Stealing Phoenix

by Joss Stirling

  ‘We are friends,’ Sky said firmly. ‘And you are standing in the way of the screen.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Yves scooted off into the kitchen.

  ‘You fit in well with them,’ I commented, putting my feet up and pulling a rug over my legs.

  Sky snorted. ‘Not so well at first. Had them holding me off at gunpoint.’

  I didn’t believe her. ‘Still, you’re like family. Yves thinks of you as a sister.’

  Her blue eyes took on a serious expression. ‘They are my family, Phee. And now you are too. It’ll take a while, but we’ll all adjust.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  She tweaked the blanket over my toes. ‘If there’s one thing I learned, it is that blood families can sometimes be the pits; it’s the one you make for yourself that really gives you a home and people to love.’ Just before I could comment on that, she threw her head back and laughed at herself, stretching her arms up. ‘Just listen to me: so wise, so young! I’ll shut up. Press play and prepare to have fun.’

  The day went so quickly after that. I cottoned on to the fact that Yves and Sky were babysitting me as other members of the family came and went. We saw Zed for a stretch late afternoon. He spent it playing cards with Yves, while Sky and I watched a weepy classic. They occupied half the game arguing, Yves claiming Zed was cheating by using his future sense, Zed claiming it was only fair when his brother had a ‘fricking awesome’ computer for a brain. It was unclear who won in the end—I think no one because they ended up wrestling on the floor with the cards flying everywhere. I was worried they were going to hurt each other, but Sky just laughed and told them to keep the noise down.

  Yves came to me after the fight—hot and rumpled.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.

  He squeezed himself between me and the arm of the sofa so I ended up half sitting on him. ‘No. But Zed is—he’s a wuss.’

  Zed threw a cushion at him, which Yves killed off with a cool telekinetic counter move. It fell from the air like a shot pigeon.

  ‘Now, now, boys, play nicely,’ Sky mock-scolded. ‘Phee, you look, well, shell-shocked.’

  ‘Is this how families behave?’ I asked her.

  ‘Quite a lot of them,’ she confirmed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, no, I love it.’

  ‘Love the fact that my big brother here just beat the hell out of me?’ Zed limped to the armchair. ‘He’s a bully.’

  This protest was highly suspect from a boy who looked as though he could bench-press the weight of a mini without breaking a sweat.

  Yves made a shower of sparks sizzle over Zed’s head, who batted them away like a cloud of annoying mosquitoes. ‘Cut it out, Brains, or I’ll tell Phee all about your other wives.’

  ‘Er … what?’ I laughed.

  Yves groaned.

  Zed grinned, knowing he’d found an excellent way to embarrass his brother. ‘Oh yeah, Yves’s been married at least three times, each one to really cute little girls.’

  ‘In kindergarten,’ growled Yves.

  ‘Yep. He was irresistible. They had him divided up between them: Mary-Jo got to play bride on Mondays, Cheryl on Wednesdays, and Monica on Fridays.’

  ‘You are so gonna burn for this,’ muttered Yves.

  ‘What happened on Tuesdays and Thursdays?’

  ‘Mom kept him back at home. I mean she had to give our lover-boy here a rest, didn’t she?’

  Sky perched on the arm of Zed’s chair. ‘Ooh, I like this story. And what about you?’

  Zed smirked. ‘I wasn’t allowed to play because I was too mean and rough. Yves has always been the gentleman in the family—perfect groom material for the under-sixes. Mom probably has photos somewhere that’s she’s saving for his real big day. Consider yourself warned, Phee.’

  I gave him an uneasy smile. It was OK to joke but Zed was talking as if us getting hitched was a foregone conclusion—not something I could get my head around. ‘He needn’t worry. I can’t take on a bigamist, can I?’

  ‘Oh, he’s a free man.’ Zed hadn’t caught the awkwardness between Yves and me produced by his comment. ‘The divorces were brutal—tears, smashed toys—and that’s just Yves. I think they are amicable now—wasn’t Mary-Jo your Science partner this year?’

  ‘Yeah, and she’s going to Princeton. With her boyfriend.’ Yves got up, signalling a change of subject. ‘Something to eat, Phee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I’ll do some pasta for all of us—how does that sound?’

  ‘Great. I’ll be cook’s assistant.’

  He took my hand and steered me into the kitchen. ‘You can assist by sitting on a stool and keeping me company. I want you to promise me you’ll never listen to another stupid story from my brother.’ He wrinkled his forehead. ‘Brothers,’ he amended.

