Phantoms of Dusk (Society of Magic Book 1)

by K.N. Lee

  “Yeah. A cousin or an uncle or something.” He paused, frowned. “I guess your parents didn’t actually die then, though, did they?” He pulled another book from the same shelf. “Didn’t your mom and dad die in a fire?” Where the other two books were about the size and shape of an over-sized paperback book, the one he set down that time had the look of a photo album to it, or maybe a scrapbook.

  “Yes, when I was ten.”

  He winced, and whiskey-colored eyes met hazel. “Ouch.”

  “It is what it is.” She pulled the last book closer and opened it to a random page. It was indeed a scrapbook. Yellowed news articles lived on the same pages as a scrap of auburn hair, a bit of green silk ribbon. “The state put me into their foster care system.” She turned one of the stiff pages, and her gaze landed on an article from the Rochester Gazette.

  Couple Dies in Fiery Crash.

  The date was a few weeks before Elora was born, confirmation they’d faked their deaths to be together.

  “You should take those with you when we leave. I didn’t read much of your mom’s diary, just enough to know that’s what it is.”

  “I don’t know if I’d feel right about reading it.” On the one hand, it would let her get to know her mother in a way she hadn’t been ready for when she was a kid, but still, it would be reading private thoughts, never meant to be shared.

  “I dunno, Pretty Eyes. I think your mom might have wanted you to read it.”

  “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” Ripley slid the smaller book, which matched the one he’d been reading, across the desk to her and flipped open the cover. He grinned at her, his lips quirking up to form a dimple on one side as he tapped a finger on the title page of the diary.

  “I might stop when we’re old and gray, but probably not.” He winked at her.

  Elora laughed and read the note written on the inside of the front cover. For my future children, if I ever have any. Feel free to read this and any others with my blessing. Volume 7. MC, April ’99. The note and the newspaper article couldn’t have been more than a few days apart.

  “I thought you said you didn’t read it.” She raised one brow.

  “Really? You’re gonna bust my chops because I read a dedication on the front page?” He shook his head and then adjusted his glasses when they slipped a little. “You wound me, milady.”

  “God. You are such a drama queen.” Ripley responded by sticking his nose in the air and performing a perfect flounce over to the desk chair. He dropped into it hard enough to set it spinning, and when it slowed, he pushed off the desk with one foot to speed it up again. “And you’re going to get dizzy.”

  He grinned and forced the chair to a stop. “You’re probably right.”

  The sound of voices grew louder, approaching from the landing.

  Ripley’s grin faded. “I don’t know about you, Pretty Eyes, but it’s a little crowded around here for me.” He stood and reached for one of the books he’d earlier pulled from the shelves, but then he frowned.

  There was a three by three inch pad of paper near a banker’s lamp on the desk; Ripley reached for that instead, along with a pen. After scribbling something down, he tore off the page and handed it to Elora.

  “My cell. Call me if you want.”

  She took the page, but he didn’t let go right away. Instead, he tightened his fingers around hers, and she watched him with a bemused smile as he lifted her hand and brushed her knuckles with his mouth. His lips were warm. With that, he scooped up the book and sauntered from the library, squeezing past Mer as he slipped through the door.

  He saluted Elora just before disappearing down the stairs. Still watching the space past Mer and her friend Serena occupied, Elora slid Ripley’s phone number into her pocket.

  Chapter 19

  Monday began bright and early. Elora expected to have a hard time both falling asleep and waking, considering how draining her weekend was in so many ways. She was wrong. As soon as she snuggled into her bed, she was out. She didn’t think she even moved before her alarm woke her at six.

  She shut it off and glanced over at Angela’s side of the room. Her roommate’s eyes were open. Elora smiled and opened her mouth to say hi, but she didn’t get the sound out before Angela turned over, her back to Elora. Her greeting morphed into a sigh as she flung the covers to the end of the bed.

