Phantom (Tattered Curtain Series)

Sol

The rehearsal tonight is closed to the public. Thankfully, owning the building has its perks.

Monty has been dying to know whether the Phantom of the French Quarter is real and who is blackmailing him. I’ve heard he’s convinced that the Phantom will attend rehearsals, so in theory, I could be risking my anonymity by showing up. But aside from staying in the shadows of my box, I’ve made other assurances to hide my identity as well.

All the theater boxes are locked, but I stationed one of my men on this floor as security to prevent anyone from trying to break in. Another is in charge of lighting and sound in the control booth so that the lights never darken enough to reveal me to those on stage. Not to mention that when Madam G dropped off my Sazerac, she used the same hidden stairwell I did to travel through the tunnels from the speakeasy.

Along with the smoke and mirrors act, I have one more trick up my sleeve to ensure Monty behaves. The Phantom will strike tonight, which is why my appearance must go unnoticed.

Though Ben may not approve of my fun, I have altruistic motives for harassing the director. A few weeks ago, I’d been navigating the old Prohibition tunnels when I heard rhythmic slapping and the redheaded soprano’s Tony Award–worthy fake orgasm through the walls of his office.

He’s a theater professor and director fucking a student at my family’s school. I wanted to kill him then and there for the disrespect, but I hadn’t known the extent of the circumstances yet. Maybe she was a more enthusiastic participant than she’d sounded.

But after Jilliana got the lead role despite her horrendous audition, I knew something was off. Now that I’ve spoken to my shadows doubling as stagehands, it’s clear Monty is taking advantage of the young woman. My plan of action took a more deliberate turn last night, starting with his letter.

Threatening Monty has secured Scarlett’s rightful place as Marguerite, the lead female role, but according to the performance I heard on my way to my muse’s dorm this afternoon, he still hasn’t kept his disgusting hands off the redheaded soprano.

I hadn’t had the time, or the prep, to punish him then, so I’d resumed my course, silently promising my target that I’d finish my business with him tonight. At that moment, it was more important for me to visit Scarlett’s empty dorm to try to find her medication and any information as to why she left with Rand.

If my second-in-command pulls through, I should be getting more answers on that front shortly. My impatience and nerves are firing through my veins as I wait, triggering fidgeting tendencies that I didn’t even know I possessed, and now I can’t get my knee to stop fucking bouncing.

Trying my best to focus back on the rehearsal, I study Jilliana as she adjusts to her new supporting role. She’s running through her part individually at the moment, just like Scarlett is slated to do afterward.

I tip my head over the railing to see Monty studiously ignoring Jilliana, as if pretending she doesn’t exist would erase the fact that he fucked her only hours ago. Meanwhile, Maggie is working her ass off backstage which happens to be perfect for my plan. I just need to wait for the right moment.

The faux door in the column across from me opens slightly, letting Sabine’s lithe form slip inside. Her signature black outfit and fire mask makes her almost as terrifying as me. She doesn’t sit, always preferring a ready posture.

“What do you know?” I ask, leaning forward to allow my whisper to carry.

“I spoke to my IT contact in NOLA PD. She can meet you with the videos you need.” Her velvet voice is more hushed than mine. All my shadows know my hearing is excellent. It’s had to be since the day half my vision was brutalized all those years ago.

Expecting a different conversation, my brow furrows as I try to figure out what she’s talking about until it dawns on me. “She found the footage of Laurent’s basement?”

She nods. “My contact didn’t watch more than a second to confirm, like you asked, but there’s more than just the clips he sent to taunt your brother. She’s going to compile it all before you meet, but that bastard seems to have videotaped the entire encounter. Potentially hundreds of hours of video have been collecting dust on the shelves since it was an open and shut case.”

Curiosity and rage swell in my veins. I was aware that Laurent videotaped my torture to torment Ben and trick him into agreeing to the terms of the truce, but I’d had no idea he’d recorded twenty-four seven. I thought I already knew everything there was to know about my kidnapping, but trying to exhaust all resources to figure out how the Chatelains and the Days are connected has me turning over every loose pebble.

My latest victim only confirmed what I’d already suspected. That there’s more to Gus Day’s affiliation with the Chatelains than I thought. I just have to figure out what that is.

“Will she be able to meet tomorrow night?” I ask.

“She will. By that time, she should have all the videos compiled into one format for easy transfer.”

“Good.”

I wait for Sabine to continue, but she doesn’t. She knows why I really wanted her here, but she’s hiding the ball for some reason.

“And what about earlier today?” I finally relent.

When I visited Scarlett’s empty room this afternoon, not only could I not find her medication, what I did find made my stomach drop.

There on the coffee table were nearly all the music sheets I’ve given her over the past year. Ripped to shreds.

I’d crumpled to the couch and sat for way too long, just sifting through the pile. My heart pounded in my throat the entire time as I tried to piece together both the actual pages, and why she would do this. Was what happened last night the catalyst?

