Agents, Agreements and Aggravations
In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service™ Book Three
Michael Anderle
Agents, Agreements, & Aggravations Team
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Deb Mader
Debi Sateren
Diane L. Smith
Dorothy Lloyd
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Kathleen Fettig
Kerry Mortimer
Larry Omans
Micky Cocker
Veronica Stephan-Miller
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
The Skyhunter Editing Team
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2020 by Michael Anderle
Cover by Mihaela Voicu http://www.mihaelavoicu.com/
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US Edition, May 2020
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64202-936-9
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-937-6
Dedication
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
to Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
to Live the Life We Are
Called.
— Michael
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Author Notes Michael Anderle
Books By Michael Anderle
Connect with The Author
Genevieve King’s UK to US Travel Guide
An insight into how the Americans butcher the queen’s English
UK (Correct) — US (Wrong)
Aluminium (ah-luh-min-ee-um) — Aluminum (ah-loo-min-uhm…WHAT?)
American Football — Football
Bathroom / Toilet / Loo — Restroom
Biscuit — Cookie
Bonnet (Car) — Hood
Broadsheet — Newspaper
Car Park — Parking Lot
Chips — French Fries
Crisps — Potato Chips
Dual carriageway — Highway, freeway
Dummy — Pacifier
Duvet — Blanket (yes there are duvets, but not in this story)
Extension lead — Extension cord
Flat — Apartment
Football — Soccer
Garden — Yard
Holiday — Vacation
Ice lolly — Popsicle
Jumper — Sweater
Knickers — Panties
Lift — Elevator
Lorry — Truck
Mad — Insane / Crazy
Motorway — Highway
Mummy — Mommy
Nappy — Diaper
Number Plate — License Plate
Oregano (or-i-gah-no) — Oregano (or-eh-ga-no…I mean, come on!)
Pants — Underwear
Pavement — Sidewalk
Peckish — Hungry
Police / Bobbies / Pigs / Boys in Blue — Cops / Police
Potato (poh-tah-to) — Potato (pah-tay-to)
Rubbish — Trash
Shop — Store
Sofa — Couch
Sweets — Candy
Torch — Flashlight
Tomato (toh-mah-to) — Tomato (tah-may-to)
Trainers — Sneakers
Trollied — Drunk/plastered
Trousers — Pants
Tube — Subway
Waistcoat — Vest
Wardrobe — Closet
Windscreen — Windshield
Chapter One
Richmond, Virginia, USA
Wind whispered through the waist-high weeds as Jennie stared up at the old manor.
It had been a thing of beauty once. A mansion that could have befitted a lord or duke of some kind but had been lost and forgotten in the tangles of time. For almost two centuries, the house had stood solitary, only ever violated by brave teenagers who sought to find an answer to the ages-old ghost stories that circulated the schoolyard quads.
The front section of the house protruded like a giant’s tongue. The east wing and the west wing fanned out like ears and stretched to the reaches of their peripheral vision. It was no wonder the kids in the local neighborhood called this the “monster’s manor.”
Windows were smashed, wooden beams creaked and moaned in the midnight winds, and somewhere inside was the presence they were seeking. A darkness that had yet to be given a name.
Jennie King clicked her tongue and placed her hands on her hips. She wore a short-sleeved white shirt with decorative cuffs, the pale flesh of her arms exposed. She felt no chill, despite the hungry wind nipping at her skin. Cool confidence masked her face, and a pair of round vintage sunglasses hid her eyes from view.
“The monster’s manor, my arse,” she muttered to her
self. “Didn’t their parents ever tell them that monsters aren’t real?”
Baxter Scampton chuckled beside her. He was larger than Jennie by a good measure. His biceps were as wide as her face, and he rested the head of a large wrench on his shoulder. If someone were to walk past them both, they might be forgiven for believing that two moon-bathed ghosts stood on the lawn.
Only, they would never be able to see Baxter, would they? Because Baxter was, indeed, a specter.
“Monsters aren’t real?” Baxter gave Jennie the side-eye. “Have you met you?”
Jennie pursed her lips. “Ouch, that’s cold. It’s not my fault I’m a little…different.”
“A little different? Milky Ways and Butterfingers are a little different. You’re like comparing Jell-O to steak.”
“I’m unique.”
Baxter nodded. “That’s one word for it. Unique. Probably sums it up, considering I’m yet to meet anyone like you on this strange giant marble we call planet Earth.”
Jennie laughed softly and kept her gaze up at the house.
Baxter followed her line of sight, cross-examining each of the windows and performing a mental calculation of how many rooms this place must have. “Are you serious about this, Jennie? I’m sure there are a thousand vacant properties scattered along the coast. There are easier ways to get what it is that you want. Cheaper, too.”
“I want this one. I’ve already put the payment down.”
Baxter puffed a mist of air from his nose and muttered, “Of course you have.” His voice returned to its usual volume. “Wouldn’t this have been easier with the others? I mean, not that I don’t appreciate spending some alone time with you, but we could be in and out in a jiffy; monsters or no monsters.”
“You know why we had to keep quiet,” Jennie replied. “We would have had to fight through the bureaucracy of SIA politics, we would have had to request permission and wait for the administrative belt to begin turning. By the time we would have gotten the okay—if we would at all, considering the health and safety violations that no doubt plague this building—I’d be closer to dead than I would be to living.”
