Stealing Phoenix (21 page)

I envied her the network of people who cared what happened to her.

‘Don’t,’ she said softly, astutely guessing, or maybe reading, my emotions. ‘We care. You aren’t on your own now.’

That was what Karla had told me. The problem was I had a hard time overcoming the training of my upbringing. The first lesson of this new life would be to accept that there might be some truth in their claim to care for me.

I woke a few hours later to find Sky still asleep, her breathing a soft whisper, eyelashes curling on her pale skin. She looked like a fairytale princess waiting for her prince to wake her with a kiss. Checking the time on the bedside clock, I saw that she still had a few hours before her phone call so I slipped off the bed and padded on my bare feet out of the bedroom.

Glancing in through the open door to Xav’s room, I saw Zed stretched out on the queen mattress, his arm hugging a pillow as if he felt Sky’s absence at his side. I guessed he had left the door ajar so he could hear if there were any problems in our room. I was reassured by this more normal level of suspicion where a stranger was concerned. He wasn’t to know that I wouldn’t turn on his soulfinder and I approved his precautions. I tiptoed on into the kitchen, discovering Yves, Victor, and Xav all at work on laptops.

‘Hi.’ I paused in the doorway, wondering if I was welcome.

‘Phee.’ Yves looked genuinely pleased to see me. ‘Hungry?’ He uncovered a plate of sandwiches which he had kept ready for me. ‘They’re all veggie.’

‘Thanks.’ I took the barstool next to him, studiously keeping my gaze off their screens. The less I knew about anything, the better.

Victor closed his with a snap and opened a pad. ‘While you’re eating, Phoenix, would you mind telling me what you know about your parents?’

The sandwich went to sawdust in my mouth. ‘Why?’

‘I want to track down your birth certificate so we can get you a passport. Without that, it’s going to be really hard getting you out of the country.’

Yves nudged me. ‘Something wrong with the sandwich? I can make you another. I think we even have some disgusting stuff called “Marmite” in stock on Sky’s insistence.’

I swallowed. ‘No, the sandwich is fine.’ Of course they’d need papers for me, but when had I been asked if I wanted to leave the country? ‘And don’t diss Marmite—it’s the food of the gods.’

‘Strange British gods with cockney accents who drink Rosie Lee?’

‘Yeah.’ I took a crisp from a bowl in the centre of the counter.

‘I stand corrected.’

‘Phoenix?’ Victor repeated patiently, sensing my evasion.

‘Call me “Phee”, please. OK, here’s what I know. I was born in Newcastle. My mother was called Sadie Corrigan. I don’t know about a father.’ By which I meant I really, really didn’t want to know. What if the birth certificate listed the Seer? But then, I didn’t know his true name so maybe no one else did? And he would hardly want an official record of his name anywhere. ‘She always said my father was someone she met on holiday in Greece. A friend among the people I live with remembered me being born. I’m not sure if it happened in a hospital. I didn’t ask him.’

Victor gave me an encouraging nod. ‘That’s fine. If there’s a record, I’ll be able to find it from that information. We’ll start by guessing you were born in the month around Yves’s birthday. If that draws a blank, I’ll go a bit further either side. Lucky you have such an unusual name.’

‘Hmm,’ I said in a non-committal tone.

Yves rubbed the back of my neck. ‘You’ve not asked what the plan is.’

I shrugged. ‘Isn’t it best if I don’t know?’

Xav grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl and flipped it into the air, making it hover and then orbit the table before catching it. ‘You are part of this now, Phee. We keep everyone in the loop.’

‘But it’s dangerous. Hasn’t Yves explained?’

‘Dangerous smangerous,’ scoffed Xav. ‘We eat evil Savants for breakfast in our family.’

Victor clipped him over the head. ‘Stop fooling, Xav. She won’t think we take this seriously if you clown around.’

‘Lighten up, bro. Phee knows I’m a sensible soul at heart.’

‘I do?’

He began peeling the orange. ‘Don’t sound so sceptical. You’ll dent my confidence.’

‘I doubt even being run over by a rubbish truck would dent your confidence.’

Yves gave me a hug. ‘I’m so pleased you’re such a quick judge of character. You’ve got him tagged.’

‘Yep, toe-tagged, in the freezer, then buried six feet under.’ Xav clutched his chest, toppling off his stool. ‘I’ll never recover from such character assassination.’

Mr Benedict appeared in the doorway behind his son. ‘Xav, are you misbehaving? I hope you’re not teasing Phoenix.’

Xav sprang up off the floor, trying to look the injured party. He failed. ‘Would I ever?’

His brothers snorted.

‘OK, OK, maybe sometimes. But you should’ve heard what she said to me.’

Mr Benedict shook his head with a smile. ‘Nothing you didn’t deserve.’ He came forward to take the coffee Victor had poured for him. ‘How are you, Phoenix? Feeling better after your rest?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ I replied shyly. It was so strange seeing a father with grown-up sons. The relationship was a difficult one for me to understand: he was clearly still an authority for all of them but it was tempered by affection and respect. If you could describe someone as being the exact opposite to the Seer in the way he handled people, you might come up with someone like Mr Benedict.

‘Yves, why don’t you and Phoenix go out for a few hours while we get to work on her papers? Go and enjoy yourself. Get to know each other.’ Mr Benedict gave us a merry smile. ‘I’ll tell the conference people not to expect you again. Family emergency.’

Yves bounded up at that suggestion. ‘That’s a great idea. Thanks for handling it, Dad.’

I slowly grasped that Yves meant to leave the rest of his family when we had so much undecided, so many threats to sort through. ‘But …’

‘No buts, Phee.’ Yves pulled me off my stool. ‘I want you to relax and enjoy yourself for once.’

