Somehow, I manage to leap into the air, turn around, land my feet on the nearest building, then leap toward her.
As I do, I finally call on my swords.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to reveal them, but there is a much stronger part that appreciates that if I allow that woman to call for backup, I’m screwed. I just have to hope that whatever spell she’s cast on this laneway is enough to ensure that nobody in the office block beside me or in the streets beyond will be able to see what I’m about to do next.
I sail over her head as my two swords slam into my grip. Though I usually fight with them independently – allowing them to spin around my form as I simply control them with my mind – for now, I need their reassuring weight and strength in my grip.
I tighten my fingers around them in a snapped move as I finally land right behind the woman.
She has time to scream.
I go straight for the hand that’s holding her phone. I slash at it, and though she tries to bolster her defenses as she sends another blast of magic powering over her arm, it isn’t enough.
My sword slices into her arm. It doesn’t cut it clean off, but in a single move, breaks her magic as if it’s nothing more than glass. The sound of it shattering is so goddamn loud, I swear the entire city will be able to hear it.
It’s enough to see her drop her phone.
She jerks toward it, but I get there first. I snap down to the ground, pluck it up, and hold it in one hand before I pocket it, allowing my swords to become autonomous.
They spin around me then push toward the woman.
She’s terrified now. The snarling greed she started this fight with is long gone, and her face is plastered with sweat, her eyes bulging wide, rimmed with white.
“You can’t be—” she began.
I don’t give her the opportunity to finish.
I send both of my swords slicing toward her.
She tries to jerk to the side, but there’s nowhere she can go. She also tries to force more magic into the undulating pavement, obviously attempting to throw me off my feet – but it doesn’t matter now. Once I called on my swords, it’s almost as if the spell she’s casting on the pavement can no longer affect me. I stand there, and the section of bitumen I’m on remains perfectly still. Several meters from me in every direction it shudders and bucks like a raging bull – and yet, it can’t touch me.
The woman screams.
Just before my swords can slice through her middle, she does something. She makes a specific movement with her hand and rubs it right across her chest.
There’s a sparking moment, and it’s just enough to distract me before my swords can slice through her middle.
I bring an arm up to protect my face from the bright light.
As I do, she changes, right in front of my eyes. She goes from wearing her picture-perfect pencil suit to becoming someone else entirely. She is still female, but now she’s 20 years older, wearing old clothes, and has a rubbish bag at her side. She looks as if she’s homeless.
I’ve never seen anything like it. Though I know that the pawns can alter their appearances – I also appreciate that what this woman is doing is completely different. For, throughout the entire fight, she looked human. Only now, she looks like a completely different human.
Suddenly, what she’s doing to the laneway stops.
That bulging sensation disappears with a slight cracking sound like bubble wrap being stamped on.
She pivots on her foot and throws herself forward, shooting me one desperate look over her shoulder as she heads toward the populated street beyond.
I have a single second to appreciate that her magic is no longer keeping this fight hidden.
If she runs out into the city street, there’ll be nothing I can do.
So I have to end this now.
Unconsciously, before I know what I’m doing, I direct my palms down to the ground. I copy what she did. I spread my fingers in exactly the same way, and try to pulse magic into the ground.
It shouldn’t work. But it does. Something in my body understands this magical world, even if my mind can’t yet comprehend it. And as I send a charge of magic into the pavement and the laneway around me, space starts to bend.
It’s enough that as the woman reaches the mouth of the laneway, she is thrust backward.
She hits an invisible wall, rolls, then pushes to one knee, facing me.
She looks terrified. Her eyes couldn’t be wider. Her lips wobble in and out, in and out. “Queen... you’re an unattached queen. You... you shouldn’t exist,” she manages.
Her words and surprise are enough to hold me in place. She’s the second person to say that.
Unattached queen?
What the hell does that mean?
I take a step forward, intending to ask her, but she shakes her head desperately.
“I won’t work for anyone else. I belong to my king, and if he can’t have me – no one can,” with those bitter words, she suddenly makes a fist, brings it up, and taps it on her chest. It looks as if she’s beating her chest like an angry gorilla. And yet, at the last moment, just as her fist strikes her sternum, I see something form in her hand.
A sleek pointed knife.
By the time I see it, it’s too late. It’s already sliced all the way through her chest.
Her eyes widen one last time, she stares at me, and then she dies.
For the first time in a fight, I don’t see an after image of her body shoot over my left shoulder.
Instead, when she strikes the ground, she shivers once, twice, and then returns to her original appearance.
Blood even spreads out from her chest, quickly covering the pavement.
I buck back, clasping a hand over my mouth and gasping in true fear.
I’ve seen a lot of death over the last year and a half – but nothing strikes me like this.
The pawns look like monsters – there’s no denying that. This woman? She has red blood – blood that spills from the deep, mortal wound in her chest and trickles toward my feet.
I lurch back, now clasping both hands over my mouth.
