The Last Queen Book Two

by Odette C. Bell

  Though the last thing I want to do is get to a hospital, I realize that John is not going to let this go. And at least if we don’t go in an ambulance, I might have the opportunity to get away from John. If I insist that I want to see a doctor alone, and I can get out of eyeshot of John, then maybe I can use a reality distorting spell to hide my tracks.

  Once the plan forms in my mind, I can’t push it away.

  This is the only thing that will work.

  For as I dare to cast another glance toward John, I realize he won’t back down.

  Sure enough, he helps me up, and the next thing I know, he’s loading me into one of his cars.

  For the first time since we met, the tantalizing prospect of having his arm around my shoulders does little to me. Not completely nothing – as I still feel the faintest charge of energy and warmth trickle down into my body.

  But the fireworks I’m used to simply aren’t there.

  ... I grit my teeth as I think of what Spencer did to me, and as I do, the wriggling magic that’s now stuck under my skin only dances all the stronger. It feels as if somebody has sliced through my arm and shoved a live animal down there.

  Once or twice as we stagger toward the car, I get the urge to draw up a hand and lock my fingers protectively over the mark, but every time, I stop myself.

  It’s dangerous enough that I’m this close to John, even if I am still wearing my disguise. I can’t give him any further reason to suspect me.

  He loads me into the back of his car and jumps in the front. I’m surprised when he doesn’t call for a driver. But it seems John can drive competently as we head out of the car park beneath his building.

  The dark city outside with its bright night lights becomes a blur for me, and I start to withdraw inward.

  I replay over that moment in my mind – when Spencer kneeled in front of me and stared at me. Stared at me as if he never intended to look away again. Just thinking about it sends the tightest of shivers curling hard around my gut. It feels like string that somebody’s wrapping around me, almost like I’m a present they intend to unwrap later.

  At that particular image, I curl one hand into a fist.

  That’s when I see that John’s gaze has darted toward me in the rear vision mirror. “Are you all right?”

  I take a moment to answer as I try to push all thought of Spencer from my mind and body. But it’s goddamn hard. It’s clear he... imprinted me. And though this morning I had no idea what that meant, now I’m starting to understand fully. Imprinting must be whatever bodily connects me to a king. Maybe it’s some kind of defense mechanism to ensure that once I’ve been imprinted, I can’t run too far away.

  That’s a truly sickening thought.

  John clears his throat.

  I remember he just questioned me, and I dart my gaze up. “I think... I think it’s just the flu or something. Just a bad fever. I’ll be fine eventually.”

  “We’ll see what the doctors say,” he comments to himself.

  He goes back to concentrating on driving.

  I realize that if I am to survive this, I’m going to need to distract myself away from the prospect of Spencer, and I’m going to need to do that now. So I focus on the only other thing I can – John. I lock every single one of my senses on him, from my vision to my sense of smell, until finally I even start to figure out if he’s using magic.

  It takes me too long, but eventually I realize he is. Fortunately, however, the magic isn’t directed at me – instead, it’s subtle, and he’s pushing it out toward the traffic, as if he’s using it to clear us a path.

  Though it’s the middle of the night, traffic around the block that houses the hospital is always heavy.

  We drive up to the car park, he gets out, and he goes to open my door.

  I know what he’s going to do next – help me out of the car with an arm around my shoulders. When he helped me out of my room, he had one arm around my waist – but as he leans in now, I see he’s reaching for my left shoulder. So I push up. I stand on my own two feet and take a step away from him.

  It’s hard. Of course it’s hard. It still feels like I’m down on one knee in the attic of that manor with that goddamn book in my hands.

  I... have no idea what it did to me. But I’m going to need to find out. Just as I’m going to need to keep my wits about me.

  John casts me one wary look, obviously checking to see whether I can stand on my own, but when I don’t fall, he nods forward.

  Staying close beside me with a hand permanently held out in case I stagger, he leads me down a ramp, across a section of asphalt, and up to the alternate entrance to the emergency ward.

