Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1)

by Michael Anderle

  Three weeks later, the stress of fighting a losing battle took its toll on his heart.

  When he had come back as a specter, he had been given the chance to swear to the crown and join the paranormal court. Disoriented and drawn to the familiarity of order, he had taken the oath immediately, believing that if he couldn’t do the good he wanted to in life, he could make an impact in death.

  Little did he know just how far from the truth that would be.

  George stood in the square and nodded in agreement with the other specters gathered around Shaftesbury memorial fountain. Atop the ornate stone fountain, a winged figure loomed with his bow and arrow, aiming at the people passing in the street.

  The specters were out in daylight, but there was no way the mortals could see them.

  George looked at the mortals passing naively by with concern gnawing at him. Why do I feel so nervous?

  Beside him, children threw pennies into the water, giggling as they closed their eyes and made their wishes. Their innocence contrasted against the subject matter being spewed from Kershaw’s mouth.

  “The enemy is coming,” Kershaw growled, his face a sour twist. “Make no mistake, this may be the greatest challenge we’ve faced in years.”

  “She’s just one woman,” a specter to Kershaw’s right scoffed, pulling at the collar of her duffel coat, which bunched up around her neck. “One woman against hundreds of specters. What’s the worst she can do?”

  George was often reminded of a tortoise when he saw Melissa Richmond.

  Kershaw glared at Melissa. “You’ve heard of what Rogue’s capable of. You know what she can do.”

  Melissa shook her head. As the youngest specter among them, she had heard the rumors, but that didn’t mean she’d believe them without any evidence to confirm the tales.

  “It’s bullshit.” Melissa scowled. “I’ve encountered people like her in life. Their reputation precedes them, and it’s usually a letdown when you meet them for real. Half of a magician’s tricks depend on people believing in what they’re doing. They’re not actually performing magic, it’s all just fakery.”

  Darren Lockey, the specter standing beside George, scoffed. “You’re calling Rogue’s abilities fake?”

  Melissa nodded and crossed her arms. “Damn right. I’m saying it’s all bullshit. That the queen uses her to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. She’s mortal. Normal people do normal deeds, but history is written by the victors.”

  Darren clenched his fists. He had died in a blood-stained hospital gown, and now that was all he would wear for the rest of his existence. Surgery gone wrong was not the best way to induct himself into the land of the dead, especially not at the age of thirty-three.

  “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.” Darren scowled, advancing toward the fountain. His body slipped through the stone, and he walked slowly as he spoke. “If you’d been anywhere near her, you’d know she’s no mortal human.”

  A flicker of doubt betrayed Melissa’s position. “And you’re going to say you have?”

  Darren nodded. “You’re damn right. In 1982, a patient escaped Broadmoor Psychiatric Hospital with nothing on him but a knife. He finds his way to the local village and frightened the congregation in the church. They terrified him with their reaction to his nakedness and the knife.”

  “What happened?” Melissa asked.

  Locked up for twenty-two years and finally around normal humans?” Darren shook his head. “He went on a killing spree. Blood painted the pews. He turned the knife on himself. The local news called it the worst mass homicide of the decade. But they had no idea of what was to come.”

  The other specters waited patiently. Many of them had heard the tale in some form or another.

  Kershaw gritted his teeth and remained silent while Melissa was enraptured.

  “What happened?” she urged.

  Darren obliged. “Three weeks later, after the majority of the blood had been cleaned, the church reopened for Sunday service. Reverend Pascal led the service for the anxious church-goers. But when the church bells tolled midday, and the Reverend let out a relieved smile at the end of the service, the poltergeists came.”

  Melissa gulped.

  Darren’s voice was hypnotic as he wove a picture of the events in the church. “The unrestful specters of the murdered worshippers flew around the church and whipped up a storm. The doors locked and couldn’t be opened by the trapped people. The killer floated around amongst the chaos while the poltergeists threw peoples’ belongings across the room, poured melted wax from candles onto the congregation. Some of them were so badly scared that their hair turned white.”

