Agents, Agreements and Aggravations: In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service™ Book Three

by Anderle, Michael

  Jennie took a step back and studied the pile. The pages were yellow and somehow damp. There was a faint white glow leaking from the center.

  “It’s funny. When you think of poltergeists, you don’t think of studious specters.” Jennie’s voice echoed loudly around the basement. “You must have absorbed quite the store of information in that tidy little bed of yours.”

  For a moment, there was no response. Then, with a sudden monstrous ferocity, three poltergeists burst out from the books, exploding the pages around them into a sudden storm.

  A deafening cackle followed them as they flew around the basement, whipping up trails of debris and mess wherever they soared.

  “Or not…” Jennie studied their movements. She lowered the arms she had raised in defense against the papers that floated to the ground like fallen leaves and narrowed her eyes at the glowing specters.

  They simultaneously sped back toward her, coming at Jennie from different angles. Jennie ducked at the last moment and they all collided, bashing their heads and crashing to the floor.

  Jennie winked. “Oops.”

  Their expressions of anger and pain were replaced with mischief. The poltergeists exchanged a look, then spun rapidly around Jennie, closing her into a tight circle as more and more debris was drawn into their tornado.

  Jennie stood placidly in the center, biding her time, and when the poltergeists stopped, and the debris eventually stopped, too, they were gone. Far from sight.

  But not from sound, Jennie thought as she heard the fading cackles of one of the poltergeists.

  Jennie massaged one of her temples with her thumb and forefinger and sighed. I forget how much poltergeists like playing games. Maybe Baxter’s having more luck than me? She glanced at the ceiling, hoping to hear something, but no sound came back.

  Chapter Two

  Richmond, Virginia, USA

  Baxter recalibrated himself on the way up the stairs. He wasn’t sure where the initial fear had come from. He had been a specter for almost a century, and he had come across ghosts and specters of all types along the way.

  He supposed some of it had come from the world that Jennie opened his eyes to. He’d always thought he knew enough about the spectral world that nothing would surprise him, yet along the way he had encountered wraiths, sturmgeists, the Obake, and a whole host of things he had never dreamed would be able to exist in the world.

  Not to mention Jennie, of course. She was a breed all of her own.

  Baxter drew his pistol and readied his wrench—that helped steel his nerves. The piano had fallen silent, but that did nothing to settle his imagination. The only saving grace he had was that the stairs made no noise under the feather-weight of his spectral feet.

  The upstairs might once have been beautiful. Gold-framed portraits lined the walls, vases stood on pedestals. A faded blood-red carpet lined the upstairs hallway. Baxter was able to see in each direction for a hundred feet or so before the hallway came to an abrupt end. A multitude of doors led off the hallway, and that was only the second story. The stairs lapped back on themselves and made their way to the third story, too.

  No wonder Jennie seemed so interested in this place. It’s huge! The potential here is amazing…

  He padded carefully along the hall toward where instinct told him the piano had been playing. A doorway with a golden plaque reading, Music Room, confirmed his suspicions.

  He melted through the door and came into a room filled with musical instruments. The walls were lined with guitars, and a grand piano took center stage, hidden beneath a large gray sheet. The curtains flapped gently in a breeze that seemed impossible, given that the windows had been closed when Baxter had looked up at the second-story from outside.

  A childish giggle sent a chill down Baxter’s spine. Something white flashed behind the piano.

  “Hello?” Baxter offered to the room. “Who’s there?”

  He skirted the piano and looked underneath, but there was no one there. A blast of music caused him to jump, and he would have bashed his head against the underside of the piano had he been mortal.

  He rose to his full height and narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t quite see the keys playing, but the music was actually rather pretty, a melody he had heard before, but had never bothered to learn the name of the song or composer.

  “Impressive,” he called out. “But can you play something a bit more contemporary? Take Me to Church by Hozier, perhaps?”

  Surprisingly, the piano obeyed, immediately playing the melancholy steps among minor chords.

  Baxter scratched his chin. “Not bad, not bad. What about some Beatles?”

  The piano switched effortlessly into an enchanting rendition of the Beatles’ Let It Be.

  Baxter grinned as he skirted the piano, half-expecting to find someone in the seat. When he reached the front, he could see no sign of anyone there. The keys were moving by themselves.

  While Baxter knew that there were some specters blessed with the ability to turn wholly invisible, among them were the terrifying wraiths, something told him that he was missing something. When he had encountered wraiths before, he had felt the air cool and had been met with a soul-filling chill.

  Baxter sat on the piano stool and placed his fingers on the keys. He had never played the piano before but had always imagined that one day he might learn. He hit the keys spasmodically, thumping his fingers down and sending a chorus of dissonance into the room. The sound was awful, notes clashing, highs and lows overlapping, but after a few seconds, something interesting happened.

  Grunts and cries of protest came from inside the piano. Baxter raised an eyebrow and lifted the lid. Inside were two creatures he could only describe as spectral imps, clutching the still-vibrating strings and curling their bodies away from the hammers.

  Baxter jumped back, letting the lid slam back down on the imps.

  “Ow!” one of them complained.

  “Stupid giant,” the other reprimanded.

