Phantoms In Philadelphia (42 page)

“Mother? What are you doing
here?”

She jumped, raising her fists, at the sound of my
voice. When she saw me, she screeched. I lifted her through the
window and away from the glass on the ground.

As I set her feet on the grass, she
clutched violently my coat. “Jack, you must do something! Richard
brought me here today.
Oh,
Jack
, he has your sister.” She was
terrified. I had to get to Bess.

“Mother, take this pistol and run to the back of the
house down behind the stables. Frederick and the others will be
there soon. Tell them where we have gone, and they will follow us.”
I kissed her forehead and gave her a little push toward the side of
the house. She disappeared in a run, and I opened the door, ready
to kill Richard if he so much as frowned at my sister.

We entered the foyer, and I was motioning for
Jericho to go upstairs, when a guard appeared and charged at us.
Jericho jumped in front of me, and the two engaged in a bout of
fisticuffs.

“Go, Loutaire!” Jericho shouted as he dodged a blow
to his nose.

I ran toward the throne room, the pain in my
shoulder fading as a woman’s shrill scream, wrought in pure agony,
shot through the closed door and struck my heart like a knife’s
blade piercing me.

Bess!

Throwing open the door; I raised my pistol and shot
the man standing over Bess, who was on the floor. I took a step
into the room, ready to kill anyone who stood between me and
Richard, when an ominous click sounded behind me as cold steel
touched my neck. I stilled in place, raising my hands, but my eyes
remained on Richard.

Richard’s face was positively triumphant. I was
surprised that he did not clap his hands like a child receiving a
new toy. “Mr. Monroe, do come in and join us.”

James?
My
body stiffened.
What is he doing here? Why
does he have a gun against my neck?

His hand pushed against my back,
forcing me to walk toward Bess, who was now
seated on the floor. She was staring up at James. Her face was
tear-streaked, and there was a small pool of liquid near her which
brought on a fresh wave of grief and anger, but, at the moment, I
could do nothing to avenge her pain. Dimitri, who had moved to Bess
when I entered, stepped away as the door shut behind us.

“What have we here? Another agent of the Phantoms?”
Richard placed his fingertips together. “Brothers of the court, I
give you the greatest actor of our time, the man who will lead us
to the presidency, Brother Nicholas.”

Mine and Bess’s gaze flew to James.

Levitas’s plan had not been an assassination only;
they planned to kill James and replace him with Nicholas, who had
been a great actor in England, before debt drove him to flee to
America. His one passion had been disguise. He loved the
impersonation.

“Come forth, Brother, and take your
place. We have dealt with the spy, and now you have captured us
another. Your greatness knows no bounds. First, the Phantoms, and
next, the Presidency!”

“You overestimate, Richard.” The man impersonating
Monroe stepped toward Richard. His deep voice did not belong to
Nicholas or to James Monroe. “I believe it is time to tell the
Brothers all. Let us begin with your plots that won you the
position of high lord of Levitas.” He looked at the men. “You have
all heard about the disappearances, which some of you have
witnessed in your own homes. All of those disappearances were
victims in Richard’s ploy to make himself appear all powerful.”

“A wit as well as a spy.
How...amusing.” Richard interrupted, smiling rather
grimly.

“Oh, I am not through. Tell them what transpired in
your attempt to assassinate James Monroe.”

The look on Richard’s face I would never forget, it
sent chills up and down my spine. He looked as if the devil himself
were standing there. The members were all watching and listening,
some intent, some merely curious.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but your orders were to
have the assassins distract the guards in the front, while your
real assassin entered through the back. She was to shoot Monroe;
his body was to be removed and Nicholas, a talented master of
disguise posing as Monroe, would step in.”

Guinevere had entered the house, but so too did
Nicholas. He entered the room only moments before Guinevere came
in, and thinking he was the real James Monroe, she had shot and
killed Nicholas Mansfield.

“If you are not Nicholas, then who are you?”
demanded one of the men.

