by K.N. Lee
“Unfortunately, there are factions involved that just don’t care. Or won’t believe you. They want you out the way.” He took her hand, weaving their fingers together. “And that is why I’m following you.”
“My self-appointed protector?”
Ripley grinned down at her. “Something like that.” The dimple that formed at the left side of his mouth made her stomach flutter and her heart trip. He gestured toward the gap in the trees in front of the with their joined hands. “Now, show me what you’ve got.”
With painstaking pronunciation, Elora said the words that revealed the castle, the place where her mother was born, where her family had ruled over the Phantoms of Dusk for a dozen generations.
After that, she and Ripley met up in the woods to explore the castle almost every night. Sometimes there were others there, sometimes it was just the two of them.
As the dust covers came off the furniture and the cobwebs came down, she got to know more about the Phantoms, at least individual Phantoms who showed up to help put the castle back to livable condition. Most of them were students at Westerly, a couple of them in her classes, like Kailey, who was in her History class.
Mer was there once, too, but she didn’t talk much to Elora. She always seemed to be judging her and finding her lacking. Whenever she was around, Elora felt like Mer spent half her time watching Elora to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid.
Kailey and Sarah took it upon themselves to teach Elora to use her magic. They couldn’t teach her to use her power of persuasion, what Ripley called “that Siren stuff,” but they taught her how to control multiple witch lights and how to light the torches and candles around the castle with just a thought. The Siren stuff was unique to the ruling families, the Caldwells, the Frosts, the Malveys, not accessible to the run of the mill Phantoms. Mer could teach her, but she chose not to.
“I don’t trust you.” She stood in front of Elora and looked her in the eye, her arms crossed and her expression stony. “You’re an interloper, as far as I’m concerned.” She glanced at Ripley as though including him in the interloper category. But then she shrugged and relaxed a little. “The ancestors said to keep an eye on you until you prove yourself worthy. If that happens, I’ll teach you.”
It was clear Mer didn’t expect that to happen anytime soon, if ever. She bent and picked up a pile of dust covers from the floor, presumably to take them somewhere to wash them.
“I don’t want to risk you being able to control people’s minds, particularly Shifters or other Phantoms. It’s too dangerous.”
With that, Mer turned her back on Elora and Ripley and walked away. Beyond frustrated, Elora wanted to kick something or maybe scream. It wasn’t fair. It sounded like Mer, of all people, could teach her to undo whatever it was she’d inadvertently done to Angela. Then the rest of what the other girl said sank in. “Wait.” She turned to Ripley. “Is that really a thing? Talking to your ancestors? As in having conversations with them?”
“It’s not a thing for Shifters, but yeah, I guess it is for you magic-wielding types.”
“Ha. As if shifting from human to cheetah isn’t magic.” She rolled her eyes at him. Somewhere downstairs, music began to play, the notes drifting up the stairs. After a couple of measures, the volume increased. It must be deafening to those closer to the source.
“Yeah, but that’s all I do. You, on the other hand...” He gestured toward the half dozen witch lights Elora had floated. They were in her grandfather’s library, which she thought might be her favorite room in the formerly dusty old castle.
“Whatever.”
Panic! At the Disco beat its way up to them. Without warning, Ripley grabbed her by the hand and swung her around, startling a laugh out of her. He grinned, full of mischief, and Elora found herself dancing for the first time in her life.
Chapter 23
The sound of the dryer was mesmerizing. That, combined with the heat in the laundry room, made Elora drowsy. She shook her head to wake up a little and flipped a handful of pages in the scrapbook she’d brought back from the castle.
It had belonged to her grandfather, the man who had been in charge of the Phantoms of Dusk before his death three years before. Elora’s grandmother had started the scrapbook with the birth of their only child, Mallory.
