No one came.
She reached a T intersection at the end of the corridor and paused. She could hear the voice clearly now—an English accent talking to someone in whispers.
Have Worthington and Baxter settled their differences? She thought maybe they had—until she heard Worthington speak.
“It’s not my fault. A thousand apologies, I swear, I can rectify this.”
Jennie’s eyebrow arched. When had Worthington gotten hold of a cell phone? She knew specters could hack into the network signals and reach long distances, but where had he gotten the cell? Had he stolen it from a neighboring room?
More importantly, what was he apologizing for? Who was he speaking to in that hushed tone?
“Absolutely. No, I completely understand. I will not fail you again.” A pause. “Understood. One chance. I can pull her off the scent, I know I can.”
Pull her off the scent? What am I, a Labrador?
“I’ll call you tomorrow with a full update and report.” He paused once more and pinched his eyes. “Yes. I won’t let you down, Your Majesty.”
Your Majesty? Jennie thought, a scowl appearing on her face. What in the name of the paranormal court have I stumbled upon?
Chapter Seventeen
Jennie’s mind whirled. Something was going on here, and she had to figure it out.
After overhearing the conversation between Worthington and the queen, Jennie tiptoed rapidly back to the apartment and tucked herself back in bed. She heard Worthington sigh as he came back in and shut the door behind him before retiring to the armchair to watch the sun set.
Jennie waited a few minutes before stepping out of her bed once more and emerging into the central living area. She pawed her eyes and stretched. “Still up?”
“You know specters. We don’t sleep. Not really,” Worthington replied as casually as if nothing had happened.
“Where’s Baxter?” she asked.
Worthington shrugged. “Probably downstairs inspecting the hotel’s backup generator and marveling at it.”
Jennie scratched her chin. “Strange.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, it’s just I thought I heard voices. People talking.”
Worthington stiffened and turned his eyes toward the window. “Really? I didn’t hear anything.”
So, you’re going to play it that way, huh?
Jennie nodded silently, returned to her room, and prepared for a busy night.
They found Baxter waiting downstairs in the street, one foot behind him as he rested against the front wall of the Plaza. The concierge stood patiently waiting to greet the guests of the hotel, unaware of the large man watching him with a keen glint in his eye.
“What a shit job,” Baxter muttered as Jennie collected him and began to walk down the street. “Standing there for hours on end, being a grunt for the rich and famous.”
“I can empathize with that,” Worthington grumbled, eyes darting to the back of Jennie’s head.
Jennie chose to ignore the comment, slowly turning her thoughts over in her head. Her mind was a muddle of contradictions, and if there was one thing that annoyed Jennie more than scumbags and badly mixed drinks, it was the absence of a clear head.
The answer was out here somewhere. It was all connected, that much she knew. The Spectral Plane, the rogue faction of the crown, the conversation between Worthington and the queen. There had to be a link somewhere, and dammit, if she didn’t find it before the night was over, she’d phone in her resignation, pack her bags, and head to some part of the world the queen would never think to look for her.
“Where did you go?” Jennie asked Baxter as they turned south and began to head back toward the source of the graffiti. “I thought you’d abandoned us.”
“Abandon you?” Baxter laughed. “Are you kidding? This is the most excitement I’ve had since I died. No, I couldn’t stand being stuck in the apartment with…” He placed his hand to the side of his mouth and thumbed at Worthington. “You-know-who. So, I went for a walk. Figured I might find out something useful.”
Worthington’s forehead creased. “Excuse me?”
“Did you discover anything useful?” Jennie asked.
“Not at first. But then I found myself in the Plaza lobby watching that small TV that sits above the bar—you know the ones that are always on silent but have subtitles for loners who want to just sit and have a drink?”
“I know the type.”
“Turns out the feud might be going a little more public than some of the specters originally thought. They had a news reporter doing the rounds in Lower Manhattan and on the Upper East Side, showing the tags the specters have been spraying on walls. Looks like the Upper East Side is getting a good display of paint from the Spectral Plane, while Lower Manhattan has had messages sprayed supporting the crown.”
Jennie rubbed a hand down her face. “This is getting ridiculous. Why would specters want to draw attention to themselves?”
“It’s just a little bit of paint.” Worthington scoffed. “We don’t even know that the people spraying it are part of the paranormal court. I’m telling you, it’s the Spectral Plane trying to mess with our heads. Let’s just head down to the subway, round them up, and then head on home. No harm, no foul. Job done.”
Jennie gave him a look. “Why would the Spectral Plane paint messages in favor of the queen? To draw attention to themselves?”
“We don’t even know it was painted by specters!” Worthington retorted. “Lower Manhattan is a breeding ground for hip-hop. Maybe some young rap artist has somehow caught wind of it and unconsciously named his latest album after something he overheard? I’m telling you, we’re wasting our time going to re-investigate.”
Jennie whirled on Worthington. Across the street, a group of guys in their mid-twenties wearing suits burst into laughter, clearly inebriated beyond measure. Jennie spied a slightly portly man at the front who wore a gold crown and held a scepter.
Worthington pointed their way. “See? It could even have been those guys.”
