Nighthawks (Children of Nostradamus Book 1) (17 page)

“Conthan, however, is altering a fundamental constant of physics.”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Dwayne said, trying to even his breathing.

“We would have said he was a Class I.” Dav5d examined the readouts. “He is something we haven’t seen before.”

“Could there be more?” Dwayne asked.

Dav5d shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“When the human computer is at a loss for words, we have a problem.”

Conthan watched as the sphere entered the void. As it hovered, half in the portal, he let the tension in his body relax. The portal shut fast. As it closed around the small orb, he could feel the resistance, the pain surging outward from his brain as it sliced through the metal. He yelped.

“Damn,” Dwayne said as half of the sphere fell to the ground. He turned to see the other half where the other portal had been. “Nifty trick.”

Conthan’s body felt different. He was thrilled he had opened a portal through space, but with each new discovery, it was as if he were starting to take up residence in a stranger’s body. He took a deep breath and turned to the others. “Ready to go again?”

Chapter Fourteen

May 19th, 2032 7:12AM

“
She
sent our men to die,” cried Roderick.

“She has no respect,” cried another.

Vanessa shifted on the stool, making herself comfortable for what was going to be a long discussion. Sitting in a makeshift war room, half a dozen men and women stared at her. She attempted to keep her chin lifted, showing an air of grace about her. Her wings were tightly drawn to her back, but visible for all to see. Every so often she would relax them, calling attention to them, a reminder of who they were talking to. She had been associated with Victor and Roderick for years; she knew how to exploit their belief in her origins.

There must have been several dozen people housed in the hotel. If she focused on her breathing, the individual thoughts became white noise she couldn’t make out. Every time her attention returned to them, they became louder. A woman cried because her husband was shot today. Another person cried out in pain as the surgeon stitched the last of the cuts on his arm from a stray bullet. A child innocently played with building blocks as he tried to recreate their home.

Can you hear me?

Twenty-Seven was scrubbing at the blood on her hands. She was exhausted from helping in the makeshift hospital. She was an expert at changing bandages and cleaning stitches. She had found herself sleeping on the floor late this morning. A stranger had placed a blanket over her. The smile on her face faded as she saw the blood.

I can,
replied Vanessa.

I had a dream last night. I woke from this. I was home again. I was in my house, wearing my clothes, and preparing dinner.

Vanessa listened with her ears to the Outlanders in the room. They had begun to discuss things completely unrelated to her. They were angry and their anger was causing the flaws in their society to surface. There was rage in their words. In their minds was something far more dangerous…fear.

You do not sound sad to be here.

He was there. He was dead, but there. It was like every other night. He walked in the door angry. He began to berate her/me. He began to insult me—I mean her. Whenever that poor woman resisted, he would tell her nobody would love her like he did. He chiseled away at her self-esteem until there was nothing left.

You killed him in your dream?

No. Twenty-Seven did.

The hair on the back of Vanessa’s neck began to stand from the sensations washing over her. Vanessa had felt bad for the woman at first. The angel had rescued her. Vanessa resisted smiling at the feelings of confidence she was receiving.

She will be a magnificent woman.

Vanessa turned her head slightly to look through the windows into the hallway. Twenty-Seven was standing there, giving her a slight wave. Twenty-Seven reached the doors, pushing through and sitting in the corner of the room. The newest addition to their ranks listened intently to the discussion escalate and return to the subject of dead friends and family.

“I am truly sorry,” she said very quietly.

The people froze as she spoke. She had become almost statuesque in the room. Roderick, his arm in a sling across his chest, snarled at her interruption. “What is that, angel?”

His words were dripping with venom as he emphasized both syllables. She hated being equated to religious iconography, but she had no problem allowing them to find solace in her presence. She looked to each of the Outlanders occupying the room. “I am sorry for your losses…each and every one of them.”

“Your apologies don’t bring them back,” a woman cried out.

