I hear the guy’s cruel laughs cut through the air.
And that does it. No more holding back and measuring my force.
Though I know I have to prioritize the people in this building, there’s another way. Taking out the roof. I don’t mean taking it down in the sense that this is a raging party – I mean obliterating it.
I don’t bother to push to my feet. I remain exactly where I am as I bring my hands up, cup my fingers together, concentrate, and send a surge of white, blistering magic snaking toward the roof. It slams into the ceiling. Technically, I don’t have any clue how tall this building is. But that doesn’t matter. Because whatever the building was to begin with, now it’s nothing more than an extension of this guy’s magic. And considering it’s the root of his power, it’s the key to defeating him.
Nobody screams as I take off the roof and my magic blasts it open with all the ease of a knife through butter.
Before I got here, the sky was already thick with clouds, and as the roof dissipates, burnt up by my magic, faint wisps of rain slice down. As soon as they land on the dancer’s heads, they steam like they’re overworked machines.
I hear the guy hiss from his position on the opposite side of the dance floor.
I shove forward. Not toward him, but toward the nearest wall. The more I attack the building, the less he’ll have to use against me.
I hear him screaming now as he realizes what I’m doing. I also feel the floor start to tilt.
Screw this.
Once or twice, I’ve used so much magic I’ve been able to pull myself off the floor and fly like some kind of glorified superhero.
I do that now, allowing a cloud of power to escape over my skin until it lifts me up. It’s enough to cut out the force of gravity, enough that I can concentrate and lock my attention on the wall. I’m no engineer; I can’t claim to understand the loadbearing properties of various aspects of construction. I can, however, claim to know how pieces like this castle work. He’s not about to let this place collapse with him inside it.
Sure enough, as I stretch a hand toward the wall and obliterate it with another massive charge of power that looks like a flare on the darkest night, the remaining walls don’t suddenly collapse and pin everyone beneath them. They remain exactly where they are as if they’re mere allusions and not actual constructs.
The guy is screaming now, virtually at the top of his lungs. So much raw rage is locked in the move, it’s clear I have thoroughly pissed him off.
In other words, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
The barman to my left suddenly goes for me. Somehow, he was continuing to pour and serve drinks despite the chaos going on around him. Now he upends the bottle he’s holding, smashes it against the bar, twists it, and plows toward me. He moves so fast, I just catch a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision.
I jerk to the side, bringing my arms out wide as the bottle slashes just a centimeter away from my arm.
Though my first intention when attacked is to fight back, I have to battle that urge. This guy may be vicious – but from the dead, glazed look in his eyes, he is just a puppet.
He slashes at me again, but I won’t engage. It’s nothing more than a distraction.
I jerk to the side, slam a hand onto the bar, and jump behind it. The guy follows, his moves so quick, he looks like a ninja.
I hear his rubber-soled shoes thumping on the alcohol and glass-covered floor.
He comes at me again, but I put on another burst of speed.
Though I’m covered in magic, and it’s protecting me from the majority of the castle’s attacks, I don’t want to allow the barman to get too close with that broken bottle. Not because I fear the bottle will hurt me – because I have no idea if my magic will burn this guy’s skin.
It’s time to end this. And to do that, I know I’m gonna have to get out of this building.
The second I’m out of it, the castle will have to fight me directly.
The wall I took off is only a few meters ahead of me. I surge toward it, but at the same time, I hear thundering footfall from behind me. Without even turning, I realize that every single dancer on the floor has stopped what they’re doing. Like an army of dolls, they spring toward me. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of their sightless, dead gazes. They look like reanimated corpses. But though it would be tempting to believe that, I can still see their pink, life-filled flesh and hear their percussive, desperate breaths. If I tuned into the natural order of things, I’d be able to detect their souls, too. I’ve never fought a piece like this castle – someone who knowingly and willingly pulls innocent people into the fray. All of the other players I’ve ever faced have done their best to keep this world hidden.
I have just a second to wonder if this is a new dangerous turn of events – if whatever king this asshole works for is now so desperate to get his hands on me that he is willing to break every rule in the book, no matter how sacred.
Though a few of the closest dancers shove in front of me, trying to grab me with powerful blows, I twist and pivot, now moving more gracefully than they ever did. It gives me just enough room and just enough time to finally reach the hole. I leap out of it, strike the street outside, roll, manage to change direction, then push to my knees. With one hand on the ground, I look up between my hair as it fans over my face.
Though reason tells me that the dancers will throw themselves outside of the building to continue the fight, I am wrong.
They all stop at the broken wall. The way they ground to a halt makes them look like machines on a conveyor belt who’ve just shorted out. They’re all lined up in front of the broken wall, their arms weak and limp by their sides, their heads drooped between their shoulders.
I hear a hiss from within the building and realize that it’s the castle. I hear footsteps.
I let my lips pare open wide and reveal my clenched teeth. “Finally ready to fight me on an even footing, asshole? Well I can tell you now,” I round my hands into fists and call on my magic until I’m glowing as brightly as a newborn star, “this will not work out for you.”