  Baxter suddenly felt sorry for the pair. He imagined them inside the piano, having to avoid the hammers as they slammed on the strings and made their music. He opened the lid again, but they were both gone.

  White-hot pain seared his ankles.

  “Son of a—” Baxter kicked at the two creatures whose teeth were locked onto his flesh. They clung tightly, not dissuaded from their mission as he kicked and kicked. When that didn’t work, Baxter reached down and plucked them off by the scruffs of their necks.

  He held them up in front of his face as they grunted and lashed out with their hands. They had short, sharp claws and their teeth ended in needle-like points. Their eyes were narrowed, and they gnashed their teeth as though their lives depended on it.

  “What the hell are you two?” He shook them violently, and they calmed themselves. “You’ve got a hell of a chomp.”

  “You hurt us,” the one on the left growled. Her hair was shoulder-length, and she wore a dress that was in near-tatters. Pale skin poked out between the holes showing flesh covered in scars. “You’re mean.”

  The other imp, a male with thick eyebrows and a ruined shirt, agreed. “What was that for? We played your music, didn’t we?”

  Baxter’s face softened. “You’re both specters. The hammers couldn’t hurt you. They just pass straight through you, don’t they?”

  The female imp began cackling, revealing her impressive display of razor-like teeth. She vibrated in his hands, the laughter wracking her whole body. “You’re not stupid like the others. You’re not stupid at all! Those mortal children, they’re easy to fool, but you’re a tough one.”

  The boy imp joined in her laughter, creating an orchestra that was painful to Baxter’s ears. He had been tempted to join them, but the harsh squeals of their mirth gnawed at his eardrums.

  “Will you two stop it?”

  The pair looked at each other, then repeated in mockery, “Will you two stop it!”

  Their laughter only grew louder. As they jiggled in his hands, Baxte
r noticed that more music was joining in. The piano began to play of its own volition, strings joined the chorus, and a trumpet began to blow from somewhere.

  Baxter scanned the room but could find no sign of the brass section. When he looked back at his hands, the imps were gone, their laughter dissipating into the strange symphony.

  What the hell is going on?

  “Where’d ya go?” he called through cupped hands that soon clapped to his ears in an effort to drown out the din.

  The imps melted into view on the piano top, their legs swinging off the edge above the keys. Baxter became aware of movement all around him, and the next thing he knew, there were dozens of the little creatures appearing from behind all the instruments.

  They leered at him with hungry, entertained eyes.

  “Shit,” Baxter muttered, turning to the door, only to find more blocking his path. He glanced at his wrench and sighed.

  * * *

  Jennie heard the faintest thumps of the action occurring above her, but she was too far away to help. The poltergeists were playing hide and seek, and if there’s one thing that Jennie excelled at, it was finding specters.

  She closed her eyes and latched onto their spectral frequencies. In the dark space behind her eyelids, she could see them as though she were an infrared camera, and their heat signatures betrayed them. She homed in on the one closest to her and advanced on him.

  “Poltergeists…” she crooned, stepping carefully over the detritus that littered the floor. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

  She approached a stack of broken chairs and could see his eyes staring directly at her. She didn’t blame him for assuming he was safe. He didn’t know the full extent of her gifts, after all.

  When she was within ten feet, the chairs barreled toward her. The poltergeist leapt out with a jolly cackle and grabbed anything that came to his hands, hurling pieces of furniture violently at Jennie.

  Jennie blocked a chair with her arms, then sidestepped so she had a clear line of sight. She narrowed her eyes and muttered, “Bingo,” before extending her arms and latching onto the poltergeist.

  A tendril of spectral energy wormed its way from the poltergeist toward her body, and she felt the satisfying connection the moment it joined. Through the tendril, she felt the poltergeist’s energy. She understood his emotions and the limits of his powers.

  The poltergeist was too busy with attacking Jennie. He only felt the bond when it was too late. He held a chair leg in his hand and tried to beat at the tendril, but the leg passed right through it. In a sudden burst of panic, he tossed the leg at Jennie and tried to speed away.

  He only made it five feet before Jennie stilled him, using the tendril to hold him back. The poltergeist’s power filtered through her and she felt herself begin to rise, floating above the ground with her arms out like a religious effigy of old.

  The poltergeist continued wriggling, his instincts telling him to find some way—any way—to wreak as much havoc and destruction as possible. It was in their natures, they were chaotic, mischievous things who cared not for the people they hurt.

  And this one was scared.

  Jennie dragged the poltergeist toward her. The closer he got, the harder he fought, his face twisted into a mask of anger. His teeth sharpened to points, and his ears were elongated, giving him an elf-like appearance.

  Jennie pulled the poltergeist until he was just out of arm’s reach. She wasn’t stupid enough to bring him within range of damaging her, after all. She locked eyes with the poltergeist and grinned. “One down, three to go.”

  The poltergeist responded with a blood-curdling yowl. He opened his mouth, unhinging his jaw to create the horrendous cry.

  The other two poltergeists responded to the call, emerging from their hiding places and streaming toward Jennie and her captive.

