Phantasma: A dark fantasy romance (Wicked Games Book 1)

If Ophelia thought the outside of the Phantasma estate was something to behold, the inside was utterly magnificent. It had taken her almost ten minutes to walk up the long driveway that led to the front doors, and her arms now felt like gelatin from carrying the heavy suitcases, but when she stepped through the enormous, stained-glass entrance, she nearly dropped the trunks where she stood.

The windows stretched floor to ceiling and were draped with heavy black velvet curtains that matched the black and white marbled floors perfectly. The walls were dressed in ornate scarlet wallpaper, the color of new blood, and a grand chandelier made of iron spikes hung high above her like a medieval morning star. Before her was a set of onyx staircases that curved down in a crescent-moon shape on either side of the foyer.

She moved toward one of the curved staircases, still gaping in awe, when someone stepped into her path. Someone drenched in a blue glow.

“What is your name, lovely girl?” the Apparition asked, their mouth horrifically slashed at each corner in an eternal grin.

Blood bloomed down the front of the Apparition’s shredded white shirt as their entrails fell out of their abdomen and pooled onto the ground. Ophelia felt bile rise in her throat, but she bit down on her tongue, hard.

How are you going to stay long enough to find Genevieve if you can’t handle something as tame as this? Tighten up.

She tapped her fingers against her suitcase—one, two, three—forcing herself to look the Apparition right in the eye and answer their question. “I’m Ophelia Grimm. I was told to meet my group inside.”

“Hmm. You’re only the fifth contestant who hasn’t lost their dinner or fainted.”

“Someone fainted?” Ophelia didn’t bother telling them just how close she had been to the former herself.

“Multiple people fainted,” they corrected with a sinister laugh. “Several soiled themselves. One left Phantasma altogether. There’s always at least one on the first night.”

“Were any of them a girl about three years younger than me? Golden-brown hair⁠—”

The Apparition shook their head. “I cannot disclose the names of any contestants outside of your group. Now, come.”

Ophelia sighed in annoyance but still followed them down the center hallway, beneath the arch of the staircases, and through a large set of doors into a formal den where twenty or so other people were waiting. None of them Genevieve.

They turned toward her in sync, some sizing her up with curiosity, others sizing her up with something more insidious in their gazes.

“You are the final group,” the Apparition beside her announced. “You are assigned your very own corridor of rooms. Dinner will be served an hour before dusk every night—and the first level will begin tomorrow at sunset sharp. If you exit your group’s wing of the manor any time before you complete the seventh level, you will be disqualified from the competition. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Ophelia muttered.

The first Apparition blinked out of sight without another word, and another quickly appeared in their place. This one had a gash in their neck so deep, their head was barely attached.

“Your wing will be on the fourth floor,” the new Apparition declared. “Follow me.”

Ophelia walked with the crowd of strangers as they were led back to the foyer and up the right-hand staircase. Then up another flight. And another. By the time they got to the fourth floor, most of them were exhausted.

“Well, what do we have here?” a man asked as he dropped back from the rest of the group to linger beside Ophelia, matching her stride for stride. He was tall and lanky, his alabaster complexion managing to be fairer than her own, his dull brown hair slicked back from his face. “Aren’t you a peculiar little mouse.”

Ophelia wrinkled her nose but said nothing, hoping he might leave her alone if she ignored him. It didn’t work.

“Who do you think you are, entering something like this?” the man prodded. “You must think you’re special…”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?” she snapped.

“I bet you’re—” he began, but someone cut him off.

“Go be an ass somewhere else, Cade,” a soft voice admonished.

Cade’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a look of utter contempt, but at least he obeyed, stalking away to catch up with another man walking ahead. Ophelia turned to her savior. It was a shorter girl, her flaxen hair plaited back neatly, her dress a bit worse for wear. Something about her looked familiar, but Ophelia couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

“He’s the worst,” the girl offered. “Don’t let him get to you. I’m Lucinda. But everyone calls me Luci.”

“You know each other?” Ophelia asked, trying to sound vaguely interested, though she didn’t really care.

“Cousins,” Luci said, her tone almost mournful. “We’re both here because our family has gotten into a bit of a financial, er, situation.”

“I don’t need to know the details,” Ophelia said. “Thanks for saving me the trouble of punching him in the face, though.”

Luci bit her lip. “You’re Ophelia Grimm, aren’t you?”

Ophelia heaved a sigh. “Yes, that’s right. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Ophelia picked up her pace, a slightly shocked look flitting across Luci’s expression at her abruptness. She didn’t bother to look apologetic as she pushed forward to reach the rest of the group, which had stopped in front of a set of large wooden doors. She wasn’t here to make friends. She was here to find her sister and get the Hell out.

“Once you enter these doors, you cannot leave them until you complete the seventh level of Phantasma unless you choose to forfeit the game,” the Apparition announced. “In which case, you will be immediately removed from the manor. Your rooms are divvied up between the four hallways at the back. The dining area is just inside to your left. Listen carefully for your room numbers.”

