“She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Spencer says again, his words snarling and sharp. “Trust me – I’ve looked into her eyes. She has no knowledge of what she is, let alone what I am. So we have to split up. I want my forces patrolling the city tonight. If I could get out of this function, I would.”
“That’s dangerous, sir – what if she shows up here? You won’t be able to take her on your own. She barely got away from your trap last time, and it’s going to make her warier next time.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Spencer snaps.
I hear footfall shifting toward me.
Though I want to remain there pressed against the door, hearing every word I can, I jerk back.
I shift hard on my foot, throwing myself forward, reaching one of the bagging room doors, wrenching it open, and darting it inside.
I don’t close the door behind me fully and rather keep it open just a crack.
I lean against it, breathing hard, eyes wide as I try to process what I just learned.
I hear footfall and appreciate it’s only Spencer.
He pauses outside my door, and just before my heart can explode, I see him through a crack and appreciate he’s doing something on his phone.
A second later, he shrugs, smooths a hand down his tie, and walks off.
It takes me a hell of a long time to pull myself out of that bagging room. As I do, I’m shaking a little.
Finally, I bring a hand up and lock it on my crinkly hair and let my fingers tap against my mask.
My disguise is hiding me from Spencer?
Thank God.
As for the tracking mark he burnt on my arm – all I have to do is wait until it dissipates?
I was right – coming here to this charity function tonight was the best possible thing I could do.
And now I’ve gotten all the information I need, technically I can just turn around, head home to Rowley Tower, and wait this tracking spell out, right?
... Right?
I don’t head home, though. And it’s not through loyalty to John.
Instead, I shove a hand into my pocket, pull out my phone, and start texting John. I tell him I’ve become sick and I’ve booked a taxi and made my own way back to the tower. I apologize effusively.
Then I turn my phone to silent, shove it into my clutch, and stride off down the hallway.
I have to take this opportunity.
Because I doubt I’ll ever get another one like this again.
John and Spencer know everything about me. They understand the rules of this game. I don’t.
Now is my opportunity to turn the tables.
Chapter 6
I finally make it into the main hall. It’s packed with people, all in some of the most sumptuous clothes I’ve seen. Just walking through the door, I see so much expensive jewelry, I estimate you could fund Rival City’s homeless program for a year.
I ignore it, tuning everyone out as I focus on my magical senses instead.
I’m still in my redhead disguise, and I catch more than a few covetous glances.
I ignore them.
I’m bold, brave, and yet, not stupid.
I keep reminding myself of what I learned when I overheard Spencer’s conversation – he can’t see through my disguise. As long as I keep this on, he’ll have no idea it’s me.
Finally, I find him.
I don’t walk straight up to him and punch him. I just accept a drink from a waiter and stand several meters back, sipping at my drink as I apparently disinterestedly stare at the building.
I lock my hearing on him, picking up every word he says as he chats to a senator by his side.
The conversation is banal, though aspects of it are quite possibly illegal.
I just stand there and wait.
And watch.
My stomach and heart are still acting up – still begging me to rush forward and wrap my arms around Spencer.
But that’s the imprint talking – and I ignore its force, even if it’s one of the hardest things I’ll ever do.
I wait.
I already know from the program guide I saw in several people’s hands that there’s meant to be a masquerade dance.
I know what I need to do.
It’s another half hour before the dance starts.
Suffice to say, every single socialite in Rival City wants to dance with Spencer. He’s a bachelor, and from his looks to his money, his only rival in popularity is John Rowley.
But as for John?
I’ve cast my eyes on him once or twice, but he seems to be mostly keeping to himself in a corner.
As the floor is cleared for the dance, I stride right past a bevy of beautiful women, right up to Spencer. I even reach out a hand and latch it on his arm. My grip isn’t violent – just firm.
“May I have this dance?” I say.
I don’t say hello – I don’t introduce myself. I just stare past my blue and white mask, right into his eyes.
At first, he looks indignant, then he catches my gaze.
I’m not stupid – I don’t allow him to stare into my eyes for too long. Do that, and he might be able to see through my disguise. But I look at him just long enough for the faintest flicker of magic to pass between us. I doubt he’ll be able to figure out it’s magic – just as I doubt he’ll be able to ignore its compelling quality.
The music starts. There’s a string quartet on the opposite side of the room, and the acoustics are more than enough to allow the stirring music to fill the large space.
I’ve never been one for classical music, but now I can appreciate that even though it’s not as powerful as rap or rock, there’s something moving about the violins and cellos as their lingering notes swirl around me.
The other women who were vying for Spencer’s attention look indignant.
Spencer?
Before he knows what he’s doing, he reaches out and grabs my hand. There’s an unsure quality about it.
I’m the one who should be unsure. After all, I’m the one who doesn’t know what she’s doing, right?
I’m the one who’s out of her depth, who’s the last queen just waiting for a king to acquire her.
And yet, I am the one who’s in control as I take the first step forward.
