by Jeremy Flagg
“How come we can’t just show up to a party and have a good time?”
Skits’s hands turned blue as she spoke. Vanessa stepped back as the heat from the girl’s hands started to swelter.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, calling me a goddess is sweet and everything…”
“Skits,” Dwayne yelled. “More destroying, less talking!”
“Oh,” she said, “I see you’re in a mood.”
Vanessa ducked behind a broken column. She watched as Skits burned through the closest synthetic, neatly cutting it in two. As another reached for her, a bolt of lightning struck its body, hurling it to the ground.
She didn’t have to say it, she was glad to have the siblings with her. Her abilities were vast, but it was hard to compete with a girl who could superheat the air around her until it turned to plasma and her older brother who could hurl lightning from his body. No, her abilities were subtle in comparison to these two powerhouses.
The thoughts of two dozen parishioners occupied her mind. They were in awe of the three Children of Nostradamus. They watched the gods fight to save their human lives. Even though they were only trying to stop a massacre, the humans were going to see this as a divine act. It had taken her half her life to remove the image of the angel, and here she was being elevated even higher.
She tensed as the barrel of a gun pressed against her skull. Synthetics had no thoughts. They were artificial in every regard, making it impossible for her to detect them. Had it been a human, she would have had a dozen methods of removing herself from this situation. Now, she had to rely on her body and hope she had honed it as well as she did her mind.
The weapon hummed as it came to life. Vanessa gritted her teeth, but suddenly the machine was hurled against a wall, its skull completely blown away. Vanessa spun around to see a woman at the altar holding a rifle.
It seems like trouble follows you wherever you go.
Vanessa smirked. She hadn’t encountered Twenty-Seven in almost a year and it was good to see the woman again. Twenty-Seven held up her rifle and shot again, striking another synthetic in the skull, obliterating its upper body. Her marksmanship was amazing; it was obvious she transitioned into the rogue lifestyle better than expected.
Dwayne stepped up next to Vanessa. “We’re five by five.”
“Really? You’re going to try and sound all cool? Five by five? Jesus.” Skits threw up her arms and tossed a melted skull onto the ground. “When we get back we’re going to work on your dialogue.”
Twenty-Seven stepped down off the altar and slung the rifle over her shoulder as she embraced Vanessa. “It seems things have changed a bit since I saw you last.”
Vanessa forgot that not everybody had grown accustomed to her appearance. The people had collected near the altar of the church, huddled together, afraid of the gods they proclaimed to love. “The two of you go talk to the priest, see what information you can get about this gathering.”
“Your god is here to save the day,” Skits said, working her way to the crowd. The people pushed away from her until a young woman reached out and touched the girl’s arm. Once they realized it was safe, they started making contact with her, basking in the glory of their savior.
“This is going straight to her head.”
Vanessa nodded. “Alyssa will not be happy she missed out on the opportunity to see Skits start her own religion.”
Dwayne followed his sister into the crowd. He held them back, keeping his admirers at arm’s length as he walked up the altar. Vanessa turned to Twenty-Seven and eyed the woman. Something was significantly different about her.
“This,” she said, holding up her arm. She pulled back the sleeve to reveal a cybernetic limb similar to the synthetics’. She pulled the fabric up to her shoulder. The metal seemed to go right into the socket, giving her a full robotic arm.
“It seems trouble finds you as well.”
Vanessa could only wonder what mishap had caused this new development. She reached out with her mind to touch Twenty-Seven’s. Vanessa gasped out loud when she found only silence. She had never found a human capable of hiding their thoughts. When entering the mind of Children, she heard distant chatter even if she couldn’t make out individual words.
“How are you doing that?”
Twenty-Seven’s smile faded. “It has been a difficult year, Vanessa. I’ve made some interesting allies since I came back to the States. The Nighthawks aren’t the only ones fighting back against this darkness.”
Vanessa dwelled on the statement. She hadn’t thought about the darkness in months. They all hoped the death of the Warden signaled victory over Eleanor’s predictions. The mention of the darkness told Vanessa more than she needed to know.
“The darkness is still coming.”
Twenty-Seven nodded her head. “Eleanor’s predictions are far from over.”
“What do you mean?”
A single voice entered her mind and eventually Vanessa heard Twenty-Seven’s mind processing the information. Vanessa focused and listened to Twenty-Seven reading another letter from Eleanor. The image of the woman in her mind tucked the letter away and handed it back to a sturdy-looking man with dark brown hair.
“There was another letter?”
Twenty-Seven nodded. “The Warden was only the precursor to whatever is coming.”
As fast as the thoughts projected from Twenty-Seven’s mind, they vanished. Vanessa didn’t hide her emotions, letting Twenty-Seven know how impressed she was of a woman entirely in control of her mind. If Vanessa hadn’t known better, she’d mistake her friend for another telepath. The lines around Twenty-Seven’s eyes had weathered and the scar across her cheek gave away that her life had been anything but easy in the last year.
“You can come back with us,” Vanessa offered.
Twenty-Seven shook her head. “I have Troy. And it seems I’ll be back in the thick of it soon.”
