Phantoms In Philadelphia (3 page)

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.

Jack

W
ould you
mind lowering the pistol, Raven?” I asked as I stood in the doorway
to the building that I now knew was some kind of temple.

Bess sagged forward and lowered the pistol. She was
relieved, but then she scowled at me, and I knew what was
coming.

“You went through my belongings,” she accused.

I shrugged as I stepped further into the temple.
“When I awoke this morning, I remembered that Penelope does not
know our address.”

Bess pushed to her feet, a grim expression on her
face. “Now that you are here you may help me.”

She strode to the door, and after another glance
around the room, I followed. I helped her carry the body of a
small, but heavy man into the temple, placing him next to the
other. Whoever those little men were; they were not the enemy.

We went out of the temple shutting the doors, and
she ran around the building, disappearing into a copse of trees
only to emerge again with her horse Pegasus. I went to my horse
Brutus and mounted him. She did not say a word as we rode through
the trees. It was not until we reached the main road that she
spoke.

A dark cloud descended upon me as I listened to what
had happened at that temple. Giant’s, incantations, and mysterious
black boxes were stories usually belonging to fairy tales. Pierre
being captured was a great loss for us, but Bess was determined to
find those responsible. Then she told me that George had been
taken. For a moment, I could only stare at her in disbelief.

“What is the plan?” I demanded when I realized she
was not jesting.

“First, we find the giant and retrieve the black box
and then I will send a note to the Washington Phantoms and set them
onto locating Pierre. After that, we will go home and find George
and the people who took him,” Bess said, removing her mask before
riding onto the main road heading toward the city. “I do not see
the giant, so we will trot and wait for him to overtake us.”

It was only a few minutes before we heard another
rider coming up behind us. When he passed us, I had to keep my jaw
from sagging. The man was a beast. I glanced at Bess, who nodded,
but said nothing. The giant was riding at a canter, so we picked up
pace following him into the busy city streets.

We rode past where the President’s
house had been burned by the British during the war in 1814. The
exterior sandstone walls still stood, but the fire had destroyed
the interior, both floors and walls. Congress discussed rebuilding
the President’s house in another city, but President James Madison
wanted the house to be built exactly as it looked before the war,
to symbolize America’s determination, that both the nation and
government were here to stay. The same man who drew the designs for
the original structure was hired to oversee the rebuilding of the
President’s house.
Workers were busy with
the reconstruction. President Madison still lived on Pennsylvania
Avenue, but in a townhouse down the road.

The giant rode into a neighborhood where many of the
city’s merchants lived. We followed at a safe distance. When he
pulled up his horse outside a house, we rode past. At the end of
the street, we turned left, but at the first hitching post, we
dismounted.

There was a narrow path too small to be a road that
ran behind the houses. Bess counted the houses, pointing to the
fourth.

All the houses were small, brick structures, each
with a patch of grass behind it. We moved to the door on the back
of the house. With each step, my excitement mounted. The large man
had looked like a worthy foe, and I had never fought a giant
before. With our masks in place, I turned the knob and found it
unlocked.

Bess gripped my shoulder before I
could open the door, saying,
“I will create
a diversion while you retrieve the box. Do not, under any
circumstances, allow him within reach of you, and if you must,
shoot first.”

I nodded, opening the door. She took the lead,
tiptoeing down a narrow passage toward the front of the house.
There was a small staircase a few steps from the front door, but
there were no doors on the right wall. The only room was to the
left of the stairs. The door was open, but from where I was
standing, I could not see into the room. The wood slats under our
boots did not make a sound as we moved around the front of the
staircase, slinking against the small portion of the wall between
the door and the staircase. Bess moved her head to take a peek into
the room. Suddenly her whole body jerked, and she was lifted into
the air.

Sparks of terror tore through me as
Bess disappeared around the corner, her pistol falling to the floor
with a loud
clang
that ricocheted off my nerves. Darting around the corner, Bess
was extended in the air, her arms reaching for the giant’s neck.
His long arms held her away from him. I had only moments before
Bess would die; her air closed off by his massive hand around her
throat.