Lupe shuddered, the chill of the tunnels working its way under his skin. “How did that work out?”
Baxter stroked his hand against the wall. The farther along they got, the more of the strange crow-like humans they saw etched in faded charcoal. Pits filled with bodies and Xs marked through them. “Not very well, it seems.”
Jennie nodded. “The tunnels were always a temporary solution. Some fled here during the Great Fire of London, others ducked under here during the World Wars to escape the bombs, planes, and destruction.
“Over the years they’ve had their uses, but they’ve all been blocked or forgotten. The government blocked off the known entrances and condemned the tunnels forever as part of measures to keep control as mass immigration increased.”
Something large rumbled in the spaces above them, gone as quickly as it came. Thin sprays of dust filtered from the ceiling.
“And yet we’re down here,” Baxter complained.
“Relax, that was just an underground train,” Jennie told him. “It’s not like you’re the one who’s going to get crushed if the ceiling caves in, is it?”
Lupe’s eyes widened, and he increased his pace to keep up with Jennie.
After almost an hour of walking in moderate quiet, Baxter was almost certain Jennie had lost her way.
The paintings and sketches had long-since tapered off, and the tunnels had become nothing more than a never-ending sequence of packed-dirt stretches that led to who-knew-where.
Jennie, however, confidently led the way. Her face was smudged and greased with dirt, and they caught their first whiff of semi-fresh air for some time when she came at last to a tunnel that veered right and began to slope upward.
The packed dirt gave way to a set of stairs that led back toward the surface. The higher they climbed, the more the familiar sounds of city life came back into hearing range.
Jennie came to the top of the stairs and unlocked the large paneled square above their heads with the same key she’d used before. She gave the hatch a shove with her upper back.
The wooden hatch gave way, and a spectral hand reached down to Jennie. She took it and allowed herself to be pulled up.
“Took your time.” The specter grinned. “I thought they might’ve already caught you."
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Covent Garden, London
The room was a contemporary shrine to the past.
Metallic signs decorated the walls, each with the legend, The Savoy Theatre. A sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling. Black leather sofas complimented the clean white marble tiles of the floors. Mirrors skirted with lightbulbs decorated the walls, and somehow there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen.
Jennie grinned, her arms held wide. “Welcome to mi casa.”
“That means ‘my house,’” Lupe whispered to Baxter, who immediately rolled his eyes.
Jennie smirked. “Before anyone says anything. Outside of my good buddy George here, you are among the first-ever specters and mortals to ever visit the hidden kingdom of Rogue.”
“The first…” Carolyn gasped, looking around. “What is all of this?”
“A collection of things I’ve collected over the years,” Jennie told her. “Things to remind me of where I come from. Where I’m going. Things that hold sentimental value and I like to keep safe.” She placed her case in the corner, then put her hands on her hips and looked around. “As for why, well, that’s easy to answer. I’m a high-profile spectral assassin serving the queen’s, remember? Secrecy is the name of the game. You learn over the years never to trust anyone or show anyone where you live.”
“Was serving the queen,” Baxter corrected.
Jennie pointed at Baxter. “Exactly.”
Carolyn rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t get it…”
“What’s not to get?” Jennie asked.
Carolyn folded her arms. “If secrecy is the name of the game, then why are you bringing us into your home?”
Jennie hopped over to a small work surface that topped a mini-fridge. She opened the door and pulled out a bottle filled with thick pink liquid. She unscrewed the lid and drank straight from the bottle.
“Ah, yes.” She held it toward them. “Pre-mixed cocktails. I’m a genius. Not quite the charm of fresh-made, but good in a pinch.”
“Ew.” Carolyn sniffed. “Do you ever…”
Jennie grinned. “Put pickle in cocktails? It depends on what I’m in the mood for.”
She drank a few more sips and closed her eyes as the cold liquid filtered into her body. When she was quenched, she screwed the lid back and popped the bottle back in the fridge.
“But to answer your question,” she continued before Carolyn could nudge her again. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to need all of your help to make this happen. In every element of my working life, I’ve been solo except for a designated spectral babysitter who could barely last a mission with me. We never got along. I work better alone.”
“Then what’s changed?” Carolyn urged. “Not that I’m complaining, of course, I just need to know where we stand.”
Lupe grunted in confirmation.
Jennie sat down in a plush leather armchair and studied the unlikely band of specters and mortals standing near the hatch. She cocked her head to the side. “Because I’ve never done anything like this before. In my past missions, I’ve had the totality of the queen’s resources on my side. Now they’re working against us. That will mean we need to employ every ounce of trickery, misdirection, and cunning we can muster. I’ll need diplomats, I’ll need fighters, I’ll need people with extraordinary abilities on my side.”
Carolyn’s lip curled. “And you chose us?”
Baxter shook his head. “No. That’s not it. It’s because we chose her.”
Jennie raised an eyebrow.
“Think about it,” Baxter continued. “Who else followed Jennie without complaint in the battle at Times Square? Who else stayed and guarded Sandra at the Plaza against the loyalist goons? It’s us. We’re the loyal ones.”
