The Last Queen Book Two

by Odette C. Bell

  I hang out in my room for several hours, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to be able to get rid of this symbol.

  I try several things – from disguising myself to just flattening a palm over the mark and trying to burn it off with magic. I don’t get very far – the symbol seems to be protecting itself.

  Soon enough, it’s midday, and I finally pull myself out of my room. I make sure my appearance is perfect, even though I’m still frazzled. That is a definite benefit of being able to disguise oneself. Though I can’t necessarily control my expression all the time, at least I can ensure the circles under my eyes aren’t visible.

  I make my way through the tower and up to the penthouse.

  As I arrive for work at the main desk in front of Rowley’s imposing office doors, Rosemary ticks her head up and looks at me. A frown presses over her lips. “John said you were sick today.”

  I shrug as I sit down at my seat, patting a hand down my blouse to neaten it then bringing my fingers up to check that my short hair is straight. “I’m feeling a lot better now,” I say.

  Then I cast my gaze toward John’s door. It’s open a crack.

  I can hear him chatting to somebody in low tones.

  “If you’re sure you’re up for it – I have some work for you to do,” Rosemary says.

  I listen to her with half an ear as I lock the rest of my attention on the low, muttering tones I can pick up through the crack in John’s door.

  I can also sense a faint charge of magic – and I know full well that he’s casting a manipulation spell so that his voice doesn’t make it out into the rest of the penthouse.

  I try to bolster my hearing with magic until I can finally pick up what he’s saying.

  “The book was gone. It’s now clear it was a trap,” he says, his tone tight with worry.

  “A trap for whom?” somebody else asks. It takes me a moment to recognize the voice, but I soon appreciate it’s Cici. I have already appreciated that as a member of John’s senior staff, she’s also a player in his game. Just how powerful a piece, I don’t yet know, but since Antonio was attacked by Spencer several weeks ago, she’s taken over the role as John’s confidant.

  “That’s what worries me,” John says with an unmistakably tight tone. Though I’m no longer as bodily affected by John’s emotions as I was before Spencer imprinted me, my gut still twists and my heart yearns to reach out to help him.

  “What do you mean?” I can hear Cici shift forward in her chair.

  “When my players finally pushed Spencer back from that mansion, they found something up in the attic.”

  “What?”

  “A dead Sentinel.”

  It doesn’t take me long to appreciate that he must be talking about the stone pawn.

  “What was it guarding?” Cici asks.

  “The book.”

  “Which is natural,” Cici comments in her always efficient tone. Of all of John’s senior staff and players, I like Cici the most. She gives me the impression that she would never go down without a fight.

  “But that’s not all. There is an indication that somebody else was there.” John’s tone does the weirdest thing on the phrase somebody else. It twists up and down, almost as if somebody is wringing his throat.

  I hear Cici shift forward in her seat once more. “You don’t think it was the queen, do you? You don’t think he’s already captured her?”

  I’m not listening to Rosemary at all anymore, and instead focusing every single ounce of my attention on the conversation.

  “No,” John says after a considerable, thoughtful pause. “If he has the queen, we would know – as he would’ve come straight for us. But I think... I think she was there.”

  “How did she get away? Spencer is many things, but he’s no fool. And if he set up this trap for her, then knowing him, he would’ve expended considerable resources to ensure it went according to plan.”

  John doesn’t say anything, and his silence goads me. It feels as if it slices a knife right into my gut and starts slashing wildly.

  “Are you paying attention?” Rosemary begins.

  I don’t even think as I subtly shift a finger to the side, using a manipulation spell to ensure she quits bothering me.

  There’s one thing I’ve appreciated since I started working as a secretary – Rosemary is not one of John’s pieces. So I know she won’t have any idea what I’m doing to her.

  It’s enough to ensure she gets distracted and continues silently with her own work while she allows me to focus everything I have on John.

  “I don’t know,” he finally says. “But the battle last night was costly. Leanne was injured. I was going to take her to the charity function tonight, but now I can’t.”

  So that’s why he asked me?

  “What are you going to do? You need a plan, John,” Cici says. “You can’t allow Spencer to obtain that queen.”

  Again John falls into silence. “I know.”

  “You need to set up a trap,” Cici says flatly.

  I no longer feel as if somebody is stabbing at my guts – I feel as if they’re throttling me.

  I’m now pressed so far forward in my seat, my hands are flat and sweaty against the bench before me, and if I wasn’t casting a manipulation spell, everyone would be able to see just how freaked out I am.

  I wait on tenterhooks to hear John’s answer – to find out if the same kind man who took me to the hospital last night would try to trap me like a mere animal. But I don’t get his answer.

  I hear him stand up from his desk, and the next thing I know, he’s pushing through his door.

  In an instant, I end my manipulation spell, pull myself together, lock my elbow on the bench beside me, nestle my chin in my hand, and pretend like I’ve been working.

  Though John looks distracted as he walks past, as soon as he sees me, he stops. He looks surprised. “You look much better this morning,” he says.

