Page 60 of Phantom
My heart rate picks up and my breathing comes in pants as I try to remember any and every rumor I’ve ever heard regarding the Phantom of the French Quarter.
He glides to the house and stops feet from it. I maneuver in my seat to try to glimpse around a tree in my way, but I can only make out a short, skinny man in a hood. When he turns his head, his face reflects off of the lamp light and I gasp.
Ben?
But, no… it can’t be. Is it a mask? Do other people have the same mask Sol has? Is this one of hisshadowsdressing up like him?
I try my hardest to hear, but of course, I can’t make out a thing when they’re twenty feet away. Sol nods at whatever the guy is saying and digs in his pocket before handing the guy a wad of cash. The Bordeaux look-alike takes it and counts it as he runs off toward Saint’s Petals.
What the hell is going on?
Once the other man is gone, Sol glances around before striding back to the car.
Shit, I have twenty feet to decide how to play this. Do I ask questions? Do I want to know the answers? What will he do once I know them?
I’ve had a macabre sense of justice for as long as I can remember. My dad wasn’t always on the right side of the law, and the police never did us any favors. When my father was murdered, I hadn’t been able to tell the cops thewholestory, but they’d known enough to try to find the murderer. And yet, the case is still unsolved after a whole year.
But my instincts tell me I can trust the man who saved my life rather than turn me over to a psych ward. I can trust the man who protects his city, buys women flowers, and genuinely wants to know how well an elderly couple is doing.
When he hops into the car, I only have one question.
“Why did you let her think you were Ben?”
He starts the engine and the glow of lights in the car lets me catch a glimpse of a smile reflecting off of his tinted window. “Have you ever seen a phantom?”
“No,” I reply slowly.
“Neither has Miss Mabel.” He lifts his face and that smirk kicks up his lips. “And yet, somehow the Phantom of the French Quarter knows everything there is to know about Treme.”
I nod before it finally clicks. “So if you’re Ben in public, then you can keep a beat on the city, but the Phantom of the French Quarter can stay just that. A phantom. One that runs on rumors and the smoke and mirrors act. And since you rarely go out, it would be news around town if you did, so you like to stay in the shadows.”
“Exactly.”
I smile, feeling like I’ve finally figured this man out, at least a little bit. “So where to next? I can’t be this dressed up with nowhere to go.”
His shoulders relax, as if he’s grateful not to answer more questions right now. He pulls out of the parking space and flashes me another sexy, lopsided smile.
“Masque.”
Scene 14
FOLLOW HIS LEAD
Sol
It would’ve been easier to get dressed up for the masquerade after visiting Saint’s Petals, but to ensure Miss Mabel’s safety, I always meet with her right before her store closes. That way, one of my men can guard her when she leaves.
Scarlett and I waste no time once we get back to the opera house, though. As soon as we’re out of the Aston Martin, I lead her through the tunnels so that we can drop off the flowers and change masks. She grabs her rose gold butterfly masquerade mask and I take off my itchy prosthetic mask in exchange for my charcoal-gray skull one that also covers the right side of my face. After that, we head through the tunnels to the speakeasy.
A man in a mask like mine stands guard outside as the bouncer. All of the bouncers who work for Madam G also work for me, so he opens the door before Scarlett can even give the password.
Inside Masque, the lively jazz music blares down the stone hallway and my ears ring in protest. I normally wouldn’t be here. Ben is the one who covers the business deals held at Masque. The speakeasy is where we hold meetings for our side of town, while box five is where we conduct business for everywhere else. Tonight, I am purely here for pleasure, or rather, Scarlett’s pleasure. I wanted to show her she’s not a prisoner in my home, and going out will hopefully prove that.
When we navigate the winding turns into the speakeasy and come up to yet another steel door—no guard, this time—I open it. Her little gasp makes the whole night—putting on that godforsaken itchy prosthetic face mask earlier, going outside, and conducting my nightly affairs—all worth it.
Her moonlight eyes flash to mine and the astonishment that shows through her butterfly mask makes my chest swell with pride.
The theme for the masquerade is Dark Clouds and Rose Gold Linings, like a play on words for “every cloud has a silver lining.” The entire speakeasy is awash with metallic gray, rose gold, and white, and everywhere you look are the roses I ordered from Saint’s Petals, white with hand-painted flecks of metallic rose gold. I’m not one for parties, but Madam G and Miss Mabel really outdid themselves this time.
