A Royal Apocalypse (Lady Slayalot Book 1)

by Louisa Lo

  “Dial Judith,” she instructed her Bluetooth.

  Three rings later, it went to voicemail.

  Judith did mention a shoe sale at Macy’s right before Chelsea had to hang up, so that was probably why she wasn’t answering. Oh well. She wasn’t sure what to say to her friend anyway, even if she were available.

  “Hey, guess what. I just met a bunch of savages that may or may not be human. Are we still good for Italian?”

  Just what were those creatures anyway? That single-minded intensity and ferocious hunger in the quest for luxury items…no. Could the urban legends be true?

  For years now, there had been rumors about supernatural beings that were drawn to all things expensive and brand-named. Called the Obsessed, they were said to be willing to attack for a pair of Prada shoes or a Hermes bag. Chelsea always thought that it sounded so ridiculous that it had to be a joke, probably stories men invented to dissuade their girlfriends from nagging them to buy yet another Tiffany necklace, or parents to scare off their kids who were begging for the latest iPhone.

  But now Chelsea wondered if there was some truth to those urban myths, after all.

  “Dial Dad,” she instructed her Bluetooth next.

  Maybe Daddy will give me a new car just for staying alive.

  Her father’s number went straight to voicemail.

  Or not.

  “Hey, Daddy, this is Georgie.” She swallowed. Her dad had always called her by the short form of her middle name. The English earl was due to arrive from London tomorrow morning for a semi-official engagement, and would visit his daughter at the same time. “Listen, you’re probably already in transit, but I have to talk to you. You’re not going to believe this, but remember those funny stories about the brand-name-loving monsters you always told me to ignore? Well, guess what? I just met some, and I think they’re real. Call me back as soon as you can, okay? Love you.”

  Now that she had left the message, she felt silly. With every kilometer she put behind her, the more and more convinced she was that she’d hallucinated the whole thing, or that maybe what she had encountered was just people goofing around, or high on drugs. And now she went and told her dad about it. What if he thought she was the one who was on drugs and decided to cut her off?

  She supposed if she was an average citizen she would’ve dialed 911 already, but she had to talk to her father’s aides first. She couldn’t afford to have a recording of the emergency call leaked to the press—of her babbling about mythical creatures, no less. Way down in the line of succession or not, the point was she was still in the line, and there were a few things even she wasn’t reckless enough to try.

  ***

  The Mall of Britannia was located in Bloomington, nestled between the city’s airport, the Minnesota River, Interstate 494, and Highway 77. Chelsea felt a lot better once she got onto Interstate 494, which was a loop route that circled through the Minneapolis-Saint Paul metropolitan area. Metropolitan meant civilization, and civilization meant safety.

  Though she had to admit the usually-crowded highway was strangely deserted, especially for a Friday night.

  But the first true sign that something was very wrong was the enormous cloud of smoke hanging above the general direction of the Mall, visible from where she was even half a kilometer away.

  Alarmed, Chelsea turned on the radio checking for any local news update. She got nothing but static.

  A part of her wanted to turn back, but she thought about Judith and forced herself to step on the gas. She was her friend’s ride back to their dorm. Besides, anything at the Mall couldn’t be worse than what she’d left behind in the other direction.

  As she got closer she could tell that the smoke was actually coming from multiple locations of the Mall. There was one coming from the direction of Nordstrom a little farther north, and the other two were from—dear heavens above—Macy’s.

  What lay before her wasn’t the result of a fire, but an explosion.

  A good section of Macy’s exterior walls was gone, with debris littering the ground everywhere. What on earth had happened here? Did a gas pipe erupt or something? Was Judith all right? All her friend had wanted was some bargain shoes. She didn’t deserve to lose her life over it.

  Chelsea got as close to Macy’s as she could without risking her tires being pierced, then stopped the car and got out. Yes, she parked rather haphazardly, but she doubted anyone cared about that now.