The Ghost began calling out names and numbers in rapid succession. She memorized a few before they all began to blur together. Luci, room 401. Cade, room 402. Beau, room 403. James, room 404. Eric, room 407. Charlotte, room 412.

As each contestant heard their name, they left through the double doors to find their rooms while the others gossiped amongst themselves on why each person was here. Luci and Cade’s family was bankrupt, as was Eric’s. Beau’s father was recently jailed after a sex scandal. James’s wife died in childbirth. Charlotte was a total mystery, but someone floated the idea of murder being involved. Soon, the group dwindled down until only Ophelia remained, and she was grateful she wouldn’t have to listen to anyone theorize about her participation.

“Ophelia,” the Apparition finally addressed. “Room 426.”

Ophelia didn’t budge from where she stood. “How many groups are there in this competition?”

The Ghost tilted their head at her. “Including yours, there are nine total.”

“Does each one have the same number of contestants?”

The guide shook their head as they said, “No. Some have more, some have less. This group already had two people tap out in the waiting room before you arrived. Now, are you entering or not? I can’t leave until the last member goes through.”

With that, Ophelia braced herself and pushed through the doors. As she stepped inside the corridor, she felt the Shadow Voice unfurl itself in the back of her mind, the weight of it seeming heavier somehow, making her temples throb. There were no signs in the wide hallway telling her where to go, she simply walked all the way to the back where it split into four further corridors and picked one. When she came to the first room with the number 420 decorating the wooden plaque on the wall to its right, she gave a small smile.

Lucky guess, the Shadow Voice whispered in her mind. Don’t use up all your luck too soon…

When Ophelia found her door further down the hall, she carefully poked her head inside, preparing for the worst. A stone cell, a cot on the floor, rats… but the room was completely normal, even charming. She set her trunks atop the large bed and sighed in relief as she shook out her aching arms from carrying their weight up four flights of stairs.

The patterned comforter and antique furniture made the small space feel homey. There was an old oil lamp glowing on one of the two bedside tables, and a hideous pink wing-backed chair in the far corner of the room that matched the jacquard design on the rug that blanketed the floor. She walked over to the bookshelf that sat next to the chair and peered at the odd titles and knickknacks decorating the shelves. When she reached out to pull one of the books from its place, a clicking sound rang out and the entire shelf shifted forward.

“The first thing I touch, and it’s some sort of trick… just my luck…” she muttered aloud as she wondered if all the rooms had such a mechanism.

She couldn’t help but think how much fun she could have exploring a place like this if she wasn’t sure its entire design was meant to terrify or maim her. Or if it wasn’t for the fact that her sister was lost somewhere inside.

A slow, eerie creak sounded from the bedroom door behind her, and Ophelia spun to see who was there. When no one appeared after a few minutes, she let her shoulders relax, turning back to the bookshelf—and then something blinked into view on her bed. She sucked in a breath, bracing herself, until she realized what it was.

“Oh.” Ophelia narrowed her eyes at the fluffy white creature now sitting on her bed. “You’re a Ghost cat.”

The feline leisurely scratched an ear with its hind leg.

“Go on, shoo,” she said, gesturing to it.

There was something in the cat’s ghostly blue eyes that was wrong—something human-like that left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

“Shoo,” she said, a bit more aggressively now.

The creature gave a slow, unbothered blink before leaping from the bed and dashing through the hole she had opened in the wall.

“No way. I’m not walking through a random secret passage.”

The cat meowed from somewhere beyond the dark as if it were telling her to hurry up. And damn her if she weren’t curious. She took a hesitant step forward to peek into the inky abyss, knowing she should find a way to push the bookcase closed and not even think about where the passage led. But the locket around her neck had another idea.

She didn’t know why, all she knew was that she had started, unwittingly, following the locket’s lead—much as she suspected her mother used to do. She remembered times her mother would meet with clients, hand wrapped around the locket the entire time, as if assessing whether the necklace approved of their company or not.

Ophelia glanced around the room, spotting an ornate brass candelabra with three half-melted taper candles sitting on the dresser, and snatching it up. She concentrated her magic on the wicks until all three flames burst to life, and then stepped out into the secret passage. If it could be called that. It was alarmingly narrow, her shoulders brushing either side.

The cat was nowhere to be seen as she ambled down the dark space, the only light besides the candles coming from the glow of the lamp shining from the bedroom. She lifted the candelabra to the wall and scanned for any seams that might indicate there were more hidden doorways, but the alabaster paint was unblemished.

It’s going to get you.

Ophelia flinched at the intruding voice that slammed into her mind. It was the Shadow Voice, but… different. Louder. Worse, was the disturbing dragging noise of the bookcase sliding closed behind her.

“Fuck,” she said, tone shaky. Of course this was a trap. Why the Hell would she think it was a good idea to trust a cat and a necklace to lead her anywhere good?

You’d better start running, the Shadow Voice cackled in her head, its tone carrying an edge of maliciousness she had never noticed before.

She froze.

“Kitty?” she whispered into the dark, but the cat had completely disappeared.

And so had the locket’s heartbeat. Fuck. A low, eerie echo emanated from the opposite end of the corridor, followed by a heavy thud. Ophelia squinted into the nothingness, every muscle in her body tensed.

