Phantom: A Dark Retelling (Tattered Curtain Series)
Phantom: Act 1 – Scene 3

Scarlett

With the crowd inside Masque, it’s hard to imagine there’s anyone left on Bourbon Street. Thankfully, Jaime has already secured us a table near the rest of the cast. As soon as I walk in, he leaps up from his chair beside Rand and waves wildly, confirming any question I may have had as to whether he’s been drinking yet.

“Scarlo! Over here!” Jazz and blues versions of current popular songs blare from the speakers, but I can still hear Jaime over it all. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The dimly lit room is a maze of eclectic furniture surrounding a dance floor and a currently empty stage. Small lamps glow at each table, showing off the patrons sitting in their velvet mismatched couches and chairs. Once I get to our section, Rand pulls out a seat next to his, but Jaime tugs my arm to sit beside him against the velvet booth across from Rand.

I barely hide my giggle when the lamp illuminates Rand’s face. The poor guy sports a sour look, made all the more ridiculous by the red-and-yellow jester mask covering the top half of his face. I have no doubt Jaime loaned it to him, especially since Jaime, in his stunning gold feather masquerade mask, looks quite pleased with himself.

He turns slightly unfocused eyes to me and points at the flower pinned to my chest. “Pretty. From a fan?”

“Yup.” I nod quickly, thankful for the out as I pivot the conversation. “Sorry I’m late, guys. What did I miss?”

“I was just showing your dear childhood friend this skull bracelet I got in the French Quarter.” Jaime admires his leather bracelet with its metal skull totem attached. “Don’t you like it, Rand?”

“He loves that thing,” I whisper-yell to Rand over the music, pretending like he and I are conspiring in order to lighten whatever mood the two boys have gotten themselves into. “He even keeps it on during performances.”

“Yup. I’m loyal to the Quarter. Just remember that.” Jaime gives him a broad Cheshire smile, and I can’t help but feel lost.

“Am I missing something?” My nerves huff out in a chuckle. “Are we still talking about bracelets?”

“Yup. Skull bracelets and the French Quarter.” He pokes my ribs and I squirm away. “Outsiders wouldn’t understand.”

“Hey! No fair. Just because I didn’t grow up here full time, doesn’t mean I’m an outsider. My dad would argue with you on that one.”

“Speaking of your dad.” Rand points his thumb toward a speaker. “A die-hard jazz and blues fan like him would’ve had a fit if he heard these covers, am I right?”

I listen to the “Billie Jean” cover by The Civil Wars for a few bars, barely resisting the urge to belt it out before shaking my head with a nostalgic grin.

“No way! He was a sucker for blues and jazz versions of popular songs. According to him, every good song has the same heart. He would’ve loved it here.” The sultry vibe in the speakeasy makes me sway in my seat and all I want to do is climb on that empty stage and take over the mic. “God, I love it here. I know that much. I’ve been at Bordeaux Conservatory for four years now and I don’t come down here nearly enough. It makes me want to stay forever.”

“Stay? Here? In New Orleans?” Rand asks, surprise in his voice.

I shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’m, um… not sure that opera is my passion anymore. I kind of want to go solo for a bit.”

Rand frowns. “Can you even do that? You know… with your condition? What if something happens and you can’t perform? There are no understudies in solo acts.”

Warmth creeps over my skin as he voices the exact fear that keeps me silent when all I want to do is sing.

“I’ve been doing well with my medication. I think I could manage it,” I hedge with zero confidence in what I’m saying. Having someone from your past tear down your future feels like your hopes are violated before they’ve even begun.

“You can definitely manage it,” Jaime insists and rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Scarlo. After that performance tonight no one doubts you could take on the world with your high C.”

“Of course. Of course,” Rand backtracks before he smiles again. “It’s just that your head’s always been in the clouds, Lettie. No harm in keeping it in check.”

“I think society is good enough at doing that all on its own.” I giggle. “But thanks for your concern.”