  Boy, was she glad it was way past sandal season, because she wouldn’t have wanted her bare toes to be in contact with the smoldering debris. It was made up of everything from two-thirds of a giant bath bomb, to a shred of clothing with the price tag still attached to it, to—the sacrilege—a broken leather belt with an Armani buckle.

  Chunks of concrete, some as big as suitcases and some as small as handbags, with sharp and rusty metal rods exposed, were waiting to trip any unsuspecting passerby and do damage to skin and tendons alike. With the air filled with smoke and dust, the only lights penetrating the early evening were from the blazing fire, and the few parking lot lamps that hadn’t been blown out.

  It was like a war zone here. Once again, Chelsea wondered if she was right about her gas explosion theory.

  There were only two fire trucks parked on the other side of the mall, and not a single fireman in sight, never mind any visible efforts to douse the fires. Where did all the other first responders go? One would think that the Mall, based on its sheer size and landmark status, would command way more attention in the face of such a disaster.

  Carefully, Chelsea tiptoed around the debris, getting closer to a fallen corner of Macy’s. Maybe a part of her was hoping that anytime now, she would see Judith emerging from the gaping hole of the building without a scratch on her body. Or maybe a part of her was simply drawn to the ruin, as if it was a car wreck she couldn’t tear her eyes from.

  There was a rumbling rocking the ground, then a blast of hot air and dust knocked Chelsea off her feet. It must’ve been another explosion, but from a building further away. She coughed, her mouth filled with the bitter taste of metal, concrete, and plastic; her face and hair were caked with the dust of destruction. Something sharp on the ground had cut a gash on her cheek, and blood poured down her face. Her designer jeans and shirt were ruined, covered with blood and dirt.

  With a groan, Chelsea picked herself up off the ground. She gingerly touched the gash on her face and winced. It was a shallow cut, but it stung like crazy; the blood mixed with the grime and hair sticking to her face, forming a sticky mess. She dared not touch the wound further, lest it become infected.

  As the dust settled around her, she became aware of the fact that she wasn’t alone in the semi-darkness. People, some of them still clutching their shopping bags, climbed out of their hiding places. They milled around listlessly, their eyes dazed, their jaws hanging loose.

  These people had most likely already been there when Chelsea arrived, but she had been too focused on the sight of Macy’s in ruin to notice. They, too, were all covered in soot, but it was the lost looks on their faces that disturbed Chelsea the most. They looked like they’d seen things that couldn’t be unseen, and would always be scarred for it.

  They totally ignored Chelsea.

  And why shouldn’t they? With her tattered clothes and blood-smeared face, she didn’t resemble the beautiful, pampered, royal brat in the tabloids.

  All through her life Chelsea had been recognized, judged, and deemed a bimbo before people even exchanged a single word with her. This was the very first time in her life she felt completely invisible. If it hadn’t been under these circumstances, she would have said it was rather refreshing.

  Then Chelsea saw her.

  A little girl, no more than six or seven, squatted behind a particularly large block of concrete. Her arms wrapped over the front of her legs, she rocked herself back and forth, sending her curly chestnut hair bouncing with her motions. She had on one of those pink, full–ruffle dresses that would’ve been a nig
htmare for a bridesmaid to pull off, but looked adorable for a girl her age. There was something about the way she rolled herself into a tight ball that tugged at Chelsea.

  “Hey.” She approached the little girl cautiously, and crouched down to her level.

  The little girl stopped rocking and looked up, her eyes huge as she took in Chelsea’s bloodied face. Chelsea mumbled, “Sorry.”

  She had no idea why she was apologizing, but it seemed like the thing to do.

  “Does it hurt?” the little girl asked.

  “No.” Chelsea thought about it. “It stung in the beginning, but now it’s not so bad. I’d almost forgotten about it.”

  “Okay,” the little girl said, and went back to her rocking.

  “Err,” Chelsea cleared her throat, “What about you? How are you doing?”

  “I’m waiting for my mommy.” The little girl stopped rocking again and replied, “Have you seen her? We have the same hair.”

  Chelsea looked around. There were a few women in the proximity, but none of them appeared to be searching for a child, or even had the same curly hair, for that matter. Who knew if the mother had been caught in whatever had happened?

