Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1)

by Michael Anderle

  How could George test the theory, though? That was the real question.

  Fortunately, the question was tested that afternoon.

  Kershaw’s head appeared through the floor in a glimmer of spectral blue, unnoticed by George, whose mind was a million miles away.

  Kershaw’s Neanderthal frown was accompanied by the rest of his body a moment later. He climbed onto the roof without a word and walked over to George, catching him off-guard. “Anything?”

  George felt the truth rise in his throat. He saw Rogue in his mind and found himself wanting to tell Kershaw. It hadn’t been a problem that he knew where Rogue lived before, given that she existed on the right side of the law. Now he was a weak link, one of the only specters in all of London who knew exactly where she lived and where she had been.

  If he told Kershaw, what would happen, then? Would the court send specters to her house to ambush her? Would they wait in silence and pounce on her when she arrived, attacking her by the hundreds?

  What would happen to George? Would he be rewarded for his assistance? Would he be reprimanded for not willingly handing over his knowledge after the call for her arrest had been put out? For every second which passed that he didn’t tell, was he sacrificing his own future? Increasing the odds of his own eventual exorcism as a withholder of the truth?

  Rogue had been good to him. She had been kind. She had saved his life. She asked only this one favor, and he wasn’t sure he could keep it.

  The lump in his throat rose. He fought the compulsion to say the words he could feel forcing their way out of him. Yes, Kershaw. I know exactly where she is. Follow me to the Savoy Theater, and I’ll show you her hidden underground bunker. She’s currently off scoping the guards around the palace and working out her way in to capture the queen, so you might want to hurry. Oh, by the way, I’ve also got a direct line to her mobile phone.

  He had to. He was a devotee. The oath bound him to the queen. He was sure the words would come, were already tumbling out of him as his mind fought with itself.

  He heard himself speak, and his blood ran cold as he caught the words on a dry tongue. “Nope. Nothing yet, Kershaw.”

  George looked Kershaw in the eye, almost certain he knew it was all a lie. If George had been human, he’d be sweating right now.

  Kershaw held his gaze a moment longer as if trying to read his mind. Finally, he nodded and turned away from the view. “Keep your eyes peeled. Remember, if we’re the first ones to spot her, we’ll reap the greatest rewards. Keep it up, George.”

  With that, Kershaw was gone.

  George gave a relieved chuckle as he looked over the edge of the roof at the ground below and watched Kershaw track across the street.

  What do you know? Maybe Rogue was right, after all.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Kensington, London

  The darkness closed in around them. Guided only by Jennie’s torch, they worked their way down a spiral staircase and into the depths of the mausoleum.

  The stench of age was thick. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling, and somewhere far ahead, something was shuffling around.

  “What is that?” Baxter whispered, flinching when his voice was carried far by the echo of the chambers.

  “Probably just a rat,” Jennie replied in a whisper. “There’ll be a few of them here, get used to it.”

  “I’m used to rats,” Baxter replied. “I lived in NYC, remember? It’s the other things that put my back up.”

  Jennie chuckled, and Baxter couldn’t see what was so funny. The chill grew the farther down they went, and Jennie didn’t so much as shiver.

  “Just stay close,” Jennie instructed. “You’ll be okay as long as you’re with me, and don’t make any sudden movements.”

  Baxter shuddered as they reached the bottom of the staircase. “Yeah, because I’m going to be so controlled around wraiths. What are we even doing here, Jennie?”

  “Acquiring a very necessary ingredient to help us storm the palace.” Jennie shone her torch slowly in all directions, revealing a series of rooms with open doors. The walls were lined with the final resting places of the dead, and several skeletons slept forever.

  “All of this for some kind of potion?” Baxter hissed.

  Jennie put a finger to her lips. “Not exactly. Now shut up, unless you want to upset them.”

  Baxter’s jaw clenched. Wraiths had something of a bad reputation among the dead. The mausoleums that contained the families of the deceased were nothing more than lockboxes to shield the dead from outside influence. A way to ensure the ways of the old world remained untouched.

