I stiffen up as I realize I can no longer watch freely.
I try to force myself to sit, try to hook my hair behind my ears until I realize it’s too short to do that.
But I can’t just ignore what’s happening right in front of me.
“Spencer is willing to give you one more chance to negotiate. Sacrifice the piece of his choosing, and he will sweep this under the rug.” The man shoves one hand into his pocket and smiles broadly.
There’s something so damn animalistic about the move, and, just for a second, I catch a glimpse of what he is underneath. I can sense his raw power, smell his magic, and, more than anything, feel his desire to attack.
John turns hard on his foot, but as he does, his gaze drifts toward me.
I know I can’t dare to make eye contact – do that, and it might seem obvious that I can see what’s going on here. So I put my head in my hand and pretend to focus on my keyboard.
I can feel John’s gaze, though, as it sweeps past. Just as I can feel twinges of his desperation as he forces himself forward, reaches his door, opens it, and walks in with Spencer’s man at his heel.
The pawn hesitates, casts a glance around the room, then licks its lips. Not with a real tongue, mind you – but with this fleshy white thing that would tell anyone he’s not human.
But the majority of John’s staff don’t react.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Antonio. He’s standing stiffly, kind of like a sentinel blocking off the pawn from retreating back into the building.
The pawn arches its head over its shoulder, shoots Antonio a very specific look, then finally follows its master into John’s office.
The door to John’s office closes with an ominous rattle.
I hear Antonio let out a breath, and he clenches his teeth.
He teeters back-and-forth on his feet, as if he doesn’t know what to do next.
But then something makes up his mind for him. I watch as he snaps his head around and faces the elevator, a deep frown etching across his lips.
I know what’s gotten his attention, because I can feel it too – this kind of tingling that’s jumping up from the floor, biting into my feet, and swaying through my middle like a wave crashing into shore. It’s a strong enough reaction that I have to yank a hand up and flatten it over my stomach, my fingers trembling as they catch against the expensive fabric of my blouse.
I can’t help it anymore, and John’s no longer in the room. So there’s nothing to stop me from punching to my feet as Antonio whirls on his foot, gets into the elevator, and closes the door.
Rosemary frowns at my sudden move. “What is it?”
“... I’m so sorry... but I... I really need to go to the bathroom,” I say with a stutter.
She doesn’t look pleased, and I probably offered her too much information, but she shrugs toward the elevator. “Use the one downstairs,” she says.
“Thanks,” I manage as I shift fast around the bench and try not to break into a full run as I reach the elevator, jam my thumb into the call button, and wait.
Waiting is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, because, with every passing second, I can feel that reaction becoming more and more powerful. It’s no longer like mere tingles racing through my feet and sinking hard into my legs – it’s as if I’m standing in an electrified pool.
I can sense that there’s danger outside. And it’s danger Antonio is probably going to plunge headfirst into.
Though I’ve barely had any interactions with Antonio, and, if he knew who I really was, he’d hate me, that doesn’t matter. I know he’s a good guy. And I can’t just stand here and let him wander into danger.
I can thank my lucky stars for one fact as the elevator finally arrives and I throw myself into it, shoving my finger against the ground button and waiting for the elevator did ascend. Thanks to the food John gave me last night and the shelter and protection of this building, I’m raring to go. I’m no longer weak. What’s more, that invisible connection between me and John is begging me to do something – and it’s giving me power.
I can feel it lapping through my veins, begging to be let out.
I ride the elevator all the way down to the atrium, then I spill out. I try not to run, but I straighten my back and stride swiftly, jerking my head from this way to that as I try to find Antonio.
I can’t see him, and quickly realize that if I have any chance of figuring out where he’s gone, I have to feel with my magic, instead.
So I do – I kind of push my feelings out in front of me as I half close my eyes and let a pressured breath through my stiff white lips.
... It takes a while, but second by second, I attune to the building – enough that it tells me Antonio is no longer inside.
I jerk my head up, opening my eyes wide and fixing them on the massive glass doors that lead down to the street below.
Though there are plenty of people milling in front of them, I narrow my gaze and focus my senses until I can appreciate one fact – Antonio is not standing out there pretending to be a doorman again.
No... he’s around the side of the building, isn’t he?
Don’t ask me how I can possibly know that. It has to have something to do with the connection I have to this building. Because I swear, even though the building is inanimate – just made of so much concrete, steel, and glass – it’s still calling out to me in a frightened voice.
Rather than rush out of the main doors and try to reach the side of the building, I head straight toward one of the service doors, instead. The same service door I parked my mop and bucket outside of last night when I fled the atrium.
I stride through it, shifting past one of the cleaners as I tilt my head hard to the side.
Wherever Antonio is, he’s in trouble. And as I finally make it through the service door and the cleaner leaves into the atrium, I break into a run. There’s no one to see me nor hear me as my heels frantically pound the floor.
I reach the side door out into the street, and I open it as fast as I can.
I spill outside, instantly jerking my head up until it feels like I’ll crack the skin under my neck.
