Cocktails were a science and an art. A milliliter of lemon could swing the taste of a drink from putrid to flavorful. A dash of cinnamon could bring back memories of childhoods and Christmas time. She enjoyed toying with the flavors and coming up with new recipes.
But it’s always tough to beat the classics.
Jennie smacked her lips and stood up. She stretched her arms and exited the small room she had claimed. There was a balcony outside, although she wasn’t about to risk her life to test its integrity by placing her weight on the rusty railing.
Specters filled the room. Though the place wasn’t as packed as it had been yesterday, the number of specters was still high. A group of specters below engaged in practice combat, testing their weapons and teaching moves to those who had gained little to no experience of fighting in life.
Feng Mian led the group over by the door, his face straight as he worked on his breathing and focused his energy. A few specters, including Carolyn, were following him through a series of Tai Chi-style movements. Their spectral energy glowed brighter than those around them.
“They’re passionate, I’ll give them that,” Baxter enthused, appearing at Jennie’s side.
“Passion is good, but it doesn’t win wars,” Jennie replied.
“Spoken like a true leader.”
Jennie looked up into Baxter’s smiling face and let out a small laugh. “There’s so much on the line, here. It’s not just about this city, Baxter. It’s about what will happen after.”
“What do you mean?” Baxter leaned against the rail, his spectral form having no impact on the rusty barrier.
Jennie sighed. “This whole thing is bigger than anyone realizes. To rebel against the paranormal court sets a precedent. We are starting a revolution here. This war affects more than this city. It could determine the future of the spectral world forever.”
“So, what’s the problem? We’ve got you, remember?” He teased an elbow into Jennie’s side, trying to elicit a laugh.
She didn’t oblige. “I’ve spent decades believing I was serving the greater good, Bax. I’ve killed for the queen. I’ve obeyed her every command and run around as the ace up her sleeve for over a hundred years. This is not a challenge she will take lightly. The minute she hears who’s leading the charge in the rebellion, she’s going to come at us with fire.”
Baxter nodded, glancing at the specters below while his mind ticked over. “That’s if she even knows.”
Now it was Jennie’s turn to look quizzically at Baxter.
“Think about it,” he told her. “Yours and Worthington’s job was to come over to New York and stabilize the crown’s hold on the city, right?”
Jennie gave him a pointed look. “Right.”
Baxter raised a finger. “But that plan backfired. Do you think if Worthington had gone to the queen and told her exactly what had happened, she would be sitting back while he tries to take back control? No. He’s rushing because he’s scared she’ll find out he failed. The queen has a billion specters across the Pond.”
Jennie glared at him.
Baxter rolled his eyes. “Sorry, across the ocean. Do you really think she wouldn’t send her whole army if she believed she was going to lose control of America?”
Jennie hadn’t considered this. The queen she knew ruled with an iron fist. She had specters at her beck and call and ruled Europe without a problem.
So, what would have happened if she had found out Jennie had switched her allegiance?
Jennie realized the queen would have immediately sent her guard dogs out to recapture her. She wouldn’t have been allowed to roam free in the city without some kind of resistance, surely? Jennie was a dangerous weapon, and one of the queen’s finest. If a weapon got stolen…
You’d wrestle it back into your possession and either reprogram or defuse it.
“I think you’re right,” Jennie agreed at last. “There’s no way she can possibly know. Imagine if she did?”
“Exactly,” Baxter told her. “Whatever happens within the next few hours, you can be assured it’s all running through Worthington’s hands. So, how do you get into the head of that maniacal jerk? We need to catch him off-guard and distract him from his goals.”
Jennie grinned, pulling out the hand shoved deep into her pocket and clutching her phone. “You call his mum.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Buckingham Palace, London
Porter Sykes was reeling.
The call had been everything he’d been hoping for from the moment the sniveling little Beefeater had been given America as his destination. He’d seen the telltale glint in Worthington’s eye that said he believed America was going to bring him big things. Bring him Porter’s position in the court.
Not likely. Not on my watch.
He half-ran through the echoing halls of Buckingham Palace. It was mid-morning, and sunlight streamed through the large glass windows. Several mortal maids and housekeepers milled around, dusting and straightening and performing their duties, unaware of the specters walking among them.
Porter loved this time of day, the quiet hours of dusk and dawn before sections of the house became flooded with the public and the mortal royals made the rooms their own. At night, the place was overcrowded with the spectral servants of the court.
It was the in-between he liked.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Porter’s grin was wide as he melted through the doorway to Yasmine’s quarters. She looked beautiful lying on top of the sheets, a goddess aglow in all her spectral radiance.
“You’ve come to finish what you started last night?” Yasmin asked. She winked, and his cheeks warmed.
Porter tilted his head to the side, studying every inch of her. “Unfortunately not.” Her death had been unfortunate. To die so young in your sleep was something that no mortal would have wished for, but it had granted Yasmine eternal beauty.
She lay there in her silk nightdress and batted her eyelashes at him. “What a shame.”
