Phantom: A Dark Retelling (Tattered Curtain Series)

One Week Later

Scarlett

Masque is busy again tonight, as usual, but the same thrill I had the night I was here with Sol is gone. All of it is gone.

The music. The roses. The notes. The comforting feeling I’m not all alone in this world.

Gone.

I know I shouldn’t care, that I should be grateful he’s leaving me alone. Hell, I asked for this. But even though it’s exactly what I thought I wanted… it still hurts that he truly did just let me go. Our time together was like a match held between two fingers, effortless to light, glorious in the darkness, and painful when it was snuffed out in my grasp. It doesn’t matter how long we burned together, I still can’t alleviate this sting under my skin.

No matter how hard I try to forget him, I miss my demon of music.

“Ordered your favorite,” hot breath whispers against my ear and I shudder before turning to give Rand a bland smile.

He messaged me incessantly after my falling out with Sol. When I finally texted Rand back the next day, Sol’s warning was heavy in my mind. But Sol hadn’t been able to give me more to go off of aside from what happened a decade ago with Rand’s older brother, not Rand. And I was so lonely that day, I needed someone—anyone—and my childhood friend seemed like my best option. Frankly, my only option.

Ever since, Rand has been trying so hard to cheer me up. He’s never left my side, always asks me if I’m doing alright, and makes sure Sol hasn’t “bothered” me again. At first, I was grateful to not be alone, but now I can’t help but be annoyed with his perpetual charm.

“Thanks,” I reply and accept my Cinderella mocktail. He frowns from behind his red devil mask when I set it aside, but I told him I only wanted my bottled water and he hadn’t listened. My nerves are too shot to hype up with sugar, so I’ll have to wait to enjoy it after I sing.

“I saw Jaime at the bar,” Rand offers before straightening the lapels of his all-bloodred suit. “Looks like he really misses you.”

The sarcastic tone has me turning in the direction he just came from.

Sure enough, Jaime is standing at the bar in a dapper silver suit, with a shining silver mask over his eyes, surrounded by members of the cast and crew. Everyone breaks into laughter over something he says, and that gnawing loneliness in my chest digs deeper.

I guess I really was a job to him.

“Looks like it,” I mutter, both to myself and Rand.

I’ve barely seen Jaime since he dropped that bomb Monday. He hasn’t talked to me or looked at me during rehearsals and classes. Rand even pointed out just yesterday that the few times we’ve seen him, he turns the other way.

“What an asshole. You’re better off without him, Lettie.”

“I don’t know,” I hedge and rub a pang in my chest. “I kind of miss him.”

Rand frowns. “Well, maybe he’ll figure out what he’s missing. And hell, it might not have anything to do with you and Sol. Maybe he’s just jealous of how much time we’ve spent together. I swear he’s into you.”

I snort. “For the hundredth time, I’m not Jaime’s type. Besides, even if he was interested, I’m not. I don’t see him that way. He’s my friend.” I squeeze Rand’s hand across the table. “Just like you are. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you if you hadn’t warned me about Sol.”

His charming smile grows brittle and he pulls his hand out from underneath mine. He sips his scotch before sucking his teeth.

I lean forward conspiratorially. “You know… just because Laurent drank scotch doesn’t mean you have to.” The grin I receive is much smaller than I expect as he stares into his glass.

“My brother could never find his favorite brand in New Orleans. I think about that all the time. How he tried to make this city better and was never satisfied. I don’t prefer the drink, but it reminds me of why I’m here. When I rebuild the Chatelain name, we’ll take all of New Orleans, starting with the ports. It’ll be better than my brother could’ve dreamed.”

My brow furrows. “I thought… I thought you didn’t care about all that stuff. I thought you were back here because it’s your home. For the art and the culture.”

He shrugs and rolls the bottom of his drink on its edge. “I love New Orleans, but art and culture don’t make money, Scarlett.”

Frowning, I twist the rose gold opal necklace that was delivered to me this morning by a local boutique. With the necklace were earrings to match and a long, black satin dress. I debated wearing the outfit, since I have no doubt it was meant to be a gift from Sol and he just never canceled the delivery. But after realizing I had nothing else to wear besides theater costumes and leggings, I caved. Honestly, I’m glad I did because I feel gorgeous.

