Page 10 of Guarded By the Phantom

She sighed, closing her palm. The golden flame disappeared, leaving the aroma of an extinguished candle behind.

“That’s what I told them. We have our own conduct standards that prohibit fraternization, leaking sensitive information, and so on. They still insisted on their own document.”

She looked with disgust at the long list, her eyes narrowing when they reached item fifty-four, “Breathing Regulations”.

“Do me a favor and breathe loudly whenever you can get away with it,” she said, giving me a sharp grin.

“No need to ask, I’m already on it.” I laughed, taking the list from her hands. “I’ll also wear a pink thong and make sure it’s visible under my perfectly tailored uniform.” I tapped item thirty-seven, “Proper Attire”.

Fatima nodded, getting up with a sigh. “But will you survive without being able to say ‘fuck’?” she asked, arching her thick eyebrow.

“I think I’ll manage.”

I laughed as I walked out. When I was safely out of her range, I turned and blew her a kiss.

“I scorn you, scurvy companion!” I exclaimed, waving my hand in an affected gesture.

Fatima chuckled, shaking her head, and replied in kind.

“Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.”

“That I do,” I murmured under my breath, setting out for sweet Barbara’s home.

“And Phantom?” Fatima called out. “Behave in things that matter. You know what will happen if you don’t.”

I rolled my eyes in the depths of my sockets, desperately wanting to curse. My superior liked to remind me she kept me only for my knife skills and flexible conscience that came in handy from time to time. Each branch of the MSA employed someone like me: a rogue who relished a wet job and could be deployed when standard procedures failed.

But renegades came with issues. My twisted principles didn’t align with the rest of the world, and my brain didn’t have the same filters others had. My psychiatrist thought I lacked the ability to perceive and respect boundaries, but personally, I considered myself superior.

Fatima liked to think she had a leash around my neck, but little did she know I couldn’t be tamed. Not really. When push came to shove, I would act the way I wanted.

Like now.

The monster under my skin roared for blood, and so I’d give it to him. Even though I was supposed to start tomorrow morning, I set out for the princess’s tower.

Hopefully, I’d find myself a dragon to fight.

Chapter 4

Barbara

The outing went well, the only pictures of me taken from a distance. But even if someone managed a better shot, I was positive they wouldn’t have seen any vulnerability. Riding soothed me, and having a packed day helped me stay focused.

I was almost calm, the video reduced to a dull tightness in the pit of my stomach. I still couldn’t eat anything, but I forced myself to drink a protein shake after I got back home.

After my riding lesson, I had a four-hour session with Madame Morozova at my home ballet studio.

“So you still insist on riding,” she said with disapproval, hitting the back of my thigh with a flexible switch she wielded at our every session. “It destroys your muscle lines,romashka.You should stop. Take it up again in a few years when you’re too old to dance.”

She spoke with a harsh Russian accent and moved with the grace of a dancer despite being over sixty—definitely too old todance, in her words. She wore a tight dress and high heels, her body lean, posture rigid.

She’d called meromashka, meaning “daisy”, ever since I started training with her.

“But I don’t dance professionally,” I said, rehashing the argument I used every time she brought this up. “And I really like what riding does for my thighs.”

“Do you?” she asked, her thin lips shaping a moue of distaste. “And yet, you have no man to appreciate those thighs, yes? Tell me: when will you be allowed to have one? Because time is ticking. Stretch.”

I started my stretching routine at the barre, pushing away the anger her words brought up.

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