Baxter gasped and tore his eyes away from the ball of light that appeared between Jennie’s open palms.
The small sphere grew as the surrounding specters dropped their weapons and clutched their heads, unable to understand what was happening.
Eugenio’s voice rang out. “No! What are you doing? Stop. Stop!”
Jennie opened her eyes, the pupils completely gone and replaced by holy light. She stared at the orb between her hands, knowing exactly what to do. She continued her chant, reaching a crescendo as she muttered a final, “Et peccatores coram Deo,” and hurled the ball of light at the brothers.
The ball smashed into them both and began to spread, morphing into their shapes as though absorbed by their bodies. They exploded in a blinding blast of light.
Then they were gone.
The light faded in less than a second, and their seats were empty.
Silence fell across the room. All specters present stared open-mouthed at the mortal who had just defeated their bosses.
Jennie’s mouth was dry, her mind trying to process what just happened. “I thought they could use the exorcise,” she muttered.
Baxter snorted awkwardly, unsure whether to laugh, considering they were still surrounded by the enemy.
But the remaining specters made no move to attack. Instead, they remained silent as they backed away and melted into the theater walls.
“That’s probably for the best,” Jennie conceded, grabbing Baxter by the arm. “Come on, let’s find that piece-of-shit Beefeater and see what he has to say for himself.”
Neither of them was surprised to find that Worthington had gone, leaving no trace.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Midtown Manhattan, New York City, Present Day
“No, no, no. You’re doing it all wrong.”
Jennie clicked her tongue as she rose from the stool. The bistro was pretty empty at this time of day, the morning light only just beginning to spill in through the window.
She leaped over the counter, pivoted on her hands, and stood by the perplexed barman.
He looked at his colleagues for support, but several of them apparently found the whole thing surprisingly funny. The barman wasn’t much more than twenty-one and was relatively new to the role.
He was being shown the ropes by a woman who was over a hundred years his senior.
Not that he would have any idea about that.
“Fill it with ice,” Jennie instructed, pouring crushed ice into the shaker. “No need to hold back.” She measured out a healthy dose of apple brandy and grenadine before grabbing a lemon and squeezing it hard.
Juice sprayed all over the counter, but Jennie didn’t mind.
She wouldn’t be the one cleaning it up.
She shoved the shaker into the barman’s hand. “Now, I imagine you know how to give this a good shake, yes?”
The barman obeyed with a perplexed look on his face. He cautiously began shaking the container by the side of his head. Several waitresses had gathered at the end of the bar and were watching with amusement.
“Good, now pour that into there, and presto!”
The barman obliged and poured a blood-red drink into an angled glass. Jennie garnished the rim with a slice of lemon, sipped from the drink, and smacked her lips.
“Just like my father used to make.” She gave the barman a pat on the cheek. “Don’t worry, you’ll get into your groove soon. Those babies were hot at the beginning of the 1900s. All the rage in early New York.”
“You’re a historian?” the barman asked, managing to find some words at last.
Jennie feigned thinking, touching her finger to her chin. “Of a sort.”
She shoved a handful of change into the man’s hand and hopped back to the other side of the bar.
Baxter sat on the stool beside her, laughing quietly and shaking his head. “You certainly know how to leave an impression. But did you really have to order a cocktail at…” He looked at the large clock on the wall. “Nine thirty in the morning?”
Jennie shrugged. “Hey, a girl wants what a girl wants.”
Baxter grinned.
They sat quietly together for some time, both of them decompressing after the night’s events and a less-than-successful hunt for Worthington.
Baxter broke the silence at last. “You’re a woman of many talents,” he told Jennie, his eyes fixed on two parents wrestling to keep their toddler under control in a far corner of the bistro.
“So I’ve heard,” she replied.
“I’ve never seen an exorcism performed live before,” he commented, talking almost as if to himself. “I never truly believed I would. How did you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Jennie answered honestly. “Truth is, there’s a lot about my powers that I’ll never understand. I try every day to hone them and figure out how I can best use what I’ve got to help the world. I’ve tried exorcisms before, but they’ve never quite worked.”
“Maybe you just needed a strong enough reason?” Baxter suggested.
“Or maybe the people I’ve tried to exorcise have been protected by their oaths to the queen all along.” Jennie’s eyes narrowed. She still didn’t know how to handle the knowledge she’d acquired. To find out that the last hundred or so years had been a lie had shaken her to her core.
Baxter turned when a bell rang and saw a lone woman walk into the bistro. He turned his attention back to Jennie when she sat at the far end of the bar and ordered a drink.
“Your oath…” he started, not entirely sure what to say.
“Yeah,” Jennie murmured. “A big surprise, right?”
Baxter nodded.
Jennie took a breath and stared at the wall. A long mirror reflected the necks of the liquor bottles, and she could see herself in it. “The truth is, I’ve never been under oath. I was indoctrinated into the paranormal court shortly before Victoria took the throne. There was a whole mess with the administration, and in the chaos of kicking William IV off the throne, there was a clerical oversight. No one ever checked my allegiance, and I never thought to mention it again.”