Though I didn’t kill this woman, that doesn’t make any difference. Tears start to streak down my cheeks at the horror of the situation.
It takes me too long to appreciate that the magical spell I’ve cast on the laneway is still in operation.
Space is all twisted around me, and as I wrench my gaze off the dead woman and cast it to the mouth of the laneway beyond, I can see pedestrians strolling past. They don’t even glance my way.
I shake back-and-forth on my feet, but no matter how scared I become, my spell over the laneway does not break.
Slowly, I start to come to my senses.
I can’t afford to stay here.
I have to get out away.
And yet, I also appreciate one fact.
People saw me running into this laneway. Even if they can’t see me right now, that doesn’t matter. The moment I end this spell and leave, they will see the dead woman. And they’ll put two and two together even if there were no witnesses to me actually murdering her.
Though I know the police will already be looking for me, I just can’t afford to add more fuel to the fire.
“I need a disguise,” I suddenly say to myself, the words popping out from nowhere. And as they hit the air, I realize something.
I stare back down at the woman, eyes open as wide as they can be.
Before I know what I’m doing, I make that specific motion she did across her chest when she changed appearances.
As I do, magic charges through my hand and leaps through my skin. I start to glow, too, and before I know what’s happening, I feel myself... change. It’s one of the strangest experiences of my life, and it makes my entire body feel as if I’m being rolled thin.
I shake and gasp and shiver, and I look down to see that my hands are jittering on the spot. Except they’re not jittering – at least the muscles and bones aren’t. It’s
almost as if the image that sits atop them is moving. In and out, as if it can’t decide what it wants to be.
“This is impossible,” I gasp as I stare at my hands then down to my body.
I can’t deny it, though.
I try to concentrate, appreciating that unless I can tell this disguise spell what to do, the magic I’m pumping into it will be wasted.
I close my eyes, clench my teeth, and try to imagine someone who looks completely opposite to me.
I’m short – so I imagine somebody tall. I have long dark hair, so I give myself cropped, short, bright white blond hair. My lips are soft and large, so I make them small and shapely. My eyes are brown, so I make them blue.
These ideas snap into my head, and as they do, I feel them snap down into my body.
I begin to change.
More magic spreads from my hand as it’s clasped on my chest, the power biting into my body with such eagerness, I finally feel a thrill dance up through my spine and sink hard into the base of my head.
My head jerks back, my eyes open wide, and I gasp.
Then I let my hand drop.
It takes me several seconds until I allow myself to look down.
Slowly, I drop my hands and stare from them down to my legs, then to my torso, then up to my shoulders.
I... I’m different. I’m taller. I’m wearing different clothes, too. Gone is my treasured leather jacket. I’m in a business suit.
“Jesus Christ,” I snap, trying to jerk away from myself, but getting nowhere as this new appearance comes with me.
There’s nothing I can catch my reflection in, so I bring up a hand and carefully, tentatively run it through my hair. It’s short.
I even pluck a strand out, bring it down, and stare at it. I clasp my free hand over my mouth as I appreciate the strand is bright white blond.
I... changed my appearance.
I rock back and forth on the spot.
Just... how much magic do I have? Just what am I capable of?
And what, in God’s name, is an unattached queen? And why would it make everyone so terrified?
These are questions I can’t answer.
But there’s someone who can answer them, something tells me. It’s my heart. It can’t speak, but I swear it shudders, and unbidden from my unconsciousness, a thought of John Rowley arises.
He clearly knows about this world. He probably knows why those pawns were after Walter Shepherd, too.
And if I could just get close enough to him to find out what he knows, maybe I can finally start to appreciate what’s going on with me.
Those thoughts slam into my head with such rapidity, I take several shuddering steps backward. Then, for the first time since the woman killed herself, I stand with perfect poise and rigidity. Determination flows back into me second by second.
... I don’t look anything like myself anymore. So what’s to stop me from walking into Rowley Tower again? This time I’ll be smart. This time, not only will I be able to hide my appearance, but I’ll be able to control myself. For I have forewarning of what John Rowley can do to my body.
For the past two weeks I’ve been in hell, but now I see a ray of sunshine. Literally. For as the clouds part above, I swear this laneway is lit up with a holy glow.
I curl my hands into fists, take a step away from the woman, and turn.
A plan starts to form in my head.
I have to be careful. God knows I’ll have to be careful. But I need to get as close to John Rowley as I can.
It’s time to find out what I am, what I’m capable of, and why so many goddamn people are after me.
Chapter 8
I DON’T STRIDE STRAIGHT into Rowley Tower. I’m smarter than that now.
I appreciate I need to have more than a single conversation with the guy – I need to get close enough to him that I can spy on him permanently.
Which means one thing – I need to go for a job.
Though I have the requisite skills to go into security, I want to keep as far away from Antonio as I can.
I settle for a secretarial position. And luckily enough for me, one has come up.
I don’t have a CV, I don’t have references, but that doesn’t matter. Because I have something far more important.
