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

by Michael Anderle

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” Carolyn asked.

  “There’s no time for that. Take us to him,” Baxter demanded.

  They were about to set off again when two Bhoots rounded the corner behind them.

  “Hey. You haven’t locked them up yet? What’s the hold-up?”

  Angus stepped forward. “Tuffnell lost the keys again, didn’t he? Fucking idiot would lose his head if it weren’t screwed on.”

  The Bhoot paused a short way in front of them. His face was pained. “We don’t need keys. We’re spec—”

  Angus threw the first punch, and the Obake peeled away from the group to take on the other Bhoot. Taken off-guard, the Bhoot guard stumbled backward, shaking his head to try to regain his composure. The second Bhoot, on the other hand, charged at them, growling.

  “Go,” Paige urged—at least, they thought it was Paige—pushing Lupe and the others back.

  Baxter’s face set. “Come on. She’s right, we’ve got to go.”

  Baxter, Lupe, Carolyn, and Feng Mian turned and fled down the corridor, with a handful of Obake beside them. They turned right and ran toward the sounds of screaming, pausing outside a door where the source of the noise was the strongest.

  “Here goes nothing,” Baxter ventured, prepping himself mentally to pass through the door and attack the torturer.

  An Obake hand held him back. “Wait. Let us. This could be fun.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Buckingham Palace, London

  The noises made by a man in pain filled Porter with an electric feeling he couldn’t describe.

  He had never seen himself as a sadistic man in life, but in death, there was something deliciously satisfying about inflicting a pain he knew would heal. Cut off a specter’s limb, and a new one will grow back in time. Peel off a toenail or cut along the flesh, and all would be well again in a few days—a few weeks, tops.

  All that would be left behind is the memory of a specter pushed to their limits.

  “Tell me what you know!” Porter barked at the prisoner on the table. A man bound by coils of spectral rope and covered in bruises. The Bhoots were the perfect allies for this sort of activity, and they reveled in it almost as much as Porter did.

  George’s head rolled on the table as if it wasn’t connected to his body. His eyes were puffy slits. “I…told you,” he panted. “She’s…right…behind you…fucker.”

  He gave a painful laugh, spluttering and coughing as he did.

  Porter shook with rage and marched to the side of the room. Over the years, the paranormal court had acquired a variety of spectral instruments that had accompanied mortals into their deaths. Specters had whatever they had on them when they died, and there had been more than one doctor slip the mortal coil while tending to their patients.

  Porter now picked up a surgeon’s scalpel with his remaining hand and walked back to the table. He held the blade in front of George’s face. “Do you know what this is?” he asked menacingly.

  “The stick you keep up your ass?” George asked, matching Porter’s stare.

  Porter grinned without humor. “It’s your undoing. Figuratively and literally. Now, if you refuse to cooperate, I’m going to be forced to make one tiny cut after another in vertical lines down your body until you do. By the time I’m finished, you’ll look like the collection bin of a crooked lawyer’s shredder. Here’s an advanced warning to you. My patience is all gone. Tell me what I need to know, and you will be set free.”

  “You think I haven’t been around politics long enough to smell bullshit?” George argued. “I give you what you want, you’ll exorcise me before I’ve even finished my sentence.”

  Porter debated this. “That’s definitely a possibility.”

  George lifted his chin. “I’ll take the alternative—suffering with honor.”

  “Honor!” Porter laughed. “What honor is there in suffering for a delinquent with a warped view of life? You’re protecting no one; you’re just risking the collapse of the age-old order that has kept the spectral world at peace for as long as anyone can remember.”

  “That’s what you rely on, isn’t it?” George choked. “People forgetting.”

  Porter watched him for a few moments, then sighed. “Very well. You’ve made your bed, so you can lie in it.”

  Porter took his time dragging the blade through George’s flesh, reveling in the pained yelps of the prisoner. The first cut went into the shoulder while the Bhoots held him still and allowed Porter to do his work.

  He made it to George’s toes, then examined his work. “Not exactly straight—”

  “Like you?” George panted.

  Porter seethed. “Good thing I’m not trying to win any prizes, eh? I wonder how this will work on your face.” He returned to the top of George’s body and held the knife an inch from his eye. “Could be a fun place to start.”

  He was about to plunge the knife into George’s eyeball when a movement caught his attention. He turned to the door and jumped when he saw Alexandria standing there, disguised as Queen Victoria.

  He side-eyed the guards. “Alex— I mean, Your Majesty. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Unhand that man,” Victoria ordered. Though her voice was hers, there was something off about the way she said the words. Porter had spent enough time around Alexandria to know she had the Queen Victoria impression nailed.

  “Is something the matter?” Porter inquired. “We’re in the middle of extracting information from the prisoner.”

  Victoria took a few uneasy steps forward, then leaned over the table and seemed to struggle with the sight of the bruised and battered specter. “I can see that,” she told Porter. “Unhand him. New information has come to light, and we must have him kept in one piece. You can have him back once everything is settled, I assure you.”

  Porter looked quizzically at Alexandria, questions bubbling in his head. Was this her? Had the pressure of the last few days finally gotten to her?

