“What do you mean, if the Spectral Plane members were humans?” Charles said. “I’ve been dealing with their kind for months.”
“Exactly,” Worthington continued. “So, there must be a leader to whom they bind themselves to. Someone they serve above all others and take their commands from. Find the leader, and we find the solution to breaking them apart and returning the status quo.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jennie drained her drink and hopped off the counter. “Come. There are still a few hours before dawn.”
Baxter followed the two Spectral Plane specters through the narrow alleys and down a set of stairs leading to the subway. The tunnels were quiet, the lights casting an eerie gloom over the tiled walls. Occasionally he could hear the distant rumble of the trains.
There were very few people around at this hour. Those who were seemed to either not speak English or had made their home outside the tunnels. All were eager to avoid the possibility of rain while praying they wouldn’t get shifted by Security or the cops. A man with a grizzled beard was sitting under a tattered blanket playing the harmonica, his dusty hat filled with nothing more than a few measly dimes.
The pair took a left, heading down a long tunnel that curved to the right. When they reached its end, they walked out onto a train platform and jumped down onto the tracks.
Baxter followed, using a hand to balance himself on the drop. When he stood, he saw the others had gotten some distance on him.
He picked up his pace, only vaguely aware of the train approaching from behind. The brakes screeched as the train pulled to a stop, leaving Baxter’s head sticking out of the floor of the farthest carriage. Just a few feet away from him, a man was sitting with a broadsheet open, his eyes occasionally flicking to a woman who wore hardly anything.
She chewed gum and fluttered her eyelashes, clearly on the hunt for possible business from the man.
Baxter snorted a laugh, and soon enough, the train pulled away from him. When it disappeared down the tunnel, he saw the other two specters take a right and followed them.
Where better for a secret organization to hide than down in the tunnels where the rats play?
They finally reached a doorway which read DANGER, TUNNEL UNSTABLE.
The pair opened the door and paused, waiting patiently for Baxter, who froze on the spot.
“You saw me?” Baxter asked.
“Let’s just say you’re hardly the type to remain unnoticed,” Baseball Cap told him. “A seven-foot-tall guy trying to sneak through a tunnel? Come on, man, get your ass up here.”
He ushered Baxter inside, where darkness was waiting for him.
“Either of you two bring a light? I stopped smoking years ago,” Baxter quipped.
The other two looked at each other. Their faint spectral glow was enough to see each other by, but not enough to light the tunnel.
“You’re a funny man,” the specter wearing a baseball cap and a thick sweater replied. “The boss will like that. We need funny on our side of the tracks.”
Baxter laughed. “I get it. Tracks, because we’re in the subway?”
“Don’t give him the satisfaction,” the second specter, a woman with a gaunt, skeletal face and thin wisps of hair, croaked. “He already thinks he’s Mister Funny Man.”
Baseball Cap frowned. “Just because you lost your funny bone in ‘Nam.”
The woman shook her head, her face straight. “Correction, I lost my funny bone in World War I. You think malnourishment like this comes from living in an era where food wasn’t rationed? Damn shame that you live as a specter how you died in your life.”
“Preach,” Baxter agreed.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“Oh, I died in an explosion,” Baxter answered. “Blown sky-high while tinkering with an automobile.”
“You look all right to me,” Baseball Cap told him.
“I suppose I was lucky,” Baxter replied. “My heart was the first to go. The shock of it killed me before the burns did. Though…” He tugged down his collar to reveal an inch-long slash on his neck with a piece of metal sticking out of it. “This bastard found its way in before my heart gave out. Now I’ve got to live forever with shrapnel in my throat.”
“I feel so sorry for you,” the woman told him flatly, her cheeks so sunken that it looked like she was sucking them in.
They followed the tunnel, taking the journey slower than the rest of it. Soon enough, Baxter heard the muttering of voices. There was some laughter, some cheering and, impossibly, music coming from up ahead.
“The Spectral Plane is a jovial bunch,” Baseball Cap told him. “To think, I nearly threw it all away and pledged allegiance to the crown.” He spat on the floor. “Couldn’t imagine a worse fate.”
Baxter felt the first tingle of nerves. He had drawn out the information from Joan and found out all about the Spectral Plane. Had heard her stories of their mission, and the revolution they were building toward.
After a considerable time talking to the woman’s mushed lips, Baxter had decided that he’d go and visit the Planes and discover first-hand what they had to offer. As far as he was aware, only Joan and her men knew of his brief rendezvous with the human woman and the Beefeater, and so maybe there was a chance he could join the cause. Finally pick a side.
Or at least discover first-hand what was on offer before choosing which party to side with. After all, if things carried on the way they were going, soon enough, there would be war.
The tunnel opened up into a large underground cavern—what might once have been a subway station used back in the early days of the foundation of the rail networks. Now, faded ad posters hung crookedly on the walls, their text faded and the pictures all but gone. Sitting along the platform edge were dozens of specters, each wearing a spectral pendant that held the symbol of Mjölnir, a runic working of Thor’s hammer.