Baxter nodded as he absorbed the information. “Yet, you’ve been serving Victoria ever since?” They each noticed that the other left out the word “Queen” when referring to Victoria, but given the current circumstances, they both understood.
Jennie smiled sadly. “For a hundred and eighteen years. Years after my mentor perished in the great battle of 1902. Years after both my parents perished and passed into the void beyond the veil.”
“The great battle of 1902? I didn’t know anyone fought before the start of World War I,” Baxter admitted. “Who did you fight? Early Nazis? The French?”
“Zombies,” Jennie replied straight-faced.
Baxter stared at her a few moments, wondering if she was joking. Her expression did not change.
Jennie raised her drink to her lips and took another deep swallow. Her eyes closed as she inhaled its aroma, and she thought back to the days spent with her father, him making up his own cocktail recipes in the kitchen, experimenting with a thousand different spirits and juices. The “Jack Rose” was his tipple of choice on those end-of-work-week evenings when he could settle in his favorite chair and snuggle with Jennie on his lap.
The memories were brought back by smelling a drink. It seemed somehow impossible, but there it was.
When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t surprised to find that the woman who had entered the bistro a few moments ago had migrated to the stool beside her. Her face, bordered with fiery hair and sporting smiling ruby-red lips, sat in the same spot as Baxter, who had his arms held high as if to prove he was innocent.
Jennie grinned. “I was wondering how long it would be before we met again.”
Tanya gave her a smile and flicked a lock of hair off her face. “I didn’t expect to run into you. This is my morning coffee location.” She glanced at Jennie’s half-drained drink. “I see you’ve already gotten the party started.”
Jennie
raised her glass. “The party never ends.”
Tanya giggled, then paused. She clearly wanted to speak but hesitated for some reason.
“What is it?” Jennie asked.
“Well, you made me a promise, remember?”
Jennie did remember. She had made the promise the day she’d confirmed Tanya’s suspicions that the spectral world was real, and that life existed beyond death. A promise to introduce Tanya to Worthington.
“There’s a slight issue with that, I’m afraid,” Jennie apologized. “You see, the specter who accompanied me then has gone AWOL, and I have no idea where to find him.”
“Oh.” Tanya’s head dropped. “What happened?”
Jennie smiled at Baxter. “It’s a long story. How about we go back to your place, and I’ll tell you all about it?”
Tanya agreed, and they headed for the bistro door.
Baxter caught up with them and whispered to Jennie, “What about the queen and the rest of the scum who fled? What about Worthington? Haven’t we got things we need to do?”
Jennie waved a hand. “Oh, we’ll get to them. Believe it or not, this won’t be the first mission I’ve gone off the books for, and it certainly won’t be the last.”
“I can believe that.” Baxter grinned.
“Who are you talking to?” Tanya asked, her eyes widening with excitement. “Is it them? Are they here?”
Jennie laughed, put her hands on Tanya’s back, and gently nudged her out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Liberty Island, New York
Worthington hesitated with the phone in his hand. The number was dialed, ready to make the call that would carry across the ocean and connect straight with the servants of the paranormal court and link with Queen Victoria.
Yet, for some reason, he hesitated.
The whole thing had been a shitstorm. He had known Jennie was a loose cannon, even warned about it by Her Majesty. Only, he had had no idea just how tenacious Jennie could be when she caught onto the scent of something even slightly out of the ordinary. He had failed, and for that, he would be punished.
“Think, Worthington. Think,” he mumbled as he stared out over the Hudson. Standing over three hundred feet above the water certainly offered an amazing view of the New York City skyline, but it did little to ease his nerves.
He could call the queen and tell her the truth. That despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep hold of Jennie’s leash, and the job they had been sent to do had not been completed.
Or… his panicking brain suggested, what if I told a little white lie?
The battle wasn’t over. Just because the faction loyal to the crown had scampered after Jennie had exploded with…whatever the hell that power had been, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t unite again under a new banner. A stronger leader, perhaps.
Worthington shuddered, remembering the blast of light that had appeared from Jennie’s hands. One minute the Messino brothers had been there, and the next they had vanished. Worthington hadn’t seen an exorcism like that since…
Well, ever.
Gulls cried overhead. The sky was dark, and the city lights were bright. He could understand why people thought of New York as the city that never sleeps. Traffic purred and gave the city the low growling voice of a satisfied cat.
Where would all the specters have gone? Worthington wondered. The city was divided, and it now looked as though the Spectral Plane would rise up and dominate the circuit. He was certain that those who had made their oath to the crown must be hiding somewhere, but how to pull them all together? How to reunite them and finish the job that Jennie had refused to complete?
That was exactly the reason that he was here.
Worthington stood like a silent sentinel, watching the city with fascination as the night sky turned to dawn. The sun rose in the distance. Skyscrapers stood like teeth against the horizon.
As the morning traffic began to pick up, the specter he was waiting for approached.
