Night Shadows (Children of Nostradamus Book 2)

by Jeremy Flagg

  The white room, limbo, this place, contained no walls, no beginning, no end, and no up or down. He might be stronger than her, but she still remained far superior at guile. Sinking into the shadow, she positioned herself under him, then grabbed onto his legs. She pulled hard, sending him flying. Before he reacted, she vanished again, knowing her advantage was striking and running. If she was forced to confront the Warden face to face, she wouldn’t be capable of winning.

  “This game of cat and mouse is the best you have?”

  “I had to warm up somehow.” Her voice echoed through the space.

  His arrogance was abundant, a scent rolling off him she couldn’t ignore. With the slightest suggestion she followed the smell through his memories. The jumble of images pulsed like a heartbeat, washing over her. The memories flashed in front of her so quickly she had difficulty sorting through which belonged to who. One scene appeared over and over, and she knew she found the origins of the man.

  The blackness around them shattered and behind it was a scene she barely recognized. When they first assaulted the Facility, she recalled Dav5d showing her footage of the building before it became a prison. Glass windows let in the light, bathing a large man made of granite. He knelt in the fountain, and on his shoulders he held a replica of the Earth. She knew it was Atlas, and had she the time, she’d reflect on how they weren’t so different with the burdens they carried.

  “More daring than I anticipated,” he said.

  She stepped out of nothingness, bleeding into existence. The Warden’s avatar didn’t flinch at her dramatic appearance; even his muscles remained like steel. With the brightly lit windows to her back, she stretched her wings, casting a shadow upon the man. “I’ve seen you before you possessed Jacob Griffin, before you destroyed the life of Mark Davis. I’ve seen the original you.”

  He stepped upon the edge of the water fountain. Even with the extra height, it was difficult to look at the pasty white man as anything more than fragile. Vanessa knew the body; his delicate bones housed underneath paper thin skin were only feeble compared to the mine it protected.

  “You have?”

  “Ivan Volkov.” The words were hardly a whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the water trickling from the globe into the pool below. “The president did indeed assign you to the Facility. It’s starting to make sense,” she said, stepping closer to the man.

  Vanessa flapped her wings, lifting herself off the ground. She half expected the Warden to stop her from flying closer. The wind from her wings hit the man and parts of his body crumbled. With a strong whoosh, the image of the man turned to ash, carried into the air, until only broken legs remained.

  Hands wrapped around her neck, locking in at the elbows, placing her in a sleeper hold. She welcomed the touch of his skin, the cool fleshy part of his arm touching her face. She focused on the spots of her body making connections with the man. The chink in his armor looked more like a chasm once he touched her. He had no idea just how much she had grown in the last year.

  “You want maturity?”

  He yelled out loud, a bloodcurdling scream swallowed by the infinite space. She reached into his brain, forcing the organ to fire every synapse at once, drowning him in pain. The moment he let go, she spun about and grabbed both sides of his head. She brought her face close, her eyes staring into his. She smiled, her fangs showing as she leaned in and let their foreheads touch.

  “I am not without my tricks.” Her breath was sweet and wet. He tried to focus on her, bring himself back to the moment, but his face remained contorted in pain. She appreciated his subtle attempts to circumvent the power she unleashed in his brain.

  “Test me,” he said between panting.

  She fell forward, stepping through his body as if he was an open door. On the other side she stood in a room where a man yelled angrily in Russian. She remembered when he pulled the same trick, forcing her to endure a past torture. She gladly returned his abuses. She wanted to make sure she left scars on the man before her teammates killed him.

  She emerged in a dark room with torn wallpaper and holes broken through the plaster in the walls. The bed sitting in the middle maintained the only clean spot in the room and the sconce on the wall fought against the darkness, slowly losing the battle. A man stood at the end of the bed, looming over a woman, his fist drawn back as both of her hands were held up, trying to ward off the impending blow. He decided to change his tactic and pulled the belt from his pants.