“That’s a bachelor party.” Baxter looked at Worthington as though he had several screws loose. “Are you okay, steak-muncher?”
“Beefeater!”
“That’s what I said.” Baxter smirked.
Jennie placed a hand on her hip and took off her glasses. “You seem awfully certain who the culprits of this graffiti are, Worthington. Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Worthington struggled to meet Jennie’s eyes. “No. No, it’s just, I’m sure the queen is worried about how the mission is going is all. I promised her a speedy response.”
“You promised her?” Jennie repeated. “Have you spoken to her recently, then?”
Worthington’s lips tightened. “No, but I know her, and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Jennie turned a searching look on Worthington. “I’ve known her for over half a century longer than you. She knew me for years before you were even born. I think the queen will be just fine with me handling my business the way that I always do, and that’s getting to the real truth behind the shit. Nine times out of ten, the crimes I’m sent in to solve are not the ones that are visible.” She squared up to Worthington. When she spoke, it was deliberate and clear. “I’m just like a bloodhound. Once I catch the scent of truth, I just can’t let it go until I’ve caught that son-of-a-bitch between my teeth.”
Worthington gulped.
“Er, Jennie?”
Jennie’s eyes remained fixed on Worthington’s for a moment longer, wondering if he had pulled the subtext from her words. He wouldn’t be the first specter she had scared from their post, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Jennie?”
Jennie tore her eyes away from Worthington. “What is it?”
Baxter stood at the mouth of the alley and pointed to where bright crimson paint splattered the walls.
At least, she hoped it was paint.
Jennie took a step into the alley
and saw the lettering—another message on behalf of the crown. This one read, Her legacy will live forever. Stand down or die.
“They’re very succinct, aren’t they?” she muttered.
Baxter nodded and walked over to the wall. He ran a hand across the words, leaving a red smudge behind. “It’s fresh, too. Whoever did this can’t be far from here.”
Jennie knelt and pulled a small pouch from a pocket on her thigh. There were a number of potions and various concoctions nestled in each pocket.
“What’s that?” Baxter asked.
“You’ll see.” Jennie held a small vial in front of her face and checked that the inside was filled with a liquid the color of the ocean. She unscrewed the lid and threw the liquid into the air.
The minute it left the vial, the liquid expanded at a rapid pace, converting to a gas as it mixed with the oxygen in the air. A great blue cloud billowed around them, flowing with the wind through the alley.
After a few seconds, the gas began to dilute, changing from cobalt to a pale color they could see through. In the midst of the cloud, they saw the outlines of spectral shapes, as if the specters who had been there had left a ghostly trail of breadcrumbs behind.
Baxter breathed in awe. “Impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible when you know the secrets of life and death,” Jennie murmured. She pocketed the vial and followed the trail through the alley.
Baxter caught up with her and stared down at her pockets. “Do you always carry those with you?”
“Yep.” She held up a hand. “Scout’s Creed. Always be prepared.”
“But I saw you fall in the subway,” Baxter remarked. “Aren’t you worried about them breaking?”
Jennie chuckled. She withdrew the vial and tossed it casually to Baxter. “Plastic vials. After all, we are in the twenty-first century. The time of glass has long since passed, particularly when you’re in my line of business.”
Baxter hadn’t considered working for the queen as a job. “What exactly is your line of business?”
Jennie chewed on this. “Justice, I suppose.”
Worthington ran up behind the pair, muttering to himself. He looked at the ghostly shapes they followed with fear flickering over his features.
The shapes led them to the end of the alley and back into the street. The farther they went, the harder it was to pick up the trail. Jennie wasn’t worried. If she knew specters as well as she thought she did, there’d be another clue soon enough.
She was right. Just as they thought they’d reached the end of the trail and found themselves in another empty alley, Baxter fell to one knee and touched the ground.
“Paint?” He raised a red finger and showed the others.
“Or blood,” Worthington argued. “Likely the Spectral Plane getting ready to kill their next victims.”
“Ghosts don’t bleed,” Jennie retorted. “Or, if they do, I’m yet to find a way to make it happen.”
The red dots of paint led farther into the alley. Jennie raised her head and saw with surprise, that they were back in the alley they had been in the previous night. The smell of Indian and Thai food spilled from the open doorways at the backs of the restaurants and filled their nostrils. From inside, they could hear the sounds of enthusiastic diners and authoritative chefs.
And somewhere nearby, a man begging for his life.
Chapter Eighteen
“Please, don’t make me do this…”
Jennie’s ears pricked up. Without thinking, she drew her guns and tiptoed farther down the alley.
“From the look of things, you don’t have too much of a choice, darling. Either you bow your head and accept what’s coming to you, or we’ll find a way to splatter your brains on this fucking wall and use the blood to decorate this shit-tunnel.”
Jennie’s brow creased. It was a man talking, a man with a slight accent she couldn’t quite place.
“I’d take his advice if I were you,” a woman cut in. “He doesn’t mess around. Believe me, I’ve seen what he’s capable of.”
Jennie nodded for the other two to join her. Baxter gave a nod, a determined expression on his face as he drew his own gun and moved behind Jennie. Worthington took the back of the line, his head resting against the wall as he closed his eyes and breathed heavily.