I have the ability to change my appearance. I tell myself that even if I fail to get this secretarial position, I can just go for a cleaning position, or a receptionist position. Now I can disguise myself, all I have to do is be creative and persistent.
I can also be my own referee. All I have to do is show up disguised as another person.
I don’t get the secretarial position, but I do manage to get a position as a nighttime cleaner, and before I know it, I finally have access to Rowley tower.
Even if I can’t spy on John during the day, in many ways, my position as a cleaner is far more advantageous. It gives me access to the building. And my growing magic? Gives me access to everything else.
The first day I start work, I’m nervous. I hide it, though. Which is easy now I can disguise myself.
I think I’ll have time to slip through John’s offices, but I don’t. This tower is so large that the cleaning staff is substantial.
So I finish work and head home. It’s the same for the next week and a half. Before I know it, I kind of slip back into my old life – or at least a variation of it. Though I no longer can afford to hunt during the night, and I don’t have a house to call my own, I come to work and earn a paycheck.
In fact, nothing happens until I’m working late one night.
I’m mopping the floors in the atrium, the reception staff packing up behind me.
No one pays attention to me. The cleaning staff, it seems, are invisible.
Antonio is finally back at work, and I’m starting to appreciate he actually lives in this building. He’s more than John’s head of security – it seems he’s John’s bodyguard, too.
Though I haven’t been able to do any quality snooping over the past week and a half, at least being in this building has taught me something. Not least about the energy of the place itself.
I haven’t clapped eyes on John since I started working here, but that doesn’t matter – because this entire building is imbued with him. I swear that every section of concrete, stone, and steel somehow vibrates with his very presence. And every day I come to work, it fills me with this sense... that I’m somehow in the only place I should be.
Though I’m trying to concentrate on mopping, I always have to be careful when I’m in the atrium that I don’t pay too much attention to that chessboard.
It haunts me.
I can appreciate how important it is now – for the longer I spend around it, the more I can feel how powerful it is.
It seems to be an attractor of magic, if that makes any sense. For if I dare to get too close to it, I swear it will turn on like a magnet and suck me toward it.
I shove my mop back into my bucket, drain it, and continue to address a stubborn patch of dirt on the floor.
That’s when I look up.
Before I do, I feel a race of nerves catapult up my back, spread down my spine, and shift over my cheeks until I know they’re as pale as new snow.
John.
My heart beats twice as fast, and this dense pressure builds in my lungs as if somebody has just sucked all of the air out of the room.
I know I freeze. I know I look terrified. I can’t move myself as I hear a ping on the other side of the room and the elevator doors open.
I swear I can feel him as he walks across the atrium.
He’s talking to Antonio in low tones, but I manage to pick up what they’re saying, even though they’re still on the opposite side of the room.
“This is bad, sir – he thinks you’re moving in on his turf.”
“We didn’t kill his fifth,” John replies.
“Nobody else in this town has the power to kill a fifth – he’s put two and two together and assumes it’s us.”
A th
rill traces hard up my back and makes me stand all the straighter, my hands now clamping around my mop so hard, I hear the plastic crack.
That’s enough to bring me back to earth, and I let out a hissed breath as I bend over and force myself to continue to mop.
Antonio and John stop chatting as they shift past me.
I swear I can feel John’s eyes on the back of my neck, but his gaze doesn’t linger.
He heads toward the main doors. But that would be when someone knocks on them.
They’re already closed – as it’s way past close of business.
I slice my gaze to the side and see John stiffen. Antonio comes to a stop beside him, and I catch sight of the man’s face. It’s pale, his eyebrows drawn up toward his hairline. “Shit, he’s here. What do we do?” Antonio asks in a voice that’s not designed to carry, and yet one that cannot hide from my hearing.
I’m attuned to John – I swear I am. I swear even though he’s several meters to my side that I can feel the sweat suddenly slick across his brow and his heart begin to beat twice as hard in his chest.
“We can’t afford to anger him,” John says.
“Are you going to let him into the building?” Antonio snaps, his fear evident.
“It appears we have no choice. I’ll explain the situation to him—”
“He isn’t going to believe you didn’t murder his fifth. You’re the only person in town with the power to do that.”
“And yet, I didn’t.”
I know who they’re talking about. They’re talking about that woman. She referred to herself as a fifth, and I really doubt it’s a coincidence.
She also referred to herself as having a king, and as I let my gaze lock on the doors at the far side of the room, an awful thrill of anticipation climbs high up my back.
Could... could there be a king out there?
It’s such a goddamn crazy thought to have.
It makes me sound like I’m thinking of knights of old, of castles, of regencies.
I’m not. Because even if I don’t understand what a king is, I swear my body does.
It tightens as a strange kind of thrill spreads through my gut.
John and Antonio are still talking in low tones that I know they think can’t carry to me. But my hearing is now so locked on John that I swear I can hear every single wheeze of his breath.
The Last Queen Book One Page 9