The Last Queen Book One

by Odette C. Bell

  “Thank you,” I say.

  We descend into silence.

  An awkward kind of watchful silence.

  He’s staring at me openly, and me, I’m watching him with everything apart from my eyes.

  I know that sounds crazy – you can only watch things with your eyes. But you’re forgetting that I’m a freak.

  As John stands there several meters in front of me, I can feel him with my heart, sense him with my chest, know him with my mind.

  But then he finally clears his throat, watches me for another second, then smiles. “Good night, Sarah,” he says.

  I almost don’t react. Then I remind myself that the name I gave my employees in the cleaning department was Sarah Smith.

  I nod. “Thank you, sir,” I say.

  “Call me John,” he says.

  “... Thank you, John,” I manage.

  We have another moment, then John pulls himself away.

  He closes the door.

  I stare at it, for almost a minute and a half until I turn around and flop down on the bed. I hook the pillow under an arm and pull it close, smooshing my face into it.

  Though I have nothing to smile about, my lips curl of their own accord.

  I’m safe and fed, and I have somewhere to sleep. More than that? Tomorrow, I’ll start working for John himself.

  I... maybe I have a future after all.

  Though I can’t appreciate it now, that is a statement I will rue.

  Chapter 10

  I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning at 5:30, refreshed. I haven’t had that much sleep, but that’s not the point. The sleep I managed to get was the most restful I’ve had for the past several years.

  I shift up out of my bed and yawn, spreading my arms wide. As I do, my arm brushes up against some of the junk stowed behind the bed, and it falls down toward me.

  I barely have to shift as I reach several fingers out and catch it before it can fall on my head.

  I feel strong. And that brings a smile to my lips as I finally stand up.

  Though my room is a complete mess, that doesn’t stop me from making my bed lovingly.

  Once I’m done, I glance at the clock on the opposite side of the wall. It’s old and dusty, just like the room, but it has a certain charm about it. It’s also counting down the minutes until I have to go and meet John for my first day of work.

  The mere thought of it sends a certain kind of tingle racing through my gut. It’s one that’s a hell of a lot deeper than anything else I’ve experienced around him to date. And that’s saying something, considering John Rowley seems to have the exclusive ability to make my body shudder from the inside out.

  No, wait, the ability isn’t exclusive.

  Though the thought of Spencer Gates terrifies me, at the same time, I have to admit that I’m drawn to him equally as much as I’m drawn to John. This isn’t the emotional me speaking, either. As I bring a hand down and clutch it on my gut, spreading the fingers wide over my T-shirt, I appreciate that it’s the magic within my veins talking.

  “One way or another, I have to start to get solutions,” I say through clenched teeth as I shift toward the door.

  I head straight to the kitchen, make myself a snack, and I force myself not to go overboard – even though my stomach rumbles like an earthquake.

  I tell myself that I don’t need to eat all the food in the fridge as yet. If I go through everything, John is going to suspect something. And if I get too hungry, I can just go back to dumpster diving, right? Even if that will technically take me out of the protection of Rowley Tower.

  Once I’m finished my breakfast, I head back to my makeshift room, and I tell myself it’s time to get ready for my first day at work.

  I pause just as I reach my room. I look down. I’m still technically in my cleaning gear. I say technically, because it’s a disguise – just an extension of my magic. And, with a simple thought, it can change, right? Though I certainly don’t have the money to go out and buy myself a professional, expensive skirt and blouse, that doesn’t matter, does it?

  And yet, at the same time, if I show up to work wearing designer gear, Rowley is going to question my story.

  I don’t have too long to stand there in front of my door, wondering what the hell I’m going to do.

  Before too long, I hear footsteps.

  I think I’m becoming more attuned to Rowley Tower the more I stay here. Because I hear the footsteps long before somebody finally turns down the corridor and heads toward me.

  It’s Antonio.

  Though it’s been several weeks, he still has a massive bruise over his throat, though he’s clearly trying to hide it with the jacked-up collar of his uniform.

  He shoots me a grin as he comes toward me. “You’re Sarah, right? John told me to give you these.”

  He reaches me and hands me a bag full of clothes.

  I look down at it in surprise, glance up at him, and manage a quick, “Ah, thanks.”

  “John said not to hurry. Work doesn’t technically start till nine.”

  “I want to make a good impression on my first day,” I say.

  Antonio shoots me a confusing smile. “By the sounds of it, you’ve already done that. It’s not every day that John Rowley picks a random member of cleaning staff and gives them a job as his own secretary.”

  I freeze. Not completely – I don’t lose myself enough that fear plasters my face and I stare back in shock. But it takes a hell of a lot of effort not to look like a stunned mullet.

  ... What the hell does this mean? Does John suspect me?

  Antonio’s smile grows wider. “Don’t freak out – John just... how can I put this? He likes to read people,” Antonio says.

  I blink hard. “What do you mean?”

  Now Antonio is not holding the clothes anymore, he shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs expressively. “He’s always had a talent for looking into somebody’s eyes and getting a gauge on who they are. And he likes to surround himself with good people.”