Here it comes.

Just as the Shadow Voice spoke the words in her mind, something flashed red, several yards away. A pair of bloodshot eyes and a smile full of razor-sharp teeth.

“Shit,” she hissed, dropping the candelabra with a metallic clatter, and plunging herself into total darkness.

A high-pitched keening began as footsteps pounded toward her. Lifting her skirts, she turned and ran.

Getting closer.

She yelped as she tripped, managing to right herself at the last second, the raspy laugh that rang out at her misstep too close for comfort. As she rushed down the hall, unable to see even two feet in front of her, her locket grew warmer and warmer, its heartbeat rapid as it started back up and synched with her own.

Ten more seconds and you’re dead.

Ophelia pushed herself harder, her calves screaming in pain.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

With barely any seconds to spare, she reached the end of the hall, smacking into it so hard her entire body vibrated, teeth clattering together painfully. Her nose was crushed, blood gushing down her face, over her chin and onto the bib of her dress.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

She let out a wild giggle as she roamed her hands over the wall in front of her, frantically searching for a doorknob.

“Please, please, please,” she whimpered, the iron taste of her blood on her tongue.

The footsteps were no more than a couple yards behind her now, a low growl roaring out of whoever— or whatever—was chasing her. She continued feeling for a way out and finally, finally, she found a handle.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

She yanked furiously on the lever, pushing the door open a crack and lurching forward, shoulder first, to painfully squeeze herself through⁠—

—just as a clawed hand latched on to her.

She yelped in pain as sharp, onyx nails ripped into her forearm. The hands that were trying to drag her back were gray and mottled, but she couldn’t see anything else in the dark aside from the whites of wild, bloodshot eyes.

She let out a screech that was half frustration and half terror as she shook the creature off, squeezing her eyes shut and expelling out as much of the untouched magic in her core as she could. Blue sparks began rolling off her skin with small static pops, zapping whatever was holding her and making it let go with a hiss of pain. She snatched her arm through the opening and cradled it against her chest before slamming herself against the door, shutting it soundly.

She began fastening the various brass locks, hoping they were enough to hold the monster back. The creature pounded on the other side several times, shaking the entire wall with the force, but she kept her shoulder wedged against the door, waiting until the monster gave up its fight. She took several deep gulps of air. Looking down at the jagged wounds on her arm, her stomach dropped at the sight of crimson dripping to the floor.

Had that creature been her mind’s doing? Or was it part of Phantasma?

Maybe it’s both, the Shadow Voice suggested. You let them dig around in your head after all. That means you’ll have to be careful what you think in here, pretty little Necromancer.

No. No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The things in her mind were never supposed to be real. The voice in her head had conjured so many deceitful, horrifying scenarios over the years, but she had always known, on some level, that’s where they would stay. But here… An overwhelming sense of terror washed over her. She needed to find Genevieve and get them both out as soon as possible.

Pushing away from the door with determination, she scanned the space around her, looking for another exit. Her gaze snagged on the cat, its head tilted curiously at her, sitting on the corner of a table as if it had no cares in the world. The feline mewled, and she gave it a withering glare.

The ghostly creature leaped down from the table, entirely apathetic toward her scathing look as it pranced right over to a door on the far wall that she hadn’t noticed. She cautiously made her way over, prying it open only a crack to assess exactly where it led. If it was another dark corridor, she would be staying in this small room forever. Thankfully, she found that it exited back into one of the main hallways leading to the contestants’ rooms.

“That was quite enough excitement for tonight,” she whispered, slamming the door closed behind her. She looked down at the feline, seething. “Thanks for leading me into a death trap, by the way.”

The cat mewled at her, and Ophelia swore the sound was meant to be one of judgment. As if it thought she was absolutely mad for expecting help from a cat in the first place. She gave a discontented grunt as she hooked a right down the hallway⁠—

—before snapping back against the doorframe.

Her skirt was caught. She pushed the door back open to dislodge the hem and stopped cold when she saw what was now beyond it. Gone was the small room she had just exited, replaced by a tiny, dank broom closet. She stood there for a long moment before hurriedly yanking it shut once again.

“No wonder this place drives people out of their sanity,” she griped.

At that moment, something began stretching over the wall at the opposite end of the hall. A crackling sensation charged the air around her as she gaped in awe at the magnificent doorway forming in thin air. The cat trotted toward the surprising new addition to the corridor, head inclined in curiosity as two red mosaic panels and a gilded handle took shape as they watched.

Stranger still, a dark, weighted presence settled over her shoulders, and the palpable, inexplicable feeling of being watched sent a shiver down her spine. But when she looked around, she could see no one. It was only her and the cat.

Her locket began to heat as she stood there staring at the doorway. She had half a mind to ignore it after everything that had just happened—her face and arm were both still dripping with blood after all—but a part of her was inclined to give the necklace one more chance. If there was a reason that her locket was reacting to the doorway’s appearance, she wanted to find out.

She reached up to tap the necklace.

One, two, three.

“Where are you leading me?” she wondered aloud, and headed for the door.