I curl both of my hands into fists and draw them out wide. I don’t call on any of my fancier moves. I don’t cast the strongest spells I know. I simply tune into my magic in its rawest most essential form.
It covers my body, glowing brighter with every second.
Just before I attack the last few walls of the building, I hear the guy give a specific sigh. It’s not the hissed, violent move of a man who’s about to throw himself further into an attack, no matter the costs. Hell no. He withdraws. I don’t just hear his pattering feet as he throws himself in the opposite direction. I feel his magic shift away from me like a tidal wave flowing in reverse back to the ocean.
I clench my teeth together and jerk forward, but I stop myself before I can follow through with my natural instincts and throw myself back into the building.
Though saving the people trapped inside this dollhouse is my top priority, at the same time, I can’t let a piece like this castle escape. I also need to get my hands on that glass tumbler of his. Don’t ask me why, but I’m convinced that it’s the center of his power and if I grab it, I will learn some valuable lessons that will help me in my future fights.
The guy’s quick.
I shove to the side, intending to run around the side of the building, but just as I reach the edge of the outer wall, another wall springs up from nowhere, blocking my escape.
No, it doesn’t spring out from nowhere – it grows from the building. It’s like I’m playing a life-sized version of Tetris and the castle can shift his pieces around purely at will.
I jump back just in time before the wall can squash me.
But it’s not an attack aimed at hurting me – just at slowing me down.
“Dammit,” I spit. I draw my hands up, allow magic to collect over them, then attack. Pressing forward and pushing my foot into the ground, I let my magic blast out and slam into the wall. The wall is obliterated in a ha
il of sparks that leap high like a bonfire. But by the time I throw myself past them and they crackle over my skin and hair, discharging into faint wisps of smoke, the guy is gone. No more footsteps. No more receding magic. He disappears into the night.
“Dammit,” I tick my head back and I scream, my voice echoing out through this lonely, abandoned street.
I pause there for several seconds as I try to figure out which direction he’s gone in, but I quickly realize it’s too late. He’s disappeared.
I don’t tuck my tail between my legs and head straight back to John’s. I head around to the bar.
I need to check on the people. I find them. They’re not conked out on the floor, unconscious after their bodies were run dry by that asshole’s spell. Instead, one by one, they’re picking their way out of the broken remains of the bar. None of them say a word. They all walk away, confused expressions obvious.
I’m not stupid enough to get in anyone’s way. I just watch, following them. It takes until they are out on a main road until people seem to get their senses back at last.
Nobody remembers where they were or what happened to them. It’s like they’ve all woken up from a collective dream.
I linger with them, waiting in case the castle comes back to do more damage. When he doesn’t, I wait for the police arrive. I didn’t call them – one of the partygoers did.
It isn’t until every single person is packed up and shipped to the hospital that I leave.
Finally, though I should’ve done this the second I found that place, I shove a hand into my pocket, and I call John.
He demands I return home immediately. I do. But with every step, I keep my senses peeled, waiting for the castle to return. Because he will. I saw it in his eyes and heard it in his scream when I ruined his spell. I don’t know who he works for or if he is an unattached piece, but I can guarantee one thing for sure – this isn’t over.
Chapter 6
I’M SITTING AT JOHN’S desk, arms hooked around my middle. Though I don’t want to admit this to anyone, not least John, I’m tired. I might’ve had two weeks off and plenty of time to train and recover, but there was something about that fight with the castle that took it out of me. Now I’m having to wait as John stalks back and forth behind his opulent desk, his phone in his hands and a pronounced frown over his lips.
He hasn’t said a thing to me since I returned. It’s pretty clear from his stance that he’s pissed off though.
I don’t know what he’s doing on his phone, but I doubt he’s playing Pac-Man.
Though I could clear my throat and demand some answers, I just wait, watching him out of the corner of my eye until he stops, slams his phone down, reaches his hands forward, locks them on his desk, and looks at me.
There’s a piercing quality to his attention. Though I would’ve assumed that I already know the gamut of John’s emotions, this one is new. Because John has never been this angry at me before. “I thought I made it abundantly clear what you were to do and what you were not to do. I sent you out there because I thought I could trust you. I’d hoped, considering the gains you’ve been making in your training, that you would understand when to attack and when to stay still.
Staying still right now is not an option. His words are grating, biting. They’re enough to see me slowly unwind my arms and lean forward as I smack a hand down on the table. “What exactly did you want me to do? I didn’t have any option but to attack. By the time I went into that bar, the castle was already onto me.”
“You should have never gone into that bar in the first place. At the first sign of magic, you should’ve called me.”
If you’d asked me this morning whether John could ever get this angry at me, I would’ve told you no. Sure, he’s been disappointed in me enough times during training, but now he’s livid. I’ve clearly crossed some line. If I was in a more rational mood and I wasn’t as tired, maybe I’d appreciate what that is. Now all I do is cross my arms and stare at him through clenched teeth. “If I had waited and called you, God knows what would’ve happened to those people.”