  I soften, if only a little. The suspicion raging through my gut is still there, but it’s slightly mollified. Antonio seems to believe what he’s saying.

  But I can’t forget what he originally pointed out – that it’s not every day that John Rowley himself picks a random member of cleaning staff and elevates them to a position of his own secretary.

  I swallow expressively. “... Just what will be expected of me? I’ve never actually had any experience as a secretary.”

  Antonio shrugs again, and I catch just a glimpse of that dark purple and red bruise over his throat. It makes me sick to my stomach, and reminds me of the exact way Antonio’s eyes widened with suspicion when he saw Walter’s wallet on my kitchen table. “There’ll be other secretaries on the top floor. They’ll help you. But basically, it’s just like a PA – you take phone calls, arrange meetings, and do whatever he says. He’ll be kind to you for the first couple of weeks. Don’t worry – we all need training when we start with John,” Antonio says, and there’s an... odd quality about it.

  It makes me fix my gaze on him. “How long have you been working for him?” I ask out of the blue. I control my tone, even though it’s hard. Because this question is leading. I don’t honestly care what date Antonio started working as John’s doorman – what I really care about is when Antonio started working for John in a magical sense.

  Because Antonio is one of John’s pieces, right? Just as the fifth was one of Spencer’s pieces, John’s doorman belongs to... to what? This game of chess?

  Even thinking that makes me shake my head again.

  This entire scenario is ridiculous. And yet, it’s one I’m living. So, forcing my lips to spread, I smile.

  Antonio brings a hand up, scratches his chin, and shrugs again. I’m starting to appreciate that shrugging is his go-to move, just as smiling is John’s. “God, I don’t know – it’s been at least 10 years now,” Antonio manages.

  I frown. Though I don’t know exactly how old John is, t
hat seems like a long time. “I... don’t really know enough about this company, but I wasn’t aware it had been running that long.”

  Antonio’s smile stiffens – if only a little. Then he gives another shrug, and there’s something so expressive about the move that it’s obvious he’s trying to distract me. “My family have always served the Rowley’s. In some capacity or another,” he adds. “Anyhow, when you’re dressed, head up to the penthouse floor. John will be waiting.” With that, Antonio smoothly retracts himself from the conversation, turns, waves, and walks off.

  As he does, he draws up a hand, inserts a finger into his collar, and tries to neaten it. I catch more of a glance of the massive bruise that spread over his throat, and my stomach twists.

  I don’t know how... important a piece Antonio is, but there’s something I have to appreciate. He wouldn’t be an ordinary pawn like the ones I’m so used to fighting at night. Somehow I get the impression that he’s about as powerful as the fifth. And though I was confused for most of the fight with the fifth, I still managed to defeat her easily.

  ... Which means what, exactly?

  That I’m really starting to appreciate that I’m... a queen?

  When Antonio is fully out of sight, I bring a hand up, slam it over my face, and shake my head from side to side as if I’m trying to dislodge my very brain.

  That, of course, doesn’t work, so I walk back into my room and change quickly.

  I have no mirror to appreciate my appearance, but that doesn’t matter, as from just one look down my figure, I can appreciate that the clothes suit me. Or at least, they suit my current disguise.

  Thankful for the fact I chose to have short hair that I don’t need to brush, I run my fingers through it then promptly turn on the spot.

  I head through the building, reach a set of elevators, and finally make it to the penthouse floor.

  There’s something that feels a lot like climbing a mountain as I head up through the lifts. My stomach clenches, and it’s not just because I’m traveling fast. It’s... I can’t explain it.

  Finally the lifts ping and open, and the next thing I know, I’m striding out into the penthouse floor.

  It’s amazing. Though the rest of the building is impressive, this floor... it feels like a castle. Not some megalithic structure, but something from the days of yore. Something with import and power.

  I take a careful, tentative step out of the elevator, as if I’m worried that the floor will swallow me up somehow.

  Despite the fact it’s only 6 o’clock in the morning, there are still people around, and I quickly appreciate that they must be some of John’s senior staff.

  Though a few of them glance my way, no one looks at me suspiciously, and it’s clear to me that John has already told everybody that I’ll be starting today.

  Nervously, I bring a hand up and compulsively neaten my blouse as I walk toward the massive counter near the elevators.

  Behind the counter and to the left is an imposing door. There’s only one person who can be behind it, I tell myself as my stomach clenches and a race of tingles jumps down my back.

  John.

  Christ, I can feel him from here.

  I expect him to come out and greet me. No, I want him to come out and greet me.

  That invisible connection that spreads between us seems to be acting up more and more, and with every step I take, my back slicks with sweat.

  My heart races, too, promising me he’s just around the corner.

  But he doesn’t come to greet me. Instead, someone who looks like the chief secretary shifts around from the main counter and introduces herself.

  “You’ll be working here for now.” She nods toward a seat and a computer.

  “Thank you, I’m Sarah.”

  “And I’m Rosemary. I will be teaching you the ropes slowly over the next couple of weeks, but there’s one thing you should understand to begin with,” she says as she looks at me with her piercing blue eyes.

