“Where did they bring us?” Baxter asked, looking around the space at a variety of cardboard boxes stuffed with photo albums, Christmas decorations, and bags filled with old clothes.
“You can ask them yourself, you know,” Jennie told her.
Carolyn shook as she approached the nearest wraith. Her voice trembled. “Ex-excuse me?”
The wraith turned to face her, revealing the empty darkness under the hood of its cloak. It turned toward the far wall and pointed a long slender finger.
Carolyn crossed over to the angled window the wraith indicated, which was so neglected that a layer of grime obscured the view. In the parts she could see through, Carolyn saw the London rooftops. The sun had now begun its ascent and the light stung her eyes, but even as she blinked and raised a hand, she could see Buckingham Palace in the near distance.
Not only that, she could see hundreds of specters spread out across the rooftops.
She ducked out of sight.
“What is it?” Jennie asked, moving to the window.
“Stay down,” Carolyn urged. “They’re everywhere. They’ve brought us right into the heart of everything. For all we know, there are specters a few meters above us.”
They looked at the ceiling, each specter now lowering their voice.
Jennie turned to Canute. “Why have you brought us here?”
The wraith took another rasping breath. “The ancients know the old ways. Forgotten ways. The secrets of your destination. Those who wish to remain here to watch the events unfold, this is as safe a place as any within viewing distance.”
“You heard the wraith,” Jennie whispered to the room of specters. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”
Several of the Obake sheepishly took a seat.
Paige and Angus growled. “No one stays behind,” Angus ordered. “We’re in this together.”
There were some murmurs and grumbles, but the specters rose to their feet.
“Good,” Canute intoned. “Follow me.”
Jennie accompanied Lupe while they followed Canute and his wraith companions descent from the attic and navigated through the old, abandoned house. Lupe was aware that he was the only one who physically needed to use doors. Every now and then, Jennie thought she could hear someone moving around the house, but it had to be her imagination.
They reached a pantry on the bottom floor of the four-story building and went inside.
Canute pointed to the floor. “Here.”
“What am I looking at?” Jennie asked. She scraped the floor with her foot and revealed the outline of a small hatch beneath a thick layer of dirt and dust.
“Does everyone in this city have a hidden underground tunnel?” Baxter asked incredulously. “In New York, the only things below the ground are specters, the subway, and dead bodies.”
“Oh, the cultural dissonance.” Jennie grinned, searching for something to lever the hatch open. The square was concrete with no visible handle.
“Here,” Lupe called, finding a crowbar hanging on the wall and handing it to Jennie.
She jammed the edge into the ground and pulled until the hatch popped open with a reluctant hiss. Stale air that had been trapped for an unknown number of years filtered into the pantry.
“Jesus!” Baxter put a hand over his nose and mouth. “That’s fresh.”
They jumped down into the tunnel, Jennie and Lupe falling a full ten-feet before they hit the ground. Jennie drew a flashlight and shone it down the tunnels that stretched off in both directions.
“Lead the way,” she muttered to Canute, as he and the wraiths swept ahead, swallowing nearly all of the light that shone from her torch.
Despite their age, the tunnels were relatively straight and had stayed in good condition. Aside from a few minor collapses along their way, which the wraiths directed them around, the journey was smooth. The only thing that changed was the atmosphere as they grew closer, a nervous tension surrounding them with every step they took.
The wraiths pulled to an abrupt stop directly below a hatch in the ceiling. A rusted ladder was the only access.
Jennie tested the metal with her bare hands. “There’s no way this will take our weight,” she told Lupe. “Looks like you might be stuck in the tunnel, my friend.”
Lupe looked more relieved than annoyed, but he still protested. “There has to be another way.”
Jennie shrugged and turned to Baxter. “Bax, will you do the honors?”
Baxter nodded, then used the ladder to lever himself upward. The metal didn’t even creak. When he neared the top, he cautiously poked his head through the hatch and looked around.
After a few seconds, he pulled his head back into the tunnel and gave Jennie a thumbs up. “I think we’re good. It’s just a dark room. Another pantry, I think. Smells like stale cheese and wine.”
“Okay.” Jennie turned her attention to the specters. “Who’s next?”
One by one, the specters climbed into the room. The wraiths waited patiently below until at last it was Jennie’s and Lupe’s turn. No one in their right mind would believe Jennie and her specters would have been able to find a way into the palace, let alone have traveled there so soon after the confrontation at the dungeons.
“Wait there,” Jennie told Lupe, latching onto Carolyn in front of her and turning spectral.
“What else is there to do?” Lupe asked, looking nervously at the wraiths.
Jennie pulled herself into the room, immediately agreeing with Baxter’s deduction that the room stank of wine and cheese. Not good cheese, either. This smelled like it had been placed in storage and long forgotten.
Unless someone upstairs is a connoisseur of cheeses. Maybe there’s some super-stinky gorgonzola I’m unaware of?
Levering herself into the room, Jennie scanned the shelves and looked for something of use. There was plastic packaging, long lengths of twine, and a barrel of used corks to plug the top of wine bottles. Nothing sprang out as something that could be used to haul someone through a hole in the floor.
