The Last Queen Book Four Page 11

  A part of my mind tells me I’m doing exactly what John has been trying to teach me – following the natural world, opening up to it until mother nature herself tells me how to fight and where to go.

  We twist around several blocks. Soon enough I feel that he’s jumped onto the roofs, and I do the same. I launch at a nearby stone wall, climbing up it, magic blasting around my body as I pivot, push off the wall, grab the lip of the roof, and haul myself onto it. I roll, my back clinking across slate tiles. I shove up into a standing position and haul myself forward. I’m no longer in my heels and pencil suit. I’ve changed into the guise of a man. I’m in sturdy boots, solid jeans, and a thick jacket. I’m wearing shades, too, even though there’s little point. The castle knows I’m after him, and he’s probably already realized that I’m the Last Queen.

  Still, it’s better than running around on the rooftops dressed as a secretary.

  I finally catch a glimpse of him. It’s such a surreal thing to see him running forward, the tails of his long jacket flaring around his legs as he holds his whiskey tumbler perfectly still.

  The liquid doesn’t slosh around, despite how high he jumps or how fast he flings himself forward.

  I need that glass. I want it. Something deep within me calls on me to grab it from him at the first opportunity I get.

  Despite everything John has been trying to teach me, I know there’s a limit to what he can convey. Because there’s a limit to what he knows.

  In order for me to become the most powerful piece I can and to save as many people as I can, I’m going to need to learn spells from every source.

  And something tells me that what I can learn from the castle will eclipse everything I’ve managed to find out recently.

  I drive forward, flinging myself off the edge of a roof, managing to breach a 20 m gap over to an apartment block on the other side, and catching the window ledge. I launch up the side of the roof, my solid boots scrabbling against the old, drab, mold-covered brick. I drag myself onto the roof once more, spring across it, and always keep my eyes locked on the castle.

  If I had time to pause and I wasn’t throwing myself forward on adrenaline alone, I’d realize this asshole is leading me somewhere. Somehow, despite the fact I should be faster than him and more powerful than him, he’s always managing to keep about 100 m in front of me.

  He keeps leading me forward. I don’t know how much time has passed, maybe 5 minutes, maybe 10.

  My phone rings once or twice, but I don’t have the time to pluck it up.

  I know who it is, anyway. John. He will scream at me to come back. Disappointment will drip from his voice like poison from a wound.

  I can’t put up with it anymore.

  Because it’s wrong.

  The way he fights, the way he’s so risk-averse. It’s wrong. It costs more than it gets him. And with Spencer on the cusp of getting all of Senator Rogers’ powers, John can’t afford to play nice anymore.

  Those thoughts stab through me as I throw myself off another roof.

  It’s already dark out. It was dusk by the time we reached that park, and now night is settling on the city.

  One by one the lights are blinking on, and they make the buildings look like gems in a sea of darkness.

  The smell is thick with exhaust fumes, laced here and there with the scent of greasy food. I pick up Chinese and pizza and fried chicken. And just amongst them, something else.

  Something far denser.

  Something that shouldn’t be there.

  John has told me once or twice that the more I allow myself to attune to nature, the more it will allow me to pick up. For there is more in nature than there is in man. Man may be limited by its five senses, but in nature, there is an endless, limitless, vast amount of information. And if you can tune into it, you can have an edge.

  Now I swear I can smell danger. Power. Chaos brewing.

  I jerk my head to the side, momentarily pulling my attention off the castle as I fix it instead on a building in the center of town.

  ... It’s going to sound crazy, but despite the fact I know this place like the back of my hand, I’ve never seen that building before. It’s like a dark shadow that’s erupted from the center of the earth.

  Momentarily, I stand there, driving to a halt, my shoes skidding across an old, drab section of concrete roof. They squeak as I come to a standstill, my jacket bunching around my shoulders as a quick wind pushes through my short hair.

  I lock my senses on that building.