  Germs be damned, Chelsea made herself sit down on what looked to be a large “For Sale” cardboard sign so that she could be right next to the little girl. “I’m afraid not. What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Emma.”

  “I’m Chelsea.” She offered Emma her hand, and the girl unwrapped an arm from her legs long enough to shake it, her tiny palm felt surprisingly warm and damp. Shaking hands was such an unnecessarily civilized gesture among such chaos, but Chelsea found it comforting. It reminded her of her own upbringing while being in a world that had gone crazy.

  “You think my Ma made it out?” Emma’s gaze was solemn and wise beyond her years.

  “I don’t know.” Chelsea decided to be honest with Emma. People were always lying to kids, but they were smarter than any adult would give them credit for. “I just got here.”

  “I’ve been holding onto this for her.” Emma uncurled herself to reveal what she had been pressing against her chest, something hidden by the bunched-up ruffles in her dress—a single adult-sized shoe. Jimmy Choo, from the look of it. “Mama told me to find it in size six, and I did.”

  Now that was an experience Chelsea could identify. Her own mother was a well-known spendthrift before her nasty divorce from her daddy, and Chelsea had spent her childhood either being abandoned in a corner of a shop among the shopping bags, or, as she got older, being charged with helping her mom hunt for specific goodies.

  Her mother’s behavior was also the reason the press had had it out for Chelsea since a young age. It was like being the daughter of the village prostitute, with everyone assuming that she would grow up to take her mother’s place.

  “I got the pair,” Emma said softly, pulling Chelsea back to the present. “But I turned around and… and I saw them come into the store. I lost the other shoe while I was running.”

  “Who are they?” Chelsea swallowed. Her stomach tightened, and she had a sneaky suspicion about what was going to come out of Emma’s lips next.

  “Monsters,” Emma whispered. Her eyes moist, she rubbed her cheek on the soft cream-colored leather of the shoe for comfort as one would a beloved stuffed animal.

  Chelsea decided not to grill her for more details. The poor girl was clinging to the shoe as if it was a lifeline, or a way to summon her mother back. Besides, the people around them were providing her with plenty of clues. There were various signs of struggle on their bodies—from bruised fingers where wedding rings would have been, to bloody wrists with raw wounds as if some bracelets or bangles had been yanked off of them, tearing skin in the process. It didn’t take much to figure out that the people from the Mall were attacked as Chelsea herself had been attacked earlier.

  That meant the monsters could still be around.

  She had to get out of here. Or at the very least take shelter in the relative safety of her car. And she would take Emma with her. From there they would figure out where Emma’s mom was, and they would do the same for Judith as well.

  But all that hinged on getting to the car, pronto.

  Chelsea had zero experience with children. She didn’t have any nieces and nephews of that age, and her allowance had always been pretty generous, leaving her with no incentive to become a babysitter like those characters in the books and movies. She had no idea how to get Emma moving without alarming her, so she blurted out the only thing she could think of, “Um, you want to go check out my car? It’s pink.”

  Pink? Oh, that was smooth, Chelsea. Very smooth.

  Her words earned her a withering look that should never have come from a kid who was barely older than a preschooler. “Not leaving without Mama.”

  “No, of course not,” Chelsea hastily assured Emma. “We’ll just get into the car and circle around, see if we can find her. Maybe she came out of the building on the other side, you know.”

  Emma’s head lifted up, her eyes filled with hope. “You’ll do that?”

  Chelsea nodded. “Of course.”

  “But Mama told me to never get into a stranger’s car.” Emma chewed on her lips. She was clearly looking for an excuse to do what she had always been taught not to.

  “But it’s pink. So it doesn’t count. No bad guy ever drives a pink car.” Chelsea kept her tone light. “Come on.”

  Chapter Three

  The Getaway Car

  There was only one problem with that plan—the car was gone.

  What that meant was the car was still there, but not where Chelsea had parked it originally. She could’ve sworn that it had been moved a few meters to the right, its driver side now facing away from Macy’s.

