The Charleston Chase (Phantom Knights Book 2) (14 page)

As we climbed out of the wagon bed, Guinevere was
nowhere around. A large man as tall and wide as a door stepped away
from the front of the tavern.

“Raven?” he asked.

Stepping forward, he held out a folded paper, then
turned and went into the tavern. The note was short with an address
only. It triggered a familiar thought in me, but I could not place
where the address was.

“Hades, Phoenix, search the tavern.” As they went
in, I turned to Rose. “I have a feeling she wants to lead us on a
chase.” As she read the letter, her face drained of color.

“Raven—”

“She’s not here,” Levi said, stepping out of the
tavern door.

Rose lowered the note. “This address, is it not
where your minister friend is staying?”

Levi and I exchanged a shocked look, and then we
started to run. We were only two blocks away, but fear pumped my
blood, as my feet pounded hard against the ground. If the Holy
Order harmed Gideon, I would destroy not only their secret society,
but every person who laid a hand on him.

We neared the parsonage and slowed. There were no
carriages waiting, and all was quiet on the street. His two story
brick house appeared as it always had, peaceful.

Looking around the silent street, there was movement
in between two houses across the street from Gideon’s house. A
flash of blonde hair and a bonnet swinging from a hand before it
disappeared around the back of one of the houses. I started
forward, but Levi grabbed my arm.

“No, Raven. I will go after her. You get to
Gideon.”

Not looking away from where Guinevere had gone, it
appeared to me that she had lied about the Holy Order, and I wanted
to thrash her, but if Gideon was in trouble, then he needed me.
Finally, I looked at Levi.

“Be careful, Hades, she is crafty for one so
small.”

“Aren’t we all,” he replied before flashing a wicked
smirk. He pressed my arm. “I will be well, Raven. Now make
haste.”

Moving through a small white gate to the front door,
voices coming from around the back of the house caused me to change
directions.

Walking around the side of the house, the first
thing that came into view was a cookhouse. Many houses had a
cookhouse not attached to the main house. They were usually
situated at the back of the property, and this one was no
different, but the door to the cookhouse was closed. A man stood
before the door, dressed in plain brown clothes and a serpent ring
on his finger. He saw me and shouted as he reached for his gun.

Only thinking of saving myself, I pulled my pistol
from the belt at my waist, pulled back the hammer, and fired. The
ball struck his chest. He dropped his gun as he stumbled back,
hitting the wall of the small cookhouse, but his shout had brought
forth the others.

Four men came from behind the cookhouse, each with
the barrel of their guns raised toward me. For a fear filled
moment, I stood there facing their weapons, knowing I was
outnumbered, but they did not shoot me. They advanced, proving that
they wanted to capture me, not kill me.

Quickly appraising the situation,
I knew that I could hit at least three of them with my knives in
the time it took one of them to shoot me. There was the dilemma.
One
could
shoot
me.

They moved toward me with their shoulders nearly
touching, like a military line.

The door to the cookhouse opened, and two more men
stepped out. They were all dressed alike, as if that was not
conspicuous. My heart was beating rapidly and only increased when I
saw Gideon step out of the cookhouse with a man on each side of
him. Gideon’s lip was bleeding, and there was a gash over one of
his eyes. His gaze met mine, and he nodded as if he knew I would
come for him.

Being Phantoms, we knew when we were defeated, we
knew when to surrender. I was not there yet. I pulled two knives
from my belt and slashed at the men before me, hitting one in the
arm, one in the stomach, and one across the forearm as he tried to
strike me with the butt of his pistol.

“Raven!” Charlotte’s scream came a moment before
shots went off in the small yard, the sound nearly deafening.

My ears were ringing, as I jerked around the blade
of a dagger that was being swung at my head. I caught a glimpse of
Gideon ducking back into the cookhouse, into safety. That relieved
my mind enough to focus on the fight.

