Phantasma (Wicked Games, #1)

by Kaylie Smith

Ophelia Grimm unfastened her mother’s heart-shaped necklace with fervor before stepping clear of the spell circle and reaching beneath her loose, umber curls to secure the familiar bauble around her own throat.

This sentence needs to be broken into two 😬

Tightening her grip around the silver blade in her hand, Ophelia pressed its sharp tip into the soft, ivory flesh of her inner arm.

A lot of adjectives here when they aren't all needed.

Ophelia was now the eldest Grimm. A dead mother made her much more than an orphan. Hurry, your time is running out, the Shadow Voice that haunted her every waking thought whispered inside her mind. If you miss your window, there will be consequences.

Oo, interesting! 🤔

As much as this ritual would change the makeup of her very being, not going through with it would change her in a way that would break her spirit. The need to be good, to do well by everyone who had ever expected anything of her, was nestled deep inside her bones. Inextricable from her soul.

The temperature in the manor dropped ten degrees and the silence became heavy, the darkness too still. Ophelia suddenly felt eyes on her, gazes burning into her skin from every side. Eyes of those she could not see. Yet.

Yess! Spoomky!

Crimson was smeared across her razor-sharp cheekbones and dripping over the bridge of her delicately pointed nose—a startling contrast against her porcelain skin.

" razor-sharp cheekbones " " delicately pointed nose " " porcelain skin " I'm sorry but 😆🙈

A flickering reflection in the glass caught her eye. A curious Apparition with a wispy smile gazed back at her, knowingly, before blinking out of sight.

👀

A moment later, the locket pulsed again, syncopating to the thrum within her own chest. A heartbeat.

Cool 🫀

The two of them had been up since dawn. Or rather, they had been out of bed since dawn.

So they didn't sleep then? Like, they laid in bed not sleeping then got out of bed at dawn? Why is it phrased like this??

Necromancers didn’t bother with traditions such as funerals or wakes. They said their goodbyes to the corporeal forms of their loved ones and then waited until the opportunity to reach them in the afterlife presented itself.

Is that why they don't seem bothered by their mom's death? Because they can talk to her later and say goodbye?

if the city somehow felt the grave loss of one of its own. If it knew that she would never be able to fill Tessie Grimm’s shoes and it was grieving.

Why aren't her girls grieving?

“Are you alright?” Genevieve murmured at her side. “I’m fine,” Ophelia lied. Instead of calling her bluff, Genevieve graciously moved on.

Is this all we're getting of her grief?! For real? 😂

was almost positive Genevieve knew, but, then again, her sister hadn’t received the same brand of education as Ophelia. And even if Genevieve had, Ophelia was certain her sister wouldn’t have had any desire to retain it. Genevieve almost always changed the subject at the mention of Devils or other such beings. Meanwhile, of all her mother’s lessons growing up, Ophelia found the ones about the Nine Circles of Hell particularly enthralling.

She's not like the other sisters, folks.

For as long as she could remember, the voice had been there, in the darkest corners of her mind, telling her to walk through certain doorways or her entire family would perish. Making her knock incessantly on doors to buy a moment of silence with her own thoughts. Harping on at her to commit the most gruesome crimes on the most vulnerable beings.

her mother found her and explained that the Shadow Voice wasn’t actually real. It was just a fixture of her mind. One she would have to live with forever.

Still, there was something nagging at the back of her mind, telling her that this goodbye was not forever. It’s why she had yet to shed a single tear.

Ok, cool, we get an explanation.

“No one can expect you to be perfect, Ophie,” Genevieve reasoned. “She did,” Ophelia countered, memories of their mother’s deep disappointed sighs every time she messed up reciting a spell or didn’t think on her feet quickly enough. “She may have never pressured you to be perfect, but I was always held to a different standard.

Ah, there it is.

Ophelia wrinkled her nose but didn’t comment further. Genevieve didn’t understand. How could she? Genevieve had been allowed to roam free their entire childhoods while Ophelia had been cooped up inside Grimm Manor learning the family business. The Shadow Voice taunting her every time she made a mistake.

Oo, some sisterly division.

the people of New Orleans ran to Tessie Grimm for just about every haunting request one could imagine. Can you contact my brother on the Other Side so I can tell him I’m sorry? Can you resurrect my girlfriend so she can tell the police I didn’t do it? Can you convince a Poltergeist to possess my husband and make him more tolerable? All of which was now on Ophelia’s shoulders alone.