  His eyes widened as he had a sudden flashback to the image of Yasmine sitting on his bed and morphing into Rogue. He ordered the guards to grab her.

  But this Victoria lookalike was fast. She lunged at him, her thick hand grabbing his wrist and wrestling him to the floor. The knife shone between them, glinting in the flickering flames of the candles. Porter struggled with only one arm to fight with, but he was strong and held fast.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, morons. Do something!” Porter shouted.

  The Bhoots stood stupidly for a few moments, staring between the pair on the floor. They had never seen Victoria this way, and the last thing they wanted to do was upset the queen by interfering without her permission.

  That was reinforced when Victoria shouted, “Stand down!”

  “No, you fucking idiots.” Porter grunted, doing whatever he could to free the blade. “She’s an imposter. A fake. Get her off me!”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the Bhoot disagreed. “She looks pretty real to me.”

  Porter grimaced as he mustered his strength. He rolled back to try to gain the advantage. Whoever this bitch was, she was strong. He found himself filling with a real sense of panic. Where was Yasmine when he needed her?

  Off somewhere in the wild. Good luck to bad rubbish.

  Porter roared with the effort of his exertion as he managed to make his way on top of Victoria—which was tough, considering how rotund her stomach was. He straddled her and gave a sharp tug, freeing the knife and plunging the blade into his attacker’s chest.

  “Your Highness!” the Bhoots shouted, a sudden panic on their faces at the sight of the queen being stabbed.

  But as they raced to get involved Victoria vanished in front of their eyes, transforming into a perfect replica of one of the guards.

  “What the…” the Bhoot’s anvil-sized hand dropped Porter’s collar.

  “Now!” the Obake shouted.

  Porter turned in dismay as several specters and a scarred mortal ran into the room.
/>
  Baxter was the first to appear, his massive frame almost a match for their opponents.

  The two guards quickly rose to their feet, glee spreading across their formerly stony faces.

  “Finally, a chance for some fun,” one of them enthused as he beelined for Baxter.

  Baxter readied his wrench and tapped it threateningly on his palm. “You really want to go, big boy?”

  The guard raised his hands to a ready position. “Oh, you have no idea.”

  Baxter swung the wrench for the guard’s shoulder. The Bhoot’s hand lashed out so quickly it seemed impossible and clutched at the wrench’s end.

  Baxter tried to pull it back, but he couldn’t move it.

  “You puny specters are nothing without your weapons, are you?” the Bhoot jeered. “Ain’t it funny that those who treat others like shit in life are rewarded in death. I could kill you over and over again, and I might.”

  Holding the wrench and fixing Baxter in place, the Bhoot stepped forward and delivered a powerful headbutt.

  Baxter stumbled backward, leaving his wrench in the hands of the Bhoot and nearly knocking into those behind him.

  “Careful, big guy,” Carolyn warned.

  Baxter snorted. “Don’t tell me, tell him.”

  Carolyn looked around Baxter at the two Bhoots. “I’d rather not.”

  But she didn’t have a choice. The other Bhoot was engaged in combat with the Obake. The Bhoot moved as if he had been pumped full of adrenaline. Defensive blocks were followed by powerful punches, and kicks were all but ignored.

  The Obake were good fighters, but their blows seemed to bounce off the Bhoots’ thick hide, and soon the Obake were piled up around the walls, hesitantly staring at the brute.

  The guard picked up the final Obake by the collar and made to fling her across the room when his eyes widened and the air was pushed out of his lungs.

  He took a heavy step backward and stared in disbelief at the slight man standing before him—the wizened Chinese warrior who reserved his words and listened often.

  Baxter grinned, then turned his attention back to his own guard. Although he was big, there had to be a way to bring him down. The solution came to him as suddenly as lightning to a conductor.

  Baxter reached to his hip and drew his pistol. “Stand down, or I’ll put more holes in you than a block of Swiss cheese.”

  He aimed at the Bhoot and was surprised to see there was no reaction from him. If anything, the Bhoot looked pleased with this latest development.

  “That the best you can think of?” the guard taunted.

  Baxter gave a one-sided shrug. “Words aren’t my thing. You want those, go to Rogue. I’m sure she could fix you up.” He steadied the gun and tensed on the trigger.

  “Just try me,” the Bhoot chuckled.

  Using that as his cue, Baxter pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, and he smiled as he imagined the Bhoot collapsing to the ground in pain, moving aside so they could take George and haul ass out of there.

  Instead, his face dropped when he saw that the Bhoot was untouched. “Why do you think they use us as heavy artillery cover for their prisoners? We’re bulletproof, bitch.”

  The Bhoot raised his leg and kicked Baxter in the chest.

  Baxter flew backward, this time only stopping when he met the door.

  Carolyn and Lupe stood open-mouthed, unsure of what to do.

  Meanwhile, Porter crawled stealthily along the floor, his eyes locked on the fallen gun.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Buckingham Palace, London

  Jennie was running out of places to search.

  She had tried all the usual places the queen frequented—her chambers, several rooms off the second and third-floor landing, most of the east wing—and still there was no sign of her.