Jennie chanced a peek around the corner and couldn’t believe what she saw.
Pinstripe and Frock were back, only this time they were no longer afraid of being trapped by Lupe and his Spectral Plane gang in Central Park. It seemed as if freedom agreed with them since they now held a poor spectral woman up against the wall.
Pinstripe’s Tommy gun was aimed at her face, while Frock fanned herself with her parasol. Behind them were several tins of red paint.
“So, what’s it going to be, darling? The choice is yours.”
The woman cringed from the gun. “Please, I don’t want to take sides in this petty feud. I’ve been a neutral for the best part of forty years, and I intend to stay that way. Fighting only ends in pain, and I’m not about to inflict that on someone else. I’ve seen what you shit-stains do.”
Pinstripe’s face darkened. He looked at the ground, shook his head, and scoffed. “Oh, dear, dear, dear. I thought you’d be smarter than that.” He turned to Frock. “Put your umbrella up, dollface. It’s about to rain blood in this alley.”
Frock obeyed, tucking herself neatly behind the parasol.
Pinstripe laughed, his hands tightening on the gun.
The woman closed her eyes and screamed, prepared for the worst.
Before he squeezed the trigger, however, another shot was fired from nearby. Pinstripe yelled in surprise as his gun flew out of his hands and clattered to the ground several meters away.
Jennie ran toward Pinstripe with both guns trained on him. Baxter loomed behind her with his weapon aimed at Frock.
Pinstripe shook his hands in reaction to the impact of Jennie’s bullet knocking the gun out of them.
The woman they’d been holding against her will groaned and took the opportunity to slip through the wall and away from the conflict.
“I wondered if I’d be seeing you two again.” Jennie smirked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get better with your gun again. I mean, you were trapped in that rock for years, right? You must be a little rusty.”
Pinstripe’s expression morphed from shock to grim satisfaction. “Not too rusty to obey orders and lure the fabled Rogue out of hiding.”
Jennie cocked an eyebrow. “You know my name? Well, that saves introductions.”
“Well, that and the fact that you’ll soon be dead.” Frock giggled. “You’re a mortal playing in the specters’ world. How long do you think that’ll last?”
Jennie began counting on her fingers. “Let’s see. Yesterday was Tuesday, so that would make it…” She lowered her fingers and raised her gun again. “Nearly a hundred and forty years, bitch.”
Frock’s face dropped.
“Impossible,” Pinstripe growled. “No mortal can live that long and still look…”
Jennie shrugged. “As hot as me? I know. It’s a good balance of diet, exercise, and… Oh, that’s right. Kicking specter arse. Since I haven’t done any of the latter yet today, would you two like to volunteer to be my first victims?”
Pinstripe growled, “Catch me if you can.”
As he finished speaking, two things happened at once. The first was that Pinstripe chuckled and disappeared, leaving not even a drop of spectral energy in sight. The second was that Frock drew her own gun from behind her parasol and fired at Jennie.
Jennie ducked, having sensed that something like this would happen. “Nice try.”
“I’ve got plenty more in the chamber.” Frock grinned, sending off several more rounds.
Jennie dived out of the way and disappeared behind a dumpster as the bullets ricocheted around the alley. She knew she needed to drive the attack, but unfortunately, she’d learned she wasn’t immune to either human or spectral bullets, a truth tha
t was embossed on her body in the form of small balloon-knot scars on her arms, hips, and thighs.
Baxter had ducked back around the corner, and now sent off several shots of his own. His pistol fired true, but Frock managed to avoid each shot with a twirl of her parasol. She maneuvered as though dancing through the alley toward the fallen Tommy gun.
Jennie raised her pistol and shut one eye, aiming toward the Tommy gun to knock it farther away. Only, as she made to pull the trigger, she felt something hit her stomach hard.
She recovered from the sneak attack quickly, but more blows slammed into her. Each punch took the wind from her lungs and left marks on her skin.
Jennie tried to hit whatever was attacking her, but her hands passed through thin air.
“Oh, so you’re one of those, are you? Well, it’s been a while, but let’s see if I can remember how to do this.”
She ignored the assault, allowing the punches to force her against the wall. Before she knew it, she was sitting on her ass, blow after blow pounding into her cheeks as the fists connected and rattled her brain.
But her mind wasn’t registering the physical pain she was in. She was deep inside her consciousness, hunting for the frequency at which Pinstripe was manifesting.
“Jennie?” Baxter called across the alley. “What are you doing?” When no answer came, he whispered to Worthington. “Is she okay?”
Worthington waved a hand. “Who knows? The woman is an enigma. Maybe focus on the girl about to pick up the Tommy gun instead.”
“Right.” Baxter glanced at Jennie uncertainly before firing several bullets at the ground around the gun.
One of the bullets slammed into Frock’s hand and caused her to scream in pain. She shook it violently as though she had touched a scalding burner, and where her hand had been was now nothing more than a stump. She dropped her parasol with a glare at Baxter, dived to the ground, and picked up the gun.
Baxter burst around the corner and sprinted across the alley at an impressive speed. He jumped and landed on top of Frock as she was hunting for the trigger.
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 16