perfecting the mohawk on her head. The black leather pants, cut up t-shirt, and black leather jacket had become her standard uniform. Even Alyssa wore dark colors, borrowing one of Gretchen’s jackets.

  Conthan eyed his neon green shirt with a headless teddy bear on it. It might not have been the smartest fashion decision, but he couldn’t resist a chance to show off absurdist humor. If police were going to find his body, he wanted to make sure camera crews had a laugh.

  They were in a part of the city that turned dangerous the moment the sun set. Elongated shadows from darkened walkways threatened to grab at the ankles of pedestrians and sinister sounds lurked around every corner. Staring down the length of the alley to the street just beyond, Conthan spotted a New Yorker running past to get home before curfew.

  “Who is this man?” asked Alyssa.

  Gretchen let out a long sigh. “Once upon a time, I was in a bar, and I bumped into Jed Zappens. Military showed up, threatened to kill everybody. I saved Jed. Before we left, I watched Needles open fire. He had tech that disarmed the synthetics.”

  “Wait, you knew Jed before?” Conthan’s mind swirled. He attempted to connect the dots, seeing the events play out one by one. Gretchen introduces Conthan to Jed. Jed delivers a note to Conthan and then is killed. Later Conthan discovers Gretchen is a Child of Nostradamus.

  “You think this is the first time I’ve tried to figure out which came first? If I hadn’t saved Jed, would he have died protecting you? Would you have killed the Warden? Would you even have powers? Would I be alive?”

  “Allahu a’lam,” Alyssa muttered.

  “I know,
right? Makes my head hurt too.” Apparently the dangling strands of their interwoven webs weren’t enough, because Gretchen launched the final volley. “That was the same night I met Skits.”

  “Wait.” Conthan snapped out of his looping dilemma. “You know Skits? You both—"

  “Not like ‘know her’ know her,” Gretchen said, making air quotes. She fidgeted with her leather jacket, adjusting the shoulders. “She was leaving the club holding a gun to somebody’s back, I believe.”

  “Eleanor,” Conthan cursed.

  Gretchen approached a large steel door in the side of a decrepit building. In contrast to the 80s-wanna-be rebel with her cocky confidence, Alyssa remained demure, with shoulders dropped and hands neatly clasped, emphasizing her small frame. Conthan recognized the woman’s ability to lure victims into a false sense of security.

  It happened exactly as it does in the movies. A brutish guy opened a slot in the door and asked for the code word. Gretchen demanded to be let in. Her urgent request to see Needles fell on deaf ears. With a slam, the metal was shoved back into place.

  “Do you think he knows him?” asked Alyssa.

  “Bouncers know the patrons, not the owner.” Resting both palms on the door, Gretchen grit her teeth. The metal turned transparent under her hands. Gretchen’s jaw hung in disbelief, giving away the newness of the trick. The man on the other side stood six and a half feet tall, perched on a stool. Gretchen shouted, catching the man’s attention through the invisible doorway. Drawing from his pants, he held up a handgun that appeared tiny in his huge hands.

  Alyssa started forward as Conthan tore a portal open in the universe. The bouncer didn’t have time to react as Alyssa disarmed him, turning the gun and holding it to his face. The man inched forward, preparing to lunge. Her squeeze on the trigger sent a bullet into his knee. As he collapsed in the narrow hall, she gestured with the gun toward the door.

  “I think it best you invite my friends in.”