  Her tiptoeing had turned to a sprint the more desperate she became. All pretense dropped as she ran past faces she had become familiar with, and faces which were new.

  The familiar faces wore permanent expressions of fear and upset. The new faces carried guns.

  Canute and several of his wraiths followed dutifully along behind Jennie, suggesting places in the palace which she hadn’t even known existed. Rooms behind rooms behind rooms. Places Jennie had never had a need to enter in her life, and places which she imagined no one had entered in decades.

  She was beginning to wonder if perhaps the queen had abandoned the palace and gone elsewhere when they had a sudden breakthrough.

  “Strange time for Her Majesty to be involving herself in such affairs,” one pompous specter in a long golden robe whispered to a woman in an ornately embroidered dress. “Is the council always in session these days?

  “Agreed, these days are strange, but then, these are desperate times.” the woman replied. “Never have we fallen under the shadow of such a threat. Without such prompt responses to whistleblowers such as this, we would be living under shadow forever. God bless the queen.”

  “Still, Her Majesty can’t answer the call of every person who knocks on her door.”

  “Agreed. But what needs be done, be done.”

  The pompous specter gave a serious nod. “I pray she doesn’t work herself too hard. We all know how she can get when she attends to duties beyond her hours.”

  “Still, they are duties she must attend to.”

  Jennie didn’t even wait until they’d gone out of sight before running past them and toward the council room.

  It had been empty when she had passed through. But with a building so large, who was to say they hadn’t been circling each other around the corridors, disappearing the moment the other had arrived?

  Jennie stood before the large wooden door, intricately carved in a nauseating display of frills, crowns, and ivy. She narrowed her eyes and passed through the door, a strange sense of relief washing over her when she found Victoria sitting on the golden throne.

  Jennie walked the red carpet leading to the raised platform, her eyes locked on Victoria.

  The queen was oblivious to Jennie’s presence, her focus entirely targeted at the two specters standing before her.

  “I’m telling you, Your Majesty, we both saw her just moments ago. Strange knockings and workings have been happening at the bottom of the mill. It’s the perfect hiding place; think about it.”

  Victoria looked down her nose at both of them, unimpressed.

  Jennie couldn’t believe she’d already found two specters to stand by her side and watch over her. One was a Beefeater she had known as Trent Elskley, and the other was a former heavyweight boxing finalist who unfortunately died of a coronary when he was due to battle for the title. She never caught his name, finding she could not understand a word that came from his mouth. Speaking wasn’t his forte; communication usually started and ended with his fists.

  “And you say you saw her when?” Victoria pressed.

  “Twice yesterday,” the other man answered. “Hard to miss with tits like those.”

  The first specter elbowed him in the side.

  “Apologies, Your Majesty. What I meant to say was she was hard to miss with breasts like those. Pop out in that little white blouse, don’t they?” He chuckled. “I’m telling ya it was her, all right. Fixed me with a stare under those round sunglasses and made me hot under the collar.”

  The first specter hit his face with his hand.

  Victoria turned to Trent. “This is the big news you had for me? These two idiots believing they saw Rogue a few days ago?”

  Trent showed no sign of emotion. “They made a compelling argument.”

  “Which was?”

  “They had information we’d need. You ordered anyone with information to come forward. I believed you’d want to hear them both.”

  Victoria scowled, massaging her temples with her fingers. “I meant useful information. Not two low-breed buffoons who sat on the information for days before reporting it.”

  “Apologies, Your Grace,” the second specter spoke up nervou
sly. “In all fairness, traveling the city is tough at the best of times. It took us some time to find the palace.”

  Victoria fixed them with an incredulous look, then waved a hand and said in a bored tone, “Very well, thank you for your loyalty to the crown. Guards, show these two specters to the door.”

  Victoria waited until the pair were ushered out before rising from her throne. “Trent, tell Mr. Clark I’ll be awaiting his arrival in the playroom.”

  Trent nodded, and the pair left. Shortly after, Victoria left the room and made her way down the corridor.

  Jennie followed closely behind her, holding her breath. She was within reach, but if she was to be successful, she needed to wait until they were out of reach of prying eyes. The day had broken, which meant that mortals strolled about the corridors, oblivious to the goings-on of the paranormal court.

  Victoria, unbothered by anyone who came close, continued with a grim determination, her fingers laced behind her back.

  Jennie found it hard to tell even though she knew the truth. No wonder I was oblivious for so long. The resemblance, the mannerisms—it’s uncanny.

  She followed Victoria through a door leading to her chambers. The room was grandiose, most of the space taken up by items of antique furniture topped by squares of lace and curios. The décor made it clear the chamber belonged to royalty in its ornateness and design. Jennie wondered how it was fair that one person could live in such luxury while thousands of mortals slept on the streets every night.

  Victoria crossed the room and passed through a portrait on the far side. Jennie followed, striding through a small corridor, then through another wall, where Victoria finally stopped.

  Victoria shook her head and looked at a clock on the wall. “If you want a job done right, you do it yourself,” she muttered.

  “That was exactly my thinking,” Jennie agreed, disconnecting from Canute and appearing in the room with Victoria. “Nice place you got here. Can’t say I agree with your decoration, though.”