Rand opens his mouth to say something else, but the music dies down to a low rumble and the lights brighten. A few tables away in the corner of Masque’s lounge, Maggie stands from her seat beside her husband and raises her glass to our director, Monty, at the opposite end of the room.

“A toast!” Maggie’s purple sequin mask glints in the light as she addresses everyone. She lifts up her martini and the rest of us follow suit. “To a great closing night… and to starting the whole process all over again next week with a brand-new show.” Groans fill the room as we collectively lament over our hectic schedules here at Bordeaux Conservatory. Maggie just grins and ignores our complaints, tipping her drink toward me and Jaime instead. “Scarlett, you stole the show. I’d say you and Jaime are our new dynamic duo.”

She continues on, thanking the rest of the cast and crew, but the room buzzes with whispers. Eyes dart in my direction and I have the distinct feeling that people are talking about me even though Maggie is still giving her speech.

I shook in my heels tonight as I tried to measure up to Jilliana. Frankly, without my demon of music’s encouraging letters and help practicing, I don’t think I would’ve had the confidence to actually do it. Maybe Rand’s right. I’ve always wanted to be on the stage, but maybe I’m better as a background character.

I shake my head to get rid of my anxiety and focus back on Monty, who is preening like a peacock over Maggie’s praise until Jaime butts in.

“And don’t forget about you, Mags! We really couldn’t have done it without you. An amazing direct–I mean, assistant director.”

Monty’s pale face reddens around his silver masquerade mask, but Maggie just rolls her eyes at Jaime’s antics and smirks.

“Just drink your tequila and try to keep your clothes on this time, okay? We don’t need to hear another country ballad coming from a naked Jaime anytime soon.”

Jaime feigns annoyance as the rest of the cast snickers at the memory. “Hey now, that was one time!”

The room erupts into laughter, but mine falls short when a dark shadow glides along the back wall. I’m entranced by the new arrival, a man in an all-black suit with a bone-white mask covering the right side of his face. Even stealthy, his movements are full of power that’s only enhanced by his well-over-six-foot frame. He slips into a seat on the other side of Benjamin Bordeaux, Maggie’s husband and one of the trustees of Bordeaux Conservatory of Music. I can’t make out every detail in the darkness, but I’d swear I’m looking at Ben’s mirror image, all the way down to the same skull masks.

As he settles into his seat, his dark eyes scan the room briefly before halting… on mine. A fluttering fills my lower belly at the intensity in his stare, and I can’t seem to look away. Warmth fills my core and I cross my legs, squeezing them together underneath my white dress. The tempo of my heartbeat has gone from adagio to vivace and this man is directing it effortlessly with one piercing gaze.

“Who is that?” I murmur to myself under my breath.

“That’s Sol.”

I jolt at Jaime’s reply, surprised that he even heard me, not to mention his answer.

“Sol? As in the Sol? Solomon Bordeaux?” My voice is barely audible, but Jaime nods anyway.

“The one and only.” He avoids more than a glance in Solomon Bordeaux’s direction, which is fine, since I’ve gawked enough for the both of us. “Word on the street is that Maggie got the good twin. Sol never goes out. He’s a total recluse.”

I snort and Rand glances at me. “What’re you guys laughing about? These speeches are so boring, I need to hear something funny.”

“Scar-lo’s crushing on Sol Bor-deaux.” Jaime’s whispered, drunken singsongy delivery makes my cheeks heat. “Rumor has it he’s a god in bed.”

Rand’s brow furrows. “You have a crush on the Phantom of the French Quarter?”

“No, no, no,” I sputter, but a nervous thrill runs down my spine as I slowly register what he said. “Wait… the what?” Jaime chokes on his drink. “Sol isn’t the Phantom. He’s just a hot recluse. The Phantom’s not real real, Scarlett. Don’t listen to him.”

From Jaime’s tone, he obviously thinks Rand’s claim is ridiculous. But hell, with the way I was just enthralled by Sol’s gaze alone, I’d believe he could be the most powerful man in New Orleans. If the Phantom were real, that is.