  Though my stomach is still bottoming out and my heart is rattling around in my chest at the prospect John is planning to trap me, I shrug and force a smile over my lips. “Yeah, I feel okay. Ready for tonight,” I add.

  I have to force myself to say that. Because now all I want to do is run back to my room and hide under my frigging covers. But I appreciate that is going to do nothing. Because I can’t keep hiding from the situation. I need to get out there and find out as much as I can about both John and Spencer. And the only way I’m going to do that is if I’m bold.

  So yeah, I’m going to go tonight. And if, somehow, it ends up in a fight, so be it.

  I’ll fight.

  Though my thoughts are strong, I don’t let them mark my expression as John nods and begins to shift away. He stops, casting his gaze back to me. “The event we’re going to tonight is a charity function – I’ll have some clothes delivered to your room,” he adds.

  I nod.

  He opens his mouth to say something, and there’s... a particular look in his eyes. But whatever it is, he shakes his head and chooses not to say it.

  He turns around and strides toward the elevators on the opposite side of the room. As he walks, I lock all my attention on him.

  I wonder just how much he knows. Or, if he doesn’t know for sure – how much she suspects.

  I have to find out.

  Chapter 5

  I stand in front of the tiny mirror on my bedside table, running a hand down my dress.

  It fits me like a glove.

  I can also tell from one single touch of the fabric that it’s expensive – the kind of expensive a girl like me would never be able to afford.

  I’m not one of those girly girls who’s going to melt into a puddle at the prospect that a rich man paid attention to her and bought her a fancy dress.

  That’s not why I’m standing here and running a hand down the fabric, why I’m checking my appearance one last time – no, I just want to get this right.

  I know that I can no longer be complacent. For the past two we
eks ever since my first fight with Spencer, I’ve just been hanging out in Rowley Tower recovering. But now it’s time to get back out there and take my destiny into my own hands. Because if I don’t grab it myself, either Spencer or John will do it for me. And though a part of me wants to tell me that John is a good man – even good men can turn bad at the prospect of absolute power.

  I shift back, locking a hard breath in my chest as I whirl around on my heels.

  Patting my dress one more time, I make it to the door, latch a hand on the handle, open it, and walk out.

  I listen to the resonant sound of my heels clicking against the floor as I make it through the corridors.

  I head to the atrium.

  I’m not self-conscious – even though this dress is tight and shows off the long line of my legs. I’m not self-conscious – because these aren’t my legs. This isn’t my body – just as the dress fits me like a glove, my body is a glove, too, hiding the reality underneath.

  And that is a reality that is still marked by Spencer’s magical spell.

  Every chance I get when John is not around, I latch a hand on my left shoulder and tap my fingers against the magic I can feel swirling beneath.

  As soon as I make it into the atrium, I see John standing there, waiting for me.

  He’s in a full dress suit – and the way it perfectly fits his form instantly draws my attention down and up his body.

  Though I once made the decision that I wasn’t attracted to John – beyond the effects of imprinting on him – now I have to reassess that. John’s face may be too perfect for my liking, but there is an undeniable strong energy about him that would draw anyone in.

  I walk toward him, hands clasped in front of myself.

  He flicks his gaze over to me, and I swear his eyes widen in interest. A strong smile spreads his lips. “Are you ready?” he says as he nods forward.

  I make eye contact for a little longer than is necessary. It’s a stupid thing to do. I know that for this disguise to work, I can’t appear to be too interested in John.

  But I stare at him anyway.

  He makes lingering eye contact too, then I hear somebody open the doors at the front of the atrium.

  “The car is ready,” John says in a low voice.

  He turns, and I follow him as we stride across the atrium, down the steps in front of the building, and out to a waiting car.

  He opens my door, and I sit down in a leather seat, pushing a small box to the side as I do.

  John goes around the side of the car and gets in.

  Instantly, he plucks up the box, opens it, and hands me something.

  It’s a mask. A beautiful Venetian mask that looks as if it’s been handmade.

  I blink at it, curiosity rumpling my brow. “What’s this for?”

  He plucks out his own mask. While mine is white and red, his is black.

  He fixes it over his face, adjusting the strap until it sits perfectly.

  Though I know John, and though I’m not a little kid who shouldn’t be able to recognize somebody as soon as they cover their eyes, I cannot deny that in putting on the mask, he looks like someone else.

  I blink hard.

  He smiles. “This is a masquerade,” he points out. “Did I forget that detail?”

  I look down at my mask, shrug, and put it on.

  I almost chuckle to myself. After all, I’m a mask wearing a mask, aren’t I? My face is already a disguise, and now that disguise is wearing a disguise.

  The recursion would blow anyone’s mind.

  I have no real idea why I’m coming to this function, and John, again, appears too distracted to tell me. Rather than filling the silence with conversation, he plays on his phone until we draw up outside of a large building downtown.

  There are many expensive cars lined up out front.

  There are lots of socialites, too. The most beautiful, wealthy people in all of Rival City.

  Maybe there would’ve been a time when I would have stared in wonder – but that time is long ago now.