Vanessa didn’t know what to say. She had never found a human capable of avoiding her like this. She was very aware how much she relied on her abilities to bridge in the gaps between what a person said and what they meant. She didn’t like having somebody dodge her proddings, but it did tell her that Twenty-Seven was expanding her role in the world again. She could only hope the skills she acquired would keep her safe.
“Understood. Do you know anything more?”
“We found a young man at this church not too long ago. I hoped to find more recruits here, but it seems the synthetics have become enough of a problem that the Children are hiding again”
“With the president overseeing the Eastern Seaboard, there is a good chance the government has returned to dissecting our people.”
Twenty-Seven nodded. “We can only hope that it’s something as benign as that. With this thing looming over us, who knows when we’ll finally uncover what’s happening.”
Vanessa watched as a black portal appeared in the middle of the church. Jasmine and Conthan stepped out, inspecting the destruction that had just taken place. Conthan pointed to one of the synthetics on the floor. “I see you had a similar reception.”
“Nothing they couldn’t handle,” Twenty-Seven said with a slight smile. “I have to go. But be aware, the president and the military aren’t the only players anymore. There is something new, possibly even worse.”
“Any clues?” asked Vanessa.
Twenty-Seven gave a slight nod. “Genesis Division. They’re coming for us.”
“They’re with the military,” Jasmine chimed in.
Twenty-Seven shook her head. “They had a military contract. They’re the ones who made things like this possible.” She flexed her arm, the metal bending to her will as she clenched her fist. “But they’re much bigger than that. I don’t know why, but they’re very interested in all of you.”
“Do you have any information on them?”
Twenty-Seven shook her head again. “Whoever is in charge, the Children of Nostradamus are their focus.”
“Be safe, Twent
y-Seven,” Vanessa said.
“You too, Angel,” she replied. “I’m glad to see you’re finally owning who you are.”
“Takes some of us longer than others.”
“Are we going to hug now?” Skits asked as she joined the group.
Chapter 4
2033
“You were hired to do a job.”
“But sir,” the man on the screen sputtered, “there were unforeseeable circumstances.”
“Are we not in the business of war?”
Wilson choked in reply.
“Do we not have a war outside our doors?”
Wilson straightened his tie and sat upright. He leaned into the camera. “Do not patronize me. You live off the wealth the board makes for you. You’ve spent our money like a spoiled child and you question my efforts?”
Jacob rolled his eyes. “Don’t forget how you got these contracts. Without us, you’d be working at the local gas station selling Slurpees.”
“Leave the business to the adults. You do whatever keeps you entertained and stop trying to act…”
Jacob didn’t have to try very hard to hear Wilson’s thoughts. It was easiest when they were angry. It turned up the volume and he could hear each word before it started. With a simple thought from Jacob, Wilson stopped speaking. Jacob focused on him, pushing with his mind, forcing him to lean back in his chair.
“That feeling is me forcing your body to do what I want. The next thing I do is have you reach for the gun in your desk and blow out your brains.”
Jacob smiled as fear washed over Wilson. The board had stopped meeting with him in person, citing that his anger made them uneasy. It didn’t surprise him. They ran a multi-billion dollar corporation. The board was put in place by a group of very discreet men in a secret organization, and now these pawns ran it, forgetting that without the Society’s influence, they’d be nothing.
“Wilson, the only reason I’m not killing you is because I have no desire to train a new president of the board. You’ll watch your tongue. You’ll continue to fund my operation, and I won’t feel the need to inform your wife about your particular brand of perversion.”
Yes, sir.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Jacob pulled back, letting Wilson’s thoughts quiet. He detested the man; every fiber of him dripped weakness. Jacob wished he had the luxury of being given such a posh position without working for it.
“Be sure the president gets what resources she needs…” He paused. “Within reason.”
Before the executive replied Jacob waved his hand, forcing the video feed to vanish. If he desired, he could easily step in and take over the board. He might not be able to control each of them as easily as Wilson, but the power of suggestion had taken him far enough. At some point, when he got bored, he’d try his hand at running Genesis Division.
He loosened his tie, flipping open the top button of his shirt. His library held wall-to-wall books stacked neatly on shelves reaching nearly twelve feet to the ceiling. In the middle of the room sat two large high back chairs with a small table between them. On the table rested a chessboard, the figures laid out in a heated battle he had been attempting to solve for the better part of a decade. He walked to a giant globe resting next to one of the chairs. He spun the top until it revealed a bottle of scotch inside. He poured himself two fingers and took a light sip, savoring the amber liquid. Finishing off the last of the glass and sat at the edge of the chair.
He eyed the white chess pieces. Several sat adjacent to the board, his fallen soldiers. Once there had been a man he played against daily. His mentor had said that chess sharpened the mind and forced the players into a mental game. Each move weighed a thousand decisions and required knowledge of your opponent on an intimate level. His mentor abandoned this particular game, saying that all options had been eliminated and he won with only a few pieces moved. Jacob spent the last twenty years trying to understand the man’s moves, guessing which would protect his king.