You’ve probably guessed that my life to-date hasn’t been filled with ballroom dancing. Nor am I the most graceful woman in the world.
But I don’t let that stop me. I’m agile these days, strong, and athletic.
I also let the music move me as I grasp Spencer’s hand firmly.
I can tell he can’t figure me out as we dance. There’s this confused quality to his attention as he tries to stare into my eyes.
But me? I won’t look at him anymore. I know there’s a haughty edge to the angle I’m holding my chin with as I stare over his shoulder at the rest of the room.
“Who are you?” he finally manages.
I don’t answer.
We continued to dance, and finally, more people join in, until the ballroom is full.
It leaves the people around the walls who aren’t joining in visible.
And once or twice, my gaze darts toward John.
His tall, broad-shouldered form is obvious as he stands right at the back of the room, his body outlined by the bright night lights making it in through the massive glass windows.
He’s staring at us. No, not at me – Spencer.
... He can’t see me, can he?
And even though I’m drop-dead gorgeous in my current disguise, he doesn’t even give my figure one glance.
Because I’m irrelevant to him.
All John wants is a queen, no matter what she looks like, right?
Though Spencer tries to take control of the dance, I don’t let him.
“At least give me your name,” he says, and there is an entreating quality to his voice. It’s at odds with the usual blustery tone he uses when he’s arguing with people.
“Do you really need my name?” I say.
He chuckles. I can tell he’s trying to be confident – but he’s not pulling it off. He also continues to try to stare into my eyes, and there’s such a wide open, fixed quality to his gaze that I can tell he’s using magic now.
... Does he suspect what I am?
Maybe. Does that make me stop? No.
Because for the first time in months, I feel in control.
This dance is also underlining one fact to me – Spencer and John aren’t nearly as competent as they seem.
John stands there on the opposite side of the room, never wrenching his gaze off Spencer, but occasionally he does glance my way.
Is there a dismissive quality to his gaze? Or is it careful, as if he’s being sure not to let his gaze linger?
I let the music continue to drive me on, but I soon realize I can’t just stand here pressed up against Spencer for the whole dance.
Because this is dangerous.
Though I’m trying to tell myself that I’m in control, I can’t deny that my body is still going crazy at the prospect that Spencer is this close.
I can’t even describe to you the tingles that are racing down my fingers, hard into my arm, and propelling themselves through the rest of my body. They aren’t just dancing – they feel like they’re doing so much more.
So this is the power of imprinting, ha?
Whenever I take a step from him and do a twirl, there’s this force that wants to snap me right back and get as close to him as I possibly can.
It’s honestly like magnetism, isn’t it? Like he’s the North Pole to a magnet and I’m the South, and if he dares to venture too close, there’s nothing we can do to pull ourselves apart.
I came into this dance wanting to know one fact – just how much I can get away with before Spencer starts seeing through my disguise.
And it takes a long, long time for suspicion to finally start to flicker in his gaze.
As long as I don’t make eye contact, it seems I’m fine. But as I become distracted by the fact that John is still standing there, staring at us, I momentarily forget what I’m doing, and I glance back and stare right at Spencer.
That’s enough.
That finally does it.
I see his eyes widen as recognition pulses through him. Then finally, he takes control of the dance.
He pulls me close, yanking me off balance as I twist on my heel. He twirls me around, and before I know what he’s doing, my back is pressed into his chest and his hand clamps on my left shoulder.
His fingers dig in.
I can feel a charge of magic race right down my arm and sink all the way into the bottom of my gut.
It’s the strongest sensation I’ve ever felt. Though my expression has been one of haughty control up until now, I can feel my eyes widen with alarm and my lips part with a gasp.
“I guess I underestimated you,” he says, and there’s that familiar husky, low, deep, vibrating quality to his tone – the same one he used when he got down on one knee and stared at me in the manor.
Though I’m terrified that he’s going to keep me pressed there against his chest with his hand clamped over my left shoulder, he spins me around again.
One thing is clear as he takes a step in and presses his foot alongside my heel and grabs up my left hand – he is now the one who’s in control.
Though I try to look away, I can’t, and he catches my gaze.
Though I’ve claimed before that staring at either John or Spencer is like having your eyes grasped – this is on a completely different level.
I swear I can feel magic charge between Spencer and me as he locks my eyes in place.
It’s nowhere near as bad as the effect of plucking up the Queens Book of Rules, but whereas I can move the rest of my body, I suddenly can’t close my eyes or look away.
“You came to me,” he says, voice even lower than before.
I try to jerk away.
This was a mistake. Goddammit, this was a mistake. The worst I could make.
I came in here arrogant, a fool, thinking I could finally get one up on Spencer. But again, I’ve underestimated just how much more he knows.
He smiles. He leans in, twists me around, and reaches a hand toward my left shoulder.
There’s a finality to the move. There’s power, too. It’s obvious he’s getting ready to cast some kind of spell.