Porter crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of her bed, excitement leaking from his every pore. “I’ve just gotten off the phone to an anonymous tipper in the US,” he told her, the words rolling quickly off his tongue.
“The US? Who do we know in the…” Her eyes widened. “Oh! What did he say?”
Porter smirked. “It seems our friend Worthington is up to no good over there. He’s fucked up his mission, and now he’s covering his arse and lying to Her Majesty.”
Yasmine sat up, eyes keen. “You’re kidding?”
Porter shook his head. “Nope. Apparently, the entirety of New York is about to embark on a war, and Worthington’s at the head of it all.”
Yasmine scowled. “That bastard is gunning for our seats, isn’t he?”
Porter gave her a knowing look. “Why else would he lie to the queen unless he was trying to pull something? He’s probably hoping he can single-handedly bring the crown’s rule back into order so he can take all the credit upon his return home and sit faithfully by Her Majesty’s side.”
Yasmine considered that, the crease on her perfect forehead growing deeper. “I thought he was with Rogue?” She paused. “Actually, I’d have expected them back by now if Rogue was with him. Doesn’t she normally go in all guns blazing, take care of business, and return?”
Porter’s eyes grew hungry, a dark pleasure in them. “That’s the other thing. It looks like Rogue has gone, well, rogue. She and Worthington have parted ways, and now the entire city is in disarray.”
Yasmine growled. “We warned her. For years we warned her, and now she’s gone and done it. I’ve never liked her.”
“You’ve never liked anyone who was half as pretty as you are,” Porter countered slyly.
Yasmine blushed, unsure whether Porter’s comment was an insult or a compliment. “I always knew you had a thing for her.”
“Oh, come on.” Porter climbed onto the bed and climbing on top of Yasmine. “You know no one compares to you.”
Porter seemed to seriously consider this. Yasmine gasped and slapped his chest.
“I’m kidding,” Porter told her. “You’re all I need, my love. You’re perfect the way you are.”
She smirked. “Dead and cold.”
Porter nodded. “Like Rogue and Worthington will be once I pass on the message to Her Majesty.”
As if turned on by the very idea, Yasmine grabbed the back of Porter’s head and pulled him close. Her lips found his, and soon their tongues were dancing.
“Go,” Yasmine told Porter, pushing him away at last. “Tell her now before we get carried away.”
Porter turned to the door, then looked back at Yasmine. “Too late.”
They made love in the only way ghosts knew how. It was passionate and furious and desperate, and soon the morning rose to its full glory. When at last they finished, Porter gave her one final kiss, then strode toward the queen’s chambers.
Her Majesty’ cry of distress and betrayal echoed through the halls.
Red Hook, Brooklyn
If any of the dead had taken a helicopter over the city that day, they would likely have spotted the entire congregation of Spectral Plane specters milling about the old grain terminal as the day wore on.
More were arriving by the hour. The recruiters in the city were doing their job, and now they were hearing stories of loyalists terrorizing free specters all across New York.
For every three who had arrived, two had stories of mistreatment and harassment. Their tales spoke of pushy crown representatives either trying to force a switch in allegiance to the paranormal court or scaring the recently deceased into joining their forces.
Specters spilled out the doors and gathered in groups around the outside of the mill to brush up on their combat skills. They talked while they honed their powers. Others said their prayers, knowing what they were up against from historical experience. The queen and every monarch who had preceded her had spread misery across the United States of America at one point or another since its founding.
“I hear their force is ten times what ours is,” one specter told his companions in a low voice.
“Is it true they’ve recruited specters with special abilities?” another asked.
Jennie roamed between them, doing her best to instill the confidence that would be needed to charge into the fight. It was alien territory for her. Not because she was communicating with the dead, but because she had operated alone for all of her years of royal service.
Things were simpler that way. When working alone, she had complete control over the mission. The method and the madness were hers to bear the consequences of. There were no emotional ties when it came to solo operations. If she needed to make a U-turn on a plan and adapt to the situation, then there’d be no repercussions. No problem whatsoever. She was only responsible for herself.
With nearly a thousand specters, however, there were real afterlives on the line.
These were real people, kind and honest people who wanted nothing more than to live their deaths as they saw fit. People who had been dealt shitty hands in life and had hoped the United States would offer the freedom in death they had fought for in life.
Jennie struggled to grasp the magnitude of her duty. Although these specters looked to Lupe to lead them, it was Jennie who was working to make their plan and whispering it in his ear.
Lupe was by definition the conduit, and Jennie was the operative. She had more experience than Lupe in how specters acted and what they could be up against. She also knew how badly this all could end.
Jennie finished her call and placed the phone back in her pocket.
Baxter walked beside her, staring at the specters in training. “What did he say?”
“He said it might be a challenge, but he could make it work,” Jennie informed him.
“A challenge?” Baxter scoffed. “You’ve given the mole-man three hours to make an impossible quantity of a concoction he hasn’t made before.”
Jennie waved a hand. “It should be fine. It’s just a little reverse-engineering. Hendrick has handled more complicated requests in the past.”