  In the past, family lines were often buried in the same plot, meaning those who were bonded by blood would be taken down into the crypts and given back to their forebears. The isolation and mystery of the wraiths caused a big stir among the modern specters, who couldn’t understand the ways of old.

  Too many horror stories had been told about the appearance of wraiths in graveyards. Too many Halloween tales of the dead appearing in robes like thick and black smoke, and snatching life from those whom they were envious of the most.

  Jennie walked through the crypt, searching for something which Baxter couldn’t see. As she shone her torch over the various coffins, things began to shuffle in the darkness behind them.

  Several times they heard something akin to the breath of the wind. Once, they heard the ruffling of a cloak being swept away. Whispers began to follow them, but it didn’t matter how quickly Baxter turned. He saw nothing, yet he was convinced they were not alone.

  They reached a room that was considerably larger than the others. Jennie strode across it and stood before a large, upright coffin. It was easily taller than Baxter, and on the front were carvings in a script made of runes.

  Jennie read the text aloud. “Here rests Canute. Brave, loyal, courageous, strong. Spread ye wings and fly.”

  There was a large pair of angel wings carved into the wall on either side of the coffin. As with many of the other coffins, the front was askew, and a thin line of darkness edged its front.

  “How old is this place?” Baxter asked.

  Jennie ran a hand along the lid of the coffin and removed some of the dust and dirt which covered the dates. “1016–1035. A millennium.”

  “Wow,” Baxter breathed.

  As Jennie rubbed some more dirt from the front of the lid, a strong gust of chill wind ran through the crypt. The sound of the wind passing through the tunnels was haunting. Jennie spun on her heels, the Big Bitch in her hand, aimed at the doorway behind them.

  Baxter held his wrench high in one hand and his pistol in the other. His face drained of blood, for standing in the doorway was a creature that appeared to be made of smoke. The smoke coalesced into the shape of a tall, thin creature in a long cloak of black.

  If the creature had eyes, there were no signs of them beneath the inky black pit of his hood.

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to show your face,” Jennie told the wraith softly.

  The wraith stared back at them both in silence, the coils of its shadows shifting beneath the hem of the cloak as it hovered several inches off the floor.

  The wraith pointed a finger past Jennie, at the coffin behind her. It swept past them and vanished through the coffin.

  Jennie turned to Baxter. “Come on.”

  Baxter frowned. “What, where?”

  Jennie pointed at the coffin. “He’s taking us to the others.”

  Baxter stared at Jennie. “The others?”

  “They’re what we’re here for.” Jennie latched onto Baxter and turned spectral, then made her way through the coffin.

  They passed through momentary darkness, coming out on the other side of the wall into a long chamber lined with several candles lit in a spectral green color, where the wraith waited for them.

  The wraith turned and floated across the chamber. Jennie could feel the others floating around them as they followed the wraith. Gusts of wind swirled around the p
lace, whipping Jennie’s hair about her as she narrowed her eyes and focused on the path ahead.

  They entered the chamber, which was lined with the forms of more wraiths. Their arrival sparked a movement in the wraiths, each taking their positions in the chamber as Jennie and Baxter were led to the center by their guide.

  Jennie smirked. Finally. “Let’s parley, shall we?”

  Westminster, London

  The specter with the dark sunglasses emerged fully into the room and sat in the place Lupe had abandoned. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  “One of what?” Lupe replied, aware of the stares of the other patrons. He lowered his voice, glaring at the specter while he grabbed a chair. “Who are you?”

  Carolyn and Feng Mian simply stared at the intruders.

  The woman in the cocktail dress joined sunglasses in the booth.

  “Apologies for the rude interruption,” sunglasses told them with sincerity. “I’m Karl, and this is—”

  “Mona,” the woman cut in. “Enchanté.”