But that’s when the lights go out.
It’s sudden, and rather than just turn off, they blow, one by one.
People scream and dart back as hot shards of glass filter down from the ceiling above.
I hear Spencer hiss, and he tightens his grip around my fingers, his hand feeling like metal restraints.
The lights haven’t just gone off in the room – they’ve gone off everywhere. The function hall is lined with glass windows, and they don’t let in a scrap of illumination.
People scream, and from every side, they start to bump into us.
I hear people mumble, hear them reach for their phones – but nobody can turn them on.
Because this is no ordinary blackout.
Before I know what’s happening, I feel somebody wrap an arm around my middle and jerk me back. But Spencer’s grip on my hand is strong, and as I’m pulled away, he comes with me.
There’s the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on marble as he darts toward me.
But whoever has an arm around my middle is not willing to let go.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” someone says by my shoulder.
John.
His words are quick, they’re bitter, and they’re disappointed.
Spencer wraps his other hand around my arm. His fingers sink in, and as they do, I can feel an unmistakable charge of magic blast through my flesh, sinking through the muscle, climbing it until it reaches the mark on my left shoulder.
It starts to blaze.
Brighter and brighter.
It finally makes it through my disguise, then starts to light up my arm as if somebody has crammed a candle beneath the skin.
I scream as pain tears through me.
I also lose my disguise in an instant.
No more blue and white mask, no more sexy black dress, no more crinkly hair. I return to my original appearance – my petite form wrapped up in my old jeans, worn shoes, and stained leather jacket.
But none of the other guests see – despite the fact my arm is now blazing with enough light to illuminate half of the room.
Because John has already cast a manipulation spell.
He doesn’t release me as Spencer snarls and jerks forward.
The pain that’s tearing through me is almost unimaginable, but I retain just a scrap of awareness. It allows me to bring up a foot, slam it onto Spencer’s chest, and kick.
Though the tracking mark is playing havoc with my magic, I force as much strength into the move as I can, and finally I break Spencer’s grip on my wrist.
He staggers backward. He doesn’t strike the ground, despite the fact my kick would’ve been enough to down a man three times his size. Instead, he shoves out a foot, shores up his balance, then darts forward.
I can see his determined expression in the eerie light coming from my arm. It’s yellow and gold, and it instantly reminds me of Spencer’s magic.
But at the same time, a different kind of glow reaches out from behind me.
John’s.
It’s this bright white-blue, and reminds me of nature, of the sky, of the ocean.
It’s the kind of color that can open up the mind and heart. It soothes me, just a little, pushing back some of the violence of Spencer’s magic is it wreaks havoc on the mark burnt into my left shoulder.
Things are happening so fast, and yet, they’re not fast enough that I can’t appreciate one fact.
I have been discovered.
I won’t get out of this, will I? I’ll finally be acquired.
That thought is like a battering ram to my chest.
Spencer jerks toward me, but John is e
qually fast on his feet, and he leaps backward.
I don’t know what John is doing to the people in the room, but despite the fact the lights are still out and, by rights, they shouldn’t be able to see, they’re filing through the open doors at the end of the hall, one by one, almost as if they are nothing more than complicit sheep being led to the slaughter.
But they aren’t being led to the slaughter – they’re being shepherded out of the room so they can’t get hurt.
And it’s a very good fact, because as Spencer lunges for me, so much magic spills off his body that it sinks into the floor. It starts to crack, and there’s a god-awful sound as a blast of his force reaches one of the windows to our side.
It shatters in an instant, glass dust hailing everywhere.
Before a single shard of it can cut me, John turns his shoulder toward it, protecting me with the bulk of his body.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says once more, and his voice is still so full of disappointment.
Despite the fact I owe John nothing, that disappointment still affects me.
But it doesn’t have long to shake through me.
I can see Spencer’s growing desperation as he lunges toward me once more. But this time, rather than reach me, he simply spreads a hand out wide. A strange charge of magic loops around his hand, covering his fingers and vibrating over them as if it’s turning into a glove.
A second later, it creates a perfect after image of his hand.
And that hand shoots toward me.
There’s nothing John can do to pull me out of the way this time. The hand latches onto my left shoulder.
My eyes blast wide.
Back in the manor when Spencer first cast this tracking spell, he was interrupted. And though I’m only starting to understand the effects of the spell now, I can appreciate one thing instinctually – when or if he has the opportunity to complete the spell, he’ll acquire me.
And right now, as his disembodied hand clutches my shoulder, I can tell he’s finally attempting to finish casting the spell.
John hisses, and there’s a desperate quality to it as he reaches a hand up, locks it on Spencer’s disembodied hand, and tries to wrench it from my shoulder.
But Spencer’s fingers are dug right in, and they’re locked there with more than mere strength – I can feel this magical field loop around my arm. It’s protecting Spencer’s hand from being wrenched off.
The Last Queen Book Two Page 6