“With a three-hour deadline?” Baxter countered.
“Maybe he had a few more hours,” Jennie admitted.
Baxter scoffed. “How many?”
She smirked. “Like, a day.”
Baxter gave a derisive laugh. “You like to push the boundaries, don’t you?”
Jennie shrugged. “Although it seems that way, I really don’t. Preparation is key with shit like this, but we don’t have the time to prepare as we should.”
Baxter conceded that was true. “At least we’ve given Worthington a shake.”
Jennie nodded, although she was doubtful. “That’s if Porter actually takes the message to the queen. Thanks for talking to him, by the way.”
“Anything to help,” Baxter told her. “He was a hard one to convince, but when all the evidence was thrown his way, it was difficult to argue.” He paused and looked down at Jennie with something akin to pity. “You know that means they’ll be after you, too?”
Jennie’s expression hardened. “They can try and get me. They know who I am, and many in the court fear me. I think it’ll be more difficult than Queeny would expect.”
“You’re starting to sound like the Messino—”
“They’re here! They’re here!” Jennie brushed away Baxter’s comment and ran over to the cloaked figures walking her way.
Tanya led three mortals carrying shopping bags laden with heavy items that clinked and looked as though they were going to tear through the bags. She waved when she saw Jennie.
Jennie directed them inside to the small kitchen, which housed a large hatch that opened onto the main floor of the mill. They grunted with relief as they lowered the bags and shook their pained fingers, giving Jennie some room to operate.
She rifled through each bag, giving little affirmative nods as she examined the bottles and ingredients they had purchased. One bag contained a mini-fridge, which she removed immediately and plugged into a power outlet to test it out.
She waited for the familiar hum of the fridge to kick into action, but nothing came.
Tanya gave Jennie a look of disappointment. “Seems like the mill has been disconnected from power.”
“Well, that sucks,” Jennie stated. “I’ll just have to make do.” The bottles clinked as she placed them onto the counter to create a makeshift bar. Although there seemed to be no method to her unpacking, after a few minutes, the counter displayed a perfect array of gins, rums, vodkas, tequilas, ports, wines, and various liqueurs, mixers, and other spirits.
“Aren’t the juices going to get warm?” Tanya asked.
Jennie contemplated this, then snapped her fingers triumphantly. “I’ve got an idea. Not sure if it’ll work, though.”
She scanned the specters before her and called to one who was struggling to execute a roundhouse kick without falling over. There was permanent sadness in his eyes, and he slumped as he broke free of his group and approached.
“You can’t fight,” Jennie told him gently.
The specter opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “No. I’ve never been good at physical things. I tried karate in life and was laughed out of the class.”
“That’s okay. Not every specter needs to fight,” Jennie assured him. “I might have a use for you…” Her voice trailed off and she waited. When the specter didn’t speak, she added, “This is the part where you tell me your name.”
The specter stared blankly at her for a second. “Oh, Jimmy. Jimmy Dean.”
“Two first names. Classy.” Jennie grinned and Jimmy broke into a smile, too.
He was an odd one to identify. He wore denim overalls over a white shirt, with boo
ts that looked as though they could have been from the last decade—a strange mix of urban and farmer, with no tells of when or where he’d existed or how he had found his way to New York.
Jennie decided to conquer that mystery later. There were more pressing issues at hand.
“Stand over here, please,” she instructed, tapping the middle of the counter.
Jimmy obeyed. His rotund belly floated in the middle of the counter. His spectral energy covered the fruits, juice, and various other perishables on display.
Jimmy looked down with confusion, able to see the cartons and cases inside of him. “Forgive me, Rogue, but what exactly am I doing?”
“Spectral energy is often detected in mortals by a rush of cold or chill that passes through them when they are in contact with a specter. They shiver, they get goosebumps, all that jazz, so there seems to be a temperature shift that transfers when a specter comes into contact with objects on the mortal plane. My thinking here is…” Her voice trailed off again as she reached through Jimmy and pressed her fingers to the bottle of apple juice. “Yes! It’s working. The glass is already colder.”
Jimmy looked hurt and put a hand to his chest. “You’re using me as a fridge?”
Jennie smiled sweetly. “You said it yourself; you can’t fight. If that’s the case, you’ll do the very, very important job of preserving the ingredients in my cocktail bar. Don’t look so sad; it’s an honor. You’re responsible for my continued happiness.”
Jimmy looked down at the ingredients inside his body, then turned back to the specters practicing their moves. One particular pair was engaged in a sparring match. They fought with a series of well-executed maneuvers, their hands pale ghostly trails.
“It’s fine. If you need your buzz, I’m here for you.” Jimmy’s smile reappeared. He saluted Jennie, then glanced around awkwardly before beginning to hum like a fridge. “Bzzzz.”
Jennie and Baxter began to laugh. Tanya cocked an eyebrow, unable to see the specter. She touched the apple juice and felt the chill, then retracted her hand and gasped. “There really is a specter there? I touched him.”
Jimmy grinned. “That’s the closest thing I’ve had to a handjob in years.”
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 35