The dress is sleek with a plunging neckline, and an embroidered sparkling black butterfly spans my back. The design looks just like the mask I’m wearing over my eyes.

One of the reasons I know it was Sol who left me this dress is that the wrap skirt opens up to a slit that starts right at my right hip bone. Every now and then, I graze my hand over the sensitive skin, imagining that it’s his instead.

But no. I did this. I decided that my future would be without Sol, and I need to stick to my decision. He’s a ruthless stalker who manipulated me for months.

“I love you.”

That admission still shreds my heart and resolve to pieces. I close my eyes and shake my head.

“Hey, you okay?” Rand’s hand covers mine, prompting me to open my eyes. His thumb caresses my palm, making my skin itch under the soft touch. But concern furrows his brow, so I resist tugging away. “If this is too much for you, we can go. There will be other chances to sing somewhere like this. These places are a dime a dozen.”

“No, no. I’m fine. Just a little headache,” I lie.

The truth is, I would like to leave, but Madam G and Ziggy Miles are letting me sing, and I don’t want to pass that up.

“Okay, if you say so. I can see why you’re getting a headache though. It’s dark and musty down here and this theme is gauche. I might get a migraine from these flowers alone.” He sniffs the air for emphasis. “Definitely not freshly cut.”

He gestures around the speakeasy, at the gorgeous red, white, and black roses everywhere. Another donation from my demon of music, I’m sure. He, however, is nowhere in sight.

My head has been on a swivel looking for him all week with no reward. He probably bought an exorbitant amount of decorative bouquets just to support Miss Mabel and Madam G, but a secret part of me hopes he at least thought of me when he ordered them.

“Really? You don’t like the flowers? I think they’re gorgeous. And the lady who sells them is the kindest—”

“From Treme, though, right?” He snorts. “Sweet Lettie, I grew up in the gorgeous Garden District. These look… sad in comparison.”

My jaw drops. He was never this pretentious growing up.

Or maybe I’ve just idealized him in my head? It’s certainly more comforting to remember the good than face the bad.

“The band’s pretty good though. Speaking of music… how did your audition go? If you’re the lead, I’m sure I can get you in with the best people on Broadway.”

I’m shaking my head before he even finishes. “I actually don’t want to do theater after I graduate. I think I’m going to stay here. Maybe sing at venues like this. Besides, I didn’t get the part.”

Jilliana got it after killing her audition. She owns that role now.

Rand frowns. “Seriously? I thought tonight was just a one-off. Don’t you think lounges and bars are a little… humble for someone with your talent? Wouldn’t you want to reach your full potential—”

“We’ve got a special guest in the house tonight,” the lead singer, Ziggy Miles, announces into the microphone. “Miss Scarlett has graced us with her presence again. Scarlett, come on up.”

Anxious energy tumbles in my stomach and chest and I look to Rand for encouragement.

“Don’t embarrass me.” He winks with a teasing grin.

I wince before muttering back, “I’ll do my best.”

“Lettie, Lettie, Lettie… I’m kidding. Can’t you take a joke?” He squeezes my hand as a sincere smile finally graces his lips. “You’ll be great. Can’t wait to hear you.”

“Thanks.” My lips lift at the corner before I take a deep breath and get up from my chair.

Ziggy’s unmasked, wrinkled grin greets me as I navigate through the black, white, and red–clad masked crowd toward the stage. Everyone I pass is clapping and it makes me giddy and nervous at the same time. When I’m nearly to the platform, a white blur catches my attention. My heart races and I stop in my tracks, trying to search for it, but Ziggy reaches down with a hand to bring me up to the stage.

“Come on up here, now, Scarlett. Can’t keep your audience waiting.”

“Sorry!” I laugh nervously and accept his helping hand to climb onto the stage.

But even after I’m settled underneath the spotlight, visions of a raven-haired Phantom in white keep flitting in the corner of my eye. I can’t stop myself from peering out into the crowd, but Ziggy interrupts my scouting when he speaks into the microphone again.