I scan the horizon line, I smell, I feel, I use every single one of my senses until finally I get a lock on Antonio.
He’s around the side in one of the alleyways.
I break into a run, but as I do, I ensure there’s no one around me.
And then?
I bring both hands up and flatten them toward the pavement as my legs frantically sprint.
Magic pulses out of my hands and sails down toward the bitumen. As it sinks into it, I warp space.
It’s so damn easy for me. Almost as if I’m simply flicking a switch. In a manner of seconds, an effect field opens up around me, bending reality until it ensures no one can see me, no one can hear me, and no one can interact with me.
At the same time, I bring up one of my hands and swipe it across my chest. I feel my disguise simply shift away in a scatter of sparks.
My hair flops around my face, sturdy shoes form around my feet, and, most importantly, my leather jacket hugs my shoulders and forms against my back.
I push into a full-on sprint now, running as fast as I possibly can, knowing that with every second Antonio is running out of time.
As I reach the side of the building, keeping one hand held flat toward the pavement and ensuring that my effect field follows me wherever I go, I stop suddenly.
I’ve been working at Rowley Tower for over a week and a half now, and I know the building. Even before I started working here, I knew the general layout of this block. So that’s why the sight in front of me is so goddamn startling.
Rowley Tower is still there, sure – but just beside it is this long squat building with a flat roof – one that almost looks like a strange amalgamation between a modern building and an old castle.
I have time to open my eyes wide in utter surprise, but I hear someone scream.
Not even thinking about how muc
h magic it takes and how incredible it is, I force myself to jump right up the side of that building until I land on the roof.
I can hear people scrabbling just up ahead.
Now I’m standing on the building, I can appreciate it’s kind of like a wall. That’s it – it looks like the twisting Great Wall of China – except it’s in the middle of Rival City.
If this crazy world of magic and pawns hadn’t already blown my mind a trillion times over, this sight would have completely undermined me.
But I hold onto my strength and sense of determination as I run forward.
Soon enough, I see Antonio.
He’s on his knees, one hand clutched against his wounded shoulder.
In front of him are people.
One of them I recognize – the man at the back.
Spencer.
He’s sitting on a throne – a gold, ornate throne, both legs crossed over one another, head held in his hand, a bored expression on his face.
He can’t see me – I’m leaning out from behind a large chunk of carved stone, and Spencer is fixing all of his cruel attention on Antonio.
In front of Antonio are four people. I say people – but that’s a generous term.
They are all charged with magic. Something I can see even from here. Some of them are blue, some of them are red, some of them gold.
And all of them are attacking.
Below Antonio is... it’s a chess board. Except it’s made out of pure crackling magic. Alternating black and white squares of power.
Just the sight of it is enough to completely still me.
It does something... powerful to my gut, to my heart, to my everything. It reaches in, wraps invisible hands around my organs, and tries to squeeze them flat. I honestly feel as if somebody is throttling me.
I even bring up a hand and flatten it over my mouth, gasping into it to ensure that my voice can’t carry.
Though Spencer’s people – or pieces, if that’s what they are – attack, somehow Antonio holds them back.
Then the board switches. A crackle passes over it, I can hear a crack, and I can feel the shift in energy.
Antonio staggers to his feet. He still has one hand clutched on his shoulder, and there’s a massive gash in his brow.
“This is an illegal move,” he spits, voice harsh.
“Killing my fifth was an illegal move. This is simply justified retribution,” Spencer answers.
“We didn’t kill your fifth.”
“You have no evidence to support that fact,” Spencer says. His head is still in his hand, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his jaw. There’s a specific kind of smile spreading his lips. It’s one of cold victory.
“Rowley won’t let you get away with this,” Antonio hisses.
“John Rowley will have no option but to let me get away with this. For the time is coming very soon,” Spencer finally lets his hand drop. It falls into his lap, and he secures it on his knee as he leans forward and continues, “when Rowley will fall.”
“You don’t have the power to take him on,” Antonio says, shaking his head desperately. But even though the move is desperate, the look in his gaze is fixed, and it is clear to anyone watching that he believes what he’s saying.
Spencer simply smiles. It’s even colder than before, and makes me feel as if I’ve been transported to the Arctic. “Trust me when I say you are mistaken.”
“You can take me, but it won’t make any difference – Rowley’s pieces are loyal to him. It won’t make any difference,” Antonio repeats. Blood splatters across his lip and flicks over his collar. The collar is torn and shows more of the great big red, purple bruise that was inflicted on him in my kitchen.
“True – you will make little difference. But it’s not you I’m ultimately after. Now, submit. Play your turn,” Spencer says.
I can feel... some kind of charge building in the air. It’s almost as if we’re about to be struck by lightning.
It’s concentrating on the chessboard, though – on those perfect black and white crackling squares.
It seems to be forcing Antonio to do something, and though he tries to stand there perfectly still, something zaps up from his feet and forces him forward.
He stumbles. As he does, it pushes him out of the white square he’s standing on.
As soon as his boot crosses over onto one of the black squares, I see magic erupt over him. It’s the first full evidence I’ve seen that he can produce power.
