Nighthawks (Children of Nostradamus Book 1) by Jeremy Flagg Read Free Book Online Page A

passing it to him.
    “Fuck you,” Rock howled at Yiyi. The man was chiseled, his muscles bordering on freakish. As a youth he had worked on cars with his dad, and somewhere along the way he found art. The muscles helped lift heavy things.
    “Yiyi is the one with the clothing line at Macy’s. I’m pretty sure I saw her flashing a platinum credit card earlier.”
    “That’s not art,” she replied, snatching the vodka back from Conthan. She took another gulp from the almost-empty bottle. “That’s me selling my soul.”
    “I’d sell my soul for half,” said Sculptee.
    “If only you had one,” came a voice from the steel door. Gretchen slammed it behind her and sauntered over to the group. “I need to interrupt this party to talk some business.”
    “Boo,” Trish said. “If you kill my buzz, Gretch, I’m gonna slap the tattoo off your face.”
    Gretchen reached into her pocket, took out a small ball the size of a marble, and placed it in the air. She let go, leaving it hovering as she reached back into her pocket for her cell phone.
    “Okay, first.” She pressed a button. The ball shone, projecting an image of a man wearing a tuxedo. “We might have the most notorious art critic this side of the river attending the opening.”
    Conthan felt his stomach turn. “I’m going to be sick.”
    Yiyi scooted away from him. “Do not throw up on this dress.”
    “Yeah, kind of a big deal,” Gretchen said, flipping through her phone. “But of course I can one up that.”
    The image changed to a video playing. A man was standing in front of several news cameras. “The audacity of these youngsters, creating a media spectacle around the Children of Nostradamus, treating them like false idols. These abominations are not things to be celebrated, they are to be condemned and removed from the chosen race.”
    “What is this?”
    Gretchen held her finger up to Rock. “Just wait for it.”
    “We will be at this gallery tomorrow, showing the owner we will not tolerate the wickedness associated with the Children of Nostradamus. Our flock will demonstrate the error of worshipping false Gods.”
    Gretchen pressed the button. “Bitches, be impressed.”
    Conthan closed his eyes and took deep breaths. “I’m going to be sick.”
    Yiyi moved further away. “Gretchen, what are you going to do?”
    “That’s the beauty of it. I’m not doing a damned thing. Who do you think alerted our favorite Reverend?”
    “Whoa,” Trish said, leaning forward. She gestured toward the frozen image of the man on the screen. “He’s going to harsh the vibe, Gretch. Man has a reputation with the Children, he can’t be much a fan of the Fringe either.”
    Gretchen licked her lips as she pressed the next button on her phone. The video switched to a woman with hair straightened in a row of foot-long, jet black spikes. The woman had seven obvious piercings and the left side of her face was covered in tattoos. “The keepers of the caste system have waged war on a people whose differences are presented to us, both literally and figuratively, in the Children of Nostradamus. Hate-mongering groups such as Humanity First have exploited and marginalized a segment of the population…”
    “You didn’t,” said Trish.
    “I’m with Trish.” Rock reached out, putting his hand through the video and pausing the stream. “Pops always said you don’t store the gasoline with the matches.”
    Conthan rocked back and forth on the couch. Yiyi patted him on the head, but he barely noticed as he focused on the fire in front of him. “I don’t know about this,” he said between quickened breaths.
    Gretchen threw her arms in the air. “You act like I’ve never done this before.” She held out her hand and the small sphere moved until it was firmly in her palm. She reached out and took the bottle from Yiyi and chugged until it was half empty. “What could possibly go wrong?”
    Sculptee pointed at Gretchen. “You are so screwed now.”
    Conthan