The thought had nearly made me sick, and I’d called my second-in-command to get to the bottom of it. If something I did caused that reaction, then I’m sure as fuck going to fix it. Somehow.

Sabine sighs and sucks her teeth, looking more than unwilling to tell me what she found out. I’m about to do what I never have to do and prompt her again when she finally answers me.

“There was an incident today while Scarlett was trying on her dress.”

“What kind of incident?”

“Jilliana got angry at Scarlett for blackmailing Monty.”

Well, that’s unexpected. Why anyone would assume Scarlett is involved is bewildering. My muse may have a darkness in her that only I can see, but she’d never stoop to my depths.

“Where did Jilliana come up with that theory?”

“Jaime says she found your correspondence.” My heart sinks. “Your letters to Scarlett and the one to Monty have the same wax skull seals, so Jilliana put two and two together.”

“Shit,” I mutter, not caring that my second sees my disappointment. “Anything else? How did she end up with Chatelain?”

“Jilliana took your letters and tore them up in front of everyone, then accused her of sabotaging her and Monty. She… also blamed Scarlett’s disorder.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t Dominguez stick up for her? He knows his position.”

“Jaime said he and Maggie didn’t want to out you and were at a loss of what to do. Heat of the moment indecision.”

“Unacceptable.”

Sabine shrugs. “We don’t all get to hide in the shadows and it’s harder to perform in the spotlight.”

My eye darts to hers, but I know she can’t see my reproach. I feel it oozing from my every pore though, so I have no doubt she can tell my displeasure. I don’t like being scolded with backhanded metaphors.

Sabine, of course, doesn’t care. It’s no good to have a bootlicking second and her measured boldness is why Ben and I trust her with our lives.

“Apparently, Jaime tried to console her after she ran to hide in her dressing room, but she wouldn’t open her door. He heard her talking on the phone and making plans, but she refused to stop and listen to him or tell him where she was going when she left. He would’ve followed her, but he had class.”

I shake my head and sit back, setting my drink down before my clenching fists fracture the glass. My own actions have cascaded to this point and now Scarlett has suffered. I have to fix this. I’ve already made an effort to remedy the torn pages, and she was able to get new medication today, but I need to cure the rest of the pain I’ve caused her. I didn’t humiliate her and push her to Rand directly, but I toppled the first domino.

My mind drifts back to Ben’s observations about Rand’s plans for the city port. The Chatelains have dealt in women, drugs, and blood money from the beginning. The Bordeaux agenda has always been to thwart the Chatelains’ access to the port. In the process, we’ve financially, legally, and physically protected New Orleanians who are loyal to us. After Prohibition, when alcohol became legal again, the Bordeauxs began to deal in information instead, and when necessary, like this morning, there’s the occasional violence to secure it.

We’ve always been smarter, keeping them from ruining the city and only ceding ground when our mothers’ attempt at peace backfired and Laurent Chatelain decimated my family.

But unlike his ambitious brother, Rand cares more about his style than his reign. He’s been in New York doing God knows what with who the hell knows. The unknown is what makes me the most nervous. If the impressionable fool found someone else to follow on their coattails, then he very well may have come back to finish what his brother started.

I’m shaken from my musings as Jilliana finishes her piece with an overly dramatic flourish and arm raise. She waits breathlessly, only for Monty to ignore her.

He’s scared. Good. Let him fear the Phantom.

“Scarlett Day,” he calls out. “You’re up. Il était un Roi de Thulé from the top. Let’s see if you can surpass Jilliana’s rendition since you have such a huge fan in the Phantom of the French Quarter himself.”

My jaw tics at his jab. Clearly he is not fearful enough. I glance at the shadow in the control booth in the center balcony. He nods before exiting the booth toward the far wall, and I shift my gaze onto the stage again.

“What’re you up to, Sol?” Sabine asks with an edge to her voice.

“Not your concern, Sabine,” I growl.

Scarlett responds to Monty softly, stoking the flames of my anger at this piece of shit for making her feel small. My spine straightens as I shift to keep an eye on the beauty, while still careful to remain in the darkness.

Scarlett is a vision in blush and gold, flawless in every way as her gown drapes loosely from her shoulders and hugs her breasts in the shape of a heart. Her dark curls fall down her back and twist over her chest to kiss her neckline. She is perfection.

But she wrings her hands as if she’s nervous or uncomfortable on the stage. My brow furrows and I itch to go to her, to calm whatever discordant notes are causing her worries. As Jilliana walks off stage, Scarlett tries to make a wide berth, but Jilliana won’t let her. The bitch I’ve been trying to help goes out of her way to bump into her so hard that Scarlett crumples to the ground.

I jerk to my feet but Sabine grabs my arm. Even her viselike grip couldn’t stop me, but I glare down at her anyway. I yank free and barely resist the urge to leap over the fucking railing.

“Do you want to reveal yourself? Your interest in her?” she asks coolly.

I don’t argue. I can’t, because she’s right, goddamn it. Revealing my interest in Scarlett, showing my hand in this game of cat and mouse, will only further put a target on her back. I’ve already done enough damage. Ben’s right. As much as I crave my obsession, that’s all she is. An obsession. I need to let her go.