With a scream cracking from his lips, he finally lets his hand drop from his shoulder, and he thrusts forward, blue sparks collecting over his hand as he forms it into a fist. He drives it into the gut of the man just in front of him.
It’s a seriously strong blow – and I swear I can feel the magic rippling off it from here. It’s more than enough to drive the man to his knees.
“Maybe you will make a difference after all,” Spencer chuckles to himself, despite the fact one of his pieces falls.
As the man does, he slams against the black square he’s standing on, his face impacting with the charging black magic. In an instant, he disappears. He doesn’t die – there’s no blood, there are no broken bones, there are no screams. He just goes from lying there one second to disappearing the next.
Spencer shrugs. But he flicks his hand to the side, and I feel another change in the air. Something crackles through the board, and it becomes clear it’s Spencer’s turn.
Both of his pieces round on Antonio.
I see Antonio’s eyes widen with a jerk.
This is it. Something tells me that this is it. Antonio doesn’t have the strength to withstand another attack.
So far, I’ve just been standing here, pressed up against the stone pillar, hiding my fear as I plant a sweaty hand over my mouth.
But something suddenly pushes me out.
I take one solid step out of the shadow of the stone pillar, then another.
Antonio is trying to defend as both of Spencer’s remaining pieces attack him, but suddenly he jerks his head up and stares at me.
Spencer stops. He’s still on his gold throne, still has his back to me.
But in a single second, he reaches his hand forward, spreads his fingers wide, and sends an invisible charge of magic toward his remaining two pieces. They pause. One of them had leaped into the air, fist rounded, ready to attack Antonio – but the man simply stops, right there in the air, as if he’s a piece of footage that somebody has paused.
Spencer Gates turns in his throne.
It’s a moment I will never forget for as long as I live. The slow, steady, careful way he shifts over his shoulder. The way his eyes lock on me.
The way they shift from my leather jacket, down to my old, bedraggled shoes, then up to my eyes.
He doesn’t ask who I am. He doesn’t demand to know how I got here.
No. Because as he looks into my eyes and I look back into his, he manages to do what John could not.
Spencer Gates recognizes me.
“You’re here,” he says, and there’s a husky quality to his voice. It’s completely different to the cruel, harsh tone he was using on Antonio seconds before.
It’s almost vulnerable.
Antonio has fallen down onto one knee, and has one bloodied hand pressed into the black square beneath him. His head is held up high, though, and I can see his eyes narrow and lock on me even from here.
His lips jerk open as blood still splashes down from the deep gash in his brow. “It’s you. You were one of Spencer’s pieces?” he stutters.
Neither I nor Spencer answer. Spencer seems too focused on staring at me. And suffice to say, in all my life, I have never received attention like this. It’s so damn penetrating, so damn all-encompassing – it’s as if the rest of the universe has fallen away, and even if every single object of power and wealth aligned in front of Spencer, he wouldn’t dare jerk his gaze off me.
And as for me? Just as I am connected to John, it is now abundantly clear that I s
hare the same visceral connection to Spencer.
Though I want to tell myself that this man is evil, repugnant, cruel – nothing more than a bastard. I can’t tell my body that. I get the same desire to run toward him, and yet an equally strong desire to run away.
As a consequence, I just kind of... stand there and stare at him.
“You illegally killed Walter,” Antonio spits. “He wasn’t even part of this game. You’ll pay,” Antonio says. He’s speaking to me.
Even if I can’t dare jerk my gaze off Spencer, I can feel Antonio’s hatred snaking into me.
This finally forces Spencer to react. Still not taking his eyes off me, a satisfied smile spreads his lips, curling one side high until it pushes his cheek against his blue eyes. “And this is why you will never win,” Spencer says, turning his head to face Antonio, but never looking away from me.
... Walter.
Just the mention of the name does something to me. It ignites a feeling deep in my chest – the same goading, awful nauseous sorrow I felt when Walter died in my arms. A sorrow that has been repeated through my life since that fateful day when everything I’ve known was stolen from me.
And it’s all because of this man, isn’t it?
Spencer.
I already know it was his pawns that killed Walter.
He’s the man responsible for my life falling apart.
That fact sinks into me, and it allows me to finally clench my teeth, jerk my head to the side, and pull my gaze off Spencer’s.
As I do, I swear it’s like a rubber band being pulled and then flicking back on itself.
There’s a twang, and though I wasn’t touching Spencer – though I was nowhere near close enough to reach out a hand and clasp his shoulder – he’s shoved back in his throne.
It takes him several seconds to shake his head, to blink – and by that time, I’m already moving.
Not toward him.
To the side.
Even though Antonio thinks I’m a monster – I’m still going to save him.
I don’t know why. I don’t know anything about this world – that’s more than clear enough now. Because if you’d asked me if I could ever have a moment like that with a monster like Spencer, I would’ve laughed in your face. But I can’t deny the import of our first meeting as it fills my heart and sends tingles spreading through my skin.
The Last Queen Book One Page 14