Rand shakes his head. “Oh, is that what they’re saying these days? And here I thought the Phantom was an actual threat.”

“Wait, Rand,” I interrupt before my scowling best friend can open his mouth to argue. “You believe the Phantom of the French Quarter is more than a legend?”

Rand scowls. “I know he’s real.”

My mind is blown that my logical friend would believe in something so far fetched. “Okay, but then how can Sol Bordeaux be a ‘total recluse’ and the Phantom of the entire French Quarter? It doesn’t make sense.”

The Bordeaux family and Rand’s family, the Chatelains, own everything in this city. My dad and I visited every summer while I was growing up, but I never paid attention to the city’s politics. I still don’t, to be honest. I’ve always thought that the Phantom of the French Quarter, the alleged enforcer of the Bordeaux family business, was a myth. But even if Sol Bordeaux is the bogeyman of New Orleans, there’s no way he’d attend a party, right? He’s a glorified mobster.

“He has his minions do his dirty work, of course. They’re his shadows when he can’t be around,” Rand answers. Concern whitens his knuckles around his rocks glass. I wish I could tell what his expression is underneath his jester mask. His worry seems to have undertones of… anger, for some reason. “Believe me or not, Lettie, but Sol Bordeaux is a thug and a fucking assassin. Don’t go anywhere near him.”

I bristle at the command. “You know, Little Lettie doesn’t like to be told what to do.” I smirk and cross my arms. “What’s so bad about him anyway? It’s not like all those stories can be true. Whether he’s a vigilante or an assassin, I’d hardly think he’d come to a masquerade speakeasy for a night out on the town.”

“He normally doesn’t,” Jaime agrees, his brow furrowed. His fingers twist his skull bracelet as he squirms in his seat. “I’m kind of shocked to see him.”

My gaze shifts to the Phantom again. The dim light hits his face just right and even from tables away, I swear I can see midnight blue sparkling back at me. My silver eyes are drawn to his dark ones, like the moon to her night. The way his gaze immediately locks onto mine makes me wonder if he ever broke his stare.

Transfixed, it takes me a second to realize that his left eye is the one that is glittering back at me. The other on the masked side of his face doesn’t seem to take on the same ethereal quality.

He leans back, causing his suit jacket to fall open, revealing a broad chest straining against a black button-up shirt. He rests his elbow on the table, and his large metal ring catches my eyes, but when the tip of his long index finger brushes over his mouth, I lose all focus. A pang of need twists inside me and I lick my own lips, wondering what his taste like—

“Seriously, Scarlett.” Rand’s scolding snaps me away from my lustful thoughts. “Stay away from him. I can’t even begin to tell you the awful things he’s done to my family.”

That catches my attention.

“What do you mean? What has he done?”

“I believe the boy said he can’t tell you, Scarlo.”

I narrow my eyes at Jaime, but his are on Rand. My old friend doesn’t seem to notice as his fingers wrap around mine. When he squeezes, I don’t hesitate to squeeze back, finding comfort in the gesture.

“He’s right. I can’t tell you, Lettie. It could put you in danger. Just stay away from him. For me? He’s bad news, especially for a good girl like you.”

My face blanks as his words hit a raw nerve.

… a good girl like you.

He’s always seen me as helpless and innocent, but he knows nothing about me now. I try to pull my hand away, but he holds tight. I relent, just to appease him.

Like I’ve always done.

Shaking my head slightly, I push the thought away, not wanting to dwell on it.

“Okay, Rand. I promise.”

He finally lets go as the crowd claps at the end of Maggie’s speech. When he looks away, I can’t stop myself as I glance at Sol again, the mysterious Phantom of the French Quarter, if Rand can be believed. His gaze feels hot on my skin and nothing like the cold nature I’ve heard he has.

“You didn’t even hear the end of Maggie’s speech, did you?” Jaime laughs at me. “You’re gonna start drooling if you don’t get it together, mi amiga.”

“Shit.” I wipe my mouth, because for once, Jaime isn’t exaggerating.