Like each time before, he started the mental game, moving pieces one, then two and three steps ahead of where they were. He found himself defeated, knowing the movements of his senior. Then he began on the next group of movements and found the same result. Nearly twenty years and he believed there was still an answer he had yet to discover. With each new train of thought, he found himself questioning the moves like a thousand times before. Each time his opponent won. Jacob growled as he struck the board, knocking the pieces to the floor.
He leaned back in the chair, pouring himself another drink. He didn’t attempt to savor the liquid as he polished off the glass. He closed his eyes. He didn’t need the chessboard in front of him to see each distinct shape. The pieces would eternally haunt him.
“Ahem.”
His eyes remained closed, but he sensed her leaning in the doorway. Her arms would be crossed, causing her breasts to appear even larger than they were. He cracked his eyes, and just like his imagination predicted, there she stood, bent in a way accentuating every curve in her body. The black dress touched the floor, but the slit up the side nearly made it to her waist, not hiding much of her long legs.
“What do you want, Lillian?”
“Are you done with your temper tantrum?”
He shot her a dirty look. Out of habit, his mind reached out, touching hers. Unlike in Wilson’s, there were no stray thoughts for Jacob to grapple with and gain entry into her head. She stuck out her bottom lip, feigning a pout. “Can’t get what you want?”
He growled. “What do you want?”
“Salvador and Dikeledi are waiting for you.”
“Let them wait.”
“Stop being a petulant child.” He felt the invisible tug at his clothes, and a moment later found himself being pulled to his feet. She turned and walked out the door.
He couldn’t hide annoyance at the way her abilities could affect him, when his were met with resistance every time. He followed her into the hallway. Just as he caught sight of her, the color in her dress bled away until it turned a pristine white. He touched the lapel of his shirt and his clothes followed suit. He had tried to convince the rest of the inner circle there was no reason in continuing with this wretched tradition, but they continued to fight him. They clung to a past he had abandoned long ago.
“Can’t they function even for a moment without me?”
“You’d love to think we are helpless without your grand machinations.”
They walked down a hallway leading to a large wooden door. The upper floor of their penthouse suite held their inner sanctum. Once upon a time it was where the Society of Paranormal Research, a group of humans studying and researching mentalists, gathered. Jacob wondered how many men and women had gathered to discuss the paranormal, none of them having abilities of their own.
Hanging on the wall were photographs of the Society’s past presidents. The men appeared stodgy, holding a scholarly quality, but still inept in their inability to grasp what they were dealing with. Then came the first woman to sit as president of the Society. Unlike those before her, she was a mentalist, her abilities still discussed as some of the most powerful to date.
Jacob stopped to look at her photograph. Eleanor Valentine, a beautiful woman to behold. The records of her ascension in the Society were scattered at best. The history books the scribe kept became difficult to obtain and after a betrayal by several mentalists, the Society seemed to fall in disarray for years. Before whatever Eleanor did to darken their history, mentalists served as a slave class, lab for the people who researched them. After that tarnished moment, after Eleanor Valentine, it seemed things changed drastically and the mentalist rose to power. First Eleanor Valentine, and later her protégé, Jacob’s mentor, Franklin.
Someday, Jacob would find his own protégé, train them, help them realize the gifts they possessed, and they would take over his position. Someday, far, far into the future this would happen. Then Jacob’s photograph would adorn the walls of this sanctuary, and he would be immortalized as
one of the keepers of the Society. But for now, he had a job to do with the others who partook in the honor of sitting at a table meant for the distinguished.
“What?” Jacob asked, annoyed he was being requested.
Salvador raised his eyebrow at the man. He knew Salvador didn’t like him, tolerated would be a better word. The man had no qualms speaking his mind about Jacob as if he wasn’t there. Jacob didn’t like him either, and if Salvador had any ambition to take over the presidency of the group, he’d feel threatened. However, Salvador much preferred to spend his free time indulging in womanizing rather than overseeing a vast organization.
“Something has come to light that you will want to see.”
A metal orb hung in the middle of the room, casting a blue light that created an almost three-dimensional image of a man’s office. Salvador reached into the light and shifted the image, showing two figures standing on either side of a doorway. Jacob looked at familiar bomber jackets.
“So what? I often use the Barren like this.”
The man rotated the image again. Jacob had first thought the image was one of the rooms in their penthouse suite. However, with the new angle, he could see a large man sitting behind a desk. He had never met the man face-to-face, but he knew of him well enough. The Warden’s reputation preceded him. A burly man placed into power by the President of the United States of America.
Jacob’s mentor had more than a hand in the election of Cecilia Jones as the President of the United States. When Jacob took over, he assumed the role of handler to the woman. Meanwhile, the president oversaw the Warden, a man who utilized resources by Genesis Division to perform research on the Children of Nostradamus.
“How does the Warden have two Barren standing at his door?”
Where Lillian had the beauty and sex appeal reflective of Hollywood nearly one hundred years ago, Dikeledi had an exotic beauty. Her ebony skin was so dark it almost held a purple hue to it. Her powers were most akin to his: where he could read minds, she could read emotions. Where he could influence thoughts, she could do the same with feelings. He controlled the brain, and she the heart.