Page 70 of The Phantom's Vice

I blush, turning my eyes down to my lap and picking at my cuticle. “I know.” I know, and I feel the same way. But I can’t tell him that. I can never admit that if I have any chance of escaping in one piece.I’m worried I’ve given too much of my soul to him already, that the vise is wrapped too tightly around me to ever get away. I don’t even think I want to anymore.

“I would like to take you somewhere if that is okay.”

I whip my head up, wishing I could see the face behind that soulless black oval. “Where?”

Ghost stands, holding his hand out for me to take. “It’s better if I show you.”

I wrap my arms tighter around Ghost’s waist, tucking my face into the back of his jacket as the wind whips my exposed skin, sending chills across my body. We’ve been racing through the forest on Ghost’s motorcycle at speeds I never thought possible, crashing through the thicket and following trails that look like they haven’t seen a pair of tires in decades.

I’m thankful Ghost is such a skilled rider. If not, we surely would have crashed or fallen off the side of the cliff hidden by the dense underbrush. When we finally pull to a stop in a small circularclearing, it takes a bit of willpower to pull my arms from Ghost. He’s so warm, and where this place is situated, the breeze blows heavily from the sea, the cold salty air chilling me to the bone.

I dismount, curling my arms around me for extra warmth as Ghost turns the bike off and taking a moment to inspect my surroundings. We’re standing in a perfectly circular clearing, thick stands of eucalyptus lining the perimeter and hiding the area from view. The ground is carved into several smaller circles, placed around the clearing like the numbers on a clock, meaning there are twelve in total, with a small, untouched space in the center.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out what they would be used for, but by the way Ghost is staring out with his fist clenched, I know this place holds some form of value to him.

“What is this place?” I ask, catching sight of a dilapidated cabin hiding just beyond the tree line. It looks ancient, with a crumbling roof and rotted wood siding falling off in chunks. This whole place is suffocating, like something bad is in the air.Something horrible happened here.

The thought enters my mind so forcefully, I know it to be true. Something tragic occurred here—possibly more than one something—and from the way Ghost is standing, I’m positive it had something to do with him.

“Come, Brett,” he murmurs, gripping my wrist and pulling me toward the cabin. I follow dutifully, stopping only when he pauses to unlock the door. To my surprise, he holds his wrist to the door like he would in his house, and the lock clicks open. As soon as I step inside, a wave of mold and dust floods my senses, and I pull back to let out a sneeze.

Twelve bunk beds line the walls of the small room, some with old sleeping pads, others barren, the iron frame rusted and falling to pieces. Ghost steps over to the bunk in the far-right corner of the room—the one right next to a disgusting wash basin—and gestures to the bottom half.

“This is where I slept for most of my childhood. This is where I was raised.”

I look around at the crumbling foundation, a wave of sadness pouring over me as I imagine a young Ghost scared and alone in this strange, cold place. “Why are you showing me this?”

He hangs his head, his chest heaving erratically as he grips the iron frame of the bunk. “I don’t—I don’t really know. I think I wanted you to understand me. Where I came from. Why I do the things Ido.” He looks toward the small, circular window, his shoulders slumping. “I never wanted to be this way. I never wanted—” He stops with a shaky intake of breath. “I never wanted to be evil. I thought—I thought maybe you would understand if you saw. If you knew.”

“Knew what?” I demand, throwing my hands up. “I don’t knowanything.You won’t talk about the Sanctum or where you came from. When you do talk, it’s mixed with cryptic riddles I’ll never be able to figure out. You want me to understand? Fine. Tell me somethingreal.”

Ghost shakes his head, never looking away from that window. “I don’t—it is not so easy for me.”

“I realize that,” I whisper, taking a cautious step toward him. “But you’re going tohave to.If you want me to understand you, then tell me what happened here; that’s so important. Tell mewhyyou brought me here. Tell mesomething,dammit!”

Ghost goes still. For a moment, he’s so still I think he might have turned to stone. But then he speaks, and his voice is like nothing I’ve heard before. It’s raw, painful.Real.

“If you knew, you’d never look at me the same. You’d never—” Whatever he was going to say, I’ll never know. Ghost sighs, holding his masked face inhis hands. “You want to know what they did to me? How theybrokeme—turned me into this… this soulless monster?” He raises his head, his shoulders tense. “Fine. But first, I’ll need to tell you about Brenden.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GHOST

The Code: Rule #2

Do not remove your mask. Do not allow another to remove your mask.

20 years ago…

Gravel crunchesbeneath my boots as I step into the center of the circle, my eyes trained on the terrified baby blues of my best friend. I shake my head ever so slightly, letting him know I have no intention of harming him, even now. In response, he lets out a breath, and a little bit of color returns to his cheeks.

“This match ends when one of you is dead—and not a moment sooner,” Master calls out, pinning me withhis faceless mask. “Treat this as you would a mission. It is either your life or the other man’s. May the best Rook survive.”

Master claps his hands, and Brenden and I circle each other, nothing but our fists bared. I try to catch Brenden’s eye so I can communicate with him—tell him I’ll find a way out of this. There’s no way Master will kill us both—the Code prohibits such senseless killing this late in the training cycle—so if we just don’t fight, we will be fine.

I try to catch his eye, but Brenden refuses to look at me. His chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, and a thick bead of sweat breaks out along his hairline. I look down at his fists, noticing for the first time that Brenden has his dagger clenched tightly in his right fist.

I frown. I could have sworn we were both fighting with fists, but maybe Brenden wants to make it realistic. I grin, trying yet again to catch his eye to tell him I understand his plan. Shrugging, I pull my own dagger out, wielding it loosely with the blade held upward like in the movies. It’s useless when fighting in this close range, but it looks much cooler.

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