The man who looked remarkably like James Monroe
smiled before pulling at his face. Pieces of painted plaster fell
from his forehead. He rubbed away paint from his cheeks, pulled off
the white wig, and there stood Leo.

He and James Monroe had the same face shapes,
height, and build. With the clefts in their chins and their blue
eyes, they could have been related. With Leo dressed in a suit with
knee breeches, stockings and a powdered wig upon his head, he was a
near perfect replica. We had seen Leo wear many disguises, a master
of paint and plaster, able to change his every look, but this was
his greatest achievement.

“What is this?” demanded Richard, his face a mixture
of red and purple.

It was my turn to look triumphant.

When James first suggested this, we had not been
sure what Levitas’ plan was. Our only thoughts had been to protect
James and draw out Levitas.

When Nicholas had first entered the parlor, I had
thought it was Leo, who was supposed to be locked in the library,
and when Guinevere shot him, I had panicked, thinking she had
killed Leo. I had drawn my gun, but she was faster.

The doors to the throne room opened, and the
Phantoms entered, led by Frederick.

“The Phantoms, I presume.” Richard
looked at me and Bess. “You may have won this battle, but you have
lost the war.” Richard looked at Leo. “Right on all accounts, but
one.” Richard sneered. “She was never the assassin. Nicholas
was.”

“You are correct, Richard, for once in your life.” I
sucked in a sharp breath as all eyes looked to the walkway above.
Guinevere stood there dressed in her cloak and mask, but the hood
was pushed back away from her auburn hair. “You thought you had
won, but you were wrong. By the decree of the Holy Order, I do
pronounce Levitas disbanded.”

Alexander Robb and a few of the others shouted
against her words. Guinevere disappeared through the door into the
hall.

“Loutaire!” someone shouted, and suddenly a body
flew against me, knocking us both to the floor as a gun went
off.

Frederick rolled off me, shouting, “Junto, follow
him!”

I sat up wincing at the pain shooting through my
shoulder and watched as Leo ran to the door to the left of the
platform and kicked it open.

When I was up and reached Bess, I helped her to her
feet, seeing the brand on her back. I pushed away all of my deadly
rage, for the moment. First, I had to find Guinevere.

“I will take care of Raven, Loutaire,” Frederick
said, and for the second time in two minutes, I was thankful for
him. I patted him on the shoulder and looked at Bess in silent
entreaty. She nodded, so I waited for nothing more. I left the
throne room at a run.

In the foyer, I moved to the only door that was
shut, the door to the library. Twisting the knob, I pushed my way
into the room. Two large hands grabbed my neck, hoisting me into
the air. Dimitri’s face was before me as my hands wrapped around
his.

Feeling the blood draining out of my face, and
hearing it pumping in my ears, spots started to dance before my
eyes. I tried to swing my feet and reach for the giant, but his
long arms were holding me far enough away that I could not reach
him. As I tried to reach my pocket for my pistol, dark flashes
blurred my vision, and I felt myself starting to slip away.

“No
!” a
voice screeched. A gun exploded, but it was not as loud as it
should have been.

Dimitri dropped me, and I fell on my back right
before his massive body fell on me. Whatever wind still in me was
knocked out with the force of Dimitri’s weight. I tried to cough,
to gasp for air, but I could do neither.

“Jack!” Her sweet, wonderful voice had spoken from a
far away place before her face appeared. Guinevere knelt beside me
and grunted as she pushed against Dimitri, rolling him off of me.
As the pressure left, I gasped for air.

“Forgive me,” she kept repeating as I coughed and
tried to stop the room from spinning.

My shoulder contracted in pain. My
throat was on fire. My vision was spinning, and all I could think
was that Guinevere had saved my life.

She pressed her lips against my forehead. “Forgive
me, Jack,” and then she was gone.

Forgive her? For what?

Slowly I pushed myself up, giving my head a shake,
trying to clear the ringing and the throbbing pain. It would not be
cleared. Pushing on to my knees, I crawled to the sofa, and used
that to pull myself to standing. As I swayed, it struck me. She was
fleeing. I had to stop her.

