Jennie shook her head. “I can feel them still.” She took a few steps one way, then the other, finally finding a resolution. “The feeling is stronger this way. Come on.”
Worthington glanced around nervously. “What about the trains?”
Jennie chuckled, already lost in the tunnel’s darkness. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”
Alec McGuffin had worked through the night.
It was nearing morning, and there were only twenty minutes until his shift was over. A couple more stops, and he’d be home in time to be with his wife and son as they ate breakfast and wished him a good day.
Not that he’d see much of the day. Later that night, he’d be back in the subway system for another evening of ferrying the drunks and questionables around the city and calling the cops to break up fights when they happened.
Man, what has my life become?
The only positive thing Alec had in his life as a train driver was an unblemished record of never having to report a Diver.
“Diver” was the code name for those who jumped onto the tracks and got squished under the trains. Oftentimes, they were suicidal businesspeople with nothing to live for. Sometimes they were drunkards with a bad sense of balance. On occasion, there were teens who thought they could beat the trains and discover secrets in the tunnels.
Idiots. At least the kids don’t frequent the trains at night. Lucky for me they’re all home in bed.
Which was exactly where Alec planned to be heading in seventeen minutes.
He pulled the lever, set off the announcements for the next station, and felt the train build momentum as it began to speed down the track. The tunnel swallowed it. The only light came from the emergency lights, which looked like shooting stars as the train streaked past.
Alec kicked back, checked his watch—and something caught his eye.
A woman on the tracks. Instinctively, he reached for the emergency brake and yelped as the train lurched to a grinding stop. It happened in a moment. The train’s momentum carried it forward another couple hundred feet or so before he found it came to a screeching halt.
Alec jumped out of the train and stood in front of it his hands on his hips, looking for any sign of the woman who he was certain had been there moments before.
But there was nothing. No blood, not a single hair flying through the air. Nothing. He jogged to the back of the train and looked down the tunnel. He called out, half-expecting a response, but nothing came.
Alec scratched his head, then pawed his eyes, wondering if perhaps he was getting too old for this shit. If his overtiredness was finally causing delusions.
I saw her! I saw her right there!
But had he?
Alec climbed back onto the train, gave a quick announcement to the passengers, and put the train back in motion. He made a mental note to update his supervisor on the situation, ready to apologize for causing the train to be delayed by several minutes.
At least my hundred-percent record is intact, he thought as the tunnel once more swallowed the train.
Jennie stood for a moment on the track, watching the train pull away.
“At least everyone’s fine,” she told Worthington, cutting off her connection to him.
Worthington breathed a sigh of relief. “Except for the train driver, who likely thinks he’s gone crazy.”
“Yeah, apart from him.” Jennie nodded at a door etched into the tunnel’s wall.
“Still, at least we stopped in the right place.”
“How do you know that’s where they went?” Worthington argued.
Jennie rolled her eyes. “For someone who’s been dead for nearly fifty years, you’d think you’d have developed a better awareness for where the dead are lurking.”
“Unfortunately, we weren’t all blessed to have inherited your powers.”
Jennie winked at him. “That’s true.”
They went through the door and walked toward the murmuring of voices they heard in the near distance. Jennie could feel something familiar. A specter who she’d come across before, only the trail was too faint to be able to pinpoint who it was she sensed.
Jennie closed her eyes and allowed her body to feel the spectral energies around her. “They’ve been recruiting the neutrals.”
Worthington frowned. “How do you know?”
“Because some of them are here.” Jennie said no more, just zeroed in on her powers and focused her attention on what was to come. No matter what happened, she needed to find out what was going on here. Her task was to put a stop to the new recruitment efforts and ensure that Queen Victoria’s rule was obeyed.
Charles and Worthington were right. If spectral activity wasn’t governed by one unifying body, that would put mortals in a whole host of dangers.
The closer they got, the quieter the voices became. Jennie had a distinct feeling that they were being watched. Nonetheless, she continued on.
Worthington trailed a few feet behind with his guard up. He turned his head all the way around on his neck, looking for the enemy he expected to appear from the darkness at any moment.
Jennie found the spinning head trick amusing, of course. She was used to the way specters could play with their density and use their ethereal energy to do the seemingly impossible. Jennie had become more than familiar with the powers particular specters employed over the years. She had experimented with many herself, utilizing the energies of her companions for the benefit of them both whenever a dangerous situation presented itself.
Jennie had been in Slovenia back in 1941, tracking down a pedophile ring who had made a hidden section of the Postojnan caves their home. While on her journey, her handmade torch had been extinguished thanks to the dripping water from the rocks, and the sodden materials were too damp to rekindle.
She had sensed the specters in the cave the moment she had arrived, and in talking to them, she had discovered that a cave-in had killed a group of explorers several hundred years before.