“That’s not really what I was going for, you soppy git.” Jennie smirked. She slapped the arms of the chair and rose. “But if that’s what you needed to hear, then there it is. Now, any more questions?”
Carolyn tentatively raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Just one thing…” Carolyn pointed at the strange specter. “Who the fuck is that?”
The specter laughed. He straightened his tie, placed one hand behind his back, and offered his other to Carolyn. “George Wheatcroft, at your service.”
Carolyn cautiously took his hand and shook it. “He’s your butler?”
“He’s a friend,” Jennie replied.
“More than a friend,” George corrected.
Baxter raised both eyebrows.
“Not like that, you piece of filth.” Jennie laughed. “I might have saved George’s life.”
“Might have?” George exclaimed. “You should have seen her. Held and pinned by half a dozen poltergeists, three Catholic priests cornering us and about to perform their exorcism when who should be passing by but this glorious example of a woman.”
“A happy accident,” Jennie dismissed. “I was sent to help with the exorcism of the poltergeists. I can’t help it if I saw an innocent specter being used as a diversionary tactic by evil specters.”
“Wait a minute,” Baxter interrupted. “What do you mean, you were pinned by poltergeists? How did you not realize they’re barbaric lunatics who would do anything to save themselves?”
George waved a hand at himself. “Look at me. Do I look like a Victorian specter?
“No.”
“Georgian?”
“No.”
“Tudor?”
“Well, no.”
“There it is, then. I died seven years ago, so please excuse me if my introduction to the spectral world was not as conventional and straightforward as yours. I thought I was assisting the queen, and it turned out that was fa
r from what I was able to do at the time.”
“Poltergeists are bastards,” Feng Mian muttered through barely parted lips.
Carolyn and Lupe turned to him in surprise. He had nothing else to say.
“You’re right,” Jennie agreed. “Poltergeists are bastards, but do you know what’s worse? The corruption embedded in the Winter Court.”
George took a deep breath. His hand moved to his stomach and he stumbled backward. “Excuse me?” he blurted in alarm. “I would never have thought I’d hear those words coming from anyone’s mouth, let alone yours.”
Jennie crossed the room and put a hand on George’s shoulder. “My dear friend. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, and you may not like a lot of what you hear. But, stick with me, and I assure you that you’ll be on the winning side.”
“Winning side…” George frowned. “But doesn't that mean—”
“Enough talk!” Jennie interjected with a broad smile. “Who wants to see the rest of this place?”
Lupe’s eyes grew wide. “You mean there’s more?”
Baxter and the others explored Jennie’s home while Jennie talked George through everything that had happened in America.
It turned out that the room they had entered the house by was the basement. Baxter passed through bathrooms big enough to play badminton in and a number of pristine bedrooms. There was a room dedicated to games and hobbies, and another that was lined wall to wall with various types of weaponry.
This one he took a long time examining, wondering where on earth Jennie had acquired some of the weapons he saw on display. There were rifles, pistols, shotguns, and even a grenade launcher hanging in the firearms section. There were knives and swords and machetes, and a samurai sword that looked like it might once have belonged to a Japanese lord.
The next room was a stark contrast to the weapons room. When Baxter floated through the walls, he was met with rows and rows of theatrical costumes and props hanging off the metal railings.
“She’s definitely a character, isn’t she?” Baxter muttered to Carolyn, who was already flicking through the various costumes and marveling at the sequins and glamor.
When Baxter came to Jennie’s bedroom, a strange warmth fluttered inside of him. The room was unremarkable. Unlike any of the other rooms he had visited already, this room was nothing more than a typical human’s bedroom.
A double bed took up the center of the room, while heavy oak furniture held Jennie’s clothes and various other trinkets. A dressing table at the side of the room caught his attention. The mirror was smudged and marked in pen.
Unfazed by his lack of reflection in the mirror, Baxter read the message.
Genevieve.
A gift to aid you in the upkeep of your beauty.
(Not that you need it, Princess)
Tucked into the frame beside the writing was a small, black and white photo of a young girl sitting on the knees of a man with perfectly parted hair and a thick mustache, while the woman beside them with bright eyes and pale curls falling around her shoulders looked at them with love.
Baxter longed to know more about these people, who he presumed to be Jennie’s parents. He thought about his own family, still sorely disappointed none of them appeared to have chosen the afterlife once they had passed—at least to his knowledge.
Hearing a shout from Carolyn, Baxter reluctantly left the room and found her still in the dressing room.
“Shut the front door…” Carolyn exclaimed.
Baxter looked around, confused. “It is closed.”
She clutched a pink feather boa in her hands. “Is this really Jennifer Holliday’s boa from the original Dreamgirls performance?”
Baxter leaned in closer to get a look at the little label, signed with a tiny black squiggle. “I don’t know. Maybe. Hey, have you noticed something strange about this place?”
Carolyn’s eyes widened. “Besides the fact that Jennie’s got the most amazing stuff here? You know she could make a fortune selling this stuff.”