Vanessa looked at the woman, who was wearing an old military jacket, her face covered in grime. On one hand, she pitied the Outlanders, their lifespan ticking away more quickly than it should. She had come to respect them, their bold nature and desire to be free. There was pride evident in each of them, layers below their desire to do good. Even Roderick, his anger visible through clenched teeth and drawn fists, was a decent man who wanted the best for the people he adopted as a family.

While Outlanders were survivalists, they were reduced to relying on their limited resources. Radiation allowed pathetic crops to grow. Scavenging was essential to their existence. Each of the people in the room showed side effects of the radiation, red patches and skin discoloration. They had either fled the police states of the civilized world once the bomb hit or were sent here by the same police others renounced.

“My heart is heavy,” she said. “People I rescued from banishment paid the ultimate price. I brought them here, to a sanctuary created to be a bastion of humanity in a cold land.”

She bit her lip. She could feel the emotions wrapping themselves about her. She would return to the church and mourn the fallen. Her tears would wet the floor as she prayed for forgiveness. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and made eye contact with Twenty-Seven. Sitting across the room, her latest rescue was watching her, eyes fixed on the winged woman. Vanessa took solace knowing one person still had faith in her.

She listened to their thoughts as they mulled over her words. The Outlanders were a self-governed tribe, but they listened to her wisdom. None believed she was an angel sent by God—they knew she was a Child of Nostradamus—but it didn’t stop them from putting the burden of their lives on her shoulders. She watched them all turn to Victor, their leader.

He pondered his words before speaking. He had been elected by the group years ago to take charge of the Outlanders. On a typical day, he oversaw minor disputes amongst his clan and helped make sure everybody was capable of surviving another day. He hated it. He would sever a limb to help another person, but carrying the burden of the people around him was killing him as fast as the radiation.

“They will send death squads. They will send mechs. They may even send Children. Angel, our only option is to move further into the Danger Zone. The radiation will be the least of our worries if they send soldiers after us.”

“My offer stands, Victor.”

“How do you know your plan will work?”

“I have faith,” she said flatly.

Roderick sauntered toward her. “You drop people here as a penance. You expect us to make good on promises you make to these bandits. Who the hell do you think you are?”

He took another step toward her to poke his finger into her chest. She moved forward and thrust her hand against his chest. He launched into the air with a grunt, then smacked against the ground. Nobody in the room moved to help him.

“You witnessed those in my charge earlier today. They have gifts that will take you to a home that will not kill you. Do not leave your people to die, Victor.”

He will not take my offer.

Why? We’re going to die here.

He doesn’t trust I can keep his people safe. He wants a certainty I can’t provide.

The white noise diminished. Vanessa pried further into Twenty-Seven’s mind and felt a cool sensation press against her own. She reached out with her thoughts, pouring her emotions and thoughts into Twenty-Seven. Something reached through Twenty-Seven’s mind, trying to grab at her. Vanessa panicked.

“The Outlanders aren’t here anymore, Angel—or perhaps I should call you Vanessa?”

She froze at the statement. Victor spoke, but the voice had changed to a deep, booming bass. The man in front of her changed; his back straightened while his fists clenched. Vanessa could smell the difference in the air.

She smiled at the man. “What are you doing here, Warden?”

“I don’t think you understand the capability of my powers, Vanessa,” he said, dragging out the sound of her name. “The capabilities of
your
powers.”

She didn’t move a muscle in reaction to his taunting. “What I can do is far different than what I choose to do,” she said. “As you discovered earlier.”

“You caught me off guard,” he said with a hint of anger. “It has been so long since I’ve been in the company of another telepath.”

“You mean, a mind you cannot dominate.”

“Hush,” the man said. “I could easily infiltrate that mind and wreak havoc. But peons do the job better.”

She tried to not let the surprise show on her face as each of the other humans stood up and turned toward her. She heard the whispers being broadcast to each of them. Their hands all moved toward weapons tucked into waistbands and holsters. An echo of safety switches being flipped off filled the room.

