The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) (25 page)

I bit down on my bottom lip, staring down at my lap
as a tear broke free and trailed down my cheek, followed by
another. I picked up my napkin and pressed it against the wet
before lowering it again. As I looked up, Sam was staring at me
from his place across the table. Our gazes locked, and I tried to
put all of my love, sorrow for what he had lost, and understanding
into my look.

“I know I speak for Bess as well as myself when I
say we are honored by your trust in telling us, and to us you will
always be a right, Charlotte Mason.”

Jack placed his napkin on the table and rose, asking
Charlotte to take a turn about the garden with him. They went out
after Jack promised Sam that he could watch them from the window
for propriety’s sake. When they were gone, Sam spoke.

“I was fifteen when my father passed on. We lived
with Uncle George, who introduced me to the life of the Phantoms.
But, my life was shroud in darkness. I was too volatile, so George
removed me from missions.

“When I was old enough to go out on my own, I did
so. I have worked for nine years to give Charlotte every good
thing. When George announced that he was moving to Philadelphia, I
bought his plantation so that Charlotte would always have a home
and a means of support.

“When I set about freeing the slaves, I did not know
that I was placing not only my own life but my sister’s in
jeopardy. She has long been the one bright spot in my dark life,
and how do I repay her? By unwittingly making her a target for
malice.” Sam leaned forward, his expression fierce. “Charlotte does
not know of the threats that have been made against her life, all
of our lives, and I do not want her to know.” His face hardened,
like a mask slipping over the vulnerability that he had revealed to
me. “So now you know the truth of my past, and the danger that will
surround anyone whom I allow into my life. If you wish to leave, I
will not stop you.”

My heart was heavy, knowing that he must be carrying
great burdens from his past. He was only twenty-five, and like me,
he had known true tragedy. He had lost people he loved greatly, but
he persevered, for Charlotte. When I rose, there was great pain
that moved through the depths of his eyes before he looked away
from me, as if he did not want to see me leave him, as if I
actually would. I moved around the table to stand beside his chair.
His gaze slowly rose until it met mine.

I would not show that I pitied him, for I did not.
He did not need words of remorse, for they would do him no good.
Having lived on the trail with no less than four men at a time, I
knew that men did not need grand professions of undying love. Most
men thought women were fickle creatures, changing their minds as
quick as the changing of the weather. Words were fine, but actions
were infinite. He needed me to show him that I loved him and
supported him.

“Come with me.”

His brows rose, and I could not mistake the look of
utter relief that settled on his face before he followed me to his
book room.

When we were inside but the door was left open
enough for decorum, I turned to face him. “I want you to know that
we will never speak of it again if you do not wish, but first there
is something I must do.” Moving forward, before he could speak, I
wrapped my arms around his waist, hugging him as tightly as I
could. His chest rose and fell in a great sigh as his arms came
around me, securing me against his chest. We stayed that way for a
few moments.

When I pulled away, he released his hold on me. “I
have brought my key,” I said.

He smiled as he went to haul my portmanteau out from
under his desk. I unlocked it and pushed back the lid, pulling out
the artifacts and laying them on his desk. I told him how we came
by each artifact, and when I handed the black box to him, I watched
him examine every symbol in silence.

“Sfære af lys. Sphere of light is the name given to
this by the Holy Order.”

I had not known that. We always called it the black
box. He pushed my portmanteau back under his desk and sat down on
his chair. Picking up a quill and dipping it in ink, he started
writing, deciphering the runes. I stood behind his chair, watching
him write.

Without taking his eyes from his task, he started to
explain as he wrote. The black box was a dodecahedron shape with a
different symbol, rune, or Roman numeral on each corner, both top
and bottom. The symbols on the box were a serpent, throne, spear, a
lion, lightning bolt, ring, and two babies connected by a cord.
There were two larger figures of an eagle and a phoenix. One was on
the top and the other on the bottom, but the question was, which
was the top?

Each symbol represented a letter or a combination of
letters found in different history books, but it was figuring out
the sequence of letters that was the trick.

Starting from the left and going across what Sam
thought was the top, I watched him intently as he wrote out all of
the symbols, letters and figures, stopping a few times to mend his
quill.

Watching him work, I thought about how much my
opinion of him had changed in such a short time. If it were
possible, I loved him even more after hearing about his past. He
had a heartbreaking history just like me. His presence was like a
strong tower, defending against all imposing forces. Mother would
say he had a true heart of gold.

When he glanced at me, I realized I had been
staring, so I quickly lowered my eyes to the paper on his desk. He
rose and moved to his bookcases, bringing over a book on ancient
symbols. Opening the book, he began flipping through the pages
until halfway through when he stopped on a page of runes.

Dipping his quill in ink, he began
to write. He found only eight runes in his book that matched those
on the box. He stood again and walked to the same bookshelf. When
he returned, he was holding an old copy of the Bible. Concealed in
the back was a book that looked similar to the Levitas book of
incantations.

He wrote the matching letter for every symbol that
he could translate. Several of the symbols were the same, so after
he had marked how many symbols matched, he moved on to the next. In
the end, there were fifty symbols that translated into forty-eight
words.

When Jack came in, Sam had set to the task of
solving the riddle that the words made.

“Where is Charlotte?”

“Asleep on the sofa in the parlor. I received a
letter from Gideon, and when I finished reading it, I looked up to
see her sleeping.” Jack looked at Sam. “How is it translating?”

“It is more complex than I could have ever
imagined.”

Jack sat in the chair beside me, looking over Sam’s
list.

We sat there for an hour, all three of us moving the
cut up pieces of paper around to reveal what the black box said.
The more words we placed in the right order, the more my brain
reeled with the realization of what was there.