  He swung the belt wildly, striking a woman across the face. When she screamed out, he used the back of his other hand to stop her. Vanessa flinched at the sound of the man’s fist hitting her, knocking the spit from her bruised lips. She hesitated, unsure if she had the fortitude to bring a man into his darkest memories.

  She had to.

  She grabbed Jacob by the back of the neck, forcing him closer to the carnage being wreaked by the man. The woman heaved as she cried and the man brought back his fist, the belt wrapped around his knuckles. There was nothing human left about the look on his face; the sounds coming from his mouth were primal, as if he forgot he was still a man.

  The blow left the woman limp on the ground. The swelling on her face made it impossible to know what she looked like before, her cheeks cut, her eye swollen shut, and her lips three times their original size. A final gurgling breath and her body went limp. She was dead.

  “No,” he said.

  “Seems we have belts in common,” she said.

  “But that’s all we have in common.” He pointed to a kid in the hallway. The kid must have been there the entire time, witnessing the brutality of his father. For a moment, she felt sorry, then it turned to horror.

  The gangly child held a small knife in his hand, clutching it tightly enough his knuckles turned white. There were no tears on his face, just a detached anger, a low growl escaping his lips. He huffed and puffed as if he had run a marathon. He looked down to where the floorboards from the hallway ended and the carpet started. He lifted his foot, creeping it across the threshold.

  His toes touched down on the carpet. He burst into a fury of movement. He lunged at the man, swinging the knife wildly, striking him across the arm. The man hissed and brought the belt down across the kid’s face. The kid lurched backward, falling on his butt. The moment his aggression subsided, the man reached down, holding him by the neck, refusing to let air into his lungs.

  The man muttered in Russian, a threat for his ungrateful wretch of a child. Vanessa prepared for the strike that would kill the kid. She eyed the man more closely and wondered if he was Ivan. They had a similar brow line and the same sinister pointy chin. Had she gotten the entire scene wrong? Was this his personal victory?

  The kid jabbed the knife forward, striking the man in the throat. He turned his wrist and pulled out the knife. The man reared back, holding his neck, failing to keep the blood from spilling over his hands and down his shirt. The kid sat up, stabbing the man in the cheek and with his free hand, putting his thumb into the man’s eye, imploding the eyeball.

  Jacob laughed. Mark laughed. Ivan laughed. The echoes of the three men filled the tiny room. “You were struck and you cowered. I was struck and I struck back.”

  Jacob reached back and grabbed her wrist. She fought him, but as he turned, he forced her to submit, bending down to her knees. She looked past Jacob to see the kid smiling, declaring victory over his fallen father. This wasn’t his greatest fear, he had navigated them to the moment the man in front of her had been born. She wasn’t fighting a man, he was nothing more than a monster.

  “Monster,” he said, “I can agree with that.”

  “I’m not done here,” she said as she pushed back, trying to knock him off her. She found his grip on her hand was absolute. In the battle of the minds, he wasn’t simply winning, he was dragging out his prize fight to savor it.

  He leaned in close to her ear. “You missed the best part, Angel.”

  He bent her wrist, an action that in the physical w
orld would have left her with a broken hand. The move forced her closer to the ground. She could only see his legs and the child covered in his father’s blood. She almost felt pity for him. It was bad enough his father beat his mother, but a devil was born as he exacted his revenge.

  Jacob laughed. The image of the man in white faded until it was Ivan towering over her prone form. “Revenge? Angel, I question your senses now. I’m a mentalist, controlling people it is in our nature.”

  She froze in horror as the kid stood up and sat on the bed next to his dead mother. The kid lifted the knife and drove it down into her breast, piercing where her heart would have been. He repeated the action several more times before taking the knife and sliding it into his pocket.

  “My father didn’t kill her.” He laughed.

  ***

  “Get me to her.”