She’d much rather focus on her rage. Rage that her mother had left her here to take over the family magic, and Grimm Manor, long before she was ready. She knew it was probably in poor taste to be so angry with the dead, but her anger was easier to stomach than the grief that hid beneath her skin. Fury and spite could fuel her, propel her forward, but if she let her grief take over, she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to dig herself out of that pit.

Ooh. I see, I see.

The man gave them a look of pity as they stepped out before locking up and leading the two of them to the exit. Genevieve shot a small glare at him. Genevieve hated pity. “Good luck.” The coroner bowed his head to them as they stepped into the late afternoon sun. Ophelia dipped her chin in thanks as she followed Genevieve, her younger sister not bothering with any niceties as they stalked away.

Little gremlin 😬

“Go away.” Ophelia shooed the Apparition with a wave of her hand. “I’m not her, she’s gone. I’ll never be her. Leave me alone.” Because in New Orleans everyone knew the prolific Necromancer Tessie Grimm. Even the dead. Especially the dead.

Oof, that inferiority complex.

There were two golden rules their mother had taught them about roaming New Orleans after dark: the first was that if the dark looks at you, you never look back.

Everyone and their paraphrasing Nietzsche. 😆 This is the third book I've read with it in... the last year and a half?

The second rule was that if you did break the first, never ever make any deals with a Devil. Not unless you wanted to lose your soul. A concept many overly curious tourists never seemed to learn, flocking to places like New Orleans—places rooted in magic—in search of things they knew nothing about. Those desperately fascinated with the types of beings who lurked in the dark hardly ever enjoyed the outcome of actually finding them.

The way people were easily vexed by their strange little family had always rubbed Genevieve the wrong way, and when Genevieve had reached a certain age, she even began to refuse to accompany their mother anywhere in town lest they run into any of her socialite friends. None of that had ever bothered Ophelia. Maybe because Ophelia knew this would be her fate one day. Or maybe Genevieve was just embarrassed because her friends had told her to be, and Ophelia had never really had any friends of her own for such peer pressure to occur.

Oh, her sister is a go-with-the-crowd kinda girl.

Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder if she was wildly unprepared to assimilate into normal society without their mother as her guide. Death she was familiar with. Living would be the real challenge.

Genevieve hesitated. “Something one of my friends said earlier… about…” She shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just get home. I’m cold.”

Noo. I hate when people do this 😬

she found two men standing on the manor’s front porch, neither of whom she recognized, looking as if they’d rather be anywhere besides Grimm Manor at this early hour. Incidentally, she also wished they were anywhere besides her front porch.

the roses were her mother’s favorite way of keeping unwanted Apparitions out of the house and summoned Apparitions within. They had bushes and bushes of them bordering Grimm Manor’s exterior, crawling up the latticework on the house’s façade, as well as lining the front fence and gates. Souls that are dead cannot cross roses of red, her mother had always chanted.

“This place isn’t haunted, is it?” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mr. Lafitte,” Mr. Mouton admonished before turning back to the girls. “I apologize, he isn’t from here. He’s unaware of the certain kinds of… beings… we have here in our little community.” “I thought you were joking about the Necromancy thing,” Mr. Lafitte retorted, appalled.

Ha!

The man scoffed at that as he shoved a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a card. It had the official seal of New Orleans City Bank embossed in the linen paper, his name written below.

This would be a letter, or at most a phone call. 📞

Her mother had always implied their estate had long been paid off, their only expenses upkeep on the grounds and what it cost for them to live day to day.

Still have to pay property taxes. 💰

“It says right here that she took out a cash loan against the manor’s equity for personal use. Nearly thirty-five thousand dollars—with interest. She’s only paid five thousand back. See? These are the carbon copies of the checks.”

Holy shit

Genevieve bit her lip at the mention of the forged checks. “But if we’re in debt… wouldn’t it be better to take their deal and just be rid of it? This could finally be our excuse to leave—to travel! I know you feel like you have to stay here and take care of Grimm Manor forever but… maybe this is a sign.”