  As I open my door and step out, not waiting for John to help me out of the car, I barely glance at the people around me.

  It doesn’t matter what they’re wearing – how much money drips off them. It doesn’t matter what they look like.

  Because now I understand the world of magic that sits right beneath Rival City, appearances mean nothing to me. Because appearances can be changed with little more than a flick of one’s finger.

  It gives the beauty of youth and the apparent power of money a sense of insignificance as John stands up on the pavement beside me and nods forward. “All I ask that you do during this function is that you stay by my side and you keep your eyes open.”

  I frown at him. “What do you want me to look for exactly?”

  “Business opportunities,” he says smoothly. “I will mingle, and as I do, just stay by my side. If anything comes up, take notes on your phone,” he says.

  That sounds easy enough.

  There’s a large paved area in front of the function hall. I’ve never been to this specific function hall, but I’ve heard about it. It’s this beautiful architectural glass monstrosity that looks like a crystal palace.

  A lot of the guests are mingling out front, and again I don’t even bother to cast them lingering glances. I ignore them completely as I stride by John’s side.

  There is one fact I do not ignore, though – there is one thing that I actively seek out as I let my senses push out in front of me.

  Magic.

  I’m becoming much better at detecting it, and now as we make it in through the large glass doors of the function hall, I catch just a sense of it.

  I incline my head to the left.

  We’re in a large atrium, and there’s a sweeping staircase that leads up to a level above. There’s also a door to my left that leads to an enclosed hallway and to some bagging rooms beyond.

  I hear the low mutter of voices, and, importantly, I feel a faint charge of magic.

  “The hall is just up here,” John says as he points up the sweeping staircase. “I have something to sort out first. You can mingle for five minutes or so then meet me up there,” he says.

  “Okay,” I say, only half paying attention as I keep the rest of my mind locked on that charge of magic.

  Nerves and yet determination curl in my gut. Because I have not forgotten the reason I’ve come here. I’m no longer going to take a seat as my destiny controls me. I now appreciate that if I don’t go forward and find out everything about this world and who I am, somebody will capture me and use me.

  As soon as John walks away, I linger for a little, then make my way through that door toward the bagging rooms.

  I duck into the first bagging room, and when I ensure that there’s nobody around, I change my appearance.

  It’s quick, and I barely have to think. I make my hair crinkly and red, giving myself bright blue eyes and a rounded Hollywood style figure from the 40s. I’m in a black dress that hugs my curves and offsets my eyes and hair. Just before I can walk out the door, I realize it’s a masquerade, so I click my fingers and I allow a mask to appear over my face.

  It’s blue and white and ornate.

  I stride out of the bagging room, my back held straighter this time.

  There’s something very empowering about changing my disguise.

  It gives me more than enough determination to stride away and follow that faint charge of magic.

  Finally, I come across a half open door that leads to a small courtyard outside. Rather than open it fully, I press a hand flat against the door and angle my head to the side, extending my magical senses out until I can hear what is being said, even if it’s just a whisper along the wind.

  “She won’t come,” I hear a voice say. And instantly, I recognize it.

  Spencer.

  His rumbling, deep tones shift right down my throat and wrap a hand around my heart with such a strong grip, it’s as if he will never let go.


  I feel like a bird who’s just been thrust into a cage, and my hand trembles ever so slightly on the door. But before the hinges of the door can creak and let Spencer know I’m here, I pull myself together.

  “You said you felt her shifting through the city,” one of Spencer’s men protests.

  I’m more than gladdened that it isn’t the man in the shadowy jacket. Instead, it’s the same guy who went to see John yesterday morning. He’s one of Spencer’s most powerful pieces, and though most of Spencer’s other players treat him with utter deference, there’s a hard note to this guy’s tone. A warning one, too. “Why can’t you figure out where she is?”

  “Because the spell was interrupted. I only get diffuse readings. Just enough to know she’s close – still in Rival City. Still within my reach,” he adds.

  My stomach pitches, and I’m forced to clench my teeth hard, my ruby red lips peeling back and stiffening.

  “You shouldn’t be here. You should be concentrating on tracking her down. There’s a limit to how long that spell will last.”

  “I know that,” Spencer spits.

  For the first time since the manor, hope finally springs through my heart. It’s almost enough to lift me off my feet like a set of wings.

  The spell won’t last? All I have to do is endure it?

  I want to clap my hands together and laugh in happiness. Instead, I continue to press myself against the door and listen.

  “But it will work on her. It will draw her to my side.”

  “So you think she’ll come tonight?”

  “I doubt it. I have yet to feel her.”

  “Maybe she’s found a way to disguise herself. If she’s learned that spell, it will hide her from you, no matter how hard you try to pick up her tracking symbol.”

  Tracking symbol? That’s what he burnt onto my arm?

  “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She has no help, no knowledge – she’s innocent. I doubt she’s learned such a spell.”

  “It would account for the reason why you can only feel her occasionally. If she’s primarily walking around in disguise, you’ll have no chance of picking her up, even if she’s right in front of you.”