He snorts at me. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Scarlo. He’s a run-of-the-mill hot white dude—” Jaime glances between the two of us and does a double take. He curses as he straightens. “Scratch that. If a guy looked at me like that, I’d let him make me sing falsetto any day, and I’m not even into broody men. Who knew you could still eye fuck with a fake eye?”

I twist toward him. “Fake eyes?”

Jaime shrugs. “Well only the one behind the mask.”

The dull one.

“I heard it’s got X-ray vision or some shit.”

I roll my eyes. “Psh, yeah, okay.”

Jaime shrugs. “Hey, the guy’s so rich, it could be true for all we know. But if it is, then maybe that accident wasn’t such a bad thing. Although, I’m sure that mask is hell on his complexion. I wonder what he uses—”

“What accident?” I ask, trying to keep my fellow skincare lover from getting derailed. He’s usually much better about staying on task when we gossip. Unless he’s drunk, of course. Which—I watch him lick the inside of his glass for the last remnants of liquor—okay, yeah, I should be expecting this.

He comes away with the glass, smacking his lips before finally answering me. “He and Ben are identical twins but no one’s seen Sol’s true face in years, so it’s hard to say whether they still look similar. I’m not sure what happened. It’s all very hush-hush. He might be hideous under there now for all we know.”

“Whatever he’s hiding behind his mask can’t be worse than that cold, black heart of his,” Rand mutters.

I’m dying to ask more questions, but someone rushes in and hands Monty a letter, catching my attention. The music is still low and it’s bright enough in the speakeasy that it’s easy to hear Monty’s gasp when he opens the envelope. His shocked face pales further as he looks it over.

“Hold on,” Jaime says as he sits up and props his chin in his hands. “I smell dramaaa.”

I giggle until Monty turns the letter over. There on the back is a distinctive black wax seal that shines in the light, revealing the skull imprint.

My heart stops. I recognize it easily. I should, since it’s exactly like the one I’ve been receiving for months.

It’s his seal. My demon of music.

As Monty opens the envelope, his hands shake so badly that I can see them all the way from here. I have no idea why I do it, but I risk a glance back at Sol. I no longer feel the weight of his stare as he takes in the scene with what looks like practiced disinterest on the left side of his face. Ben’s uncovered side is looking at his brother with a hint of frustration.

“Is this a joke?” Monty yells and the light background music stops altogether.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asks from her table. Her mother, Madam G, emerges from the shadows near the bar. She’s unmistakable in her peacock-feather mask. It’s the only color she has on and her arms are crossed over her long black dress as she watches over her domain.

Monty tosses the letter onto the table before sneering. “Okay, very funny. Who the hell did this?”

Maggie leaves her seat and plucks the letter from the table. Her mother comes up behind her and reads over her shoulder as Maggie speaks.

“Uh, Monty. I don’t think this is a joke. It’s signed by the Phantom.”

Whispers erupt over the low music and a few people glance in Ben and Sol’s direction, making me wonder whether Rand is onto something after all.

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to believe that the so-called Phantom of the French Quarter gives a fuck that Scarlett Day is chosen as the lead role for the rest of the year?” Everyone shifts their attention to me. Embarrassment heats my cheeks and I sink farther into the soft velvet booth. “Do you have something to do with this?” Monty asks me with a mean chuckle. “Did the quiet little mouse finally find her backbone?”

“No, I—”

A glass breaks near where the Bordeaux brothers sit, giving me a small reprieve.

“Sorry, I dropped my glass,” Ben offers apologetically. “What else does the letter say, Mr. Arquette? Obviously the bastard is just messing with you.”

“He’d better be,” Monty agrees.

“I don’t think he is,” Madam G offers and taps the letter still in her daughter’s hand. “It says you must stop with Jilliana and let a true prima donna sing.”

Maggie narrows her eyes at Monty. “What is he talking about, Monty? What’re you doing with Jilliana?”

“Nothing! I can’t be responsible for the delusions of a ghost!”