Grimm Manor was their home and, dreams aside, Ophelia couldn’t imagine leaving the place that raised her. The last place that she could feel her mother and her grandmother. The only place that knew her. Body and soul. Skin and bones. The manor’s dust currently clung to the skirts of her dress, its dirt beneath her fingernails, the scent of wild roses woven in her hair. She had spent all twenty-three years of her life running around the creaking floorboards, playing hide-and-seek within its walls, falling asleep in the parlor after stealing sips of absinthe from its cupboards.

“Why can’t you see that you’re holding yourself back trying to fit into a mold Mother made for you? I know you, Ophie. You want to do bigger things than stay in Grimm Manor for the rest of your⁠—” “It doesn’t matter what I want.” Ophelia shook her head.

sometimes she imagined herself in a pastel green house in the city, close enough to the French Quarter that she could walk to the cafés every morning and the bookstore every afternoon.

Oo, so she *did* want something different.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a new, much deeper voice drawled out from the fog now. “Uh-oh,” the first Apparition whispered before their energy disappeared an instant later.

lol

“What’s your name?” she countered. “Ah, good girl.” Something in their tone seemed disappointed despite the praise. “You seem far cleverer than the tourists who’ve tried to sneak in here. Yet you’re out in the dark, all alone. Don’t you know what happens in the dark?” “The dark is for people who are too cowardly to face their actions in the light,” she automatically responded. It had been something her mother often said.

Images of her mother’s lifeless body in their living room flickered through her mind. Pictures of Genevieve’s face after she had yelled at her sister so callously in the alley. The blood needed to be washed away. She couldn’t stand it on her hands.

Wait. Did she have something to do with her mom's death? 😨

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes as she sank to the ground outside of her sister’s door, pulling her knees into her chest. “Please,” she whispered one last time. “I’m so alone.”

🙁

She dashed for the letter and tore it open, the foreboding that had been prickling through her body since she woke reaching a crescendo. Dearest sister, I hadn’t meant for my departure to be in such haste,

Ok, who wrote this letter? Cause it wasn't that little gremlin Vivi.

The driver gave her a dubious look as he took in the circus standing outside the gates. She handed him a bit of the cash she had pilfered from the wad in Genevieve’s closet. She’d pay her sister back by not strangling her whenever they were reunited.

😂

“In order to win Phantasma you must be the last person to leave, alive, after completing all nine levels—one level for each night, beginning tomorrow. The trials begin promptly at sunset, and if you are late, you are disqualified.” “What do the levels entail?” “You’ll have to see for yourself.” He grinned with malice. “Lastly, and perhaps most important of all—fall in love within Phantasma at your own risk.” She almost snorted.

Her and me both.

When the smoke abruptly plunged down into the depths of her mind and dragged out the one fear she thought had been buried forever, she had to choke down a scream. Her breath was ragged when she blinked her eyes open again. The man’s eyes were sparkling with glee. “This will make the competition particularly hellish for you.” A vicious grin. “And all the more entertaining for the rest of us.”

What!? What is it 👀

If Ophelia thought the outside of the Phantasma estate was something to behold, the inside was utterly magnificent. It had taken her almost ten minutes to walk up the long driveway that led to the front doors, and her arms now felt like gelatin from carrying the heavy suitcases, but when she stepped through the enormous, stained-glass entrance, she nearly dropped the trunks where she stood.

The walls were dressed in ornate scarlet wallpaper, the color of new blood, and a grand chandelier made of iron spikes hung high above her like a medieval morning star.

Calling it now : That chandelier is going to fall on someone.

There was an old oil lamp glowing on one of the two bedside tables, and a hideous pink wing-backed chair in the far corner of the room that matched the jacquard design on the rug that blanketed the floor.

This book has some long-winded sentences here and there. I have to cut them up to absorb the information. 😑

something blinked into view on her bed. She sucked in a breath, bracing herself, until she realized what it was. “Oh.” Ophelia narrowed her eyes at the fluffy white creature now sitting on her bed. “You’re a Ghost cat.” The feline leisurely scratched an ear with its hind leg.

Cute !

Stop thinking about any being in Phantasma as having good intentions or motives to help you and start asking yourself how their actions are really beneficial to them.” “I’m not sure I’m very fond of your riddles,” she said.

That's not even a riddle; it's a rather straightforward statement.