Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1)

by Amalie Vantana

  ***

  When I set out the following morning, the sky was gray, and the sun had yet to rise. I was dressed in black boots, breeches, shirt, coat, and hat. My mask was tucked safely in my pocket, and my pistols were in my belt. I went first to the stable where we kept our horses, then set off to the only orchard that I knew of.

  Jack would not be pleased when he discovered that I had gone off without him, but as his presence was not requested in the letter, I would not take him along. The man who had sent that letter was an informant who had sold information first to my father and after his death, to me. Pierre could be trusted to know everything that was happening in the city.

  Riding a mile outside of the city as the letter directed, I reached the orchard. Looking around, there was an overgrown lane that was barely visible due to a fresh set of horse tracks. Turning down the lane, I rode through the trees until the lane split in two. The lane to the right had the fresh horse tracks, so that was the path I followed.

  There was a bend in the lane before it stopped at the steps to an old building. The white stones were molding; grass was tall around the exterior, but it had signs of once beautiful craftsmanship. The building was square with a raised dome colored with stained glass. Two large doors were shut tight, and no windows covered the walls. All was quiet in the stillness of the early morning. To all outward appearances, the building looked to be deserted, all except for a single mount that was standing in a copse of trees.

  Once my own horse was hidden in the copse of trees, I put on my mask and walked to the building.

  Pillars flanked the front doors, as I stepped up the two stone steps. Pierre had led me there which meant that whatever was on the inside he wanted me to see. I rapped on the door with a brass ring.

  “What’s the password?” A deep voice called from the other side of the door.

  “Écouter,” I replied immediately, knowing it was the correct thing to say. Pierre and I used the password at our every meeting.

  Bolts were drawn back, and I was greeted by the long barrel of a musket, a pair of black eyes appearing over the gun. As soon as he saw my mask, his eyes widened before he threw the door open fully.

  “Come in, come in.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me into the inner room. He released me to bolt the door, but my focus was on the room in which I stood.

  Leaves and twigs covered the floor, and a pile of broken chairs covered one corner of the room, but it was the raised platform that drew my gaze. There was a single pedestal in the center, and on top of it was a black velvet pillow. Nestled on the pillow was a black, odd-shaped object with many points and with symbols engraved in gold covering all of the points.

  The door to the right of the platform opened. A small man, dirty and rotund with a long gray beard that was matted together and hung to his waist, came through followed by another small man with a short, black beard. Pierre.

  “Raven,” Pierre said, as he came toward me.

  “Salutations, Pierre.” I shook his hand then looked at the two old men who were staring at me intently.

  “Raven, these are my brothers. Zacchaeus,” he motioned toward the one who had opened the door, “and Jeremiah.” The man with the long beard grunted a greeting.

  “A pleasure,” I said before turning my attention to Pierre. “My friend, it is unlike you to want to meet during the daylight hours.”

  Pierre laughed, but it sounded strained. “Sit, there is much to explain.” Zacchaeus pulled over the only unbroken chair, and I sat.

  Pierre handed me a thick packet which I tucked away in the hidden inner pocket of my coat.

  “First, Ma belle will be delivered on time,” Pierre said, causing excitement to burst in my chest.

  “When? Have you seen her?”

  We had first heard about Ma belle during the war. The same men who had attacked me in that alley were attacking a woman on one of the back streets of Baltimore. To say that they were not above killing to find Ma belle was an understatement. They had robbed me of Ben, my betrothed, so I was determined to take Ma belle from them. When I had her, then I would find out what they wanted with her.

  “Soon,” Pierre said, forcing me to pull my thoughts away from the past.

  Feeling in my gut that he knew more than he was willing to say, I asked, “But you know who she is?”

  “All will be revealed in time.”

  My eyes slid shut for a moment. It was what my father used to say.

  “A matter of urgency has arisen.” He was frowning when I looked at him. “George was captured last week. Taken from his carriage. To be a sacrifice.”

  Disbelief had struck me for a moment before it was replaced by a sudden fear.

  George Crawford was one of the four founders of our spy organization. Whoever had him surely knew who he was, for why else would anyone want to capture an attorney. George was not the most cautious of men, but neither was he a deputy of the Phantoms. He was the financier of our group. He was also like an uncle to us.

  “A sacrifice? For what?” We were not living in the middle ages nor were we living near savages who sent up sacrifices to their gods. This was America, and we were civilized people; well, we tried our best.

  “Levitas.” When I looked blankly at him, he whispered, “The lightning bolt through the pyramid.”