  Conthan clutched Gretchen’s hand for all it was worth. The lackluster monochrome world around him continued burning, fires breaking out among the remaining people in the room. Gretchen managed to keep them invisible while Dwayne destroyed one of the world’s most recognized monuments. He and Gretchen stepped over a piece of burning carpet as he inched his way along the circular room toward the desk and the woman lying unconscious at its base.

  Skits and Alyssa were within arm’s reach of one another while the president was a few feet away. The elderly woman didn’t move, her body partially covered by a massive piece of plaster. He hoped she was alive; she would only be useful in getting Dav5d back if they had a living woman to barter.

  He moved around a bloodied bomber jacket man and kneeled down next to the president, reaching out to take her pulse. Gretchen pulled at his arm, yanking him away from her.

  “Skin on skin,” she said. “They’ll see her vanish or we’ll show up.”

  Alyssa slowly climbed to her knees, inspecting her fallen comrade. He waited for Vanessa to shout through his head, to offer some sort of guidance. He missed those moments when she chimed in without asking. He wished she was ready to take over his powers again.

  “We’re getting out of this room,” he said.

  “How?”

  He let go of her hand and the color washed back into the world. The moment reality returned to normal, he felt pressure at his head. He recalled the sensation, the Warden trying to force himself into his mind. He turned and saw Jacob eyeing him from the ground, a distant look on his face.

  “Be lucky I need you,” Conthan said.

  Alyssa and Skits blinked out of existence. He was the only person preventing the death of the president. Jasmine would kill him for changing their plans of murdering everybody who stood in their way. It was left to him to make the call; it all revolved around the president.

  The plaster broke apart as he pulled at it, freeing the president from the fallen wall. Conthan looked over his shoulder at the Warden, who seemed vulnerable in that moment, most likely occupied by Vanessa. He thought about the satisfaction he’d feel as the man’s heart was sliced in two. Unfortunately, the Warden had proved that killing the vessel wouldn’t end his tyranny.

  Conthan hugged the president close to his chest. The telekinetic stirred. If the Warden was dangerous in regards to the mind, the woman had nearly killed two people barely moving her hand. He didn’t want to be in her line of sight when she woke. Retreat.

  The pain raced along his spine, jabbing at the base of his brain, telling him to stop. The darkness responded to his demands and a portal opened along the ground. He didn’t need to see it; something about his powers told him Gretchen and the others had passed through. He clutched the president to his chest and fell backward. The portal opened wide enough that they both fell through, escaping the close quarters of the Oval Office.

  Cold coated his skin, eliciting a shiver. He welcomed the sensation, preferring the cold over the numbing feeling of the Warden’s persistent intrusions. He landed on his back, grass and invisible bodies cradling his fall. He pushed the president off him, jumping to his feet as quickly as he could.

  “What the hell,” Jasmine said. “Since when is rescuing her part of the plan?”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  He pointed to the destroyed part of the White House. Gretchen blinked into sight along with Skits and Alyssa. Jacob and his telekinetic moved into sight in the ripped-open section of the Oval Office. It wouldn’t take much for the woman to snap his neck—he’d ponder her mercy later—or perhaps she only acted when the Warden allowed her. He wondered if she was nothing more than a pawn for the man.

  “I know you want her dead, Jacob. Give us Dav5d and you can have the president.”

  “What the hell?” Alyssa said.

  “Otherwise, she goes with us and stays under our protection,” Conthan yelled, “and the United States keeps its president.”

  “Lily—”

  “She bats an eye and I open a portal in her chest.”

  The Warden’s vessel didn’t finish his sentence. He froze for a moment, taking stock of the scene. Conthan hoped he was weighing his options, because there was only enough juice in him for one more portal. He could feel the power trying to make a decision, possess his body or sleep. If it went in either direction, they’d have more problems than a psychopathic power-hungry telepath.

  Jasmine propped up the president, holding the woman by the back of her neck. Conthan knew more than the rest that she wanted to slowly squeeze the soft flesh, forcing the life from her. He wanted something similar, but it seemed he wouldn’t get his wish today.