“Miss Scarlett has agreed to sing a song for us all, haven’t you, Scarlett?”

I nod quickly and stutter into the microphone. “Yes!”

I’m not nervous exactly, but my excitement is finally back after a week away from Sol. I chase the feeling even if it’s muted.

That was the first-time rush, that’s all. The second time just isn’t as exciting.

I know that’s not true. I’m quickly learning that lying to myself hasn’t worked before and it won’t now.

“Take it away, Miss Scarlett. Let an old man get a drink while you sing the house down.” Everyone laughs, although Rand seems preoccupied over at our table near the wall. He’s scanning the room, seemingly looking for someone. I ignore him and join in with a chuckle as Ziggy gives me space for the mic.

The band starts playing without my prompting, and my heart freezes in panic because it’s a different song than the one we discussed. But when I realize the tune, my pulse stutters back to life.

It doesn’t have any lyrics… unless I sing my own.

My eyes search the cozy venue until I finally find the man who wrote the notes for me. His midnight eye sparkles underneath the bar’s dim lights. The all-white suit he wears matches his skull mask, and the candles flickering everywhere give him an ethereal glow. My breath escapes me when he tips his glass and head to me.

“Sorry about that folks.” The music stops behind me as the pianist talks into the microphone. The band never has to wear a mask, so when I look back at him, I can see the mirth and encouragement on his face as he gives me an out. “We all get stage jitters. But you can do it, can’t ya, Scarlett? We got a special request to do this one just for you.”

I bet you did.

“Right, so sorry, guys.” I swallow and give an awkward laugh. “Take it from the top.”

The band counts down again and plays the song I’ve only heard echoing up through my vents, the siren call of my demon. I can’t help the twist of guilt in my chest over leaving the way I did. The look on his face was one of utter betrayal, which made no sense considering I was the one who’d been betrayed by him and Jaime.

Right on cue this time, my mouth opens and I release the words I’ve only sung for my demon of music. They pour from me, practically unbidden. My lyrics fit perfectly with the low, sensuous melody, and I sing about finding my one true love and him accepting me, my light and especially my darkness. We’ve written many songs together over the past several months and I know he chose this one for a reason.

As I sing, I begin to analyze the lyrics, trying to figure out what my demon is telling me. In them, I talk about how my secrets are buried in tombs like my father’s and how I have to hide my emotions behind my own mask. The irony of those lyrics isn’t lost on me now. It isn’t until I get to one very specific verse that my heart begins to pound with realization. I almost stutter as I describe how it took one night to bury all my secrets, but the next day brought the rest to light…

Does he know?

He said he started watching me the night my dad died. Why? Does he somehow know what I did? Was he there? Did he… fix it for me?

My mind is spinning and it takes me getting to the second chorus to realize I’ve been staring at Sol the entire time. I try to look away but my eye catches on the man in silver next to him.

Jaime?

Why on earth is he with Sol? He sees me staring at him and raises his flute glass, an apologetic look on his face. The skull on his leather bracelet glints in the bar light and I look away. Rand’s all-red suit catches my eye and I almost miss the beginning of the final verse thanks to the look in his eyes.

They’re not looking at me. He’s glaring at Sol from behind his devil mask, and the murderous scowl on his face sends my protective instincts soaring.

I take a final look at Sol and once again, I desperately wish I could see his whole face. The left side is practiced indifference, making my chest ache, and the other is hidden behind the mask. I can’t help but wonder if the light would glint off the scars as beautifully as it did in the tunnel.

When I realized he’d forgotten his mask, his bare face had stolen my breath. The burned tissue and stitched-together flesh shimmered, practically iridescent in the dim lamplight. I’d almost gotten lost in a moment of reverence when he’d stripped his shirt to reveal an intricate patchwork of scars interwoven with tattoos over his arms and chest, the veins of which all lead to a striking skull that takes over his entire back. But then realization hit, and my body had warred with kneeling in awe, and bending over to vomit.