It was one of these explorers who she’d been able to tap into and cast a light on the pitch-dark caves to finally bust the ring and rescue the four dozen children who had been kidnapped and imprisoned in the caves.
The criminals hadn’t been able to work out why an orb of light was following Jennie around.
Jennie felt the specters around her in the here and now, but she continued walking as though there was nothing to fear. Her stride was confident, her head held high. She spied another door at the end of the corridor and reached for the handle.
A voice spoke from behind her. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
Jennie didn’t bother turning around, just held the handle in her hand. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The tunnel was suddenly illuminated by a blinding light, and dozens of hands grabbed Jennie and wrestled her to the floor.
Chapter Twelve
London, England, 1887
Jennie beamed as the Savoy Hotel came into sight.
The Savoy was a marvel to behold, one of the hotels most often frequented by celebrities and politicians alike. Jennie had never seen anything like it. The foyer was a swath of marble, the guests wore evening gowns and suits, and the receptionist and valets said their “pleases” and “thank yous” as though the guests were royalty.
Samuel, Penelope, and Genevieve King most definitely weren’t.
They had not been born among the aristocracy, but Jennie’s father had skills that had propelled his family to the building situated directly beside the brand-new hotel.
Jennie practically leaped through the doors to the Savoy Theater, which had largely funded the erection of the Savoy Hotel. She ran along the lush red carpet that led hundreds of nightly patrons into a whole host of shows and theatrical delights.
Her eyes filled with wonder at the electric lightbulbs illuminating the walkway, a glow of pride inside that it was her father who had led the team that delivered the gift of electricity to the world’s finest city.
“See all this?” Jennie’s mother asked. “Your father helped make all this happen. Everything you have now is a product of your father and his team.”
Samuel took a deep breath. “Can you smell that? That’s history in the making, and you’re a big part of that.”
Jennie smiled, her eyes filled with wonder. It had been a while since her father had let her visit the site of his work, but now that she was old enough to wander around unsupervised, he finally allowed her the privilege.
Samuel kissed Jennie’s head and let her down to explore. “Just don’t go too far.” He grinned, snuggling an arm around his Penelope.
Jennie explored every inch of that building in the weeks that followed. She familiarized herself with the bar, the dressing rooms, the trap beneath the stage. There were rooms for utilities, some for directive creation, and one at the back to test and play with the sound.
There were actors and dancers, directors, and composers. Each person Jennie met treated her as though she were a part of the family, inviting her in for talks and letting her play their instruments. Soon enough, she had become a part of the furniture of the place.
And the voices. There were so many voices here.
It was several days before the grand opening of the latest Gilbert & Sullivan extravaganza when Jennie first saw her—another little girl walking past the open door to the dressing room.
Jennie was sitting in the dressing room chair at the time, brushing her hair and staring at herself in the mirror. She was a thin girl, her face paler than most other kids. She blinked twice when the girl went past.
“Hello?” Jennie called, sure she hadn’t seen any other girls visiting when her father had gotten to work this morning. Several of the main stage lights had blown, and he was busy working on a solution to stop the bulbs from popping when left on for too long.
Jennie hopped off the chair and turned down the corridor. She saw the girl disappear around the corner and decided to follow.
Only, when Jennie rounded the corner, the girl was gone. She kept an eye out for her all day. She even went as far as to ask her mother but was told that there was no one else in the building with them that day. The performers had all taken a final day off before their eight-week run began.
There was definitely no one there who matched the girl’s description.
Jennie felt herself grow ashamed. She had spoken to her mother before about voices she had heard, and people she thought she saw, and it hadn’t been met with the greatest of responses.
But this girl was different, Jennie was certain. She had seen her with her own eyes.
On the day of the first show, the seats were filled. There was not a single space left in the theater. Newspaper reporters came from around the country to write reviews and opinion pieces on the show.
Jennie was sitting in the wings entranced by the incredible voices of the opera singers when she saw the girl appear in the doorway to her left. She turned to her mother, not sure whether to tell her what she was seeing, and instead settled on asking to visit the bathroom.
Her mother, glassy-eyed and enthralled by the performance, nodded and told her to return quickly.
Jennie found the girl in the corridor staring up at a poster and reading the words. “Are you quite well?”
The little girl was no more than six years of age. She turned her head, confusion on her face. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if you needed any help,’” Jennie repeated cheerfully.
The girl looked down the corridor as if she believed Jennie had been speaking to someone else. “What year is it?”
“1887, silly.” Jennie chuckled. “Are you lost? Do you need help finding your mummy?”
The little girl’s eyes widened. She suddenly turned and ran down the corridor.
“Wait! Come back!” Jennie called after her.
Being taller and a little older, Jennie gained on the girl. The girl navigated down corridors and through doorways as if she knew all the secrets the theater had to offer. What she didn’t account for was that Jennie was just as familiar with the back corridors and where the doorways led, so she couldn’t shake her off.