  Thud.

  He threw up his hands to shield his eyes. Liquid splashed across his face, working its way between his fingers. He opened his eyes and his brain refused to register the red on his hands. He caught the shock on Jasmine’s blood-covered face. He followed her gaze to, her hands still holding the president’s neck. Where the neck curved outward to the skull, there was an empty space, covered in red goo.

  Gretchen grabbed his shoulder and despite the color fading into shades of gray, he couldn’t help but still see the red. She screamed in his ear, yelling at him to run. Their bargaining chip was gone. From the carnage of the Oval Office, Lily and Jacob floated toward them.

  It was over.

  He let the darkness wash over him. He imagined the black racing outward, wrapping itself around his body and consuming him. He knew his eyes turned a dark ebony, void of any light. The well of power in his mind was low, but it remained furious. He fought back, wrangling it in, keeping it from lashing out towards the first thing it wanted, the death of the Warden and his lackey. Emotion flooded his brain, trying to subdue his rational mind.

  The portal opened inches in front of his face, blocking his line of sight to Jacob and his woman. Conthan pushed Gretchen through while Dwayne grabbed Skits by the arm, dragging her into the void. He followed the Alyssa and Jasmine, and the moment he cleared the disc, it vanished. He didn’t know what to say at that moment. They failed, losing more than they gained. The president was dead, Dav5d was gone, and he hoped Vanessa found a way to escape from the White House roof before they found her.

  His knees gave out on him, his body forced to the ground by the weight of the situation. He thought Eleanor had given him a note a year ago to stop the Warden, that she had mastered a plan to prevent the man from ruining the young artist’s future. He hadn’t thought the note was going to put him on a path to fight for the world itself.

  “Eleanor, I’m sorry.”

  Epilogue

  2033

  The grass between her toes reminded her of playing as a child, barefoot, ignorant to the world around her. She scuffed her feet along the ground, letting the grass slide under her foot, tickling, almost eliciting a smile. Despite the metal gauntlets, and her ability to make her skin as dense as steel, it was the simple sensations that brought her moments of joy.

  The cemetery was in the middle of a war zone, in a state caught between the east and west. Strip malls had been destroyed and citizens who remained lived in constant fear of becoming
the victims of a senseless civil war. Somehow, even under the assault of man and machine, the cemetery remained largely untouched. The stone arches at the front had fallen, and the metal fence fell into disrepair, but otherwise, the land inside the gates appeared undisturbed.

  The grass hadn’t been cut in months, in places reaching her waist. She pushed it to the side as she looked at the tops of gravestones. She wandered the cemetery for the better part of the morning, hoping to find one stone in particular. She trailed along until she came across a part of the cemetery removed from the rest.

  She stepped over a decrepit wrought iron fence and pushed aside the grass. The stone was modest, a perfect rectangle three feet high sitting on a marble base. She removed the moss collecting on the front of the stone and realized it had been years, perhaps decades since anybody cared for the site. The stone held two names, a husband and wife. She pulled away and saw a military sigil etched into the rock.

  Her fingers caressed the stone, running along the grooves made by the symbol. There had been a time when she expected her headstone would bear a similar sigil. There had been a point when she would have given her life for this country, and as the rage washed through her body, she knew she had given more than just her life to the military.

  To the right of the stone, two smaller but otherwise identical markers were placed within arm’s reach. She pushed aside the grass and made note of the names. Benjamin. In quotes, the nickname, “Benjie” adorned the middle of the marble. She smiled at the discovery, the name bestowed upon on a little brother. It was unfortunate somewhere in a box beneath the surface of grass, there was a box filled with somebody’s sibling. She imagined him to be a handful, something of a wild spirit, and she thought for a moment she could hear somebody shouting his name.

  She knew the occupant of the next gravestone. She dropped to her knees in front of it and pulled at the grass, breaking down the wall of roughage between her and the tombstone. She stopped as she cleared enough to see the name.