  She stopped for coffee on her way to History, splurging on a shot of caramel. She was a few minutes early, even with her stop. When Elora took her usual seat in the back of the room, she saw Dr. Grant’s now familiar scrawl on the board: Secret Societies. He had promised the class a new topic they’d enjoy for the weeks approaching Thanksgiving.

  Even as she pulled a pen and a notebook from her backpack, she played with her new “toy,” making tiny witch lights that danced across her fingertips beneath the cover of the flip-up desk. Whenever someone passed too close or looked her way, she closed her hand around the lights. There was so much to learn, but just that one little thing, the witch lights, boosted her confidence like nothing else had in years. If she could control the light – and she could – then she could figure out how to break the spell or whatever it was she’d done to Angela.

  “All right, my young friends.” Elora doused her lights at the sound of Dr. Grant’s voice. “Secret Societies. They’ve captured our collective imagination for centuries.” He turned to write on the board as he spoke. “The Knights Templar. Freemasons. The Illuminati. The Rosicrucians. They and many more all have their places in human history.” Chalk in hand, he turned back toward the class. “Tell me what secret societies you’ve heard of. If any spark enough interest, I’ll them to this lecture series.”

  Students started calling out names, and Dr. Grant wrote them on the board beside his own list. Skull and Bones. The Hellfire Club. Elders of Zion. Priory of Sion.

  The names all started blending together. People called out names, not bothering to raise their hands or waiting for Dr. Grant to call on them. And all the while, Elora thought about what Ripley and Mer had told her about her parents, about the group Elora herself was heir to and would supposedly one day lead, the group that had driven her parents to fake their deaths to escape.

  Without giving in to second thoughts, Elora called out a name. “The Phantoms of Dusk.” It looked to her as though Dr. Grant paused for half a second before adding it to the list.

  Shut up. You’re imagining things, Snow.

  As the period went on and people clearly ran out of legitimate secret societies, they started calling out things like Fight Club, League of Assassins, and the Dharma Initiative. Shaking his head, Dr. Grant set his piece of chalk in the tray. “As interesting as it might be to study some of these” – he gestured toward the societies with their roots in pop culture – “I think they’ll have to wait until the end of the semester.” He smiled and shook a finger at the class in general as he looked around the room. “If we have time, that is.”

  Wiping chalk dust from his hands, he left a white smudge on his trouser leg as he walked to his desk. “For tomorrow, I want you to pick one or two of these groups and come up with some questions or talking points. We’ll use them in starting our discussion.” He clapped his hands. “That’s it. Class dismissed.” But then he looked straight at Elora. “Miss Stone, would you mind staying for a moment?”

  Not expecting to hear her name, Elora didn’t react at first, but when her brain made the connection, she dropped her pen. She almost hit her head on the flip up desk when she straightened after retrieving it. She finished gathering her things and packing them up while the rest of the class filed out, joking about researching the Dharma Initiative, laughing, bouncing questions back and forth. When the last of them left, she took her backpack and her empty coffee cup to the front of the room, where Dr. Grant was just finishing packing up his briefcase.

  “Is there something wrong, Dr. Grant?” She couldn’t imagine what it could be. Her test scores were all good. Maybe it was the paper they’d tur
ned in last week.

  Did I forget a citation?

  “Not at all. And please, call me Peter.” One eyebrow shot up at that. She didn’t mean to, but she felt it, an automatic reaction. “It’s Elora, right? Did I pronounce that right?”

  “Yes, and yes.” She smiled.

  He picked up is briefcase and held out his arm, a silent request that she precede him. She dropped her empty cup in the trashcan beside the desk and headed toward the door.

  “I’m impressed with the work you’ve done in class, Elora.” They reached the door and he held it open for her. “I was wondering if you might join me for dinner some evening.”

  There was a step outside the door. Elora misjudged it, caught her heel on the edge, and almost fell. She caught herself, though her backpack slipped from her shoulder. It hit her knee before it hit the ground.