  ... It looks like a dark hand pulling out of a grave.

  In the distance, I hear the castle scream.

  It’s powerful, shaking with anger. What’s more, with menacing force.

  I jerk my head around just in time to see the guy deliberately changing direction. He throws himself off the side of the building, manages to control his descent, and grabs a window on his way down. He drags himself in, smashing the window with a balled up hand, always keeping his drink steady, of course.

  There’s a scream as a woman inside the apartment sees him.

  “Jesus Christ,” I spit, realizing he’s going to play on my weak spot again and draw an innocent civilian into this mess.

  I power forward, reaching deep within myself to find a new reserve of strength.

  I throw myself off the side of the building, jumping like I’ve got a jetpack strapped to my back. I manage the leap, and I grab the edge of the same window and pull myself in.

  The castle has got one armed locked around the woman’s neck. She’s pinned to his chest. She’s about my age, my real age, at least. She looks a lot like me, too. Small, short hair, wide expressive eyes. They’re currently locked open in abject fear as she screams again.

  She can’t see me – I’m not stupid enough to let her do that. I’ve still got my hand spread to the side as a reality-bending spell prevents her from seeing my dark expression or hearing my thundering footfall as I launch forward.

  The castle jerks back, following my move. He’s still got his whiskey glass held out steadily. He brings it up and suddenly takes a sip.

  That’s when the carpet lurches out from underneath me.

  I’m prepared for the move. Maybe it’s all of the bullshit John has made me go through with the mats in his training room. Just as the carpet lurches out from underneath me, I leap. I also soar forward with a kick.

  It’s not aimed at the guy – it’s aimed at the woman.

  I’ve not lost my shit completely and decided to go after innocent civilians.

  It’s a well-timed blow – one designed to get her out of the way and out of the castle’s arms before it’s too late.

  My kick lands against her shoulder, pushing her to the side.

  She screams in soul-crushing fear at the fact she received a blow out of nowhere. Still, it’s enough to wrench her out of his arms. She strikes the ground just beside him.

  I don’t pause. I power forward, locking an arm around the castle’s middle as I wrench him to the side. At the same time, I reach a hand forward and command a blast of wind to sail toward the woman’s closed front door. The wind slams into the handle, twisting it and jerking the door open.

  The woman is down on her hands and knees, her hair fanned around her face, her messy fringe cutting over her wide-open, fear-filled gaze. As soon as she sees the door open, obviously the primal side of her brain kicks in. She scoots to her feet and throws herself out.

  As her feet hit the landing outside, I pull my hand back, commanding the blast of magical wind to sail into the door and yank it closed.

  It thumps closed with such an echoing bang, it sounds like a gunshot.

  The castle hisses, shoving to his feet. At the same time, he tips his glass, upending it. The liquid doesn’t slosh out. But I tell you what does happen – the ceiling rains down. It’s like somebody has cut the whole thing away from the walls. A massive 5 m² section hails down on me.

  I have just a second to react. I fall backward, kicking out with m
y legs to stop the castle from flattening himself on top of me.

  There’s nothing I can do to stop the ceiling, though. It falls too fast.

  I jerk my hand up, spreading my fingers wide, allowing a charge of magic to flash over them.

  It’s just in time as the ceiling lands on top of me.

  Fear blasts through me. My hindbrain screams at me that I’m about to be crushed to death.

  But rather than allow that to occur, magic blasts out at the last moment, sinking into the plaster and boards, obliterating them, burning them around me as if I’m the center of the sun and they’re nothing more than paper.

  I hear the scattering sound of footfall as the castle throws himself back toward the open window. Before I can follow him, I throw my senses up to the floor above. This is a multilevel apartment. The ceiling is the floor of the story above. Fear pulses through me as I wait to hear screams, as I pause to feel a crushed body on top of me.

  It doesn’t happen.

  The apartment above is empty.

  I finally jerk to my side, throwing myself over the crumbled, broken plaster and wood.