  Melissa’s voice was the barest of whispers. “How did they escape?”

  Darren perched on the edge of the fountain closest to Melissa. “Rogue. She materialized inside the church as if she were one of us. I couldn’t tell what she did exactly, but she drew the poltergeists to her and brought them under her control. The battle wasn’t long, and there wasn’t a glimpse of fear on her face. Nothing. She came, she saw, she conquered.”

  His eyes locked onto hers, his dark pupils boring into her. “She has powers beyond our understanding. Don’t underestimate her.”

  All the specters nodded. They had their own tales to tell, whether of firsthand experience or stories from friends.

  Melissa looked down at her feet. “I had no idea.”

  “Exactly,” Kershaw told her gently, reasserting his place as leader of the Piccadilly specters. “No one fears the tiger when it’s inside the cage. It’s only when she’s let loose that the danger becomes real. The spectral world is on full alert. The queen’s message is clear. Rogue is coming. It is up to us as specters of the paranormal court to ensure we do everything in our power to stop Rogue in her tracks and guarantee Her Majesty remains secure.”

  “What brought on the sudden change of allegiance?” Melissa asked Kershaw. When he turned to her, she withered. “I only ask, because…Surely, she’s oath-bound to the crown, just like the rest of us? Bound to the queen’s Court?”

  “Rogue has revealed herself to be a traitor,” Kershaw reiterated. “While I don’t know the specifics, what I do know is she was recently sent to the US to aid the queen in her endeavors. She aided the enemy instead, and revealed to her personal specter that she had never taken an oath.”

  There was an audible gasp from the group of specters.

  “How is that even possible?” one asked.

  “This oversight is severe, yes,” Kershaw admitted. “But we are dealing with the consequences.”

  “So, she truly has gone Rogue,” a specter with sleepy eyes and a large sword strapped to his waist muttered.

  “Remain vigilant,” Kershaw continued as if no one had spoken. “This is not a drill. It is your solemn duty to report any misgivings or suspicious behavior immediately. You are to make your way to your assigned lookout position and keep your eyes peeled. We don’t know where she’ll be coming from. We don’t know when she’ll get here. What we do know is she is coming.”

  His voice lowered a few notches as he grinned. “Let me be clear: anyone who plays a significant part in protecting the queen will be greatly rewarded by Her Majesty afterward. We work as one. We conquer as one. Got it?”

  “Got it,” they chorused back.

  Kershaw sent them on their separate ways.

  George walked to his post in thoughtful silence, his head swimming from this latest revelation. He knew Rogue. He had known her well. Rogue was part of the reason George was still around today and hadn’t been exorcised within the first few months of his spectral existence.

  George had always been a good judge of character, and he could not have sensed anything within Rogue that made her an enemy of their cause. Rogue fought for justice. Rogue delivered the queen’s justice.

  Then what the hell was happening now?

  George rounded the corner and London’s Royal Academy of Arts came into view. It would be just like the drills, which
were suddenly a comforting memory rather than the source of deep misery he’d experienced when they were happening.

  He’d go up to the roof of this building just like he was expected to, and he’d stand and keep a lookout over the streets for anything out of the ordinary.

  Little did he know he would not need to look too far. He climbed onto the roof and opened the lockbox he kept up there. It contained sentimental trinkets and valuables that reminded him of simpler times and kept him connected to his former life.

  A flashing LED in the bottom of the box caught his eye. He picked up the ancient Nokia and activated the screen. The screen flickered and displayed a missed call. He viewed the contact and dropped the phone back in the box in shock.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Piccadilly Circus, England

  Knowing the primary spots where the queen’s rule reached into the outskirts of London, Jennie drove to a friendly mechanic she knew of on the edge of the city, where she waited until nightfall and made her way into the city via the London Underground.

  Perhaps she might have stood out like a sore thumb in the daytime, but dressed in her traveling clothes, she was nothing more than another commuter in a long coat with their hood high to guard their face against the gentle downpour.

