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

by Michael Anderle

  She marched toward the far wall and raised the sword to hack at the specters in her way. A split second before the sword connected with the specters, she froze.

  “What? What’s going on?” Her shrill voice came out of lips that didn’t move.

  Jennie walked toward Heather, unafraid in the slightest. Her spectral tendril was latched onto the woman, and she knew there was no possibility her of breaking free. “You know, the only bullshit I’ve heard tonight is that you’ve got the world’s most powerful weapon.”

  Heather grunted and struggled against Jennie’s hold. Jennie unclasped Heather’s hand from the sword and took it from her, then walked back to the others and released Heather.

  Heather stumbled and tried to catch herself but failed. She picked herself up and dusted herself off, now looking around the room as if seeing everyone for the first time.

  “What… What just happened?” she asked, feigning surprise.

  “Don’t give us that shit,” Jennie told her. “Get the fuck out of here before I do to you what you’ve done to a bunch of undeserving specters.”

  Heather contemplated her chances, then dashed out of the room without another word.

  “Are you sure letting her go is a good idea?” Baxter asked. “What if she tells the others where we are?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jennie told him, examining the saber in her hand. “The world’s most dangerous weapon is now holding the world’s most dangerous weapon.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Buckingham Palace, London

  Victoria’s ears heated as she walked along the palace corridor. Her annoyance often manifested as areas of warmth in random locations across her body, and now was no different.

  “That bloody witch…” She gave a small grunt and spun the decorative vase so the pattern of the jaybirds on the willow tree faced outwards, hiding the image of the sunshine and the lake painted on the back.

  “Much better,” she muttered. She continued on through the palace, knowing full well that tomorrow she would have to rotate the vase again after Elizabeth awoke and shifted it back to her favorite side.

  Death is a never-ending struggle, Victoria thought.

  She met her guards at the door. Porter and Yasmine were accompanied by a dozen beefeaters who had served in life and died.

  Unlike the living beefeaters, these lacked something in the way of uniformity. While they all wore their red coats and bearskin hats, each generation of beefeater’s uniform was slightly altered from the last, and now the whole unit looked like they were wearing a collection of old budget theater costumes.

  Luckily, that didn’t make them any less intimidating to look at. Each beefeater sported a serious expression on their faces. Each one was obedient to Her Majesty’s every call.

  They guided her across the Birdcage Walk and past St James’s Park. To spectators of the mortal persuasion, the queen’s coach rolled by slowly with the curtains drawn and only one soul in sight, the coach’s driver who held the reins of the horses and kept his head high as bypassers stopped and took pictures, hoping to witness a glance of Elizabeth on her travels.

  Specters flooded out of St James’s Park and lined the roads. When they arrived at Parliament Square, the coach took an unusual turn into the back entrance of the House of Commons through a gate that was locked tightly behind them.

  The coach moved out of sight of prying eyes before the footman opened the door and allowed Victoria out of the cabin.

  Victoria nodded as the footman gave her his hand to help her down. “Wonderful, as always, Jeffrey.”

  Jeffrey bowed low.

  The evening had already grown dark, but the inside of the House was brilliantly lit. Specters lined the long benches and stood at the arrival of Her Majesty, holding their positions while she glided through and took her seat in the large chair that accommodated the speaker of the house during daylight proceedings.

  Victoria scanned the room, delighting in the power she held. She remained standing in silence for several more moments than necessary before taking her seat and allowing the rest of the chambers to follow suit, signaling the start of the Midnight Council—a long and ancient tradition, in which the world under the rule of the paranormal court provided their updates to the queen and reports were made from all corners of the Empire.

  The Midnight Council began as it always did, with the census of those who had died in the past month and what percentage of those had since sworn to the court.

  Richard Tallon, a small, weedy man with spectacles and a high collar read the statistics, refused to meet the queen’s eyes when he gave his news. “Specters taking the oath has taken a slight fall this month to 96.3% of all new specters.”

  Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s dropped again.”

  The chamber was silent. Richard swallowed hard, then stuttered. “I… It’s taken a drop, yes. But last month was only 96.7%, so it’s still in the high percentile of—”

  Victoria slammed her fist on the chair. A small shockwave of energy pulsed through the room at the impact, eliciting gasps from several of the specters. “Last month was too low, too.” She growled. “Do you think we’re running some kind of hippy organization where it’s okay to fail? Do you think it’s okay to watch the numbers slowly drop? At the beginning of my rule, our uptake was 99.1%. That’s a three-point-eight percent drop. Do you know what that means?”

  Richard tried to speak but couldn’t quite bring himself to correct the Queen’s numbers.

  Victoria continued, oblivious. “It means that for every hundred new specters, at least three of them are roaming free. Neutrals, running around in my empire.” She turned to a woman standing beside Richard. “Eleanor, read the numbers again.”

  Eleanor demonstrated a much stronger backbone than Richard. She nodded enthusiastically, took the parchment from his hands, and read the numbers. “The total number of deaths was 40,012. The total number of new specters is 21,606. Fifty-four percent of those opted for a spectral life. Of those 21,606, a total of 20,807 have sworn allegiance to the court.”