  I manage to make it to the window. There’s a huge hairline fissure running down the lintel and across the wall.

  The castle has done a real number on this building, but now is not the time to pause and offer my services in cleaning it up.

  I pull myself out of the window. I don’t even have a plan, don’t even have a spell in my mind.

  I just hit the air outside and sail down.

  My hair blasts around me. It was short a second before, but as I sail down to the street below, I change my appearance, becoming a young woman.

  Though I doubt it will make any difference, if there are more of Spencer’s men following the castle, at least it will give them pause as they attempt to recognize me.

  I’m in jogging gear, and I throw myself forward as soon as my feet strike the pavement.

  I launch around the corner of the apartment, and I finally catch sight of the castle again. He’s standing on top of the wall, his head tilted toward me, his glass held at an angle.

  “Bastard,” I spit.

  Though he’s far off, I catch a glimmer of his smile as it moves hard around his lips.

  He jumps off the wall, and I hear the thumping sound of his footfall as he escapes.

  My phone rings again. It’s rung about 10 times now.

  It’s just John.

  He’s a lot of things, but it’s become abundantly clear that he doesn’t have the balls to fight properly.

  I do. And I’m not about to let this castle escape.

  I fling myself forward, reach the wall, haul myself up it, flip over it, land on the opposite side, and plow forward.

  There’s a park to my left. Nothing much – just a playground for the kids of the apartment, presumably. It’s got a couple of trees and a swing.

  Just before I can throw myself past it, I stop, skidding to a standstill.

  The castle is sitting on the swing, rocking backward and forward gently, his glass held perfectly steady.

  This time I pause. I don’t throw myself at him. Warily, I take several steps toward the gate.

  “I would’ve thought you would be better than this. I would’ve thought you would be quicker, smarter, more powerful,” he says.

  It’s one of the only times I’ve heard him speak. His voice sounds like a chisel over metal. There’s something so grating about it, it puts one in mind of fire sticks and not a human voice box.

  I take another wary step toward him, pumping my palms into tight fists.

  “What do you want, and who do you work for? Is it Spencer?”

  “What I want is simple.”

  “Do you work for Spencer?”

  “What I want is simple,” he repeats again.

  He finally shifts his steady hand, bringing his glass up as he sips from it.

  The swing tilts. It happens suddenly and dramatically. As soon as he takes a sip of his whiskey, it’s like he abruptly gains control of the entire park.

  I see his magic spill down into the swing as it simply lifts up until he’s parallel with the main bar.

  It’s a hell of a sight. I jerk back, my eyes blasting wide. Just as I do, it brings me in line with the tree to my side.

  A branch as big as my head breaks off and sails down.

  I see it just out of the corner of my eye. I jump to the side, but I’m not in time. I roll, but the branch catches my leg.

  It doesn’t crush me – there’s so much magic blasting off my body that it can’t break my skin, let alone shatter the bone beneath.

  But it does slow me down.

  It gives the castle all the time he needs to gain control of the gravel.

  I’ve fought in some pretty harrowing situations before, but this is a step above.

  As the bastard gains control over every single rock, they sail around me, beating into me like a thousand hands.

  I stagger back, bringing my hands up, trying to protect my face, but there’s little I can do as I’m assailed from every angle.

  I hear his lilting laugh.

  When I fought him with the water from the lake, it was different. I could withstand those droplets. But these stones?

  They spin faster and faster, faster and faster. They create a vortex around me. One that doesn’t just beat into me, but one that starts to suck the very air from around me.

  I bring up a hand and clutch it on my throat as my lips jerk open and my eyes bulge. I try to suck in a breath, but there’s nothing.

  I fall down onto my knees, then my stomach, then my face. I gasp for air like a fish dragged out of the ocean.

  As my senses start to shut down and blackness infiltrates my vision, I hear the castle jump off the swing. There’s the rattle of chains and metal as the swing sways until it’s still.