  He takes me inside and talks to the nurse behind the reception desk.

  Despite the fact it’s about 3 o’clock in the morning, the little chairs in front of reception are packed with other people waiting to see the doctors.

  I don’t honestly expect I’ll be seen anytime soon, which makes my gut sink at 100 million miles an hour. Because that means I’m going to have to sit close by John’s side waiting – possibly for hours.

  The level of concentration I’m going to need to keep the mark Spencer burnt on my shoulder invisible from John is going to kill me.

  But before I can fear for too long, a doctor strides up and nods right at John.

  He sweeps a hand forward. “This way, Sarah,” he says.

  John begins to walk beside me.

  I turn my head over my shoulder and kind of bite my lip. “Do you... mind waiting here? I... always get embarrassed around doctors,” I say.

  As far as excuses go, it’s utterly pathetic. But maybe there’s something about my tone, because John shrugs and smiles easily.

  “You will be in good hands,” he promises.

  ... Is there something about his tone? The way he’s looking at me? Is the quality of his gaze more penetrating than usual?

  For just a split second, my world threatens to unravel as I fear that he knows. Somehow, he managed to see through my disguise, and he’s realized I’m the queen he’s always been waiting for.

  ... The moment doesn’t last. John smiles once more, turns around, and flops down on one of the old plastic chairs in front of reception.

  He pulls out his phone.

  I take a swallow, tear my gaze off him, and trundle ahead. The doctor has already gone on, and thankfully didn’t hear a word of that embarrassing conversation.

  People can’t be too worried about me, as I can walk freely. Then again, the only reason I can walk freely is I am now concentrating with all my might to put one foot in front of the other. It’s having a measurable effect on me, too. Almost as if reminding myself that I’m strong is pushing away the last remnants of the spell Spencer cast on me.

  But what spell was it exactly? When I plucked up the Queens Book of Rules, the effect it had on me was instantaneous. It felt as if I’d been turned into a mere picture.

  And, just as importantly, the second it was knocked from my hands by that wooden beam was the second the spell broke.

  ... But it is lingering, isn’t it? And that, more than the mark Spencer burnt on my shoulder, is what’s making me so damn sick.

  I reach one of the open wards, and the doctor gestures through a curtain to a bed.

  I walk inside and sit on the bed.

  The doctor takes several seconds, then walks inside and closes the curtain.

  And I do it – right there. Right then.

  I’ve never used magic to manipulate an ordinary person before. A part of me is terrified to try – but the rest of me realizes I have no other option.

  I bring a hand up and spread my fingers just a little. In fact, I copy the exact motion I saw John make today when he took me to that meeting and tried to hide his conversation.

  I allow magic to lace my fingers, to dance underneath my nails, to charge up my palms. But while I can feel it, I ensure it isn’t visible.

  “I’m fine,” I say in a drawn out, steady voice, almost as
if I’m one of those stage hypnotists from Las Vegas.

  The guy looks momentarily confused. Then his arms flop down beside him.

  I’ve never cast one of these spells before, so I don’t really know how they work. But as I keep my fingers spread toward the guy, I concentrate, focusing my mind on what I want him to believe.

  It seems to be enough.

  He frowns momentarily in confusion, then shrugs. “Just a nasty case of the flu. You need a bit of bed rest. I’ve given you some fluids, though,” he adds as I think that fact for him.

  ... Jesus Christ. All I have to do to manipulate this guy is send my thoughts his way.

  I try not to let the import of that thought sink through me, because if it is given the chance, I know it’s going to shake me to the bones.

  Because Spencer has this ability. I shudder to think of how many people he’s used it on – how many innocent people he’s twisted and manipulated.

  But I’m not hurting this doctor, and soon enough, he does what he needs to and leaves.

  I wait a full hour there on my bed, ensuring to keep casting the spell. If any other nurses come to check on me, I repeat the same story to them, and they believe it.