  “That’s French for, ‘Nice to meet you,’” Carolyn remarked with a smug grin.

  “You’re a conduit, aren’t you?” Karl pressed Lupe. “A mortal who can see us and speak to us.”

  Lupe reached across the table and brought his drink closer, protecting it as though Karl might at any second pick it up and drink it himself. “Who wants to know?”

  “Spanish, too,” Mona simpered, fanning herself. “What a heartthrob.”

  Lupe raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called him anything of the kind.

  “I’m not Spanish,” he muttered, trying not to move his lips too much like some weird form of ventriloquy. His looks already gathered too much attention, what would the public think on seeing him talking to himself in the corner?

  “Portuguese?” Karl suggested.

  “Does it matter where he’s from?” Carolyn snapped. “Why don’t you tell us why you’ve been following us?”

  “American,” Mona exclaimed. “Interesting. You know, we’ve heard reports of things kicking off over in America. Some very interesting things, indeed. Rumors of a rebellion. Of war between those who follow the queen’s rule, and those who choose to shun it.”

  “Really?” Carolyn feigned surprise, leaning back in her chair. “That is interesting.”

  Karl eyed her suspiciously. “That’s right. Rumor has it Rogue has returned to the UK and is currently running loose in the city. According to our sources, she’s switched sides. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You being from the US, and all?”

  Carolyn made a show of thinking hard. She chewed her lip and muttered incoherently. “Nothing comes to mind. I actually came to the UK last year on a trip and never left. Haven’t heard from my American cousins in months.”

  “Oh, really?” Karl croaked.

  Carolyn nodded, her eyes wide. “Really.”

  “What are you insinuating?” Lupe demanding, his face growing warm as he felt the pair’s scanning eyes. “Are you suggesting a trio of nobodies like us have done something incriminating?”

  “Not,” Mona assured him. She looked longingly at Lupe’s glass. “I miss the taste of beer.”

  Lupe nudged the cup toward her. “Help yourself.”

  Mona glared at Lupe. “That’s just cruel.”

  They all sat in silence, staring at each other for a few moments. Somewhere in the bar, someone dropped a glass and a wave of patrons cheered.

  “You see, my problem with all of this is that you’re all terrible liars.” Karl leaned forward and stared at Lupe. “Do you know how I know that?”

  Lupe held his stare and remained silent. If things were about to go sour, he had nothing more than a new-born girl and an ancient Chinese specter to fight the pair.

  “Every specter has some kind of ability. Did you know that?” Karl scoffed. “Of course, you do. You’ve been in this game a while, haven’t you?”

  He waited for Lupe to speak. Lupe didn’t oblige.

  Karl shrugged. “Okay, then, stay quiet. Do you know how rigid the queen’s current protection schedule is? Tight. Tighter than a nun’s… Well, you can imagine. This means there aren’t many specters brave enough to wander around the parks near the palace, considering most of those areas are a hotspot for spectral guards and those keeping their eyes out for anything unusual which might capture the queen’s attention.”

  Carolyn huffed. “Are you saying we can’t even see the sights? This is my first visit to London, and I can’t visit St James’s Park?”

  “I’m saying those who haven’t taken an oath to the queen would do well to stay as far away from her quarters as is possible. And, if my judgment is correct, you three are under no such oath.”

  “I can’t be put under oath,” Lupe told him.

  Karl nodded at Carolyn and Feng Mian. “But your friends can.”

  Mona grinned wickedly and reached down toward her ankle, where a spectral knife was fixed with a strap. She drew it quickly and held it to Carolyn’s throat.

  Before it could get anywhere near her, a flash of blue sparked in the air at the point of the blade.

  The knife flew out of Mona’s hands and landed on the bar floor. “What the…”

  Carolyn smirked. “We all have powers.”

  “How is that possible?” Karl turned from Carolyn to Feng Mian, whose eyes were now fixed on Mona’s. “What did you do?”