It was difficult to tell what was going on inside her head. With her eyes masked by her glasses, he couldn’t get a read on her. Baxter only knew that what Jennie wanted, Jennie often got.
Baxter gave her an incredulous look. “You’re a hundred years old, and you look as though you just turned twenty-five. How much deader can you look?”
Jennie gave an appreciative grin. “I’m a little bit older than that. But thanks, you know how to boost a girl’s confidence.”
Baxter fixed her with a firm look. “I wasn’t talking about the SIA. I know your feelings toward them: friends, sure, but wrapped in politics and red tape. I meant the others. You know, our guys.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise. So, sue me.” She patted Baxter on the shoulder before striding toward the front door.
* * *
The front door didn’t need encouragement to open. The thick stench of dust and decay filled the air as it creaked its hello on rusted hinges.
Jennie closed her eyes while Baxter closed the door behind them. She took a deep breath and listened to the deep quiet of the house. The moans and groans of the boards they’d heard outside had stilled, as though the house was holding its breath. The skin on the nape of her neck broke out in gooseflesh as she sensed what she was after.
A small grin broke out on her face. “It’s definitely here.”
Baxter looked around the empty hallway, with its crooked portraits and layers of mud, dust, and grime that slicked the floor. There were trails of footprints around the hall, but even those suggested that it had been some time since anyone had entered the house.
Baxter grumbled, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Good. I was worried that we’d arrive at an empty house, free from spirits.”
Jennie spoke as if soothing a child. “Not scared, are we, Bax? A big brave specter like you? It doesn’t seem like all that long ago we were down in Virginia, fighting off an army of possessed vagrants and Queen Victoria. And here you are, afraid over an itty-bitty specter?”
Baxter followed in Jennie’s steps as she grinned and roamed around the downstairs, taking a left into an ancient drawing room. “Okay, two things here. The first thing you’ve got to remember is that we had backup—a whole army, in fact. You could draw from a number of specters and help in keeping us alive, whereas, right now, I’m your sole source of spectral energy. That’s a lot of pressure for one specter to have.”
Jennie traced a clean line over the top of a mahogany fireplace with one finger. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Next?”
“The second point, in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve never been inside a haunted house. I’ve heard stories, of course. Tales of rooms warping and furniture coming alive and being tossed around the place. People disappearing into portals and never returning. Instant death, sudden suffocation, blood dripping from the walls,” Baxter grew breathless as he continued, “Little children appearing at the end of the corridor, sudden blackouts…”
“Baxter!” Jennie hissed, an amused look on her face.
Baxter stopped abruptly and met Jennie’s eyes.
Jennie shook her head. “I can’t believe it. A specter, spooked by the ghost stories of mortals? Don’t you think that you and I might be more frightening than all the things that could exist in this house?”
Baxter considered this. “I suppose since you put it that way.”
“Don’t let the stories spook you. The worst that could be in this house is some poor human or creature who died years ago and has found themselves trapped inside. This will be a straight in and out job. Clear the house, and the house will be ours. Simple as that, all right?”
They continued through the bottom floor of the manor and found nothing more than a few broken items and a couple of scurrying rats. Rotten food festered in the kitchen, and they passed through there with fingers pinching their nostrils until they returned to the hallway once more.
Jennie swept her hands wide. “See? Nothing to fear. How about we speed up this process? You take the basement, and I’ll take the upstairs?”
“Why do I have to take the basement?” Baxter protested.
Jennie cocked an eyebrow. “What’s your issue with the basement?”
Baxter looked at her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The basement? You know, where they keep the bodies? Where the traps are set? Where Dracula sleeps during the daytime?”
Jennie frowned. “Dude, it’s night time. You think that Count Dracula would A, be living in Richmond, and, B, still be asleep in the middle of the night?”
Baxter remained silent.
“Fine! You take the upstairs, and I’ll take the basement.” Jennie gave Baxter a gentle shove toward the stairs and made her own way toward the door beneath the stairs.
A sudden explosion of noise came from above as the tinkling notes of a grand piano rang through the corridors.
Baxter searched for Jennie, but she had already disappeared into the darkness of the basement.
Jennie’s voice trailed behind her, “No swapsies!”
Baxter called out when she didn’t reappear. “Wait! You’re not serious?”
* * *
Jennie chuckled to herself as she descended the stairs into the impenetrable darkness.
She couldn’t blame Baxter at all. His fear of the twisted creations that death could bring was well-founded considering the monsters he had seen while journeying alongside Jennie. But she knew that he would be okay. She had already detected what resided in this house, and there was nothing there that could kill them. With a little confidence, Baxter would be able to hold his own.
The air turned cold as she approached the bottom. She switched on her flashlight and was met with a conical beam of light that illuminated the strange array of objects in the room.
It was cavernous, easily almost the entire size of one of the wings. Occasio
nally the flashlight beam hit a concrete pillar that supported the room. There were hundreds of piles of objects, some covered in dust sheets, others decaying and rotting atop one another. There seemed to be no order or care to what lay beneath, it was almost as though a museum had kicked out its contents and left them in the room to fade with time.
Jennie’s skin tingled. She was getting close. She focused her attention on channeling the tingling sensation that ran in the very marrow of her bones and acted as her own unique radar and honed in.
Midway through the room, Jennie noticed the first tell-tale signs of another presence in there with her when she came to a mountainous pile of magazines, newspapers, and books that reached almost to the ceiling.
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