From what Elora had gleaned from the newspaper articles and letters and postcards glued to the pages along with bits of ribbon, photographs, sketches, finger paintings, and hand-written haiku, Johnathan Caldwell had taken over chronicling his daughter’s life when Miranda Caldwell had died in childbirth. Mallory would have had a little sister.
After Miranda’s death, Johnathan had documented everything from Mallory’s first day of kindergarten to her graduation from college. He’d been proud of his daughter; that much was clear. And as Elora had seen when she first opened the scrapbook in her grandfather’s library in Castle Caldwell, the last memento was a news article about her death in a car accident along with a young man named Randall Calhoun.
Elora’s parents had kept their given names but chosen the name Stone for their young family. She knew they’d met at Westerly, been in the same class. They’d been thrown together time and again during their first few weeks there because their last names were so close together. And after graduation, Randall Calhoun became Mallory’s official guardian, assigned by Johnathan Caldwell. But that was before he realized they more than simply knew each other from college.
The door to the laundry room squeaked as it opened and then closed, and someone started down the stairs. Elora looked up at the timer on her dryer. Still ten minutes to go. Up until then, she was the only person there. Thursday night was an even less popular laundry night than Saturday, it seemed. Whoever the other person was, they went to the opposite side of the double bank of washing machines in the center of the room.
She returned her attention to the scrapbook, leafing through it until she found the photograph she wanted. Mallory stood between Randall and Johnathan. Her parents wore their graduation caps and gowns and laughed at each other. Her grandfather smiled straight at the camera. Although there was no sign of it, Elora was in that picture, too. A few days after it was taken, Johnathan made Randall Mallory’s bodyguard. A few weeks after that, when he discovered Mallory was pregnant and that she and Randall planned to marry, he’d fired Randall and tried to drive him away.
Elora heard a clicking, tapping sound, probably one of the washers starting. They were old and didn’t always work as efficiently or quietly as they could. Building management was supposed to start phasing in new ones after the first of the year. Her dryer stopped, and Elora looked up. That’s when she heard it, a menacing growl, low and throaty. She held her breath.
A wolf – a freaking wolf! – stood between where she sat toward the middle of the room and the stairs that led to the dorm lobby. Its yellow eyes seemed to glow under the harsh fluorescent lights. She swallowed and clutched her grandfather’s scrapbook against her chest as the wolf bared its teeth and growled again. She never knew wolves could be so large, but then this one wasn’t a mere wolf, was it?
She slowly stood, not taking her eyes off the wolf that stalked her, not even when her phone, lying on the table beside her, started singing.
Believe it or not, I’m walkin’ on air…
Book still in one hand, she snatched up the phone as she took a step back. The wolf took a step forward. She slammed the accept button against one of her knuckles on the hand holding the book. That book was her only weapon. The nearest laundry cart was about ten feet away.
“Hey, Pretty Eyes, have you eaten yet?” The wolf growled, baring more teeth than Elora would have thought could be crammed into one terrifying mouth.
“No, but I’m about to be!”
The tone of Ripley’s voice changed in a heartbeat. “Where are you?” He must have picked up on her incipient panic.
“Dorm laundry!” She took another step back. Eight feet to the rolling cart. She didn’t know how much lo
nger before the werewolf decided to attack.
“On my way.”
Another step. Her heel hit something that skittered backwards and crashed with a metallic clang into the change machine. The noise caught the wolf’s attention for the blink of an eye, but it was enough. Elora threw the scrapbook as hard as she could at the thing’s head, clipping it right on the snout. She didn’t wait to see how it would react; she ran.
When she dashed past the rolling laundry cart, she sent it careening toward the charging wolf. The rattling racket couldn’t drown out the wolf’s whining snarl.
It leapt over the cart. A hind paw caught the top rack, toppling the whole thing. Elora skidded around the far end of the bank of washing machines. The stairs were right there, but suddenly, so was the wolf. There was a crash from somewhere beyond the laundry room, somewhere sane and safe. No wolves allowed. Elora shifted to the left but the wolf did, too. She tore her gaze from the beast to look for something else she could use as a weapon. The wolf charged, claws scraping for purchase on the battered, slick vinyl floor.