Sam sat back. “It is not possible.”

When he could no longer stay in his seat, he started
to pace around the room, glancing at the black box at every turn. I
had moved to his chair, and Jack perched on the arm as we read over
every word.

The symbols, numbers, and letters represented a
riddle, that when placed in what we thought was the correct order,
read:

The usurper has come, to destroy the light; the time
is now, to restore the right.

Through lightning we strike, the evil within, who
gained his power, through usurping and sin

Through lightning we strike, once and for all, to
restore the right, bringing justice to all

“Is this some sort of Holy Order chant?” I asked,
looking between Sam and Jack.

“No,” Jack said slowly, drawing out the word. He
looked up from the desk to stare at Sam. “This is a map.”

“Right you are,” Sam replied, still pacing, “but a
map of what? And to what lengths will the Holy Order go to have it
restored to them.”

An awful conviction was brewing in my mind and
chest. That we were about to discover the length, and the price
would be dear to us all.

Jack

W
hen I
told Bess I had received a letter from Gideon, it was not the whole
truth. I had received one from him, but it was a missive from
Guinevere that had me making my way down the port at eight in the
evening. She wanted to meet alone, and I could not tell Bess, for
she did not trust Guinevere.

Approaching the warehouse that Guinevere had named
in her letter as a place to meet, my eyes darted all around the
darkening night, searching for a sign of danger. As much as I loved
the woman I did not set it above her sending me into an ambush, if
it suited her purpose.

If Levi was with her, I would flog him and no one
could stop me. I was bitter over Levi’s betrayal, not only of our
family but of Bess, who had loved him as a brother since the time
he joined the Phantoms. He knew as well as the rest of us that Bess
would never surrender the names of our team, even if it had been me
being tortured, but then, I would never ask that of her. Nor had
Levi asked her to. Bess said that he had given her his mutinous
look, meaning that on no account was she to surrender, but in the
middle of torture you do not think about that; you only want it to
end. We had been trained since small children never to betray our
Phantom family, no matter the cost, but what cost was too great? I
would have given my life for our cause, but Bess’s life? Never.

The assigned meeting place was at the end of a mile
long row of buildings at the port. Stepping through the only door
and glancing around the large room, it was filled with stacked
crates, boxes, bolts of fabric, and sacks of grain, rice, beans and
more food items. Behind me, the large door slid closed and I
smiled. I did not have to turn around to know who had closed the
door and locked it.

There was a black lantern on the floor waiting for
me, so I picked it up and walked further into the room and through
the maze of crates. Nearly to the center of the maze of crates,
there came a click behind me before cold steel was pressed against
my neck.

“Growing careless, Jack?” Guinevere asked.

“No, my heart. Trusting.”

She leaned close to my left shoulder, and I could
feel her breath on my neck as she said, “Never trust a woman
holding a gun, Jack.”

Slowly, I sat the lantern on a crate, not making any
sudden movements. “Even when that woman is my betrothed?” I asked,
and her breath caught in her throat, making a sound like a sob.

She stepped back, but the barrel of her gun was
still pressed against my skin. “I am not your betrothed, Jack, not
any longer.”

“Why then did you have me meet you at that church
saying we would be together? Why did you tell me about the Holy
Order?”

“To show you I can never marry you.”

If she did not mean to marry me, then she could not
expect me to be complaisant with her. I twisted down and around her
weapon, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her against me
in one fluid motion. She inhaled sharply as her hyacinth colored
eyes stared up at my face. She bit on her bottom lip, her nervous
action––the only one she had. Knowing that I still had the power to
make her nervous sent a wave of excitement through me. I looked her
over and smiled. She was wearing my favorite blue, the same color
that matched the ring I had given her. She was also wearing her
auburn wig. She was my Guinevere again.

“You expect me to believe that yet you wear my ring
on that chain around your neck.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she did not ask how I knew
what was on that chain. My power of observation she knew well. I
leaned in closer, our lips but an inch apart, and felt a shiver
course through her. Smiling and very pleased, I took a step back,
releasing her.

Turning away from her to take a look around the
warehouse, I had to keep up an act of nonchalance to convince her
that she did not affect me to my core. Every ounce of me wanted to
grab her and kiss her until she was compliant, but that would not
help my end goal. My mission was simple, but it would take all of
my ingenuity to see it to fruition.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?”

After a moment, she appeared beside me with the
lantern in hand.

“You need to leave this city, Jack. Take your sister
and go. There are dangers here that you cannot understand.”

Her voice was half warning, half pleading, and it
grabbed my heart and tugged. I would leave after my mission was
complete, and my sister was safe.

“No.”

“What do you mean,
no
,” she demanded of me,
following me as I walked deeper into the maze of crates. She
insisted that I did not know what I was about.

“This is not like last time, Jack, where I was able
to barter for Bess’s life. These people will not negotiate.”

“Oh, yes, the dreaded Holy Order.” I gave a mock
shudder then turned toward her, leaning my shoulder against the
crates and crossing my arms over my chest.

“You know nothing of which you speak,” she retorted,
mimicking my stance.

“Then tell me.”

She made a scoffing sound. I knew she would not give
away such valuable information without a price, but I was not sure
I would be able to pay the price she asked of me.

“I will strike a bargain with you,” she said after a
moment, and I nearly groaned. Guinevere’s bargains were always
complex. “I will give you some information that you do not know in
exchange for...”

Her pause told me it would be something
disagreeable. If she wanted me to leave her, to give her up, it
would never happen. Where Guinevere was concerned, no terms would
ever be acceptable to me to make me leave her.