“Nothing would’ve happened to those people. You don’t need to call on God to understand this situation,” he spits. Momentarily, his hard gaze softens, but then it fractures like a bomb getting ready to explode. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this, and I shouldn’t have to keep repeating it, but you are not alone. I thought you understood that. I thought you appreciated the risks I’ve taken for you.”
Though John’s tone is dictatorial and the old me wants to react, the new me has been learning a lot over the past several weeks, and she manages to curl her hands into fists and settle her temper. “I didn’t have time to call you. The time between me feeling that charge of magic and knocking on that door was minuscule.”
He opens his mouth, and it’s damn clear he is about to tell me that I should never have knocked on the door in the first place. My anger gets the better of me, and I punch to my feet, my eyes flashing. “Why are we even having this conversation? Nothing really happened. I managed to contain the situation and fight that castle off.”
“Nothing happened?” he asks. His voice has that slow menacing quality people use when they’re just holding onto their frustration and rage. “Are you seriously telling me that you don’t understand what occurred back there?”
All I want to do is shove my fist into John’s face, but I pause. My stiff white lips are hard to move, but I manage to shift them just a millimeter as I demand, “What are you talking about?”
“That was a trap. That whole bar. The castle, the dancers. It was a trap to lure you in. And I would’ve hoped you were smart enough now I’ve trained you not to be so easily caught, but apparently you aren’t.” Something happens as John says that. His shoulders cave in as if someone’s transported an enormous weight onto them. He raps his white knuckles on the edge of his desk, and his head droops all the way forward.
I go to open my mouth and snap at him. I stop.
John reacts to my silence, slowly drawing his attention up and locking it on me. “Though we haven’t made this public, the other kings will know you have... an agreement with me by now. And they will not sit still.” Compared to his blustering voice from seconds ago, his tone is now quiet. I wouldn’t call it gentle. It’s still sharp and piercing like a knife into soft flesh, but it lacks the pure power from before.
“... Even if that was a trap, what does it matter? I got out.”
He looks up at me. I have never seen his eyes darker. I’ve always thought that John was the rational one and that Spencer was the passionate one. Now I have to rethink that. “They’re testing you from every angle, trying to find a weakness. And today, they found one.”
My stomach kicks hard. “What do you mean they found one?” My defensiveness is gone. My voice is quiet, wary.
“Your willingness to save people. Your willingness to measure your power and to delay an attack if ordinary citizens are involved.”
My lips are pressed all the way open, and I stare at him in obvious dumbfounded shock. “Of course I don’t want people to get hurt. That’s the same with you, right? That’s what makes us different, isn’t it? I thought the whole point of this game is that there are severe punishments if we allow ordinary people to know about it?”
“There are. But there are numerous spells you can cast on people to ensure they do not remember what they have seen. Which is precisely what happened to those partygoers when they left the building. The spell that had been cast on them did not allow them to regain their senses until they were sufficiently far enough away from the building for it not to matter. They will never get their memories back. They have been wiped from their minds forever.”
My mouth is still open. “You can do that?” I ask quietly.
I won’t say his bluster is completely gone now – nor is the dark look in his gaze. They’re still there, but they’re becoming more measured as my own anger is kept in check.
Though his body is sti
ll stiff and his hands are still held out and locked on the desk, he nods. He allows his head to drop down for several seconds as he obviously thinks something through, then he looks up at me. “We can’t keep going on like this.”
There’s a finality to his words. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but fear suddenly kicks through my stomach. A fear that tells me he’s about to dump me as a piece.
It’s an unfounded fear. Of course it is. And yet it tells me one thing – I’m getting much closer emotionally to this man than I have accounted for.
John pulls his hands away from his desk, walks around it, and stops several meters back from my chair. “I can’t afford not to use you. Not with what’s happening in Rival City at the moment,” his voice drops with quiet somberness. But his eyes flash. “But considering what happened tonight, it seems I can’t afford to risk using you, either.”
“It was a slip-up,” I say, voice constricted. “And now I know how serious it is... it won’t happen again.” The old me wouldn’t have promised this. The old me would have put John and his powerful, passionate emotion at arms-length. The new me is being drawn in second by second as I stare at the fire in his eyes. Once upon a time I thought that John’s power was muted. That he was soft and gentle compared to Spencer’s direct desire.
Now I’m not so sure. This is a side of him I have never seen. A side, it seems, that could only be brought out by the threat of losing me.
He takes another step toward me. Though that brings him closer, he’s still far enough away that I have my personal space. So why does it feel as if he’s right up against me? As if his blazing eyes are close enough that I see every fleck in his irises?
“I have no idea which king that castle belonged to, or if he was an unattached piece, but now he’s found your weaknesses, he won’t stop. He will threaten people in this city to get to you.”
Though I could ignore the import of John’s words when he was angry at me, now he’s being soft again, my defenses have dropped.
The Last Queen Book Four Page 7