“What about this?” Baxter asked, pointing to a set of empty shelves. Wooden ledges rested along four metal poles.
“A bit big to use as a ladder. It wouldn’t fit through the holes.”
“Not the shelves,” Baxter clarified. ‘The poles.”
“That could work.” Jennie set to dismantling the shelves quietly. Although she was almost sure they were far from the prying eyes and ears of specters, she wasn’t going to risk being caught.
When she’d worked a pole free, she levered open the hatch and lowered it down.
Lupe grabbed the pole with trembling, clammy hands, clearly not dealing well with being left alone with the wraiths. He let out a few strange noises as he fought for purchase.
After a few failed attempts, he wiped his hands on his clothes, jumped in the air, and grabbed the pole with all of his strength.
“Quickly!” Jennie allowed the specters to pull her backward and lift Lupe from the tunnel.
He made it halfway before his hands slipped. He flailed and clutched onto the edge of the hatch with his fingertips, his legs dangling below him, and whispered for help.
Jennie grabbed him by the armpits, hooked her arms, and raised him higher. Her strength was impressive, and soon he was panting on the floor.
“Thanks,” he told her gratefully.
Jennie pressed her ear against the door where she could just make out the sound of specters talking, then put a finger to her lips. “We have company.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Buckingham Palace, London
The specters did not sound happy.
Jennie considered poking her head through the door to hear the conversation better, then thought better of it when the wraiths appeared through the floor and joined them in the room.
“Canute,” she purred. “It’s showtime.”
Carolyn whispered. “Why does she always say that?”
Baxter leaned closer. “Theater obsession.”
Carolyn nodded her understanding.
Canute ushered a wraith forward with a silent signal, and Jennie focused on connecting with his energy. The wraiths had a different frequency than typical specters, and Jennie had to spend a few seconds homing in on the dark chill that emanated from him.
When she had locked on and was drawing on the wraith’s energy, she took a breath and stepped through the wall.
Jennie was startled for a moment by two hulking specters involved in an angry conversation who were walking directly toward her. She panicked and was reaching for her weapon when she realized they couldn’t see her.
Jennie dropped her hand as they walked through her.
Specters upon specters upon specters. It’s like Inception for ghosts.
Sallow bulbs lit the long, straight tunnel. Jennie followed the specters a short distance along the bare concrete, then stopped when one shoved the other a little too hard and sent him into the wall.
The specter who had been pushed recovered and shoved the other specter. They glared at each other, and it looked like something more was going to happen until one of them said,
“Enough of this shit. We need to stick together, not push each other apart. We’ve got a job to do, and Her Majesty won’t be happy if we fail.”
The other one hesitated before adding, “Fine. Let’s just get the fucking prisoner and deliver him. When did we become glorified delivery boys?”
The other specter chuckled. “Around the time we died, I think.”
Jennie ducked back into the room, her heart racing.
“Where are we?” Baxter asked. “Who was out there?”
“Bhoots,” Jennie told him.
The specters gasped.
“What are Bhoots?” Lupe asked, jumping in before Carolyn could.
Jennie thought about the best way to describe them. “Not specters you want to encounter. They’re murderers who refused a priest before being executed. Thugs who abused their mortality and were forced into the afterlife with no one to bless their passing.”
“So they’re just specters?” Carolyn asked. “Pissed-off specters?”
Baxter answered, “I’m afraid not. When the truly evil have no remorse, the spectral conversion can take a funny turn. Bhoots have greater strength and different abilities than regular specters. I’ve never met one before, but I’ve heard of a group around New York who, luckily, keep to themselves.”
“The bitch is recruiting everyone she can, isn’t she?” Carolyn seethed.
“I think they know where George is,” Jennie informed the group. “They were talking about a prisoner they’re delivering to someone. It’s got to be him.”
“Wait, where is this prison?” Angus asked. “I’ve studied London history for years. I’ve seen floorplans. There was never any mention of a prison in the palace.”
“Yeah, well, like a lot of what we’re discovering, this place is full of secrets.” Jennie narrowed her eyes. “Look, wherever the hell we are, we need to put the plan into action, okay? It’s time to split up. I’ll go with Canute and the wraiths, and you lot cause a disruption and find a way to free George.”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
Jennie turned back to the wall and prepared to turn invisible once more.
That’ll have to do.
There was nothing left for it. Everything was beginning to fall apart, and it was on Porter to fix it all once again.
He ground his teeth as he marched through Buckingham Palace. His route took him down the hidden passageway and into the cells below. Rogue was threatening to take everything from him, and he just couldn’t allow it. He unconsciously rubbed a hand over the place where his arm was beginning to grow back.
Two Bhoots barred the entrance to the cells. He barged between them, waving their aggressive protests away, and stormed down the corridor toward the prisoner’s cell.
How could this have happened? Only a few months ago, everything had been in order. Now, he had pissed off two women—three, if he included Rogue—and there was every chance the empire would collapse if he didn’t sort things out and fast.