  She almost managed to convince herself that she was just imagining things, when she fished around in her jacket pockets and realized she must’ve left her keys in the ignition in her haste to get out of the car. So someone could have conceivably moved her car while she was away. But who would just move it, and not steal it outright?

  “Looking for these?” There was the sound of keys jingling, followed by someone getting out of the driver’s side of Chelsea’s Bentley, but only a silhouette was visible against a backdrop of fire and smoke.

  “Judith!” Chelsea exclaimed, recognizing her friend as she came closer and the parking lot light hit her face at just the right angle. Judith had short, brown hair and a diminutive stature. She wore a white shirt and jeans. Unlike Chelsea’s jeans, though, they weren’t the designer type, and they were blackened and frayed at the hem—and not in a fashionable way.

  Judith didn’t wear her jacket, but the cold didn’t seem to bother her.

  Chelsea’s first instinct was to run toward Judith and hug her. But even the relief of seeing her friend alive and well wasn’t able to quiet the sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm her as Judith stalked closer, her movements eerily stealthy and quiet. Judith might’ve had a pixie build, but she had never been very dainty on her feet.

  Until now.

  Chelsea stayed rooted to the ground and put a protective hand on Emma’s shoulders. Out of her peripheral vision, she could see the little girl looking up at her, no doubt sensing her tension, as kids seemed to have an innate talent to do.

  Chelsea kept her eyes trained on Judith. She took note of the Chanel earrings that were dangling on Judith’s earlobes. They belonged to Chelsea, having been stashed in her glove compartment after a party weeks ago and forgotten until now.

  And those shoes Judith had on? That was the extra pair of Michael Kors Chelsea kept on the passenger side of her car as spares.

  “Judith?” Chelsea repeated her friend’s name, this time with a heck of a lot more hesitation and anxiety. Judith smiled and came ever closer.

  Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Chelsea could’ve sworn that in the brief moment when Judith’s teeth flashed there was a bit of blood visible on them.

  Then she s
topped, her attention riveted on Emma instead, her expression feral as she stared at the Jimmy Choo that the child was still clutching over her chest. “Pretty shoes. I want pretty shoes.”

  “Shoe. Not shoes.” Chelsea corrected automatically, years of grammar and proper speech lessons kicking in. Dazedly, she wondered what had happened to Judith. She was on the phone with her friend less than an hour ago, and Judith had sounded completely coherent back then. Now she couldn’t even get her basic grammar straight. Even worse, she actually talked like the monsters Chelsea had barely escaped from.

  Monsters that could be around them right now.

  Or even amongst them.

  “Err, are you alright?” Chelsea asked, “Come on, girl, talk to me in longer sentences and without the use of the word ‘pretty’. You’re starting to scare me.”

  Judith tilted her head and frowned, as if really struggling to do as Chelsea suggested.

  Eventually she settled on a simple but firm, “No.”

  “No?” Chelsea echoed.

  “Don’t like you,” Judith explained.

  “You don’t like me? Since when?” Chelsea demanded, “I’ve been your friend for close to a year. I give you rides for errands in the city whenever I can. I even let you borrow my shoes. Well, except the pair you’re currently wearing.”

  Chelsea glared at the Michael Kors that Judith had liberated from the Bentley, which she had also liberated.

  “Don’t like you,” Judith emphasized. “Too pretty. Too rich.”

  “That’s not exactly my fault.” Could it be that Judith had been harboring some kind of repressed jealousy toward her all this time? There was no hint of it that Chelsea could think of. But if that was the case, and Judith had been the only friend she was able to make since arriving in North America, what did that say about Chelsea? Just how pathetic was she?

  Maybe I really am as disliked as everyone kept telling me. Maybe they were right and I was just as useless as Mom.

  “Too stupid.” Judith kept up with the insults.

  “Hey, I’m a straight-A student,” Chelsea protested. What was it about people that no matter how often she hit the honor roll, all they could see was a dumb blonde because that was what they wanted to see?