“You know, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Worthington greeted Charles with a half-smile. He had to hold in his laughter. To think that people had once dressed in the manner Charles did, with his face painted white and his cheeks red, his white wig that rolled down his shoulders onto a royal blue jacket with white ruffled sleeves jutting from the cuffs. Most ridiculous of all had to be the faux beauty spot on his right cheek, standing out like a large black mole.
Worthington composed himself, little knowing that at that same moment, Charles was doing the same, scoffing internally at the great bearskin hat that could easily have been used to clean chimneys.
“When you start to perform your duties properly, perhaps we can stop meeting like this,” Worthington told him. He laced his hands behind his back and returned his gaze to the view from the immense concrete torch—a section of the Statue of Liberty that had been blocked off from public access for decades.
“Your recruitment efforts have been a sham,” Worthington chastised. “The city is overrun by the Spectral Plane, and you approach me, the queen’s direct servant, with a light-hearted sentiment? Where is your honor, brother?”
Charles’ face hardened. “The recruitment efforts are going as well as can be expected. We never truly thought a rebel group would rise up against the crown, and so Her Majesty did not send adequate support in the form of bodies to aid me in this matter.”
“You’re blaming the queen?” Worthington half-turned, his face screwed up in disgust. “How dare you?”
“Who else is to blame?” Charles asked. “I have sent messages, I have asked for aid, and yet none has come. The only allies I’ve seen from across the seas have been yourself and that trampish mortal with her gun and an ego complex.” He glanced over his own shoulders. “Where is she, by the way?”
Worthington’s lips tightened. “If you had asked for aid, Her Majesty would have granted it. The United States is a valuable ally to the paranormal court, and one which the queen intends to keep.”
“She has a funny way of showing it,” Charles muttered under his breath.
Worthington turned so sharply that Charles stepped back in alarm. “I am tired of your treasonous words against Her Majesty. You had better watch your tone, recruiter, before I begin to doubt your fealty. You know what happens when a servant is caught being disloyal to the crown, don’t you?”
Charles’ face steeled, but he nodded, nonetheless. Although he hardly knew Worthington, he wasn’t stupid enough to place himself under possible scrutiny from one of the queen’s personal servants. There were few who dealt with the queen directly and lying about such a fact would place Worthington under scrutiny if caught to be true.
“What is it you need?” Charles near-enough growled, his lips barely parting. “Clearly, you have summoned me to request a service.”
Worthington smiled. “At last, he sees sense.” He moved a few steps closer and patted his cheek. Small puffs of spectral white makeup floated into the air like silt disturbed on a lakebed.
“There has been an unfortunate incident,” Worthington told him, his words slow and measured. “The Spectral Plane have gained a small victory, taking down a faction of those loyal to the crown over in Brooklyn who had holed themselves up in Loew’s Forty-Sixth Street Theatre. I find myself low on allies, and I need you to help unite the loyalists with me in servitude of the queen.” He pummeled a fist into his palm. “This rebellion has to be stopped.”
Charles nodded. At least they agreed on something. “What you’re talking about is a city-wide war. You realize that, don’t you?”
Worthington hardly blinked. “If that’s what it takes.” He returned to his view from the statue, where sharp rays of golden light cut through the buildings and created a dappled effect on the world below. “The city needs to realize the paranormal court is the only way forward for the spectral world. No more Spectral Plane, no more neutrals. The queen desires her rule to be followed in the name of the greater good before the plague of fr
ee will spreads into the wider states and becomes a nationwide problem.”
Charles nodded again, biting his tongue as the memory of his conversation with one of his associates sprang to mind. Talk of neutral activity and minor factions was already spreading as far as Long Island and all the way down to Philadelphia. With the queen thousands of miles away across the sea, her grip was too loose on the States. Could it already be too late to try and reel it all back in?
“As you wish,” Charles conceded, ignoring his concerns. “Name a time and place, and I will rally all I can find.”
Worthington did so.
Charles balked at Worthington’s demands. “Seventy-two hours? That’s a tight turnaround.”
“The need is desperate,” Worthington told him. “We have to act before the enemy can react.”
“Understood,” Charles replied. “What will you do in that time?”
Worthington grinned. “I’ve got my own specters to round up.”
As Charles turned to leave, wondering what on earth Worthington was talking about, he paused in his tracks and gasped. A spectral man was blocking his exit.
He growled in a gruff voice that spoke of years of isolation, “You’re trespassing.”
The specter was intimidating to look at. Not tall, by any measure, but his muscles were thick, and his frown was embedded deep into his face. His forehead hung over his face like a canopy, and a permanent stain of five o’clock shadow covered his cheeks.
“Can specters really trespass?” Worthington smirked.
The specter lumbered toward him. There was no hint of mirth or amusement on his face. His mouth was bent into a permanent scowl, and as he moved closer, Worthington noticed his clothes were covered in the same ash and dirt that covered his cheeks.
Charles swallowed. He turned from Worthington to the specter. “Do you two know each other?”
Worthington shook his head, yet his smile did not fade.
“You have remained here too long,” the specter told them. “This is my territory. Back off and get out. I will not ask again.”
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 21