  I was rendered speechless. During the war, my father had been searching for a group who were selling secrets and munitions to the British. They knew we were after them, so they started taunting us, marking their path with the bodies of people who had either discovered who they were or crossed them. There was always a brand on their back; a pyramid with a lightning bolt through the center. We had found seven people with such a mark upon them, but we had never been quick enough to save them nor had we discovered who they were or the name of their organization. But now I knew. The last body was left in January of 1815, and we had not heard from Levitas since.

  “Levitas is seeking Ma belle. You must stop them before they find her. Now you must go.” As he walked me to the door, he handed me a pouch. “Give this to Loutaire. Tell him to use it well.”

  Pierre had only met with Jack a handful of times, but they acted as if they were longtime friends. I turned toward the door, but before I could draw back the bolts, there was a pounding on the brass knocker.

  Zacchaeus came forward with his musket and called out, “What’s the password?”

  “Écouter,” returned a deep voice.

  Pierre pulled me over to the pile of broken chairs. “You must not be seen.”

  I did not question his command. Getting on my knees behind the pile of chairs, Pierre and Jeremiah stood on the platform, flanking the pedestal with the odd shape. The iron bolts were drawn back, but when Zacchaeus opened the door, he cursed and tried to slam it shut. The heavy door struck something hard. A large hand reached in and wrapped around his throat, and he was pulled roughly outside. Jeremiah ran toward the door grabbing the musket. He leveled it, but before he pulled the trigger, shots rang out, and he stumbled back, red quickly seeping into his dirty shirt.

  Hunching down, I started to load my pistol with shaking hands. Inwardly I was cursing myself for not bringing Jack along. I was not afraid so much as worried. I only had two pistols, and I knew not how many men were outside.

  A twig snapped. I looked up.

  A giant no less than seven feet tall stood inside the temple. Fear slammed through me, leaving me gaping and panicked.

  He was not looking at me; did not even sense my presence as he walked toward Pierre. Pierre was terrified; I could see it in his eyes, but he remained where he was. The giant snapped his sausage fingers and four men rushed into the temple, ran onto the platform, and grabbed Pierre. In my shock, I did not react, did not move as they carried him from the room ignoring all of his shouts and curses. I heard a door slam outside, and a whip snap followed by hooves moving away.

  The giant raised his large paws in the air looking toward the stained glass dome while his voice spouted an
incantation.

  His voice was deep, almost scratchy sounding. I could only hear a few of the rhythmic words he was saying, but it was enough to know he was speaking Greek. He said the words gods of thunder and lightning. He stepped up on the platform, and it creaked under his weight. Both of his hands reached out, and he gently picked up the black shape and placed it in a gold bag that was covered in the same kind of symbols that were engraved on the shape.

  My mind was traveling fast trying to form a plan. I could not let him leave with that shape, but I could not take him on by myself. He looked like it would take more than the shots in my pistols to stop him.

  He did not look to the right or the left as he moved away from the platform, but at the door he stopped. I held my breath, not moving, not blinking; my palms sweating. My heart hurt from the rapidity of the beatings. If he looked to his right, he would see me. His head tilted to the side, as if he were listening for something. I was sure he could hear the beating of my heart. After a long moment, he ducked his head and went out of the temple.

  I let out a silent breath and leaned over, my arms resting on the dirty floor. Breathing in and out, I tried to slow the too fast pace of my heart. I had seen many unusual people in my years as a Phantom, but that man’s height, and build was a new frightening sight for me.

  When I heard a horse whinny, I rose and moved to the door. He was riding away atop the largest horse I had ever laid eyes on, but it would have had to be large to carry the boulder upon its back.

  “You,” a soft voice called out, and I turned. Jeremiah’s hand was raised above his stomach. I went to him, dropping down to kneel beside him.

  “Must retrieve box,” he said with his black eyes staring directly into my eyes. “Must...retrieve...box.”

  “The black box? You want me to go after the giant and get the box back?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  “What do I do with the box once I have it? Whom do I give it to?”

  Jeremiah tried to reach into his coat, but his hands were trembling. I reached into his coat gently, feeling around for a pocket. My fingers touched a piece of paper, so I pulled it out, placing it in his hand. His fingers closed around it, and his eyes slid closed, as if he were relieved to touch it.

  He took my hand, pressing the paper against my palm. “Ma belle.”

  I flinched. What did the black box have to do with Ma belle? I tried to question Jeremiah further, but I could not rouse him again. I laid my ear against his chest, and I could hear his heart beating faintly. A twig snapped to my right, and I turned, raising my loaded pistol.