“What about this part that says all that is behind the scenes shall be brought into the spotlight if you don’t come clean?” Madam G asks.

“Crazy, obviously. Or a prank. Scarlett, Jaime, are you behind this?”

I stutter, afraid to speak. Give me a script any day and while I may sweat my ass off from nerves, I’ll still deliver my lines. But put me on the spot and I become a wordless puddle. Thank goodness Jaime comes to my defense.

“Get over yourself, Monty. We earned our spots on the stage fair and square. We don’t need to resort to blackmail.”

Monty huffs. “Well, I’m not a fan of practical jokes so whoever’s behind this, come forward now. I don’t have the patience…”

He continues to accuse various people throughout the room when Rand leans over the table.

“Want to know what Sol and his family are capable of?” he asks me quietly, making it so that only I can hear him.

The question catches me off guard. I don’t answer, but merely looking in Rand’s direction is enough of a yes for him.

“Ask Madam Gastoneaux, the supposed ‘owner’ of Masque. She’s under the Bordeaux family’s thumb. They make her pay so much protection money that she’s nearly bankrupt. They’re just itching to take Masque from her.”

“But Ben is married to Madam G’s daughter,” I point out, shaking my head and glancing at Jaime, only to see that he’s too interested in what’s happening at Monty’s table to add anything. “Why would they blackmail Ben’s mother-in-law?”

For the first time, I’m kicking myself for how oblivious I’ve been over what goes on in this city.

Rand shrugs. “Evil doesn’t always make sense, Lettie. But if I had to guess, I’d blame that infamous Bordeaux greed. It’s always about money with them.”

Disgust crinkles my nose. My father was bullied his whole life by thugs, mobsters, and people who ran the clubs where he performed. He might not have actually sold his soul to the devil, but he knew enough demons to damn him. Brushing elbows with the criminal underworld was all my father knew. I would never go about my career the same way, but different times and opportunities exist for me that he’d never dreamed of for himself, growing up dirt-floor poor in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains.

“I can guarantee you whatever’s going on with that letter, Sol Bordeaux has a hand in.”

Rand’s theory tightens my heart in my chest. Satisfaction seems to creep over the small smile on his lips, as if my confusing disappointment is exactly what he wanted. But it’s not like he could have any idea of what that envelope means to me. My eyes dart to Sol as I begin to wonder whether my own demon of music might not be the devil himself.

“Shit. Who the hell is texting me…” Monty mutters as he pats at the phone in his inside breast pocket before digging it out. As he reads the screen, his eyes widen and he frantically looks around the room. “Someone! Go check the cellar! Madam Gastoneaux, call 9-1-1!”

“What’s going on?” Madam G asks loudly over the new commotion. Ben scowls at his brother, whose hand slowly moves to cover his mouth, hiding what I swear is a smirk.

“Jacques… Jacques Baron,” Monty chokes out.

That name brings cold goose bumps to my skin. The guy is an animal. He’s always making the women in the cast uncomfortable backstage. Last week alone, he cornered me on the way to my room and felt me up.

My fingers flex into a fist again, just like they had then. I’d wanted to scream. To hit him. Something to get him to go away, but I’d just stood there, shaking.

Like a scared little mouse.

The shame over letting him grab my ass and thrust against my jeans makes me almost feel worse than the actual touching did. The thought of his hot breath, moist on my neck, still makes me cringe. If it hadn’t been for Maggie coming to look for me… I don’t know what would’ve happened.

“What about Jacques?” Rand asks with an edge to his voice.

“You know Jacques Baron?” I ask, but Rand ignores me.

“He’s a Chatelain man,” Jaime provides unhelpfully. My blank stare makes him sigh. “Girl, you really should know this city. Your head is so in the sand, you’re bound to get it chopped off around here. Being a Chatelain man means he works for Rand’s family.”

My jaw drops at Jaime’s statement and out of the corner of my eye, I see Maggie grab Monty’s phone. She gasps before glancing over to her husband, then addresses the rest of the room. “Jacques Baron is dead.”

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.