  She bent to pick it up. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Dr. Grant.”

  He laughed. “I mean nothing untoward, I assure you.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a business card. “Think about it, Elora. I think we’d have a lot to talk about.”

  He held out the card, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it. The card was warm to the touch. Close as she was to Dr. Grant, she couldn’t help but notice he was younger than she’d assumed. Late 40s, maybe, rather than 50s.

  “I’ll think about it.” She hitched her backpack to a more comfortable – and stable – place on her shoulder.

  “I can’t ask for more than that.” He smiled again, and she found herself smiling back.

  Chapter 20

  The rest of Elora’s day was uneventful. Boring, even. It was a welcome change from the last few days. As soon as she returned to her dorm, she changed into sweats and an over-sized t-shirt and fired up her laptop.

  There was literally nothing that she could find online regarding the Phantoms of Dusk, but that didn’t stop her from writing down a few questions for Dr. Grant, talking points for the next day’s class. To make it look good, she came up with a couple for one of the other, more obscure societies, at least to her, the Priory of Sion.

  That one, she found mentioned a few times when she googled the term.

  She grabbed a macaroni and cheese from the freezer and nuked it for dinner. Before she sat down to eat, she opened the window a crack for a bit of cooler air. Angela liked it warmer than Elora was used to and kept the thermostat up. She wasn’t even there, was probably out somewhere with Greg.

  Elora ate, cleaned up her mess, studied, and spent a few minutes on Twitter. By nine, she was fighting sleep, so she shut down the computer and closed the window before going to bed. When she reached up to snap the lock shut, she must have brushed against her bookcase; Dr. Grant’s card fell to the floor.

  She picked it up – it still felt warm, but that had to be her imagination – and tucked it into the drawer on her nightstand along with her mother’s necklace and her picture of Sophia. She lay in bed for only a couple of minutes, long enough to get comfortable, when she remembered she hadn’t brushed her teeth.

  Ugh. I don’t care.

  She pulled the covers up under her chin and snuggled into her pillow. It wasn’t like she was going to be kissing anyone. And if Ripley’s face swam through her imagination with that thought, it was nobody’s business but her own.

  Chapter 21

  The night was misty and damp, and an odd glow surrounded the tree, faint lines of silver limning them in a whisper-thin corona. Elora shivered, ran her hands briskly up and down her arms in a vain attempt to warm up. There were willowisps everywhere, winking in and out of sight with intense pastel colors, more like blinking Christmas lights than fireflies. She looked up at Ripley.

  “Why are we here?”

  “We’re headed for the castle, of course.” Without his glasses, his eyes looked silver in the weird light.

  “Oh.” She blinked, frowned, blinked again. A bright wisp the color of a Robin’s egg appeared an inch or so in front of Elora’s nose. It didn’t wink out right away, swooping in for a gentle pat to the tip of her nose. She smiled and tried to get it to light on her hand.

  “Elora. Focus. The castle?”

  “What about it?” The wisp darted back and winked out, darted in again to pull at a strand of her hair. She reached up to catch it.

  “You were taking me there.” Ripley sounded annoyed.

  The frown came back. “But you know where the castle is. You’re the one who told me.” The wisp trapped in her hand scratched at her palm, and she let it go. There was something about the wisps she was supposed to remember, wasn’t there?

  An exasperated sigh escaped the man beside her. He grasped her hand in a tight grip. “C’mon, Elora. Leave the willowisps alone. They’re not your friends.” He squeezed. “I am.”

  He’s right, isn’t he?

  A thought scratched at her brain, prickly and uncomfortable.

  He is right, but this isn’t.

  She tried to pull her hand from his. At first, he only held on tighter, but then he let go and gave her that lopsided grin. Her misgivings trickled away. Returning Ripley’s smile, she spun in place, trying to orient herself, but the mist swirling with her movements interfered.

  A pair wisps, yellow and green, danced in the air in front of her, playing with the mist. They flew off to join a couple more, both of them blue. It was a pretty combination; Elora followed them.