  As I’m seated there on that bed, it gives me all the time I need to think. It also allows me to finally shake off the shackles of the spell that book cast on me.

  As I sit there propped up on a large pillow, I look at my hands, pumping my fingers in and out, letting my gaze tick between my nails, down to my palms, down to my wrists, then finally, finally up to my left shoulder.

  I pull up the sleeve of my top and run a finger down it.

  I shiver.

  I’m cold and hot all at once. Sick, and yet giddy.

  I have to do something to erase this mark.

  What?

  One possibility suddenly strikes me, and the mere thought of it is enough to make me wince.

  ... Couldn’t I try to imprint myself on John again? Couldn’t I just make him stand there, couldn’t I just stare into his eyes until the effect Spencer has on me wanes?

  Even thinking about it, I shake my head. Because I know it won’t work in this disguise. I have to ditch this disguise for my original appearance and then face John. And if I face him as a queen, he’s going to do everything he can to capture me.

  Realizing there’s going to be no easy way out of this, I plant a hand on my face, close my eyes, and continue to drive the last effects of that frozen spell from my veins.

  After an hour, I’m raring to go. Okay, that’s a complete lie – I feel worse than I have in weeks, which is saying something, considering how jam-packed my life has been of late. But at least I can stand, at least I’m no longer sweating like a pig in a sauna, and at least I can think straight.

  I make my way out of the emergency room, but before I do, I cast my manipulation spell on all of the medical staff, ensuring all of them remember the same thing – that I was given fluids and I have a bad case of the flu. Some of them even go to the effort of writing down notes.

  Once that is done, I walk back out to the plastic chairs in front of reception.

  As soon as I make it out there, John stands. He is on his phone, and I saw his expression before he saw me – it was one of fixed concentration, one of fear.

  I instantly wonder if it has something to do with what went down at the manor. Because I’m starting to suspect that it was his people – or at least his pieces – that disrupted Spencer and ultimately saved my life.

  That fact brings a small smile to my lips as I face him. “Thanks for bringing me here. Like I said, just a bad case of the flu. They gave me some intravenous fluids, and I’m feeling a lot better now.”

  I’m not a complete idiot, and before I left the emergency ward, I went to the effort of slapping some medical tape on my hand to make it at least look as if I had a drip.

  John casts his gaze down to it and looks relieved. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Still, I’d warrant that several days of bed rest are necessary. I was going to ask if you could come to a job tomorrow night, but I’ll find somebody else.” There’s a quick efficiency about his tone as he talks about the job tomorrow night, and it’s completely at odds with the kind smile he shoots me.

  It makes my gut twist. I realize it has to be important.

  Don’t get me wrong – though the mark Spencer burnt into my shoulder is still driving me crazy – I’m now more than well enough to stand, more than well enough to take a sharp step toward him and offer a smile of my own. “I’m honestly feeling a lot better. I’m sure I’ll be right as rain by lunchtime tomorrow morning. How about... you let me sleep in until the early afternoon? Then I’ll see if I can do the job tomorrow night,” I add.

  Though in many ways the last thing I want to do is drag myself back out into the world, I know I need to. Just as I know that whatever job John has planned has something to do with the magical world that lies hidden beneath Rival City.

  This is an opportunity.

  One I can’t afford to pass up. Because I can’t just wile my days away in Rowley Tower anymore, can I?

  Realizing that, I distractedly bring up a hand and brush it over my arm, not letting my fingers latch over my left shoulder, just letting them shift past as if I’m scratching.

  I instinctively know that this symbol is dangerous, and unless I try everything at my disposal to get rid of it, it will lead Spencer to me.

  John looks at me calculatingly, obviously trying to figure out if I’ll be in any condition to come to whatever function he’s talking about tomorrow night, but then he shrugs. “It’s a deal.”

  With that, he leads me back to his car.