  Carolyn leapt off her seat and grabbed the knife. She advanced slowly on Mona with the knife held in front of her. “I think it’s our turn to ask the questions. If some bitches from the paranormal court are going to try to take us down, it’s best we learn everything we can about you both, don’t you think?”

  Karl looked suddenly afraid for Mona’s safety. He waved a hand. “Okay, okay. But it’s not what you think. We’re not with the crown.”

  Mona gave him a look, then returned her attention to the knife.

  “Well, we are,” Karl blustered. “We’re oathbound, but we’re not here to capture you. We’re here to help you.”

  “Why would you help us?” Carolyn asked.

  “We heard what you did in America,” Mona told them. “We want to help liberate the specters here, too.”

  Carolyn and Lupe turned to each other, mistrustful expressions on their faces.

  “Oh, yeah?” Carolyn disputed. “Prove it.”

  Kensington, London

  Jennie waited for the wraiths to talk first, as was customary with their kind.

  There were four of them lining the chamber on either side, with one more at the end. They were imposing figures, hovering with darkness curling below them as though they were hovering on thunderclouds. Their shadowy robes moved in a breeze Jennie could no longer feel.

  The wraith at the end broke the pregnant silence. His voice was breathy, a raspy hiss. “You remember the terms of our agreement?”

  Jennie sighed. She’d known this would come up. “I do. I’m sorry, Canute.”

  “Yet, here you are,” Canute intoned.

  Jennie took a step forward, and every head snapped in her direction. She moved her foot back and took a deep breath. “I really meant it last time. I didn’t want to see you anymore. But, do you think I would be here if this wasn’t important?”

  The wraith remained silent for a few seconds. It was almost impossible to tell the emotions of wraiths. Having lived alone in the crypts or stalking the graveyards, many had forgotten the ways of the mortal world, and emotions played no part in their customs.

  The head wraith, Canute, snapped his fingers, and a curled piece of parchment appeared in his hands. He pointed to a section with a dark, bony finger that appeared from his sleeve. “In 1936, a pact was made. This agreement was signed by your hand. Is that correct?”

  Jennie gave a curt nod.

  Canute lifted the agreement and read from it. “‘I, Genevieve King, do solemnly swear never to reveal the final resting place of the line of Greats. N
ot for aid, nor assistance, no palaver will I, willingly or knowingly allow another to enter the hall, nor will I set foot once more into the crypt.’ It’s all here. Signed and scripted by your hand.”

  Jennie winced. “I understand that, Canute. But…”

  Canute cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Do oaths mean nothing to you, King?”

  Jennie straightened her back and glared at the wraith. Her voice rose and echoed around the chamber. “Does loyalty and honor mean anything to you, sir?”

  Baxter let out a small sigh and muttered, “Please don’t anger it.”

  Jennie continued, “I understand I am here against the terms of the pact I signed. I understand the risks I am taking here. But do you not recall the deeds I performed at a time when the Wraiths of Great were in a dire situation and needed saving?”

  Jennie took a step forward and now ignored the wraiths staring back at her. She could feel eyes she could not see, and there was a power in the chamber she could not describe—a presence of something larger and greater than the wraiths in the room.

  “When you needed someone to stand for you, all those years ago, I was there, and I stood for you. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t care for a reason other than it was the right thing to do. Now a situation has arisen, and I need your abilities. Wraiths are the masters of the invisible, and it is that skill I need to harness for a task which must be completed.”

  “Why should we care for the trials of the spectral world?” a wraith to her right hissed. “What business is this of ours?”

  “We serve no master. We know no bonds,” another spoke.

  “Because the spectral world above is on the brink of anarchy,” Jennie told them.

  A wraith laughed, the sound like a smoker’s cough. “What else is new?”

  Jennie reined in her temper. “Because your intervention could prevent an all-out war across the spectral world. Some information has come to light that I believe will greatly affect your decision in this matter. Information concerning Queen Victoria, and her rule over the paranormal court.”