“Why Mjölnir?” Baxter whispered to the others.
The man smiled at Baxter. “Because the Spectral Plane is gonna break the shackles of oppression. For that, we need the power of the mighty gods. The weapon of the breaker of chains, the God of Thunder.” He raised his voice suddenly. “We are the breakers of shackles!”
All heads present turned to the chamber entrance as every specter raised a fist and cried, “Awoo! Awoo!”
Baxter felt his nervousness return. Have I accidentally entered a cult?
Several specters were in huddles, deep in conversation. A few were asleep on the floor.
“Got a hell of a group down here, huh?” Baxter whispered.
“It’s the only safe space we could find,” Baseball Cap replied. “The forgotten parts of the city where people wouldn’t even think to look.”
“It’s like you’ve got something to hide.”
The woman smirked. “For now.”
Baxter hopped onto the platform after them and was guided toward an abandoned train. Its wheels were rusted to the tracks, and the windows were smashed and covered in a fine layer of grime and dirt.
“Hey, boss! We’ve got a new recruit!”
Some of the tension in Baxter’s shoulders eased when he saw the man in the pristine suit emerge from the next carriage. He had a white rose on his lapel and a hole in his stomach. “I wondered when we’d be seeing you.”
“Tobias?” Baxter laughed, making to run over to his friend and shake his hand until he felt two sets of arms holding him back. He turned to either side and saw Baseball Cap and Skeletor gripping him firmly. “What’s going on?”
Tobias laced his fingers behind his back. “Times are changing, dear friend. The spectral world is due to have a catastrophic shift, and soon enough, every specter will have to pick a side. You’ve done well choosing the Spectral Plane.”
The cogs in Baxter’s mind whirred. He didn’t like the expression on Tobias’ face. “I thought you were a neutral?”
“I was, at one point in my life.” He chuckled. “The truth is that no one can be neutral forever. He’s made tha
t very clear. I’ve found that the best way to nudge recruits in the right direction is to go undercover in the places where the neutrals gather. You can see my logic, right?”
“I suppose.” Baxter wriggled against those holding him firm but couldn’t work free. “How about you tell your hounds to release me so we can talk as free men?”
Tobias took a seat on one of the carriage chairs and crossed one leg. “Didn’t you hear me, Baxter? No man or woman will be free for long. Sooner or later, we all have to decide. The real question is, where does your allegiance lie? Is it with your brothers within the Spectral Plane, or with those scum you brought with you to the party?”
Baxter’s eyes widened. “You set those goons on them?”
“A carefully placed whisper can travel far in the right conditions.” Tobias grinned. “Representatives of the Winter Court are not welcome within our city.”
“Your city?” Baxter’s eyebrows raised.
“Actually,” Tobias stood up at the sound of footsteps and motioned with an arm toward another figure walking through the carriage doors. “It’ll soon be his city.”
Baxter’s face darkened as the figure approached. He fought against the pair holding him but could not move.
Oh, Bax. I think you’ve made a grave error in judgment…
Brooklyn, New York, Present Day
Worthington’s nose wrinkled as he looked down at the bags of trash piled around his feet in the dumpster. “So, this is your idea of spy work?”
Jennie clutched the edge of the dumpster and stared through the small slit in the lid, observing the wooden door of the old redbrick building. The graffiti was actually rather impressive. Not the kind created by prepubescent children with bad attitudes, but by urban artists looking for a decent canvas to spray. “Sometimes you’ve got to stand in filth to capture filth.”
Worthington scoffed. “You’re just full of whimsy, aren’t you?”
Jennie ignored his sarcasm. “I’m glad you catch on quick. Shame Charles couldn’t join us for this part.”
“You hardly gave him the option when you told him to, and I quote, ‘Leave us the fuck alone to do our task for the queen, while you fuck off and do whatever the fuck she told you to do.’”
Jennie chuckled. “I’m eloquent, aren’t I?”
“That’s one word for it,” Worthington replied.
The street was empty, as it had been several nights ago. In the hour or so they’d been waiting, they’d seen several specters pass through the door and down into the place where mortals now used the old catacombs to mature cheeses. A few had since re-emerged and floated down the street, but none of the type she was looking for.
“Even if they are with the Spectral Plane, do you think they’re going to wear it on their sleeves?” Worthington asked. “You’re never going to be able to identify them from afar.”
“Oh, I think we’ll have a sneaking suspicion,” Jennie replied. “Those goons who attacked us the other night were of a certain sort, wouldn’t you say? I could have predicted they’d be batting for the enemy.”
“But you didn’t,” Worthington noted.
“But I could’ve,” Jennie shot back.
“But you didn’t.” Worthington squirmed, raising his feet up above the bags.
“Will you please stand still?” Jennie complained. “You’re distracting me.”
Worthington glared at Jennie. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it inconvenient for you that I don’t enjoy standing in other people’s waste?”