Victor dug in his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. ‘Here, take these.’

Yves raised an eyebrow.

‘Front-row seats for
Wicked
—supposed to be a great musical. I got them for myself and my … um … colleague from Scotland Yard, but looks now like I won’t have time to use them.’

‘Was that the willowy brunette detective by any chance?’ murmured Xav.

Victor shrugged. ‘
C’est la vie
.’

‘Little brother is playing havoc with our love lives while he sorts out his own,’ complained Xav with a good-natured chuckle. ‘Glad I’m not the only one suffering.’

Mr Benedict took my vacated stool. ‘When you both meet your soulfinders, we’ll jump through hoops for you too.’

Xav stretched. ‘Great. Like to see Yves doing the hoops for me. Pay back big time.’

Mr Benedict blinked, as if hearing something none of us could. ‘I’d get going, Yves, if I were you. Your mother is about to get up and I doubt she’d let you escape without another inquisition.’

Yves laced his fingers through mine. ‘Message received. See you later. Don’t wait up.’

‘Of course we will,’ called Mr Benedict to our retreating backs.

In the foyer of the Shakespeare Tower, Yves paused to check for directions on his London A–Z. I tapped my foot, irritated that the Benedicts had decided my future then organized my afternoon without asking me. I was going to have to do something about that.

‘You don’t need a map.’ I pushed it away. ‘Just tell me where you want to go.’

He smiled and tucked it back in an inside pocket. ‘I forgot; I’m with a local.’

‘Yeah, sort of.’ I zipped up a maroon hoodie I’d borrowed from Sky. It matched Yves’s T-shirt from that first day: Wrickenridge White Water Rafting on the back. I couldn’t claim I belonged in London like he so clearly did in his little town, but I knew my way around. At least here I would be in the driving seat.

He scanned the tickets. ‘OK. Let’s find out how good you are: the Apollo Theatre?’

I’d picked pockets around Victoria Station on many a night when the theatres were turning out. I wonder if he’d given any thought to how I obtained my local knowledge. ‘We should go to Victoria.’

He opened the door for me to go first and playfully bowed me through. ‘I thought we’d have something to eat first in Piccadilly but I’m in your hands.’ Somehow he made the comment very flirtatious.

‘Really?’ I paused and wiggled my fingers. ‘Do you trust them?’

He took my wrists and pressed my fingers to his lips, laughing as he jostled me around a corner and out of sight of the lifts. ‘Oh yes.’ His mouth gently brushed each one, sending shivers down my arms, linking to my spine and from there to every nerve in my body.

‘Yves …’ He was only touching my fingertips and I was melting into a breathless heap.

‘Hmm?’ He didn’t break off his gentle assault, his hum resonating against my sensitized skin. Turning one hand over, he nuzzled the palm.

‘Should you be … doing this?’

‘Definitely.’ He progressed from my hand, up my arm to lay a kiss on my jaw. ‘Can’t kiss you with all my brothers around, so it has to be here. I’ve been dying to touch you for hours now—it was killing me.’

‘Touch me?’ My voice was an unimpressive squeak.

‘Uh-huh. You go round with this little frown mark between your brows, did you know that?’ His thumb brushed the spot. ‘Sure sign you’re worrying about something. I’ve been wanting to kiss it away.’

I choked. ‘Like I haven’t got stuff to worry about!’

‘But not now. Not here.’ He moved to meet my lips. ‘You have a day off from worrying.’

With his mouth pressed to mine, I couldn’t think of anything but the sensation of being held and caressed by my soulfinder. This gentle boy with fire in his heart had stormed my defences and made me fall for him so hard I knew the landing would likely kill me. But, oh the descent was wonderful. I didn’t want to think about what would happen when we met reality.

Hands cruised from my shoulder blades to my waist.

I pulled away to rest my head on his chest. ‘This is amazing.’

‘My kissing that good, huh?’

‘No.’

‘What?’

Oops, again I’d scratched his confidence—and he’d been doing so well too. I’d been thinking about being held, something that hadn’t been part of my life for years. ‘Of course, your kissing is amazing.’

He huffed in my hair. ‘Tell me I’m the best kisser you know and my bruised vanity may recover.’

I rubbed his back consolingly. ‘You are. You’re the only boy I’ve kissed.’

‘Is that so? Are English boys blind?’ He pulled me closer.

‘I don’t think so. I just haven’t met any nice ones and kept away from the bad ones. The Seer doesn’t let boys get near me—not ones he doesn’t approve.’

‘So I could be terrible at kissing and you’d never know the difference?’

‘Believe me, I think I would. If any kiss made me feel this way, then it would be outlawed.’

‘You’re right. Let’s break the rules then.’ He tilted my chin to explore the possibilities.

Finally, we broke apart, arms loose around each other.

‘So are we gonna stand here all day?’ I asked his sternum.

‘Yep.’ His fingers wandered through my hair, messing it up so that the feathered ends went every which way. ‘Fine by me. Who wants to see a boring old award-winning show, anyway?’

Put it like that …

‘Um … me?’ I’d never been inside a theatre. I couldn’t help a thrill of anticipation at the idea of actually seeing a live performance.

He groaned. ‘Me too. Come on then. But take a rain check on that kissing thing.’

‘Rain check?’ I smoothed my hair back into some semblance of order.

‘American speak for a delay, not a cancellation.’

I grinned. ‘OK. I’ll go with that.’

Caught up in the swirl of city life once on the tube, we got off at Piccadilly and joined the crowds surging up the escalators and out on to the circus, with its iconic statue of Cupid surrounded by buildings decked with flashing advertisements. Yves insisted we stop and pay our respects to the arrow-shooting god, walking around the plinth until we stood directly in the line of fire. With a wink at me, Yves mimicked being struck in the heart.