Ignoring as much of the pain as I could, I moved
from the room and finally the house. My steps were small and
stumbling, but I made it around the house. At the stables, a
carriage loaded with baggage and harnessed to a team of horses was
waiting by the stable door. When I reached it, I checked inside,
but it was empty. Footsteps running on the gravel sounded from the
side of the house, so I ducked into the stable, drawing my pistol
from my pocket.

“You will not get away so easily,” a man’s voice
shouted. Guinevere and Alexander Robb came into view. His hands
were on her, and I wanted to destroy him. She accomplished that
first. Her gun went off. She dropped it before running toward the
carriage, without sparing a glance for the man she had supposedly
once been betrothed to.

“See to the horses, quickly!” Guinevere demanded of
a plump man who was running behind her. She moved around the
carriage, pulled open the door, and I charged out of the
stable.

Grabbing her around the waist, I hauled her back and
tossed her lightly against the stable wall. She threw a punch, but
I caught her fist.

When she realized it was me, all fight drained from
her. My bracelet hung from her wrist, bringing a fresh wave of pain
to my chest that had nothing to do with my shoulder. I held her
against the wall with one hand and raised the other to point my
pistol at the coachman who was coming to Guinevere’s aid. He
stopped, raising his hands in the air.

“No, please,” Guinevere said, looking at the
coachman. He nodded and backed to the horses’ heads.

“Stay right there,” I demanded of the driver. He
nodded, so I turned my eyes to Guinevere. “Where are you
going?”

“Jack, please,” she said, her voice breaking in the
middle.

“Where are you going?” I repeated. Beneath my hand,
I could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she
took. Her face was pale, and her whole body was shaking.

Horses’ hooves thundered from the front of the
house. We both turned to look. Richard was astride a brown horse
galloping toward an open field. Another rider came into view, and I
quickly sucked in a painful breath.

My mother was riding astride, galloping after
Richard. I knew she could ride for she was the one who taught Bess
and me, but seeing her chasing Richard gave me a fright. She closed
the distance between them. Leaning forward on her horse, she drew
something from the saddlebag. When she started swinging a long
cord, I knew what she meant to do, for she had done it before.

The three balls of the bolas
swung
swiftly in the air, and Mother
released them. They flew through the air, struck the mark, and
wrapped around Richard’s body. He jerked back violently, and his
horse reared up. Richard lost his hold and fell.

Guinevere let out a sound much like a whimper. I
waited, but Richard did not get up.

Guinevere and I looked at each other. A tear slipped
from her eye and moved down her cheek. It was as if she had shot me
again, only this time the pain was in my heart. I raised my hand to
her face and ran my thumb along her jaw, over her trembling bottom
lip, and ended on a tiny mole at the corner of her lips. She jerked
away from my hand, pushing past me, and moved to her carriage. I
pulled back the hammer on my pistol. She halted.

“Are you going to shoot me, Jack?” she asked without
turning to look at me. I cringed at the uncertainty in her
voice.

“No, but I cannot let you go.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“I will make you a trade. Tell me where to find the
Holy Order, and you may go free.”

She turned her head to look at me, her eyes wide,
but her voice calm. “A life for a life?”

My heart felt like it had been ripped out, tossed on
the ground and stampeded, but I made myself say, “A life for a
life.”

“Weston’s Mercantile. Baltimore.”

“How can I be sure?” I asked harshly, watching every
flicker of her eyes, how she held herself rigid with
determination.

Pain flashed in her eyes, and for a moment she was
again the vulnerable girl that I loved. “I may have kept secrets,
but I have never willingly lied to you.”

Taking two steps, I jerked her against me, covering
her mouth with mine. I needed her to know, without saying the
words, that even though she was the white phantom, and I was
Loutaire, I still loved her wholly, unashamedly. Holding her mouth
hostage, my lips pressed firm against hers, until she started to
respond, her rigid body going soft, compliant. I pushed her back.
Her eyes were wide as she stared up at me.

“I must remain here, but when this is all over, I
will find you,” I smiled my most roguish, “and you had best be
prepared.”