  “That must have been really hard for you,” Baxter empathized, keeping stride with Jennie as she beelined for the tube station.

  No one had uttered a word since leaving the car at the garage. Jennie had made it clear in her exchange with the mechanic that she was nervous about what she was asking, but knew it was the right decision in the long run.

  “Red is far too noticeable,” she muttered. “People already know to look out for her. She needs a new lick of paint. Cloak her like the shadows, and we’ll be riding around in the moonlight on the steel wheels of a night-wraith.”

  Baxter shuddered. Wraiths were something of a legend among the specters, ancient spirits who inhabited barrows, or old pagan cemeteries in the oldest villages and hamlets dotted around the countryside.

  Lupe fell in behind Jennie since his short stature made it difficult for him to keep in step with her. Feng Mian focused on the way ahead while Carolyn looked around with mouth agape. She had always wanted to visit London, and now that she was here, it was everything she thought it would be.

  That was especially true when Jennie took a right and they arrived outside a Victorian pub, complete with its original façade.

  They ducked inside, and Jennie removed her hood for the first time since they had left the car behind. The dark hood accentuated the color of her hair and brought out the flush of her cheeks. Several patrons turned her way, muttering to their friends as she passed.

  Jennie flagged the barkeeper down. “I need room Two for the night.”

  The barkeeper’s eyes roamed down the smooth skin of her neck toward her cleavage.

  Jennie cleared her throat and pointed at her eyes. “Up here, slimeball. If you want that, I’d expect you to offer a hefty discount.”

  The barkeeper flushed and stammered over his words. Soon he passed over a key and pointed her up a set of wooden stairs. “Room Four. Second door on your right.”

  “Is Number Two free?” Jennie asked.

  Carolyn scoffed.

  Lupe shot her a look. “Oh, grow up.”

  The barkeeper looked perplexed. “I’m sorry, miss. Room Two is occupied until Thursday. If you want another room, I have Five and Seven available.”

  Jennie leaned against the counter, increasing the young man’s challenge of not allowing his eyes to stray down to her chest again. “I don’t believe we’ve met. You must be new blood, yes?”

  The barkeeper nodded his head emphatically. “Started last week. This is my first evening shift.”

  Jennie smiled. “I thought as much. In that case, you should know your boss and I have an arrangement. He keeps Room Two clear for me when I arrive, so I can spend a night in familiar comfort.” She dug into her pocket without taking her eye off him and slid £500 in fifty-pound notes across the bar. “This is for you. Fifty-fifty split with your boss. I ask again, is Number Two available?”

  As the barkeeper struggled to think of what to say or do, an elderly gentleman with thick silver eyebrows and a hardened face appeared around the corner. “Joseph, what’s going on over—”

  He paused when he saw Jennie, making no effort to avoid looking at her chest. “Jennie…What a lovely surprise. The usual room is it?”

  Jennie straightened up again. “Yes, thank you, Larry.”

  The barkeeper straightened his back. “Sir, I was just telling her that someone is already in…”

  Larry cut him off with a look. “Nonsense! Jennie is one of our favored customers.” He raised a hand apologetically. “Just allow us a few moments to get the room in order, and it’s yours.”

  Larry disappeared upstairs, and soon they could hear the disgruntled complaints of a man and woman above them. Footsteps stamped across the landing, and a few minutes later, a door slammed shut.

  Larry came downstairs with a slight limp in his left leg and gave Jennie a broad grin. “Room Two is now available for you and your, er…” He eyed Lupe’s hood with a certain level of curiosity. “Friend?”

  “I knew I could count on you, Larry.” Jennie took the key from his hand and blew him a kiss as she headed upstairs.

  “I bet you loved that.” Carolyn laughed. “Man, did you see that? He went redder than an asphyxiated tomato.”

  Baxter raised an eyebrow. “Hey, don’t judge unless she’s pulled that shit on you.”

  Jennie laughed.

  “You know what I mean,” Carolyn continued. “And the old guy? Bending over so far backward I thought he’d snap in two. Man, to have that power in mortal life.”