The man with the dagger caught my arm with his hand
and twisted it back, causing pain to shoot like sparks through my
arm. I struck his jaw with my fist. I hit him again, but it only
grazed his shoulder as he dodged around, getting a hit to my
stomach. My body jerked down as a pain assailed me. In my bent
state, my gaze fell on Rose, Char, and a figure with a full face
mask and hood that could only be Abe, fighting. A hand clamped onto
the back of my neck, and my head was pulled back so that I was
staring into my opponent’s face. He placed a blade against my
throat.

“Hvor er ma belle?”

Always searching for Ma belle. “Venter på dig i
helvede,” I replied with a menace that filled me every time I was
near one of those villains. She may not be waiting for him in hell,
but he did not know that. Though I did not like her, I would never
give her to the people who had murdered Ben.

He started to press the blade into my skin. I tried
to pull back, but his hand held me in place. A loud thud sounded
from behind him. He straightened for a moment, his eyes bulging,
then both he and the dagger dropped. Gideon was standing behind him
holding an iron skillet.

I started to smile, but a figure appeared behind
Gideon.

“Gideon!”

He twisted faster than I had ever seen someone of
his years move, and he slammed the back side of the skillet against
the man’s stomach and then the man’s back as he hunched over. The
man dropped down to his knees holding his stomach, and Gideon hit
his back once more, sending the man flat on his belly. The man
tried to get up, but failed and dropped back to his stomach.

Gideon moved away with his skillet in hand. I
followed him, shaking my head and laughing a little. When I neared
the others, Abe was surrounded by three men, Charlotte was near the
white fence throwing knives at the men surrounding Abe, and Rose
was punching on a man like a skilled boxer.

Two of Charlotte’s knives struck one man, and he
screamed as he jerked around toward her, his pistol raised. Gideon
leapt forward, landing behind him and striking a blow to the back
of the man’s head. His pistol went off as he fell, and Charlotte
screamed.

My heart lurched. Running toward Char, my mind was
praying. She was lying against the fence, red staining her black
jacket where a line was burned out of her sleeve. It was a graze
but certainly painful. Charlotte’s face was pale, and tears were
streaking down her soot covered face.

“Oh, Raven, I’m going to die. I see the white
light.” She gripped my arm as I knelt beside her. “Tell my brother
I love him, and tell Levi I took his favorite knife.” She closed
her eyes. “I meant to return it.”

“You are not dying. It is a graze. Though painful,
it is not fatal.”

Her eyes popped open. “In that case, do not tell
Levi a thing. I rather like that knife.”

A laugh escaped me as I shook my head. She would
survive. As Rose knelt beside Charlotte and began ripping fabric to
bind Charlotte’s wound, I stood. There were bodies all over
Gideon’s small yard, but only four were deceased. Gideon had his
foot on the back of one man with the skillet in hand ready to
strike should the man move, while Abe bound the wrists of the man
next to him.

“Are you well, Raven?” Gideon asked me as I
approached him.

“Well enough. How are your cuts?”

“Nothing a little sticking plaster will not
fix.”

Abe, Gideon, and I worked together to move the
conscious men to the wagon where Betsy was waiting to guard them
with two pistols in her hands. We carried the deceased bodies
behind the cookhouse where we left them until Abe could return with
the constables that the Charleston Phantoms worked with. Charlotte
sat beside Abe on the bench seat, and Rose sat in the bed with
Betsy, keeping her own pistols on the men while Betsy’s were hidden
down beside her legs. She could not be seen with weapons, or it
would go bad for her.

Before they pulled away, Charlotte looked down at
me. “Where is Hades?”

“He ran after the white phantom, but I am sure he
will return soon.”

Charlotte said something, but my attention had moved
to Gideon, who had glanced at me rather sharply when I spoke of
Levi. He had news of some kind. When the carriage moved away, and
Gideon and I went into his house to clean his wounds and apply
sticking plaster, I asked him what he knew.

“Bess, those men were here for a purpose. They
wanted Miss Clark, and they had discovered that she visits me
weekly.”

“She has been visiting you, and you did not tell
me?”

Gideon stared at me in the way a teacher would their
student who had given the wrong answer to a question that they knew
to be contrary.

