Read Online Nighthawks (Children of Nostradamus Book 1) by Jeremy Flagg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeremy Flagg
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don’t even know his last name.”
The crowd laughed in response.
“His work embodies the soul of the Children of Nostradamus, explored through the admiration for one individual. His precision with the pencil or the brush shows not only mastery of the medium, but allows him to be captivated by his muse, a young woman challenged by her mutation. He explores his affection for the subject and allows the viewer to feel the longing experienced by both the subject and the artist.”
Conthan grumbled. He hated being analyzed. Most often critics would give some crap description of his work. He had already insulted one of the most renowned bullshitters of his generation. However, Gretchen was right about it all. He missed Sarah. Looking at his pictures over and over, he couldn’t help but see beauty in her less-than-traditional features. His heart ached, and he wanted nothing more than to see his friend. Soon, he thought, soon he would see her.
“Our second artist is a veteran who has been painting for nearly four decades and recently has been keeping my doors open.” Laughter. “Jed Zappens’s more abstract approach to the subject of super humans explores a darker side of the culture. Having been classified a Class III himself, he has witnessed firsthand the dangers of not only his species, but the pain inflicted on them in the name of preservation.”
“Holy shit,” Conthan said out loud. “Now the guards make a lot more sense.”
He worked his way toward the stage and finally caught Gretchen’s eye. She looked down, and with the microphone still in hand, announced him. “Meet Conthan, ladies and gentlemen…and Jed Zappens.”
The man next to Conthan raised his hand to the clapping crowd. Conthan could see the stereotypical artist. His black pants, black turtleneck and slicked-back hair made him not only a stereotype, but truly a douchebag.
“Nice to meet you,” said Jed. “I really admire your work.”
“Thanks,” Conthan said, shaking the man’s hand. “Yours isn’t half bad either.”
Conthan smiled, not at Jed but at the fact he had managed to say two sentences and not insult the guy for being pretentious and a prick. He chalked it up to growing older and maturing, something he’d most likely regret any moment.
“So,” Conthan said, “you’re a super human?”
“Not one to beat around the bush, are you?”
“I prefer my bushes not beaten.”
“I am,” he said. “Discovered it at fourteen.”
Conthan attempted to do the math but lost track. “So what’s your power?”
“Sizing me up?”
“I figure next we can whip them out on the table and have Gretchen measure.”
Gretchen jumped in the middle. “Will you behave? I love you, really I do, but stop being a jerk.”
“He’s just curious,” said the elder artist. “I’m a vocal mimic.”
“A what?”
“My voice,” he clarified. “I can quite literally do impressions of every person I’ve ever heard speak.”
“Wow,” Conthan said, “not exactly a pyro or that really strong guy.”
“Could be worse,” admitted the man. “I once met a kid whose mutation made him green.”
“Really?”
“Yup, so at least I know I’m not at the bottom of the totem pole.”
“Can you do it now?”
He held up a finger, gesturing for them to wait a moment. He began to roll down the collar of his shirt and revealed a thin black band on his neck. “I was collared when I left the program.”
“Collared?”
“Being a Class III doesn’t win me any points with the military. My abilities have been neutered and I have no way to use them.”
“What if you take it off?”
Gretchen sighed. “Tact is not your strong suit. I’m going outside to make sure the Corps don’t shoot anybody.”
Jed tensed up at the name of the police force outside. He quickly relaxed his body, but it was obvious he was not thrilled at their presence. Conthan saw him out of the corner of his eye giving him an awkward glance. Conthan finally
The crowd laughed in response.
“His work embodies the soul of the Children of Nostradamus, explored through the admiration for one individual. His precision with the pencil or the brush shows not only mastery of the medium, but allows him to be captivated by his muse, a young woman challenged by her mutation. He explores his affection for the subject and allows the viewer to feel the longing experienced by both the subject and the artist.”
Conthan grumbled. He hated being analyzed. Most often critics would give some crap description of his work. He had already insulted one of the most renowned bullshitters of his generation. However, Gretchen was right about it all. He missed Sarah. Looking at his pictures over and over, he couldn’t help but see beauty in her less-than-traditional features. His heart ached, and he wanted nothing more than to see his friend. Soon, he thought, soon he would see her.
“Our second artist is a veteran who has been painting for nearly four decades and recently has been keeping my doors open.” Laughter. “Jed Zappens’s more abstract approach to the subject of super humans explores a darker side of the culture. Having been classified a Class III himself, he has witnessed firsthand the dangers of not only his species, but the pain inflicted on them in the name of preservation.”
“Holy shit,” Conthan said out loud. “Now the guards make a lot more sense.”
He worked his way toward the stage and finally caught Gretchen’s eye. She looked down, and with the microphone still in hand, announced him. “Meet Conthan, ladies and gentlemen…and Jed Zappens.”
The man next to Conthan raised his hand to the clapping crowd. Conthan could see the stereotypical artist. His black pants, black turtleneck and slicked-back hair made him not only a stereotype, but truly a douchebag.
“Nice to meet you,” said Jed. “I really admire your work.”
“Thanks,” Conthan said, shaking the man’s hand. “Yours isn’t half bad either.”
Conthan smiled, not at Jed but at the fact he had managed to say two sentences and not insult the guy for being pretentious and a prick. He chalked it up to growing older and maturing, something he’d most likely regret any moment.
“So,” Conthan said, “you’re a super human?”
“Not one to beat around the bush, are you?”
“I prefer my bushes not beaten.”
“I am,” he said. “Discovered it at fourteen.”
Conthan attempted to do the math but lost track. “So what’s your power?”
“Sizing me up?”
“I figure next we can whip them out on the table and have Gretchen measure.”
Gretchen jumped in the middle. “Will you behave? I love you, really I do, but stop being a jerk.”
“He’s just curious,” said the elder artist. “I’m a vocal mimic.”
“A what?”
“My voice,” he clarified. “I can quite literally do impressions of every person I’ve ever heard speak.”
“Wow,” Conthan said, “not exactly a pyro or that really strong guy.”
“Could be worse,” admitted the man. “I once met a kid whose mutation made him green.”
“Really?”
“Yup, so at least I know I’m not at the bottom of the totem pole.”
“Can you do it now?”
He held up a finger, gesturing for them to wait a moment. He began to roll down the collar of his shirt and revealed a thin black band on his neck. “I was collared when I left the program.”
“Collared?”
“Being a Class III doesn’t win me any points with the military. My abilities have been neutered and I have no way to use them.”
“What if you take it off?”
Gretchen sighed. “Tact is not your strong suit. I’m going outside to make sure the Corps don’t shoot anybody.”
Jed tensed up at the name of the police force outside. He quickly relaxed his body, but it was obvious he was not thrilled at their presence. Conthan saw him out of the corner of his eye giving him an awkward glance. Conthan finally
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