It would all come down to the shit-eating prisoner—the fool who refused to spill his secrets.
Not for much longer, bucko. It’s my turn to take you to the torture chamber, and this time I don’t think things will be so nice for you.
George’s cell came into view.
“Ready for round two?” The guard grunted with excitement. “Do I get to watch this time?”
“Fuck off, you sadistic clown,” Porter snapped. “Bring the prisoner to chamber seventeen. Feel free to soften him up a bit along the way.”
Jennie sneaked through the hallways on her tiptoes, accompanied by Canute’s wraiths. Even though she was invisible, she wasn’t sure if she could be heard and thought it best to place extra caution where she could.
The place was a labyrinth of long hallways. Several times she passed through Bhoots roaming the halls. Others were guarding the doors of rooms where the inmates were being tortured. Jennie cringed every time she heard someone screaming, praying the next scream she heard wouldn’t be George’s.
When she reached an intersection, she paused and tucked herself tight against the wall. Porter strolled toward her with a determined expression on his face. Behind him were two Bhoots hefting George by the arms, while his legs dragged on the floor.
Jennie made to go to him but hesitated at an icy hand take her shoulder.
“You must remain focused,” Canute reminded her.
Jennie reluctantly nodded, knowing her specters were on George’s trail. With any luck, he’d soon be free. Before she continued up the corridor, she latched onto the Bhoots just enough to pull their energy to confuse them.
She dashed in the direction Porter had come without looking back.
Eventually, she found the stairwell leading to the main rooms of the palace. She passed effortlessly through the guards at the doors, eliciting nothing but a slight shudder as she went through them.
One guard turned to the other. “You feel that, Pen?”
“Man up,” Pen replied. “You’re imagining things.”
Jennie emerged through the floor of the palace, and found herself somewhere she was more than familiar with.
The palace had been home to Jennie at a time when she’d had nowhere else to go. In her early years of working with the paranormal court, she had taken a room in the palace at the command of Victoria. It was only as time went by and Jennie realized she needed to have some kind of separation from her work that she had constructed the hideaway beneath the Savoy and made that her permanent home.
Now the halls felt strange. It had only been a few weeks since she was last here, and already everything felt different. Her memories of this place were tarnished, brushed with the new reality she had uncovered.
Jennie got her bearings, made a mental map of where she was going to search, and got to work.
This is never going to work.
Lupe, Carolyn, Feng Mian, and Baxter walked in the center of the Obake.
Although, they didn’t look like Obake. They towered around them all, their Bhoots disguises complete with thuggish walks and tree-trunk arms. The specters did a stellar job of imitating the prison guards, but Lupe had little faith that the real Bhoots would fall for their ruse.
They came around a corner and were met by two Bhoots standing guard outside a cell where it sounded like someone was crying. The dull thuds of punches and kicks could be heard from within.
“Who are you?” one asked, moving to block their path.
“New blood,” one of the Obake grunted. “Got some prisoners for the queen. Been instructed to bring them down to seventeen.”
The guard arched an eyebrow. “Seventeen is occupied.”
“Did you mean fifteen?” the other guard asked.
The Obake shook his head. “Yeah. Right. Fifteen, that sounds about right.”
The guard who blocked their path gave them a cu
rious look, then stepped away. As Lupe and the others passed, he growled and clenched his fists.
Lupe looked at the floor to avoid their eyes.
Along the way, there were several more encounters of the same ilk. Only once did it look like they were about to be foiled when one of the Bhoots put up more resistance than the others. On that occasion, Carolyn acted by trying to make a run for it, after which one of the Obake chased her and brought her to the ground and laid into her with a couple of pre-rehearsed kicks and punches to ensure the whole facade looked real.
“Let us through now,” the Obake told the Bhoots. “Before a prisoner escapes and I have to tell Her Majesty it was you what let her go.”
The Bhoot cursed and reluctantly stepped out of their way, muttering, “Yeah, like anyone could escape this prison.”
When they reached a quiet stretch of corridor, Lupe asked Baxter how they were going to be able to find George by just wandering around. Surely, they were going to look even more suspicious, just casually strolling the halls?
“That’s a risk we have to take,” Baxter told him. “Luckily, it looks like there’s a chronological system here, look.”
He pointed to the numbers on the cells, crudely drawn in spray paint. They had reached number twelve, and number fifteen was up ahead.
“Shit,” Baxter cursed.
The doors to number fifteen weren’t guarded since there was no prisoner inside. When they reached the doorway, they all stopped, the Obake encircling the others enough to mask them.
“What the hell do we do now?” Carolyn asked, just as a screaming came down the corridor. It was slightly muffled, but it was clearly the sound of someone in pain.
The specters looked at each other with concern while the Obake checked the corridors to make sure the coast was clear.
“Stay here,” Angus told them.
He returned shortly later with a worrisome face. “There’s a chamber just around the corner and up a ways. Is your friend a former politician?”
“How did you know that?” Baxter asked.
“Because even under torture, he’s lying through his teeth.” The Obake tried to hide his smile, clearly proud of his joke.
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 57