Phantoms In Philadelphia (39 page)

Chills were imprinted all along my arms and weak
legs, but I ran to the banister. Another shot fired in the parlor,
and I sank to my knees, my legs unwilling to carry me further. My
head ached fiercely with all the terror pouring into every part of
me.

Gripping two balusters, I looked to the foyer below.
Two men carried a body from the parlor with a gunshot wound in the
chest. It was Monroe.

“No
!” I
screamed. My pistol was out, and I was running down the stairs, but
it did not feel real. I was moving, but it was as if I was moving
through a fog, unable to feel, unable to see clearly. The men
carrying Monroe paid no heed to me, exiting through a door at the
back of the house. My feet hit the foyer floor, about to run after
them, but I glanced toward the parlor and everything else
blurred.

Lowering my pistol to my side, I whispered,
“Jack.”

Jack was lying on the floor, red staining the
shoulder of his coat. The walls were closing in on me from every
direction, but I had to reach him. I had to help him. My little
brother. I ran forward. The parlor door flew at me, slamming
against my face.

Stumbling back, I took a moment to shake the pain
from my head. A growl forced its way up my throat and across my
lips. I shoved the door against the wall, ready to commit
murder.

Jack had told me that the only
times he had killed men was because he was trying to save someone
else. He said that when you are in the situation, you don’t have
time to think; you can only act. That is why it is vital to know
your limitations before you ever commit to something. I knew my
limitations, but I
lived
my capabilities. A man stood between me and my
brother, and he had to be eliminated.

The man with more fat than muscle had a pistol
pointed at Jack’s head. I took a step into the room. He cocked his
pistol. “Take her,” he demanded, of who I was not sure, until four
strong hands clamped around my arms from behind.

I swung wild. I jerked and lashed out with my boots.
They had my arms, but I still had my pistol. I pulled the trigger.
The ball grazed the side of the fat man’s face. His scream was
nothing to my own. I screamed for my team. A large hand smacked
against my mouth and stayed there.

Guinevere walked into the room and knelt down beside
Jack, and then my vision exploded with black.

***

When I awoke my head was pounding with pain that
quickly transformed into fear. All I could see was black wherever I
looked.

Am I blind?
I prayed that it was not so, but one of my eyes did hurt
something fierce. I could not get my hands up to touch it. Scratchy
material rubbed against my forehead. I realized with a little cry
of relief that I was not blind, but blindfolded.

The seat against my bound hands jerked. I was in a
carriage. The door opened, and when a hand grabbed my arm, I
thrashed myself side to side, trying to kick where I thought the
person to be. My feet struck the inside of the carriage, never once
hitting the person whose strong clasp was relentless. I was pulled
harshly from the carriage and set on my feet. A hand clamped onto
my shoulder, and started guiding me forward. To force me to stop,
the hand on my shoulder tightened. I could see nothing and I had no
notion where we were. Until I heard them.

“You cannot do this!” A woman’s
voice declared, and I instantly recognized it as
Guinevere’s
.
“She
is not without family. I have given you Loutaire,”
dear God, no
,
“and if you do not uphold your end of the bargain
I will go to the Holy Order and have you eliminated.” Her voice was
cool, but I had heard the crack in it when she said
Loutaire.

“My dear girl, is this emotion I hear? Do you care
for these traitors?” Richard asked.

I cringed, but took a step forward, not caring if I
was blindfolded. Fingers dug into my shoulder, and I jerked it down
trying to get away from the pain that those fingers were
causing.

“Of course not,” Guinevere sneered, “but all the
same you shall not kill her.”

Boots sounded before me, and the blindfold was
ripped off. For some reason, I could not see out of my left
eye.

Richard was before me, smirking down at me. “Take
them to the cellar.”

The guard with the touchy fingers shoved me ahead of
him and on down to the same cellar where I had last seen Pierre. I
was shoved to the far wall where he chained my hands above my head
before leaving me alone.