How much pain had he been in? At fifteen? He’d said Laurent had done that, but the Laurent I knew was nothing but kind to me when I spent time with Rand during one of my dad’s late shows. But you never really know anyone. I’m living proof of that. Everyone wears a mask. Sol is just more up front about his.

The one I’ve worn the past year hides the secrets and rage boiling under my veins, threatening to ooze from my pores.

Has my demon seen under my mask… and loved me anyway?

“You’re my pretty little muse, Scarlett. I worship your voice. Your body, mind, and soul are no different.”

“Even the darkness in my mind?”

“Especially the darkness.”

I blink as I find the last note and when I’ve opened my eyes again, my phantom is gone, and so is Jaime. Despite the applause, I feel more nerves now than before I started. I thank the crowd and quickly make my way off the stage before beelining to the woman’s restroom.

People praise me and I smile, but I can’t catch enough breath to thank them. I’m about to turn the corner for the bathroom when an arm wraps around my waist. I’m clutched from behind and tugged into a very familiar alcove. A mirror at the end of the diagonal hallway is at the perfect angle, and I can see us clearly.

The white suit jacket is a stark contrast against my satin dress and I fall back into the embrace as a strong hand travels between my breasts and up to my throat. I don’t fight when calloused fingers grip my jaw and turn my head to the side as his nose skates up the column of my neck. The scent of whiskey, sugar, and leather is overwhelming in the small space. His other hand dips beneath the slit in my dress and tugs me by my bare hip.

I moan when my demon’s lips brush my ear as he whispers. “You were perfect up there, ma jolie petite muse. Did you figure out why I chose that song?”

“W-Why?” I ask as his wide hand pulls my hips against his hardening length.

“You wanted to know why I started to follow you? It’s because I saw your darkness that night, Scarlett. Your darkness called to mine. My life was pitch black before you. You were the moonlight to my midnight.”

His forearm presses harder into my chest and his fingers brush my pulse. “Do you feel it, Scarlett? Close your eyes and feel my heartbeat with yours.”

I do as he says and swallow past his fingertips as I feel our heartbeats together. My head nods before I’ve even decided to agree.

“Listen, pretty muse. Listen to the song my heart beats for you and admit you know its rhythm.”

His warm lips caress my cheek and our reflection flashes in my vision. My demon of music in white. His angel in black.

Everything inside me is telling me to give in. To trust this man who understands me better than I do myself. But then my brain fights me, reminding me of the manipulation, his skewed justice. And even though my entire body tries to rebel, I shake my head.

“I… I can’t, Sol.”

Despite my words, I soak up the fullness of his lips against my skin… until it’s all suddenly gone.

“So you’ve made your choice. It’s done.”

At Sol’s deadened tone and the abrupt chill coating my skin, I snap my eyes open to see my reflection in this dark corner.

Alone.

I hold my own silver gaze as my hands slide over my throat and belly, to see if I can still feel where his fingertips caressed me. But I can’t feel anything.

I’m numb.

If I didn’t smell Sazeracs and leather, and I didn’t know for certain that I’m in my right mind, I would’ve thought I’d made the whole interaction up.

My hands drop from my own body and I collect my breath before remembering what I was even doing in this darkened area of Masque in the first place. Taking a steadying breath, desperately trying to convince myself that I’ve made the right decision, I step out of the alcove.

“Scarlo!” I stop immediately and spin around at Jaime’s tenor voice cutting strongly through the din echoing from down the hall. He’s looking sharp in the three-piece metallic suit I saw him in earlier, but his fervent glance around puts me on edge.

“Has he talked to you?” His eyes are wide behind his silver mask.

“Who?”

“Mr. Bor–Sol. Did he… did he explain?”

I purse my lips. “Gonna need a little more to go on, Jaime.”

He sighs. “I told him to give you another chance.”

“You told Sol Bordeaux, the Phantom of the French Quarter, what to do?”

“I had to. He’s convinced you’ve made your choice. Poor broken bastard thinks that since you saw underneath his mask that you can’t stand him.”

“What? That’s not it at all. What I couldn’t stand is the way he orchestrated my life, hired a friend for me, and then punched him for no reason!”