The wolf hit her like a battering ram, knocking the wind out of her as she fell backward to the floor. Her head hit the vinyl, and she literally saw stars as she gasped for breath. Huge, clawed paws pinned her to the floor. A gaping maw crammed with shining white teeth darted toward her throat but never connected.
“Elora!”
There was a sickening thud of crunching bone, and the wolf was gone. In its place, a naked man scrambled to his feet. Ripley struck at him again with the baseball bat gripped in his hands, connected with the man’s shoulder. Bright red blood ran down the side of his face; there was blood on the bat.
The man shoved Ripley aside and broke for the stairs, taking them upward three at a time. For a moment, it looked like Ripley was going to follow, but then he dropped the bat with a sharp clatter to the floor.
In the blink of an eye, Elora was in Ripley’s arms. She clung to him. The adrenaline in her system ebbed, leaving her feeling sick and shaky, and she still couldn’t quite pull in enough air. She buried her face in Ripley’s chest, and he held her tighter, breathing heavily into her hair. The dryer that held her bedding rumbled to life, fluffing her sheets even as it made her all but jump out of her skin.
“Hush. You’re okay, Pretty Eyes. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Somehow, she believed him.
Chapter 24
Elora arrived at Mama Linda’s a few minutes early, but Wednesday’s weren’t busy at the little Mexican restaurant. They sat her in a booth that sat four to wait for Dr. Grant.
She’d almost called him to take him up on his offer the night of the werewolf attack, but she’d held off, not wanting to do anything while she was still panicky. She wouldn’t have taken him up on it at all if it weren’t for the Phi Alpha Epsilon t-shirt Ripley had found. The werewolf had left it on a chair in the laundry room along with shoes, socks, and a pair of jeans.
The shirt belonged to Mer’s sorority, and for Elora’s attacker to have it meant he was connected in some way not only to the house but to the Phantoms. Ripley had blown it off as probably just a boyfriend of one of the girls, but she could tell it had him worried, too. Why would anyone affiliated with the Phantoms deliberately corner her like that? All Elora could think of was what Mer had said that first night at Castle Caldwell.
Certain members of her family would try to kill Elora for no other reason than she existed.
Her server brought a basket of chips and a bowl of salsa along with her ice water. The chunky salsa was somewhere between mild and medium, the kind of thing you could eat a ton of without even realizing it. It was delicious. As she munched, she glanced around the room and back at the door every so often, waiting for Dr. Grant. There were colorful sombreros on the walls along with primitive-looking paintings of bull fights and dancing girls, as much Spain as Mexico, but she’d heard the food was good and it wasn’t expensive.
She was browsing the menu for the third time when he slid into the booth across from her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Not long.” She shrugged. It wasn’t his fault she was early, but they might have to order more of the chips and salsa.
“I’m glad you changed your mind, Elora. I’ve been wanting to get to know you better.”
One eyebrow shot up almost of its own volition. “Do you meet all of your students over dinner?”
He laughed. “Not all, but there are a few. The more interesting ones.” She couldn’t help but wonder why so much flattery, not that she minded.
Their server interrupted to take his drink order before either of them could say anything else. They spoke of nothing much, just small talk for a few minutes until his beer arrived along with a new basket of chips still hot from the oil.
“So how do you know about the Phantoms of Dusk, Elora?” He watched her as he crunched on a chip. She tried not to act surprised that he dove right in on the very subject she wanted most to discuss. “I’ve taught this class for many a year at many a school, and you’re the first one to ever bring them up.”
She took a sip of her water to have an extra moment to phrase her response. It wasn’t that she was embarrassed or worried about her connection to them, but she didn’t want to out herself, either. “I’d heard the name around, I guess.”