But I don’t know if I can.

Scarlett gets back up on her feet and carries her head high and proud. She stands in the middle of the stage right underneath the spotlight and takes a deep breath.

“Hurry up. We don’t have all night,” Monty barks, making her jump and revealing the anxiety that’s plaguing her right now. I want to hurl my Sazerac glass at him but I snatch it up and pull a drink from it instead, keeping it in my hand for something to do while I remain standing to listen to my pretty little muse, my siren.

“Sorry. Okay, I’m ready.”

The music begins and as she starts to sing, I lean back against the real column in the box and watch her. My eyes follow every note’s trail as it begins and escapes her body. Her palms face up, seemingly drawing emotion and energy from the very air around her. The melody starts in her diaphragm, making her soft belly expand and contract. Her breasts rise and fall with each belted breath and the lyrics travel all the way up her delicate, fair neck. My free hand flexes and my cock twitches.

I’m aching to hold her in my arms right now, but I can’t let my resolve disintegrate already. This will have to be the last time I see her perform—

“Leave,” I command my second, not wanting an audience to witness my last moment of joy as I watch Scarlett take flight with her music for one final time.

Sabine doesn’t hesitate, disappearing into the faux column again.

Scarlett’s perfect bow lips surround each word, a small circle that would strangle my cock should she keep the shape. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion, no doubt exactly as they’ll look the first time she’s ever fucked. It’s an image I’ll have to take to my grave should I actually leave her alone.

“Cut!” Monty yells abruptly, forcing Scarlett to halt. “I’ve heard enough!” He stands in the center of the auditorium seating and screams at her. “That Phantom has got to be out of his mind if he thinks you deserve the lead over Jilliana! Are you even trying? Your high notes make my ears bleed—”

I glare at my shadow, now near a hidden pulley on the far wall, and raise my fist. At my signal, he grabs the lever with both hands, having already unlocked it, and pulls it to the side, letting the lever go free. A loud tinkling begins as the crystal chandelier above us shakes. Monty stops his tirade when the sound crescendos and the links holding up the grand fixture groan.

Suddenly, like ice in a glass, the chandelier tumbles to the seats below while Monty scrambles away, screaming for his life. Right before the fixture causes a definite crash, it stops midair. The crystals clink together like wind chimes as they settle.

Scarlett’s jaw is slack and I can’t read her expression. It’s either stunned horror or guilty satisfaction, possibly a combination of the two.

From the stage, the poor thing doesn’t have the delicious benefit of seeing Monty plastered to the ground, his face stark-white as he hyperventilates at what would’ve been a brutally painful death.

My great-grandfather heard a horror story from Paris about a chandelier falling in the middle of the Palais Garnier, killing a woman. He put a stopgap in place, allowing the chandelier to be lowered enough to clean or change the crystals by ladder, but not so low as to endanger patrons. Or in tonight’s case, shitty directors.

Monty scrambles out from under the chandelier, unscathed, like my great-grandfather and Ben would’ve wanted, and stands up to brush off the imaginary dust clinging to his ridiculously cliché tweed blazer.

“Th-th-that’s it. N-no more. I’m done! I quit!”

Triumph rolls through me. Monty quitting is the best-case scenario for him. Mediocre directors and professors are a dime a dozen and Bordeaux Conservatory of Music deserves the best. I’ll have fun blacklisting him across the country. He’ll never have a job where he can leverage his position of power over his students again.

Curious and shocked onlookers filter onto the stage. Maggie pushes through the fray and shields her eyes from the spotlight with her hand over her brow. “Monty, what the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m done, Maggie! I quit! I won’t risk my life for the show! Tell your husband that after all I’ve done for this school, I refuse to be terrorized by some monster!”

“Monty, wait!” Maggie, the kind soul that she is, jogs stage right down the stairs leading to the auditorium to follow him as he stomps out of the house. “What are you talking about?”

“The Phantom of the French Quarter! Obviously he has it out for me and I won’t tolerate it—”

His voice cuts off as the doors slam shut behind him. Everyone on the stage begins to talk over one another, at a loss of what to do next. Jaime raises his hands to settle the crowd.

“Is everyone okay? No one got hurt?” They shake their heads and Jaime smiles wide. “Then it sounds like we’re off for the rest of the night. Drinks at Masque?”

The cast and crew cheer and whoop, high-fiving as they exit the stage en masse. My shadow has returned to his station at the control booth, like he never left, and shuts off the big spotlight, leaving only the dim lights to illuminate the stage.

And my muse.

Without the spotlight, actors on the stage can clearly see the auditorium seating, a fact I realize much too late.

Scarlett’s gasp makes my cock twitch and my eye catches her stunned silver ones, sparkling from the low lighting remaining in the hall. She takes a tentative step back—away from me—even though I’m a story up and three box lengths away.

Her words are barely a whisper, but thanks to the acoustics, I hear them perfectly.

“It is you.”