“Ours is a power of the mind,” he said. “But where God made us strong, he forgot about the vessels holding this incredible gift.”

“Gift?” she asked.

“Don’t be coy,” he said. “You revel in your powers almost as much as I do my own.”

“There is a difference between us,” she said as she stood up, brushing off the back of her robes.

“What is that, my lovely?”

She stretched out her wings. “My body is anything but frail.”

She spun and her feathered appendages slammed into Victor’s side, knocking him to the ground. She jumped upwards, using her wings to suspend herself in the air, and kicked the nearest man in the jaw, sending him smacking against a wall. She dropped down, her elbow making contact with the collarbone of a small woman.

“Be gone,” she cried, letting the sound echo in her mind and directing it outwards.

She could see the facial expressions flicker on several of the people as they came back to their senses. “You need to flee,” she said to the confused humans.

“What is going…?” muttered one of the Outlanders.

They froze and turned back to her and spoke in unison. “Vanessa, we do not approve of this violence.”

One of the fallen humans grabbed onto her robes. She kicked at him, sending him backward. The darkness of the Warden’s presence enveloped the people around her. She knew what he was doing. She couldn’t match him. Her ability to take over the body of another person was minimal, but she could see she had little choice.

She drove her thoughts into Twenty-Seven, gripping on to her with all the willpower she could muster. Vanessa could see the darkness as if it was in the room clinging to the woman. She directed her rage, using it as fuel to force the man from his host. The moment it loosened its hold she grabbed onto Twenty-Seven. She was now seeing through both her eyes and the eyes of Twenty-Seven.

Two bodies moved in concert, dancing around one another, punching, kicking, and shoving the opposition away. The angel used her wings to keep the attackers at bay while Twenty-Seven punched and threw others away from them.

Both individuals halted when Vanessa heard a bang and felt a stinging in her chest. She looked down and could see her robes and the military jacket Twenty-Seven wore at the same time. A dark red stain began to emerge from the jacket and her connection to the woman began to grow dark. She pulled her mind back and started to scream aloud.

“I’d like to think I am above using a gun,” said the voice, “but it does have its uses.”

Vanessa froze and called out to the person most likely able to hear her, the last person whose mind she had inhabited. Conthan. The man lay in his bed, asleep, exhausted. She felt the ache of his muscles from rehearsing his abilities. She felt the natural resistance inherited by the Children of Nostradamus as she pushed at his defenses. She pooled the rage and anguish, used it as ammunition, and she felt his resistance shatter and his muscles tense as he woke from his slumber.

Vanessa’s body went limp as a man punched her hard across the face. With his minions surrounding her, he was capable of seeing her from a dozen different angles. He stared at the angel before him. She could hear his thoughts as he realized she was far more impressive than he imagined. Her image melted away like an illusion, her alabaster skin transitioning to dark green. He was even more fascinated as the feathers of her wings began to fall away, and he realized that he had plenty of secrets to pry from her mind.

***

Conthan
reached out, knocking a light from the nightstand. He tore at the sheets, trying to push them away from his body. He jumped out of bed and fell to the floor. The plush rug under his knees reminded him he wasn’t in his own apartment. Reality washed over him. He was in Boston, in a hotel, deep within the Danger Zone.

“Vanessa,” he called out.

His heart raced. He steadied himself, trying to control his breathing. The sun was still shining through the windows. His muscles hurt from working with Dav5d earlier, and they fought him as he raised himself to his feet. What was supposed to be a brief nap had lasted hours. He sat on the edge of the bed, surprised Vanessa wasn’t in the room with him. There was the fleeting sensation that she was watching him.

The door burst open. Dwayne’s hand was already starting to radiate light. He turned to the corners of the room, looking for danger. “You all right?”

Conthan shook his head. “Vanessa is in danger. I think. I mean, I’m not entirely sure.”