  The room was quaint and clean, with wood-paneled walls and a thick glass window overlooking the street. Jennie sat on the edge of the bed and rooted through her suitcase. Metal clinked against metal, and Baxter spotted several small black cell phones rattling around the bottom of the case.

  Lupe placed his bag down and unzipped the top. He pulled out several wrinkled shirts and started to look around.

  “What are you doing?” Jennie asked.

  Lupe shook the shirts. “Finding somewhere to hang these. If this is to be our base of operations, I want my clothes on hand.”

  Carolyn laughed. “You’re concerned about your clothes? You look like you’re heading for Satan-con most of the time, why the sudden interest?”

  Lupe’s cheeks reddened. “I’ve never been to Europe, let alone London. I thought I’d make an effort.”

  “Save the effort,” Baxter told him with a broad grin. “My guess is that wherever we’re going, no one will give a shit what you look like.”

  Lupe’s face soured. “Fine.”

  “Besides…” Jennie pulled out a leather purse from her bag and held up the old-fashioned brass key she retrieved from it. “We’re not staying here tonight.”

  Jennie crossed the room over to where a large tapestry hung from the wall. The image had faded, and frayed threads had torn free. She reached up and grabbed the rail from which the tapestry hung and removed it from the wall to reveal a large area of plain white plaster.

  Jennie pressed her ear to the wall and moved along it slowly, tapping with her knuckle until she heard a hollow echo in return. She scratched at the wall until a small notch appeared.

  “She’s done it,” Baxter whispered.

  “She has?” Carolyn replied.

  “Yep.” He shook his head. “She’s finally gone mad…”

  Jennie ignored the comments. She screwed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, then blew on the notch with gusto. Dust kicked up in clouds, and white chalk sprayed out of the keyhole Jennie’s effort revealed on the wall.

  Jennie inserted the key, twisted it in the lock, and a metallic “clink” indicated the mechanism had moved. “Give me a hand with this, will you?” she asked, leaning her shoulder against the wall t
o push.

  Lupe, Baxter, and Feng Mian all pushed together with Jennie, and the door began to swing inwards. Carolyn leapt to help and disappeared halfway through the wall before remembering she needed to focus on becoming material to aid in their efforts.

  When the door was open wide enough to slip through, Jennie stopped pushing and grabbed her suitcase from the bed. She double-checked that she’d locked the main door to her room behind her and slipped through the secret door. She worked with the others to push the door closed, blocking the way back.

  Jennie turned, her feet immediately found the familiar stairs leading down through the thin cavities between the old pub’s walls. The stairs cut around the building, the passageway narrow enough to mean they had to go single file and walk sideways.

  Lupe tentatively followed Jennie, breathing in so he could maneuver his way down.

  “Where is she taking us?” Carolyn whispered.

  Baxter shrugged, his wide spectral shoulders lost in the walls while the center of his body filled the entire passage.

  The stairs led down and down, taking a right turn every once in a while. When the streetlights vanished from the small gaps in the wood and plaster, Jennie switched on a torch and guided them through the darkness.

  They followed the torch beam until they were completely underground, where the tunnels widened around them.

  Baxter’s head scraped the ceiling, which might have been a problem if he had been alive. “Where are we?” he asked, his mouth hanging open in awe of the tunnel systems around him.

  “The crawl spaces of London,” Jennie told him. “A labyrinth used throughout the years to protect the citizens of London from danger. Long-since abandoned and forgotten.”

  “But what were they used for?” Carolyn prodded. A scratch in the wall beside her showed rough sketchings of fish shapes, rats, and people with crosses for eyes. One image they passed showed a human-like creature with a bird’s beak and a wide-brimmed hat.

  “Many things throughout the years, for those who knew they existed,” Jennie replied as she counted her way past junctions and turnings. “During the Plague, many people fled down here in an effort to escape the disease. Hundreds upon hundreds of Londoners came this way, all hoping to escape what promised to be their deaths.”