Pulling on the length of chain, I was able to sit on
the cold stone floor. My hands shook, but I ignored them as best as
I could.

A stone hearth was to my right and beyond that was a
table with iron tools all across it. I shuddered before forcing my
gaze to move on. There were two chairs in the room, but nothing
else. To my surprise I was not afraid, at least not for myself.
There was plenty of time for me to think about what had happened,
for they left me alone for what felt like hours, before I received
my first visitor.

Richard came in, bouncing on the balls of his feet
as he walked. He stopped before me, and I had to lean my head
against the wall to look up to his face. “My dear Elizabeth. I
regret to see you thus.”

“Release me and you will not see me at all,” I
retorted.

Richard laughed though it was as fake as the man
himself. “Imagine my surprise when I heard that one of the illusive
Phantoms is none other than my future daughter.” Richard paced
before me with his hands clasped before him. “At first, I could not
believe it, but when I considered, it made a certain amount of
sense.”

“What do you want, Richard?” I asked in a
long-suffering voice.

Richard knelt down before me. “Names, Elizabeth. I
want the names of all of the Phantoms,” he paused, scowling at me,
his eyes hard and wicked, “or I will kill Loutaire.” Richard rose
and walked over to the table in the corner. He picked up a tool
that looked like iron scissors. “But his death will not come
without pain. The longer you withhold the information that I want,
the more suffering he will endure.” Richard snapped his fingers,
and the door opened. Carried between two men was a body.

Jack

G
uinevere
.
“Guinevere,” I said, though I was sure that no one was
listening to me. I was not even certain of where I was. I felt a
haze around my head, and everything was white. My shoulder burned
and ached, my head throbbed, and I had to fight to get my eyes to
open and remain open. Moving my head to the side and glancing over
the room, relief washed over me. I was in Gideon’s
library.

Perhaps it was only a dream after
all—that horrendous battle.

Trying to sit up only brought excruciating pain to
my chest. A large white bandage was wrapped around my bare chest.
So it was not a dream. I groaned as I shut my eyes.

“I was beginning to believe you
meant to sleep all the day long,” said Gideon’s voice. I opened my
eyes to see him entering the room with a tray which he set down
before coming over to place a pillow under my head. There was so
much that I felt like I needed to remember, but at the moment, it
was all as blurry as my vision had been but moments
before.

Grabbing Gideon’s arm I rasped out, “How am I
here?”

“What do you remember, John?”

My mind tried to push through the fog surrounding
it. Pieces slowly came into view. “I was on a mission. Guinevere
was there.” I looked at Gideon. “Where is my team? I must get up. I
must go to George.”

Gideon laid a hand on my good shoulder and held me
down, though it was unnecessary. I could not get up, and my eyelids
slipped closed as darkness took me prisoner again.

When my eyes again opened, the pain
had lessened into aches. My mind was not nearly as clouded, and
more pieces were coming together. The assassins, the battle,
Guinevere, Monroe.
Monroe
.

“Monroe?”

Gideon came over to me, smiling. “You are awake, the
Lord be praised.” He picked up a glass and lifted my head so I
could take a sip. I raised my hand when I had drunk half the
contents. He removed it and lowered me back down.

“How long have I been here?”

“Two days so far. You were unconscious for the first
whole day and awoke only once this morning. It is now nine in the
evening.” He pulled a chair beside me. “Can you tell me what you
remember?”

Closing my eyes, I recounted the battle outside the
house. I had called out to tell Monroe, who was in the library,
that the battle had begun. Monroe came into the room. I was telling
him to go back into the library, when Guinevere arrived and shot
Monroe, then me.

“Monroe is fine, John. Even now he is with George.
From Jericho’s account, he entered the house to find you shot and
unconscious on the floor. He went in search of Monroe and found him
locked in the library. He did not know who shot you.”

“She shot him. I saw her do it.” I remembered her
eyes, her beautiful, sorrowful eyes as she squeezed the
trigger.