  “Which leaves?” Victoria snapped, aiming her anger at Richard.

  Richard performed some quick mental arithmetic, glancing occasionally at the paper for support.

  “768 unassigned specters!” Victoria shouted before he could finish.

  “Actually,” Eleanor whispered, “it’s 799.”

  “768 specters!” Victoria repeated. “That’s almost eight hundred specters roaming around England and not dutifully obeying the rules of the court. My rules. I cannot allow this. Who’s in charge of the oathing team these days?”

  A tall black woman with round glasses and a ghostly briefcase stood up and raised her hand. “Willow Harden, Your Majesty.”

  Victoria appraised her a moment. “I want your people working harder out there to ensure the rates rise. Round up any neutrals across the country and bring them around to taking the oath. Get them indoctrinated into the court. If you need more specters, fine. I’ll give them to you.”

  Willow nodded. “Understood, Your Majesty.”

  “Also, assess the indoctrination process,” Victoria added as an afterthought. “If they’re not choosing the oath, I want to know why. Collect all the data you can and return next month with a better result. I will not stand for this sort of insubordination.”

  “Understood.” Willow nodded, then resumed her seat.

  Victoria nodded. “A hundred and eighteen years I’ve sat on the throne, and I am not going to let standards start slipping just because we’re in a new era. Millennials haven’t made their way to spectral-hood yet. We’ve got a few years before that headache comes.”

  The tone of the Midnight Council had been set from then on. Each Baron who held rule over the districts of England gave their reports on activity, detailing everything from disturbances caused by poltergeists, to incidences with paranormal detectives, psychics, and possible-but-improbable discoveries of new conduits.

  These
reports were often laughed off. The Council was aware new conduits were, indeed, a rare breed. Most of the time when specters believed they had found new conduits, it turned out to be the specter had been gifted with the ability to appear to mortals as balls of light or shadows in photographs and hadn’t yet grasped their new abilities.

  The topic moved onto the wider reaches of the Empire. In the back rows of the chambers were ambassadors from all partner states of the court. Specters were present from Germany, France, Spain, India, Yemen, Australia, Nigeria, Mauritius, Cyprus, and more.

  “The stand now recognizes Amrit Shevade of India.”

  An Indian man with a slight frame came toward the central podium. He placed some notes on the stand and bowed toward the queen.

  “What news from your lands, Amrit?” Queen Victoria asked.

  “There is little to tell from our blessed country,” Amrit told her. “Your ambassadors are doing a sterling job in ensuring new specters obey our customs. From Mumbai to Bangladesh, there is peace among the majority of the specters, with only a few problems. Much as one would expect from a country of such a size.”

  “Good to hear it,” Queen Victoria told him. “What are these problems?”

  Amrit flushed red. He had been hoping she wouldn’t ask that question. “It’s nothing we cannot control, really. You see, it’s the EITC once again. They’re still battling the traitors. There’s only so long you can fence in unwieldy pirates before they break for the independence of the oceans again.”

  Victoria frowned. “The East India Trading Company is one of the founding pillars of our modern England, and they are responsible for one of the longest-serving routes for our specters to commute over to your glorious homeland. If they can’t handle themselves on the oceans, then we have to remove the problem. If it remains unsolved, then we may have to look elsewhere for our shipments.”

  “Understood,” Amrit conceded. “We do have our forces watching the coasts, and we have bolstered our numbers of specters present on all ships navigating the trade routes. It’s just…”

  “Just what?” the queen snapped. “Can you, or can you not, control the problem?”

  “We can.” Amrit nodded. “We will make it so.”

  One by one, the rest of the ambassadors gave their reports about the affairs in their constituencies. On the whole, there was nothing too unsurprising, although it looked as though the tales of the rebellion in New York had already begun to spread, and small pockets of rebels were appearing in major cities across the globe.

  “They’re only a small force right now,” the French Ambassador, Flora Calvet informed Victoria. “A band of miscreants who call themselves ‘Les Guerriers D'été.’”

  Queen Victoria stared at Flora. “In English?”

  Flora blushed. “Oh, pardon. ‘The Summer Warriors.’ They’ve been caught attempting to recruit members, and have even gone as far as to try to employ poltergeists.”

  Victoria scoffed. “Peasants. Poltergeists will bow to no one.”

  “Not true,” Flora informed her. “They have had some success.”

  Victoria shook with rage. “This is why order is needed! Can’t you all see? By your lack of action, you have allowed a small problem to flourish and spread. Squash them. Squash them all while they’re small. Squash them like the pathetic bugs they are, and then the world will be safe.”

  The specters gathered around on the benches refused to meet Victoria’s eye.

  The queen steadied herself, unable to keep the contempt off her face. “Flora. Find a way to disband them before the menace grows. If I hear you have been unsuccessful, then we will have a problem Am I making myself understood?”

  Flora nodded and scurried back to her seat.

  Richard took her place at the stand and cleared his throat. Before he could say his piece, Victoria interrupted. “Enough out of you, Dick. We know what’s coming next. Since we’ve already broached the subject, what news do you have of Rogue and her merry expedition?”