  Then footsteps. Right in front of me, stopping just outside the vortex of stone. I swear, despite my ringing and pounding ears, that I can pick up the slosh of liquid in the lead tumbler. Then a short, sharp, directed laugh. “I would’ve thought considering you managed to kill my king that you would be stronger, Last Queen.”

  I can’t speak. But the scrap of my mind that is still operational realizes what he’s talking about. The castle must’ve worked for Senator Rogers. Spencer must’ve acquired him when he started making a move on the boards and pieces Rogers left behind.

  There’s the creak of joints and the rustle of fabric as the castle gets down on his haunches in front of me.

  I haven’t taken a breath in what feels like a minute. Stars flash through my blackened vision, beckoning me into unconsciousness. But I hold on just long enough to feel him reach a hand through the scattering stones. His bony fingers lock on my shoulder, pinning me to the ground. He has the weight of an anchor. Even if I wasn’t struggling for breath, it would almost be impossible to fight against his grip.

  “It’s time to open up your destiny, Last Queen. It’s time to bring the final game. Now, rest.” I feel him bring his hand off my shoulder suddenly and backhand me. As soon as his knuckles slam against my jaw, my head jerks to the side and I freefall into unconsciousness.

  Just before I do, I have time enough for one thought. John was right. I was always a risk to him. I allowed myself to be captured, and this time, there may be no going back.

  Chapter 10

  I DON’T WAKE, BECAUSE it is questionable whether I ever fully lose consciousness. Instead, I slip into a realm of flashes of fancy. Shapes and lights that spiral through my vision. They’re chaotic and lack the narrative and stability of a dream. What they are are snippets of a history on fast forward. I catch glimpses of gameboards, of glowing pieces, of kings and queens. I pick up broken slices of people’s memories, of battles, of all-out wars.

  The secret history of mankind – one pushed on by the abomination that is the game.

  I’m aware of the fact that the castle moves me. I’m locked over his shoulder. He moves with ease, ignorin
g my weight as he always keeps his whiskey glass steady.

  I don’t know how long it takes until we reach our destination, but as I resurface from the chaos of my visions for half a second, I recognize where we are. That shadow of the building I saw when I paused on the rooftops. The tower that seemed to have written itself over the horizon of Rival City like a storm cloud momentarily blocking out the picturesque view of a blue sky.

  The castle seems to always whistle while he walks. No specific tune, just long sharp notes like he’s a bird of prey calling his brethren to a feed.

  In between the horrifying flashes of wars in my mind, I know I’m taken into the building and dumped in a room. I’m not tied to a chair or staked to the floor. Instead, the castle draws a complicated pattern of circles and pentagrams around me in a 2 m radius.

  I can’t move my body. And it feels as if I never will again. Weariness unlike anything the human mind is meant to comprehend marches through me. It feels like even a mote of dust is as heavy as an anvil.

  And to think, I thought I was powerful enough to take the castle on and win.

  Every now and then, when I can pull my mind off the terror of the game’s history, I lock it on John. On the disappointment flushing through his gaze and crumpling his features. On the way he begged me not to go.

  ... He was right. He was so right. And now I’ve all but ruined everything.

  Eventually I hear footfall. It’s measurably different to the pound of the castle’s shoes. It’s lighter, more direct. While the castle is like, fittingly, a wall, the owner of these shoes—

  “Finally.” Spencer. His voice is tight with anticipation. Bottled up passion, too. I can hear him get to his knee beside me. I’m even aware of the fact he reaches a hand out, but he doesn’t dare push it past the barrier the castle has drawn around me. “Finally,” he breathes again.

  I fight to open my eyes and finally push back the visions assailing my mind. It’s impossible. The castle has clearly cast some kind of spell on me.

  “You can pull her back to the real world now,” Spencer says as he pushes to his feet. His movements are fast, hurried. His breath is sharp and hissing.