“You suggest that again, I’ll re-think my earlier speech.” Jennie appeared in the doorway. “Come on. Enough snooping. Time to reconvene.”
Baxter grabbed Carolyn’s arm and pulled her out of the room.
Jennie led them to a second-floor sitting room with curved sofas centered around a glass coffee table.
George sat reclined on the sofa, his face even paler than it should have been.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Baxter sympathized.
George looked at Baxter as if he had just noticed him for the first time. “You’re telling me. All of this…it’s true?”
Everyone in the room nodded.
“Every last word,” Jennie promised. “The paranormal court has been filled with corruption, and it’s down to us to purge it.”
“But… It’s impossible,” George denied. “There are far too many of them—of us!” He clapped a hand to his head. “Rogue, I’m a sworn ally of the paranormal court. I can’t, in good conscience, betray the queen. It’s against my oath. I have to tell someone.”
“No, you don’t,” Jennie told him, her face stern. “Has anyone ever stopped to wonder what specters did before the court was first founded? Has any specter ever stopped and asked the question of ‘what if’ we never made oaths? It’s the fear that keeps you all united. The fear of what’ll happen if you go against your word, not the magic of the word itself.”
“What are you talking about?” Carolyn asked. “I know I may be younger than the rest of you—in every sense of the term—but I saw an entire square filled with devotees of the crown who looked at us with murderous eyes and aimed to destroy us all.”
“But they didn’t,” Jennie reminded her. “The minute we spoke reason to them and showed them another path, they relented. They weren’t under the influence of the queen; they were following the crazed orders of a madman who had lied through his teeth to get them on his side.”
“So, what would have happened if the queen had directly ordered them?” Baxter asked.
“I don’t know,” Jennie admitted. “This is all unproven theory, but I have got to wonder what came before. There was a time before the court was founded, and specters roamed free. Who invented the oaths? Who made the current rules within which specters now abide?”
“The monarchy,” Lupe muttered.
Jennie nodded. “Exactly.”
George looked flabbergasted. Jennie had placed a drink in front of him, but he hadn’t taken a single sip—nor could he. He eyed the clock on the wall and rose to his feet, wobbling slightly.
“I have to go back,” George told her. “I’ve already been gone too long. If Kershaw sees I’ve abandoned my post, he’ll report me to Her Majesty.”
He made it to the door before Jennie pulled him back with a tendril of power. “George.” She sounded gravely determined. “You’re a good guy. You know right and wrong. You fought for it in life, didn’t you?”
George nodded gently. “Yes. But, Rogue. This is different. Terrible things happen to those…”
“Those who get caught,” Jennie finished, her expression steely. “Every specter who gets caught betraying the crown faces the ultimate punishment. You will not get caught.”
George stared at her in silence.
“We need an ally, George,” Jennie told him softly. “An insider at court. We can’t do this without you.”
George considered this. “I’ve got to go.”
With a swift turn, he disappeared through the walls and out of sight.
Carolyn’s face was filled with panic. “We can’t let him go! We’ve just told him everything. What if he tells someone else? He knows where you live!”
Jennie shook her head, her lips thin. “No. No, he won’t. Out of every specter in the court I’ve ever met, there’s no one else I’d trust as much as him.”
“Why?” Baxter asked. “How can you trust someone so?”
Jennie gave no reply.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
>
Covent Garden, London
Baxter looked around the room. It had been bugging them since they’d arrived at Jennie’s place, but now he finally had it figured. “I’ve just noticed what’s so strange about this place.”
“Great to see you’re paying attention,” Jennie replied absentmindedly. The map was unfolded on the table in front of them. Small red pins were dotted in locations around the large printout of London, indicating the places where the queen’s hold was the strongest—at least, to Jennie’s knowledge.
“I’m sorry,” Baxter told her. “But it’s really been killing me.”
“What is it?” Lupe asked.
Baxter made a circle of the room with his finger. “You don’t have any windows in any of your rooms. There’s no natural light in the whole place.”
“You’re right,” Carolyn agreed. “Now that you mention it, I can’t believe we didn’t realize it before. Jennie, where are we?”
“Underground,” Jennie informed them. “Underneath the Savoy Theatre.”
Carolyn’s face fell. “Shut up. So, that really was the feather boa Jennifer Holliday wore in Dreamgirls?”
Jennie smiled. “That’s right. It’s actually an import from the Broadway version of the musical, but Dreamgirls has been showing every week in the Savoy for years. It only just recently stopped its run here, so that boa is going to go up in value very quickly.” Jennie turned to Feng Mian. “Of course, you already know that, don’t you, my friend?”
Feng Mian stared silently back at Jennie.
Lupe leaned over the map, clearly uninterested in theater talk. “Doesn’t that make this a bit of a problem?”
His finger traced the map to find the Savoy Theater. He followed the lines of the road until his finger tapped on Buckingham Palace. “That’s a little over a mile away. Aren’t we a bit close for comfort here?”
Rogue, Renegade And Rebel (In Her Paranormal Majesty’s Secret Service Book 1) Page 43