“Why would she keep you alive after you watched her
shoot Monroe?” There was only curiosity in Gideon’s voice.

Why would she do that? She would not. Not
unless...

Gideon spoke again, drawing me out of my thoughts.
“You were wearing your mask?”

“Yes.”

“You were not wearing it when you were brought here.
Perhaps Jericho removed it, but, I am afraid that my thoughts lead
me down a path of concern.”

A knot formed in my stomach and my shoulders tensed
causing pain to surround my wound. “You believe she removed my
mask; even now knows who I am?” Gideon did not have to reply, I
could see it in his eyes. Panic, fear, alarm all tumbled inside me,
filling every part of me. “If it is so, I must go. My mother and
Bess will not be safe.” I tried to rise again, but Gideon gently
pushed me back down by my good shoulder.

“We must await word from George. In your current
state, you could be of little help. You must allow others to
protect your mother and sister.”

“If Guinevere should tell Richard, all will be
lost,” I whispered with my eyes closed.

“Have faith, my friend. What you must do now is
rest. Regain your strength and leave the fighting to others.”

Though I tried to do as instructed, I could not
rest. As it was late, Gideon could not send a message to George,
but he promised to do so in the morning.

Gideon gave me a sleeping draught, since I could not
fall asleep on my own. When I awoke, the room was bright with
morning sunshine. After seeing to my needs, Gideon helped me to a
chair and gave me food. When I had consumed three eggs, four slices
of bread, and an apple, I sat back in the chair and closed my eyes.
The battle played in my head. I had watched it all from the parlor
window, until Monroe entered. He never said a word, did not have
the chance before Guinevere entered and shot him. A stunned moment
had passed between us, and I reached for my pistol. She raised a
second pistol and shot me. I stumbled back, tripping over a low
stool and struck the back of my head on the table. After that, I
awoke in Gideon’s library.

Horse’s hooves beating hard against the ground
outside came to our ears.

“That will be the boy with news from George. I will
return shortly.”

Gideon left me alone, but I could not stop the worry
from coursing through me. If anything happened to Bess or my
mother, I did not know what I would do. They were all the family I
had. If Richard harmed them, injury or no, I would retaliate.

Without me there to protect them, I feared for them.
There had been injuries in the past, but never had such a feeling
of helplessness surrounded me. Guinevere loved me, I knew that.
Would she turn me over to Richard, whom she despised? How deep did
her loyalty lie? I had to do something. I pushed myself up, but
exerted all of my energy in doing so. I sat again, taking deep
breaths.

Gideon came back into the house, handed me a letter,
and moved to sit across from me. I opened the letter, consuming the
words.

My Dear John,

I was both saddened and grieved to
hear of your wound, but I trust that you will find it healed before
many days. I will see to it that your mother is made aware of your
prolonged visit with G. Be at ease; there is nothing to worry you
as M. is as he ever was. Rest and I will be to see you in a few
days. G.C.

There had to be more to it than I was reading. “Will
you see what you can do?”

Gideon took the letter from me and moved over to the
fireplace. Holding the letter before the flames, words appeared,
written in invisible ink between the lines.

“George was ever the one to use
tricks of old.” Gideon shook his head. “George writes as follows:
Man took by white phantom, not eagle. Eagle flies free. Guards with
mother.” Gideon lowered the letter, looking at me. “What is this
business about the eagle? He means Monroe?”

“If what George writes is correct, Monroe is safe
but who was the man that the white phantom shot, and why did he
look like Monroe?” And why had George said nothing about Bess?

“All shall be revealed in time,” Gideon said as he
tossed the letter into the flames. “For now, you must rest and
regain your strength, so that you may piece together this most
intriguing puzzle.”

I stayed with him for two days, regaining my
strength, but also because Gideon would not relinquish my company.
He refused to let me use either carriage or horse, saying my wound
was not healed enough for me to make the hour long journey to my
mother’s home. What I believed was that, even though he was worried
about my wound, he was lonely living by himself, and he was
enjoying my company.