He chuckled and took a sip of his beer. “That doesn’t surprise me around here. They don’t advertise, but there’s a contingent of them here at Westerly.” She didn’t have to feign surprise that he knew about Mer and her friends. “You might have met some of them and not even know it. They tend to skulk in the shadows on the fringes of things.”
“That doesn’t sound very positive.” In fact, it was at odds with what both Mer and Ripley had told her. She knew the Phantoms didn’t advertise their presence, but according to Mer, neither did they hide in the shadows. She said the only thing they hid was their use of magic to influence the outcomes for people in need of help.
Most of the help they gave was to protect the public and occasionally individuals against supernatural creatures and situations. They battled curses, rescued humans from vampires, hunted creatures that harmed humans or their pets. If they couldn’t relocate them away from human populations, they killed them. Every so often, they exorcised demons.
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” The server arrived to take their order, and Dr. Grant held up one finger. “Hold that thought.” When they were alone again, he picked up where he’d left off. “The first record of the Phantoms of Dusk traces back to Britain in the late fifteenth century. It was a protection racket making money off frightened and helpless people. They tricked people into paying exorbitant sums, claiming they were the only ones who could help them exorcise the demons fighting for control of their souls.” He scooped up a chip full of salsa. “They didn’t change much, if at all, when they crossed the pond to America back in the late nineteenth century.”
Confusion and doubt nipped at Elora. “I thought they were more of a behind-the-scenes, benevolent kind of group.”
Grant snorted. “Hardly.” He took another swig of his beer, scooped up some salsa with a chip. “Tricksters and con artists who use people in service to themselves.” He shook a chip at her. “The Freemasons, on the other hand, had kind of a bad rap, but they do some good charity work.”
He continued on about the other societies mentioned in the class until their food arrived. They never did return to the subject of the Phantoms, but it didn’t matter. Dr. Grant had given her more than enough to think about. Several of the books she’d taken from her grandfather’s library went into detail on battles they’d fought with various creatures.
She’d take a few notes and talk to Dr. Grant again, see if he knew anything about those specific incidents or could point her in the right direction to search. It didn’t bother her that what he said was the opposite of what Mer had told her. Mer struck her as kind of a manipulative person, which could be in keeping with Dr. Grants version of the
Phantoms. But she trusted Ripley. Elora didn’t want to believe that he had lied to her about the Phantoms.
She didn’t know what to believe. She’d just have to keep her eyes open and her mind clear. Eventually, she’d learn the truth.
Chapter 25
The night was cold, the moon bright, the starts sparkling like diamonds in the velvet black of the sky in spite of the competition from the street lights. The moon and stars wouldn’t be able to fight off the threat of the clouds drifting in from the west, though.
It was Thanksgiving, and Elora had been home alone, contemplating the refrigerator when Ripley had called. Angela was with her family for the holiday. She was quick to take him up on his offer of a more appetizing dinner than the pack of deli-sliced chicken and a dill pickle spear. There wasn’t even any bread for a sandwich.
“So, you hungry, Pretty Eyes?” Ripley’s breath was visible as he spoke. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and she remembered he’d said he only needed them during the day.
The town wasn’t large. They walked from her dorm to a nearby restaurant. Elora had joked about Chinese for dinner, but Ripley had only laughed.
“So hungry. Feed me.”
“Your wish is my command, milady Pretty Eyes.” He bowed low, as perfectly executed as that of any courtier, but the grin that accompanied it marred the formal effect. Elora laughed. Straightening, Ripley offered her his arm. Arms linked and hands in pockets, they headed to a smokey burger place just across the bridge at the outskirts of town.
Over gourmet cheeseburgers and seasoned fries, they talked. They laughed about classes and movies, about books they’d read and stories from their childhoods. Ripley told her about the first time he’d deliberately changed. It had been so exciting for a six-year-old. It had also been terrifying for his parents when he’d almost refused to change back.