  Jennie used the poltergeist’s power to fuel her flight. She locked her arms to her side and sped like a bullet around the basement, narrowly avoiding the pair who gave chase, the poltergeist she had captured looking like a passenger stuck in a motorcycle’s sidecar.

  She slalomed around pillars, avoiding the projectiles the other poltergeists picked up and tossed as they flew after her. She wanted to outrun them, to circle behind them and get into a position where she could take them both down together, but that option appeared to be off the table. Those suckers were damn fast.

  Jennie darted toward the basement stairs and abruptly stopped. Caught off-guard, the pair struggled to stop their own momentum, and as they almost crashed into Jennie, she threw out her arms and sent two additional tendrils to latch onto the pair.

  Jennie struggled for breath. “That’s two, and that’s three.” She lowered herself to her feet, thankful to feel the sturdiness of the floor beneath her, and left the other three hovering around her like moons around a planet.

  “You’ve got some kick to your power,” Jennie admired. “But I don’t think much of your hiding skills. You’ve got this whole house to yourself, and you hang out among the shit that has been discarded, used, and forgotten. Why is that?”

  The poltergeists growled, none of them wishing to say a word. Jennie brought them closer to the ground and played with her powers, holding them tightly under her control.

  Jennie smiled coldly when they didn’t reply. “It’s probably best you tell me willingly. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a particular set of skills that could make your world a living nightmare.”

  The poltergeist on her right opened his mouth, then closed it when the others narrowed their eyes at him. He had a dark sweep of hair that remained impossibly combed back and glued to his skull. He wore a crimson dressing robe that floated as lazily as he did.

  Jennie pointed in his direction. “You were going to say something. What was it?”

  The poltergeist glanced at the others, then lowered his eyes.

  “Tell me!” Jennie shouted, making a conscious effort to drain his powers from him. The tendril binding the pair flashed a bright white and thickened while the glow that had been coming from the poltergeist began to dull. His eyes widened in alarm, and a series of guttural utterances came from his throat.

  Jennie pushed some of his powers back toward him. “Ready to talk?

  The poltergeist furrowed his brow. “You talk to us of nightmares, yet you have no idea, human.” His voice was like that of an eighty-year-smoker, every syllable was an effort.

  The others shook their heads in an effort to shut him up. The first one Jennie had captured opened his mouth and gave that ear-shattering squeal again, only stopping when Jennie barked at him and drained his powers enough to silence him. She could feel the fury in the energy running through her, the anger warming her insides.

  “Keep talking,” Jennie barked at the poltergeist.

  The poltergeist growled. “Once we were great lords residing in this home, free to roam the hallways and grounds without care. Now, we are nothing more than slaves in the confines of this place. There is an unspeakable darkness here, human. A being for whom there is no name. We cower in the shadows, emerging only to play with the intruders who break into our residence. When the mortals run in fear, we dive back to our safe dwellings, knowing that if we don’t, soon enough, she will come and do it for us.”

  Jennie looked deeply into the poltergeist’s eyes, trying to detect the lies and mischief she was almost certain were coming from his lips. Instead, she found only fear. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? There really is something here that you fear? Something that has you trapped in this concrete prison?”

  “No!” the first poltergeist squealed, forcing the words to leave his lips.

  He shut up at Jennie’s glance. She returned to the poltergeist who seemed willing to talk.

  “The house is alive,” he managed. “She communicates through the fabric of this building. Her minions are all around, defending, deflecting, trapping those who wander into her lair.”

  The poltergeist who had been quiet the
longest now spoke. “She speaks of torment. She barricades us in and tears at our existence. For what little we know of poltergeists, this should not be possible. We should be able to play to the very borders of our property, but alas, we cannot.”

  The third poltergeist choked the words, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

  Jennie drew all three before her, hanging them in the air, shoulder-to-shoulder so she could look at them all at once. “I sensed no being when I entered this house.”

  “Why would you, mortal?” the first poltergeist barked.

  “In case you’re that slow that you can’t work out what is going on here, I am more than just a mortal. Exhibit A: you are all bound under my power.” She scratched her chin and deliberated for a moment. “If there really is a presence in this house that needs vanquishing, then you may just be in luck. You’ve stumbled across someone who makes a living out of fixing nuisances. The only downside of this is that when I’m done, I’ll likely have to evict you guys, too.”

  “Ha! We’d like to see you try—” The poltergeist’s words were lost under Jennie’s strangling hold.

  Jennie narrowed her eyes. “Understand that there are some significant changes coming to this house. Your future, however, is as of yet undetermined.” She unlatched them all at once, and they all collapsed to the floor. “Now, tell me everything that it is you think you know. It’s unlike a spectral force to be undetectable by me.”

  “What are you?” one of the poltergeists croaked.

  “Jennie King. But you can call me, ‘Rogue.’”

  Chapter Three

  Richmond, Virginia, USA

  They closed in on Baxter, encircling him. He was an island, and they were the sea threatening to drown him.

  Baxter realized that this was the first time he’d been in this kind of situation alone. Sure, he had had scrapes and the occasional fight throughout the years, but those had been with your run-of-the-mill specters. New York had its turf wars, and remaining unaligned had always been a gamble, but it was rare he encountered specters like this.