It was only when the little girl reached a dead end that Jennie stopped and put her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. “Please, speak to me. Who are you?”
The girl paused long enough to look over her shoulder. She shook her head, disbelief in her eyes, and began to pass through the wall. Her body slipped through as if there was nothing there to block her.
Jennie’s eyes widened. She was sweating, clumps of hair stuck to her forehead. The girl was a ghost!
“Stop.” She said it so quietly that it was no wonder the girl didn’t hear. “Stop!”
Her cry was so loud that several members of the audience looked for its source. Several of the singers paused for the briefest of moments but regained their composure and continued as if nothing had happened. Every light in the auditorium flicked at the speed of a hummingbird’s wing.
The girl stopped, too.
Jennie watched with fascination as a small thread of shining energy appeared from her body and crawled toward the girl like some kind of ghostly worm. It stretched and stretched and stretched until it reached the girl, then connected to her like a thread-thin umbilical cord.
The girl looked shocked. “What are you doing?”
Jennie didn’t answer. Instead, she obeyed her instinct and reached out. She pulled the girl back through the wall while remaining several meters away. She could feel a part of her controlling the ghost, a part of her connecting and becoming one in a way she had never felt before.
The girl fought for a few seconds, and then her fearful expression turned into a mask of fascination. She allowed herself to be pulled toward Jennie until she was only a foot or so away. “What are you?” she asked.
Jennie looked at her hands as if they were someone else’s. “I don’t know.” She dropped to her knees, better to match the girl’s height. “Did it hurt? Did I hurt you?”
The girl shook her head. She seemed to be in perfect health.
Aside from the fact she was dead, of course.
“You controlled me,” she told Jennie.
“I’m sorry,” Jennie blurted, finding her voice at last. “I just wanted to know who you are. I’ve been wanting to speak to someone like you forever, and I didn’t want you to leave.”
The little girl took her hand and smiled. “I was told we couldn’t speak to your kind. That the connection was lost the moment I died.”
“You’re…” Jennie realized the thought of a few moments ago was fact. A weight she hadn’t known she was carrying fell away from her.
“A ghost, yes,” the girl replied with a giggle.
Jennie jumped up and down. “I knew it! I knew I wasn’t mad! Mother and Father didn’t believe I could hear ghosts, but I knew they were real. I knew all along. Tell me, what’s your name? How did you die?”
Voices came down the corridor. Stewards called to investigate the disturbance during the performance. The little girl grabbed Jennie’s hand and pulled her through the wall, taking her into a dark, quiet room. They waited until the footsteps receded and the stewards left, scratching their heads.
When things fell quiet, the girl told Jennie her story. “My name is Annabelle Lyons. I was visiting the old Savoy building when a great fire ate it from the inside out. My parents managed to survive, but my lungs were overcome by the smoke.”
Jennie’s eyes widened. “How ghastly!”
“It was horrible,” Annabelle recalled. “Even now, when I close my eyes, all I see is darkness.”
“Same here,” Jennie replied, closing her eyes and giggling.
Annabelle laughed. “What about you? What was that power you used back there?”
“I don’t know,” Jennie told her honestl
y. “That’s never happened before. I’ve always been able to see and hear people like you, but I was never sure they could hear me. I didn’t even know I could do…whatever that was.”
“Try it again,” the girl told her. She jumped to her feet and spread her arms wide.
Jennie was shocked. “What?”
Annabelle waved for Jennie to get up. “I’ll stand over here, and you pull me toward you.”
Jennie smiled. “If you’re sure it didn’t hurt.”
They stood across the room from each other. “Are you ready?”
Annabelle nodded. “I’m ready!”
Jennie closed her eyes tried to recapture how she’d felt when she’d grasped Annabelle’s energy. She concentrated and felt something strange inside of her, as though something was alive and wanted to get out. She grasped mentally, doing her best to catch it. But it was like trying to pluck a fish from a murky pond. The minute she thought she’d done it, the feeling slipped away.
“Anything?” Annabelle asked.
“Give me a moment.” Jennie screwed her eyes shut, her face turning red.
She could feel it, somewhere inside. Knew it was there. She focused her attention on the slippery feeling, aiming to grasp it with both hands until finally, she had it. “Oh!”
The thread appeared again, crawling through the air from her midsection. This time it was slower, as though it were crawling in slow motion.
Annabelle’s face was bright with excitement as the thread reached half the halfway point of the room. “Keep going! Almost there.”
Jennie opened her eyes and saw the thread, and she felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. The energy connected with Annabelle, and now she could feel her ghostly friend. Feel her emotions, her power, her energy.
Annabelle chuckled loudly, the sound as if she were laughing from far off in a distant cave. “You did it!”
Jennie beamed. “I did it!” Her smile slipped as she felt something new and strange. Something wrong.
Annabelle’s smile slipped. “Jennie? Jennie? What is it?”
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 12