“Those men said something that I cannot discern,
while they were holding me in the cook house. They were asking me
about Samuel Mason and his connection to Ma belle. When I told them
that she works alone, they said, ‘She is not alone, she is joined
by the wild boy.’”

My thoughts immediately went to
Levi, but I did not believe that in the least. They were grossly
misinformed if they believe that, or they meant someone else. Levi
had nothing to do with Guinevere. He was chasing her, may have
even
captured her.

“Though I would not betray the trust Miss Clark has
placed in me through her confessionals, I do believe you should
speak with Samuel Mason, Bess.”

“What do you know?”

Gideon leaned back in his chair appearing calm, but
his eyes were full of apologetic truth. “Sam has been working with
Guinevere.”

Our conversation in his book room came back to
me.

“Are you a libertine?”

“When the job requires,
yes.”

Even Charlotte had thought Guinevere was his
inamorata, but that was the picture they presented to cover the
truth, that they were working together. So much information could
be traded in society while flirting. My eyes shut for a moment to
try to calm the painful fury threatening to turn every part of me
dark. My hands were shaking at my sides. If Sam were truly working
with Guinevere, he and I were going to have a battle unlike any he
had ever before endured.

***

Jeffrey opened the door to Sam’s house, welcoming me
in, but halted when he glanced at my face. I stalked past him to
the book room and opened the door.

Sam was standing behind his desk, looking down at a
map spread across it. I slammed the door shut, and Sam looked up
abruptly. His eyes did a sweep over me, and he came around his desk
quickly.

“Bess, what has happened?”

Those four words were enough to set my rage to
boiling over. I ran at him with my fists clenched. His eyes had
widened a moment before my fist struck his chin. His head jerked
back, but he was swift, capturing my wrists and holding them
between us.

“Bess—” he broke off, groaning
after I kicked his right shin. I wrenched one hand away and tried
to strike his face, but he threw his head back and my hand went
wide. He recaptured my wrist and spun me around, wrapping his
strong arms around me to hold me still.

“Release me at once, you traitor!” I threw my head
back, connecting with his shoulder. He grunted, but held me
tighter.

“I am not a traitor, Bess.”

“You betrayed me, you betrayed
Levi, you betrayed a
minister
!” I writhed against his
arms, but they were like a strongly barred prison.

“If you will calm yourself I will speak with you
about what has happened.”

“Lies! That is all you are capable of. I was a fool
ever to believe anything you said. You never meant to tell me the
truth, because you are working with Guinevere.”

“Yes, I worked with Guinevere, but whatever has
happened, she betrayed you, Bess. Not I.”

I stopped trying to break free, realizing how he was
holding me. My arms were crossed over my chest with his arms
wrapped around mine. Heat suffused my face, but I ignored it.
Despite my anger, my mind was calm, curious about what he had to
say.

Slowly, one hand at a time, he released me and
backed away. As I turned, he had moved so that his desk separated
us. Once seated on the chair before his desk, I folded my hands in
my lap and waited with all the appearance of placidity.

Appearing to take that for momentary truce, he
spoke. “After we saw you at the port, Miss White revealed her
identity to me. Something I said made her tell me the truth,” he
smiled wryly, “as much of it as she tells anyone I suppose.”

“What did you say to her?”

He was silent as he looked down at his desk; his
brows drawn together in a frown. “She and I made a bargain,” he
said, ignoring my question to him. “She would turn over the Holy
Order to me if,” he met my eyes, “I turned over the artifacts to
her.”

“They are not yours to give,” I informed him
sternly. My anger began to taper. Was that not what I was trying to
do by meeting with Guinevere at the church? Deep inside I knew that
I would have traded the artifacts for the Holy Order, only Sam had
done it first.

To my annoyance, he smiled. “They are not truly
yours either, Bess.” More mine than his. “She was only on my ship,
because she had business to attend to in Boston, but on the journey
home, she and your mother told me about Philadelphia, George,
Jack,” his voice dropped, “and Andrew.”