  I swallow. “Okay?”

  “John Rowley deserves utmost loyalty,” she says, and there is such force behind her tone, it’s as if she’s some kind of drill sergeant.

  I stand there and kind of blink awkwardly. I draw up a hand to shift my hair over my shoulder, but realize too late that it’s short. So I clear my throat. “Oh, of course.”

  “He has given us all a position, and keeps us safe. And he deserves our loyalty,” she continues.

  ... Okay. This is weird.

  I don’t point that out. I smile and nod.

  Though Rosemary proves to be generally intense, she calms down a little as she stops talking about loyalty. She sets me up, and before I know it, I’m a secretary.

  Or am I? Because though I pay attention to what Rosemary tells me with half an ear, the rest of my senses I lock on this building.

  I try to tell myself that I need to prioritize finding out just how much John knows first.

  I also, as a matter of equal importance, have to figure out just how powerful Spencer is. I can’t forget that out there, wherever he is, he’s looking for me.

  Before I know it, the early morning ticks into midday. I’m kept busy, but thankfully with tasks I can manage.

  I’m a quick study, even if I only ever pay half of my attention to what I’m doing.

  It gives me more than enough time and focus to appreciate certain details of the penthouse floor.

  The first and most prominent is the floor. It’s made out of black and white marble – and, you guessed it, looks exactly like a chessboard.

  Though I’ve been trying to deny the prospect that everything that’s going on with me has to do with some... magical game of chess, seeing that floor changes things. It ignites more and more questions.

  It takes until midday before I finally see John.

  He strides out of his office with no warning – but I don’t need a warning. Even if the other secretaries around me appear to be surprised when his large doors open with a creak and he marches out, I know he’s coming. Because I can feel him.

  There’s this snapping kind of tingling pressure in my heart, almost as if I’m connected to his body by a bungee rope.

  I look up several seconds before the doors open, then I even stand.

  As John strides out, he seems to be in a world of his own until he glances at me from the side.

  I don’t know where to look. A part of me wants to make eye contact – direct eye contact – and the rest of me wants to hide under my desk. So I fumble around, playing with my hair instead.

  He pauses before the counter. “Are you settling in well?” he asks.

  I nod. I open my mouth to say thank you again for the job, but I pause. Because I feel something.

  This sense that wells right up through me, starting at my feet and shooting toward my head.

  It makes me shiver slightly, and before I know what I’m doing, I dart my head toward the elevators on the opposite side of the room.

  “What—” John begins. He was looking right at my face when I reacted, and my expression would’ve been unguarded as a sense of shock welled through me.

  But he stops halfway through his question, because the elevator beeps and opens.

  And out walk three people.

  At the lead is Antonio, and he looks immeasurably worried as he darts his gaze behind him and locks it on two men.

  One of them is one of Spencer’s guards – one of the massive be-suited brutes he brought with him last night. The other?

  It’s a pawn.

  I recognize that immediately. I don’t even need to dart quickly to the side to try to catch a glimpse of its flickering magical disguise.

  I feel it straight away.

  And I wonder if John does, too. Because he straightens up until he pulls to his full height.

  His dark, questioning gaze darts from Antonio to the man at the lead, then to the pawn.

  I may have only known Antonio for a short period of time, but I can tell from the way he looks entre
atingly at John that he’s trying to communicate something with his eyes.

  John swallows and shoves his hands into his pockets. It’s not a casual move, though – from the exact tension playing along his shoulders and sweeping down his side, he looks as if he’s getting ready to catapult at the man in the lead.

  I can feel his tension from here. God knows I can feel it. With every second, it’s like wire tightening around my gut, looping over my middle, and getting ready to tug me off my feet.

  The connection between me and John becomes twice as powerful until it’s the hardest damn thing in the universe not to reach a hand out to him, not to help him.

  “I wasn’t aware we had a meeting,” John manages through stiff white lips.

  “Spencer is keen to get that matter sorted,” the man says. He has a deep, gravelly voice that sounds like a quarry being torn from the side of a mountain.

  The pawn doesn’t stand next to him, but instead maintains a steady distance about a meter behind, and it would be clear to anyone that its taking up a defensive position.

  I’m still on my feet, and it gives me the vantage I need to let my gaze sweep between everybody on the penthouse floor. I wonder just how many of them know what John truly is and what’s about to happen.

  The man nods toward John’s door, and the look in his eyes is already victorious. But there’s nothing I can do as John takes a hard breath and nods once. It’s stiff, but it’s still a nod.

  The man smiles. “Spencer said you would be willing to cooperate. Spencer said you know how much is at stake,” the man adds, his voice dropping low.

  As it does... I swear there’s this kind of ripple. It’s as if somebody has thrown a stone in a pond and the waves have spread out throughout the room.

  Though Rosemary, John’s stiff-lipped secretary, looked worried seconds before, now she relaxes as she turns around and gets back to what she was doing.

  Most of John’s other staff do, too.

  ... That was a spell, wasn’t it?

  Spencer’s man cast some kind of field over this room to stop people from seeing what he’s doing and from hearing what they’re talking about.