  The willowisps spiraled and arced, leaving faint trails of light and a delighted Elora in their wakes. Behind her, Ripley trudged along, breaking the silence every so often to admonish her about the wisps or the question they were headed for the castle. He was starting to get on her nerves. He was in mid-question about the stupid castle again when Elora stepped off the cliff onto nothing but air and mist.

  She woke sitting upright in her bed, her feet on the floor. No mist. No forest. No willowisps. A quick glance in the murky bedroom, lit only by two clock faces and a shaft of moonlight, showed there was also no Angela. The curtains fluttered, and Elora shivered. “Didn’t I close that?” She stood and shut the window, making sure both of the latches were secure.

  It must have been a dream, with that weird lighting and all. But she was sure she closed that window before getting into bed. And Ripley had come through that same window the night the vampire attacked her. She never had asked him how or why he was there. Elora stared at the window. Just to make sure there were no cheetahs in that tree, watching over her – watching her? – she got up peered through it before pulling the curtains shut. There wasn’t a gap between them to let even that little bit of moonlight through.

  “Gah!” She scrubbed her fingers through her hair, snarling one in a knot she quickly picked out. “It was a dream, bonehead.”

  Ripley would never act like such a dick. She snorted. And he would never call her Elora. Not once had dream-Ripley called her Pretty Eyes. Even so, as she snuggled back into her bed, she made a mental note to ask him about lurking in that tree the next time she saw him.

  Chapter 22

  Nothing much happened for the rest of that week, at least as far as things that went bump in the night were concerned. Elora worried that History might be a little weird.

  Dr. Grant had assured her his asking her to meet him for dinner wasn’t anything like a date, but she still felt awkward when she waled into class Tuesday morning. He didn’t treat her any differently than he had before, though, and she decided she had a choice.

  She could be embarrassed at mistaking a simple invitation to talk over a meal as him asking her out on a date, or she could take him at his word. She had no reason not to trust him. Once she decided to let it go as a misunderstanding, she relaxed. Elora liked History; she didn’t want to change that.

  Her Russian instructor announced there would be a major test Friday afternoon, so the remainder of the week for that class was review. They broke up into small study groups of three or four people. She didn’t really know any of her classmates and ended up with two oth
er people who, like Elora, kept to themselves.

  That suited her just fine.

  When she wasn’t in class or studying, Elora found herself heading back to the castle. It became easier to find the more she visited it, just as the witch lights were easier to produce the more she did it. More often than not, Ripley showed up before she reached the clearing that led to the entrance. The first time it happened, she stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Are you following me?”

  He grinned, his whiskey-colored eyes lighting up behind his glasses. “Yep.” Snow fell, big, fat flakes that landed in his brown hair, perching there for a few seconds before their edges began to melt. The moisture made his hair curl.

  “That’s it? Just yep?”

  He shrugged. “You asked; I answered.”

  She blew out a puff of air in frustration, sending a snowflake spinning away. “Why are you following me?”

  Ripley’s grin faded and Elora found herself wanting it to come back. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you, Pretty Eyes.”

  He took a step closer, reaching out a hand toward her face as though he was going to touch her, but then he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets instead.

  “These woods aren’t safe for you, Elora. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” He wasn’t referring to the willowisps, was he? After that first day – and especially after her dream the other night – she was careful to not let them beguile her again. She didn’t relish the idea of walking off a cliff.

  “You’re learning how to use the abilities you were born with. Those abilities as as anything else are what make you the heir to this castle and to the Phantoms.” They had indeed reached the place in the woods where she knew Castle Caldwell stood. She felt it as a tingle on her skin, a tightness at the back of her brain.

  “I still don’t know if I want anything to do with the Phantoms, let alone lead them.” She wasn’t a leader. And the whole heir to a centuries old secret society of magic-wielding guardians of mankind thing had driven her parents to desperate lengths to escape.