Jennie gave him a sharp look. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Worthington huffed and stomped his feet. “What did I ever do to deserve getting stuck with you?” he muttered.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Jennie replied. “You know that my other specters actually appreciated being paired with me? They respected my work. Actually helped me to achieve my missions. They didn’t spend every waking hour complaining and moaning.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Worthington huffed. “Besides, I’m starting to think Her Majesty was testing me. If I can survive a mission across the Atlantic with you, I’ll most definitely work my way into her A-Team. All I’ve got to do is keep you out of trouble, and make sure the job gets done.”
Jennie snorted. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
Jennie smirked. “Let’s just say that there’s a reason I’ve earned the moniker ‘Rogue.’”
“Because you don’t think before you act?” he asked.
Jennie considered her reply. “More like I get the job done by any means necessary. Sometimes the straight and narrow path isn’t the best one to take. Sometimes you’ve got to blast holes in the wall to find a way through.”
“How poetic.”
“Well, I did once drop in on a meeting in The Eagle and Child with the Inklings. Got a few tips from the pros.”
Worthington raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve never heard of them? Okay, how about J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and Hugo Dyson?”
“I’m familiar with the first two,” Worthington admitted. “Not the others. Didn’t Hugo invent the hoover?”
Jennie chuckled. “You really should brush up on your history. Hugo and the others used to meet every now and then to discuss their writing and works. Dyson and Williams were lesser-known. Actually, Dyson was pretty vocal against Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, to the point where Tolkien ditched him and carried on with his writing anyway. If Dyson had had his way, Tolkien’s estate and Peter Jackson would be out a fair few million.”
Worthington gave her a skeptical look. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe you sat down and shared a pint with two of the greatest fantasy writers of all time?”
Jennie shrugged. “Believe what you want. You should know that in an outfit like this…” She pointed to the cleavage straining at her corset, “a woman can eavesdrop on any conversation.”
She returned her attention to the doorway just as a group of three specters emerged. They laughed loudly into the night, making no effort to keep themselves quiet.
“Just wait until the others hear about this,” a woman with a shorn head and tattoos decorating her neck barked as they turned down the street. “Two recruits in one night. The boss is gonna be very happy.”
Jennie waited until they were out of sight before raising the dumpster lid and leaping out of the trash. She rubbed small bits of debris from her leg, reached into a small pocket on her hip, and withdraw a vial of purple liquid.
She sprayed several blasts of the perfume over her legs, taking an extra few seconds to cover her body. She took a deep sniff. “Ah, just like roses.”
“Shame perfume doesn’t work on specters,” Worthington complained.
Jennie rolled her eyes. “Right. Neither does trash. Now get your arse in gear. We’ve got specters to follow.”
Chapter Eleven
Abandoned Subway, New York City, Present Day
Jennie frowned. “So, I think we lost them.”
As the morning sun began to color the sky, Jennie and Worthington had followed the trio through the city. They remained a block behind and were easily able to catch up to see which way the trio was going. Considering there was hardly anyone around at that time, identifying them wasn’t difficult.
They followed the specters over the Brooklyn Bridge and down into the subway station.
Jennie found herself feeling eerily at home, having spent a goodly amount of time on the London Underground back in England. The big cities had it figured out. Underground travel was so much faster than cars and taxis.
Apart from when the railways broke down.
On the walls were a series of posters in Perspex frames, advertising everything from Broadway shows to the latest fads in the wellness industry. The fluorescents occasionally flickered, causing Jennie to wonder whether it was because of the aged bulbs, or because of sudden waves of spectral activity.
Surely, if i
t was the latter, I would have felt it?
Then things got trickier. As they passed farther into the subway tunnels, they had less room to hide. Soon enough, it was a game of cat and mouse in which the only indication that they were on the right track was the ever-fading sound of the trio’s voices as they laughed and discussed what they’d discovered at the spectral party.
One of them laughed. “You know she really thinks freedom is going to be an option, right? She was talking as though she had years before anything was going to happen.”
“We’ll see,” the second added.
The first scoffed. “Just wait, soon the boss will have enough on his side to lead the rebellion. It’s going to be like 1755 all over again.”
“1775, idiot,” the third corrected.
“What was 1755, then?”
“How about twenty years before the American Revolution?”
“Wow,” Jennie muttered to Worthington as she leaned around a corner and watching them fade from view. “He’s even worse with his history than you.”
Worthington scowled but remained silent.
Several turnings later, they were well and truly lost. They reached a platform where a train had just pulled in and approached the carriage.
Jennie hesitated outside of the doors. “Can you see them anywhere?”
Worthington shook his head. “Beats me.”
“I wish I could.”
“Charming,” Worthington replied.
When the train pulled away, they were left with nothing more than an empty track.
“They couldn’t have just disappeared,” Jennie muttered.
Worthington looked down his nose.
“Oh, you know what I mean.” She hopped down onto the tracks and looked up and down the tunnel. “You think they went along the tracks?”
“Or through the walls, or through the ceiling, or through the floor,” Worthington replied. “Really, they could have gone anywhere.”
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 11