  There’s something I have to admit as we walk out, across the asphalt, and up to the car park. This feels different. I’m no longer compelled to be by his side, and my body is no longer acting of its own accord. My heart isn’t reaching out to him at the same time as it wants to push him away. And it’s leaving space in my mind to appreciate just how nice John is. He’s got this warm energy about him. It’s one I underestimated before. Though John isn’t technically my type – and he’s too chiseled and perfect – that doesn’t matter. Because the feel of him is just right.

  He leads me back to his car, and this time I sit up front.

  He seems distracted the entire ride home, and I can tell from the faint charges of invisible magic that are wafting through the car that he’s using more power to ensure he cuts us a clean path home. It barely takes us seven minutes from the hospital back to Rowley Tower.

  He goes to the effort of leading me back to my room, and even gets me a pitcher of water and puts it by my bed.

  He frowns at the junk in my room, and before he can waste his precious time in cleaning it, I shake my head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind the junk. You’ve already wasted your entire night on me. Please get some rest.”

  “It’s not a waste,” he says. “You’re one of my employees – and I treat you all like family,” he says.

  That makes my stomach twist. And yet, at the same time, darting pressure forms in the symbol Spencer burnt on my arm.

  I swallow hard and use all my strength not to clamp a hand over my shoulder. Instead I smile.

  With that, John smiles, wishes me good health, turns on his foot, and leaves.

  I spend at least 10 minutes staring at the door until I finally flop down, secure my right hand under my head, then stare at my arm.

  When I’m sure that John isn’t going to suddenly burst back into my room, I allow my appearance to shift.

  I can feel my silken, long dark black hair form around me, and it bunches under my pillow.

  My worn boots flop down on the bed, instantly distributing rock dust all over my blankets.

  That’s when I realize I’m not wearing my leather jacket.

  My eyes suddenly blast wide as I cast my gaze around my room.

  When I staggered in after the incident at the manor, I took off my jacket and dropped it, didn’t I?
>
  Which means it’s still on the ground.

  Which means John saw it.

  I’m shaking all over, gasping as if I’ve just been kicked in the gut.

  I throw myself out of bed, land on all fours, and desperately stare around my room. That’s when I find the leather jacket all the way under my bed. It’s scrunched up, and I remember that’s where I kicked it to when I flopped into bed after the incident.

  I reach a hand toward it, pluck it out, and draw it close, hugging it to my chest.

  I wince as I realize that was a seriously close call. If I hadn’t kicked the jacket so hard that it had fallen all the way underneath my bed, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be... John’s, whatever that would mean.

  I don’t even know what I think about that thought as I prop one knee on the bed for stability and then pull my leather jacket on.

  I don’t put it all the way on, though, and keep it unhooked from my left shoulder as I pry at the skin. Every single time I run one of my fingers over the symbol, hard shivers dart into my stomach and pelvis.

  It also brings up a sharp image of Spencer in my mind, almost as if he’s forming right there in front of my eyes.

  “I have to get rid of this,” I mutter to myself as I finally let my hand drop, tug my leather jacket back up, and stand there for several seconds.

  I almost get the desire to go back out onto the city streets to figure out if Spencer’s out there looking for me. But I shake my head promptly as I realize it’s a suicidal plan. For one, I still don’t know the full effects of this symbol. For another, I can’t afford to leave the tower. If John comes back to check on me and I’m not in my bed, it’s going to raise alarm bells.

  So I pace my room for a while until I finally settle down, change my appearance, and go to sleep.

  All damn night, I dream of him. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer.

  The dreams have no real content – they’re just feelings and images. His face looms there in my mind, and as it does, I swear it crams out other memories and impressions, almost like it’s a virus deleting the rest of my files.

  By morning, when I wake, my brow is slicked with sweat, my sheets and blankets are a mess, and I’m panting.

  But I’m no longer weak, and even though my sleep wasn’t technically restful, it was all my body needed to shake off the last remnants of that frozen spell.