“No, fuck. Listen, Scarlo. He asked me to stay away from you this week, since you asked for your privacy, and I’ve been trying my best. But you’re my best friend, so I’ve got to tell it to you straight. The way you guys played together last week was incredible. I’ve never seen you light up like that on any stage or for anyone. If someone in this shitty world can do that for you, you have to keep them.”

“Jaime, he manipulated me—”

“Yes, he protected you, but he never controlled you or took your decisions away. As for me… I’m sorry I ever made you think our friendship wasn’t real. Sol just asked me to watch over you, not steal you as my best friend and never give you up. I did all that on my own. My job was to protect you when he couldn’t. That’s all.”

“Okay, so what about punching you?” I ask, my nose scrunched as I try to take all this information in. “Why did he do that?’

“I fucked up. I thought it was Sol because of his ring but I was wrong.”

“What? How do you know? Didn’t you see his face?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “It was dark and it was my third day straight of getting shit-faced because I felt guilty for not sticking up for you. The guy was wearing a hoodie and a mask that looked like him, so I assumed it was Sol. But see—” He points to his healing bruise where a skull imprint used to be a week ago. “If the Phantom had done it, then I’d still have a nasty skull-shaped scar. He doesn’t pull his punches. He also reached out to check on me and—”

I shake my head. “Wait, so you’re telling me that there’s a… copycat Phantom of the French Quarter?”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

“Why would a copycat come after you? And how could he have a mask with Ben’s face?”

“One of his shadows has gone missing—” My eyes flare, but he keeps going. “We haven’t been able to find him, so maybe someone got a hold of his mask somehow? That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Whoever this is was trying to turn you and me against him. And it worked.”

Hope unfurls in my chest like a flame. I tried to push Sol away from the beginning, never giving him my full trust. And I realized this week that Sol was right about me loving his possessive, primal side. It was finding out he’d hired a friend for me and then beat that friend up that had been my final straw.

But what if he was framed? Knowingly or not, I’ve been able to trust Sol, my demon of music for almost a year. What if I had trusted him on this? We’d still be together, but now… Could he forgive me for doubting him?

My hand clasps my necklace over my chest, as if it could hold me back from sprinting to him right now and begging for forgiveness. I can’t be too hasty, though. There’s still one huge question that needs to be answered.

“But… who would do that?”

Jaime’s jaw tics as he leans in. “Scarlo, let’s be real. I think there’s one person in particular who would—”

“Jaime, what are you doing with my date?”

My best friend tenses and sidesteps away from me, revealing Rand. A sour look has his face twisted and his arms are crossed over his red suit. He glances up and down at me. “You okay?”

“Sure she’s okay.” Jaime smiles and throws his arm over my shoulder. “She’s just chatting with her bestie. Got a problem with that?”

“Her bestie? Where have you been all week while she’s been upset? And what does your boss think about you being all over his former obsession?” Rand’s smug tone slithers up my back, making my stomach knot.

Jaime shrugs. “He couldn’t care less about her now. He’ll probably be under a tourist by midnight tonight. They’ve always been his favorite.”

His fingers dig into my shoulder, telling me he’s lying, but his words still couldn’t have cut deeper if they’d been knives. I use all my acting chops to stay blank faced, despite the blood fleeing it.

“Really?” Rand frowns. “I thought he was just being a bastard and not talking to her. But he doesn’t care about her anymore? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Jaime snaps for emphasis and I jump.

“Interesting.” Rand’s brow furrows even more. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like my date back.” He gives me a small smile that reminds me of when we were younger.

My own smile is thin. After experiencing all these emotions whirling in my body, the last thing I want to do right now is be around Rand. But I also don’t want to hurt his feelings. He’s been there for me since I left Sol. I’ll placate him tonight, then go back to my dorm and think over what the hell just happened. Tomorrow I’ll face all of this.

Hopefully I won’t be too late.

“Oh sure.” Jaime beams back at him with a grin he only saves for the stage. “Talk to you later, Scarlo. Text me.” His face falls before he bends into my ear with a whisper. “Think about what I said.”

I almost ask which part, but he’s gone just as quickly as my phantom was. Like the shadow he is.