  There were several mutters from the far-off travelers who hadn’t yet heard of Rogue’s events in New York. A few hands shot in the air, waiting their turn to speak.

  “Reports are coming in from all across the city.” Nathan Rogers, a specter who looked as though he could easily have just died in court. “It’s now becoming an issue of wheedling out who is telling the truth and who is lying. Everyone wants to be the one to report Rogue to you, so now the whole city is seeing her in places where she doesn’t exist.

  He studied his paper. “Piccadilly, Oxford, Canary Wharf, Clapham, Battersea, Hyde Park, St James’s Park, Stratford, Holloway… If we take all of these as gospel, then we’re never going to be able to find her.”

  “I don’t care what it takes.” Victoria seethed. “Investigate every damn lead we have. It works in her favor if we discount a single one, so I don’t care how many specters you need. Find her before she finds a way to get to us!”

  Victoria shouted her last words, then sunk into her chair, a sudden headache throbbing in her temple. She massaged her head and took a breath, then looked around the room. “For hundreds of years, my predecessors have ruled the paranormal court, and there has only ever been one true threat to my throne. I took Rogue in and gifted her with the purpose of serving by my side. They say ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Well, this girl was as close as any enemy could get. She’s the one person who could tear our whole way of life apart, and she’s out there running around the city as though she owns the fucking place. I want her. Oh, how I want her in my grasp.”

  A specter on the benches to her right stood up suddenly and wilted under her gaze. “I thought she was immune to spectral abilities. How do we restrain someone like that?”

  A small smirk played on Victoria’s face. “No human, conduit, or specter is immune to spectral abilities. Everyone has a weakness. Genevieve King’s weakness is in the place she has forgotten and left behind in her past.”

  Every pair of eyes remained fixed on Victoria.

  She gave a small chuckle. “Her humanity.”

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Piccadilly Circus, London

  George and Melissa walked in silence for some time, enjoying the quiet of the evening under the stars. Now, though, George knew there was something Melissa wanted to say but was struggling to find the words.

  She spoke eventually. “Do you ever wonder what it is we’re supposed to be doing here? On Earth, I mean. As specters?”

  They walked shoulder-to-shoulder, wandering past drunken mortals as the narrow streets gave way to fountains and small greens. “All that action back at the Recess, and you’re questioning your existence?” George gave a small laugh. “Your head and mine are in totally different places.”

  That’s not exactly true, is it, Georgie-boy?

  Melissa shrugged. “I guess I still have a lot to learn about the spectral world. Every time I think I have it handled, something else crops up. That question back there…” She glanced nervously at George as if he might bite her.

  “The one about Victoria and her throne?” George looked up at the sky. “Yeah, it’s a question I’ve often thought about. Are you wondering if we’re fighting for the right side?”

  He asked the question in as honest a way as possible, but inside he was tense. All it would take was one wrong word to one specter, and it could be the end of life as he knew it.

  Melissa looked at him, then turned away. “No.”

  George shrugged. “Me neither.”

  They approached the Golden Square, a cute little display of flowerbeds and benches, and walked through the gate.

  “This is my stop,” Melissa told him. “Thank you for walking back with me.”

  George smiled. “Sure. After the punch up at the Recess, I figured it wasn’t exactly safe to go out here alone.”

  Melissa chuckled. “Guess people are pretty tense right now, huh?”

  George nodded solemnly. He turned to leave.

  “Ge
orge?”

  He paused and looked back at her. “Yeah?”

  “Are we the good guys?” Melissa asked.

  George thought for a moment. “I don’t think there are good guys and bad guys. Just people who believe in what’s right and are willing to act to make the world a better place. And I can tell you without a doubt, Rogue is one of them.”

  With that, he left.

  It took all of five minutes for the Royal Academy of Arts to come into view.

  Even at midnight, the building was a sight to behold. With white stonework that proudly fronted the exterior, bold arches, and detailed ornamental work, the building nodded back to the architectural stylings of the Georgian period.

  George paused in the street and stared up at the building, enjoying the canvas of stars behind it. The moon was a thin sliver, and it was one of those rare moments where tourists and traffic didn’t flood the scene.

  A specter waved down to him.

  George hadn’t intended to visit the building, but he’d found himself walking on autopilot. He waved back, then put his hands in his pockets and took a long breath.

  “I can’t do it.” He thought back to all the countless wrongdoings he’d seen from the queen’s men. All the times in life he had fought for good and failed. “I can’t do it anymore.”

  He turned to leave and paused when several specters led by Kershaw appeared in front of him. They blocked his passage and surrounded him in seconds.

  Kershaw looked awful. His fight with Clandestiny had left him with a swollen eye, several missing teeth, and bruises across his arms.

  “You think this is bad, you should see the other guy,” Kershaw croaked. He nodded at Clandestiny who stood behind George. Her own face a reflection of Kershaw’s.

  “What can I help you with?” George asked as casually as possible. Which, given the situation, wasn’t casual. “I was actually about to head home.”