  ‘Not sure I can promise that.’

  ‘Not fair.’ He pulled a heavy-based pan out of a cupboard and put it on the stove.

  There was something incredibly sexy about watching Yves cook, the little frown of concentration as he planned his assault on our taste buds. Yves didn’t just bung a lot of spaghetti in a pan as I would have done; he made a red sauce from scratch, slicing and dicing, crushing and stirring with as much attention as I guessed he would give to his science experiments. He cooked as though he was composing a new formula, testing the taste, asking me to judge the seasoning, all with an expert’s eye to getting the perfect balance. I was allowed to grate the parmesan, but that was all the kitchen territory he was going to concede. And when it came to serving, he didn’t ladle a splurge of pasta on the plates; no, he presented the food, each with curls of cheese and basil on the top.

  ‘Dinner is ready,’ he said with mock formality, tea towel over one arm like a waiter.

  Zed and Sky joined us at the counter.

  ‘Wow, I love it when Yves cooks!’ enthused Sky.

  I had to agree: it was the best homemade food I’d ever tasted.

  ‘Traitor.’ Zed poured us all iced water.

  ‘Can you cook like him, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No,’ Yves and Sky said in unison.

  ‘Real men don’t cook. Real men grill.’ Zed grinned, knowing his argument was indefensible. ‘My brother is so metrosexual— all these city-boy skills. I worry about him.’

  ‘Worry about yourself,’ scoffed Sky. ‘Our household is going to be strictly fifty-fifty when it comes to things like that and I refuse to live on burnt pizza. I’m enrolling you on a course when we get home. No kissing until you cook me a decent meal.’

  Yves chuckled. ‘Revenge is mine.’

  Zed looked anxious for a second, then smiled. ‘You won’t last.’ He tugged Sky closer and planted a kiss on her lips. ‘There. Told you.’

  ‘The no-kiss rule starts when we’re home and I’ve found you a class,’ Sky said smugly. ‘Read the small print.’

  Zed folded his arms and pushed back his empty plate. ‘She won’t last.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ With Sky’s eyes promising retribution, they held each other’s gaze for a scintillating few moments.

  ‘Challenge accepted, my lady.’ Zed gave her a flourishing bow.

  Looking at them together, I had a feeling she might not be so strong-willed as she thought. On the other hand, she probably wouldn’t mind losing.

  Victor came home late, long after most of the family had gone to bed. I heard his voice echoing in the kitchen when I was in the bathroom and I wondered if he’d made any progress on getting me my passport or discovered what Yves was doing. From the sound of it, he must have found something to complain about because his tone was angry. Normally, I would run the other way when I heard raised voices but the other party to the argument was Yves. I clicked off the light and waited for the fan to stop churning. Once all was quiet, I crept into the corridor to eavesdrop. I made no apology for doing so—if Yves needed back-up I wanted to be there; if he didn’t, it was best he didn’t know I was spying on his brother. I had to risk it as
ignorance hadn’t served me well up until now. I didn’t quite trust Victor. With his links to law enforcement, he had to despise me even if he had managed to hide it so far.

  Victor stood with his back to the door, brandishing a sheaf of papers at his younger brother. ‘Look, Yves, I’m running this operation. Your job was studying icebergs or whatever. I can’t tell Scotland Yard my own family is going behind my back— I’ve worked to build up that relationship and, with their help, we’re close to cracking this ring of Savants.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but that changed when I met Phee.’ Yves had to be riled because he was making a candle on the table melt super-fast, flame almost a foot long, as if he had to do something with his heated emotion. I was beginning to understand now that he had a choice with his gift: either keep his emotions cool and even, or find a channel to let them burn. If he didn’t, I guess someone could get hurt.

  Victor paced in frustration. ‘She’s just one small part of all this. I understand you want to rescue her—she has to be your priority—but there’s more at stake and you know it. We have to run this operation by numbers. I can’t have an amateur doing his own thing. That’s the way to get one of us killed.’

  ‘I’m not putting anyone in danger.’

  ‘Bull. You’re putting yourself on the line—and I won’t have it. I let you get away with the closed-lip thing in front of the others, but I have to know what you’re planning. Dad warned you—you could upset everything, ruin months of work by law-enforcement agencies across the globe. I can’t run this gig if we’re tripping over each other. Just tell me, damn it!’

  I knew I should go back to my room; I might overhear something I really didn’t want to be forced to tell the Seer tomorrow, but curiosity kept me chained in place.

  The candle was now a lake of hot wax. Yves turned to spinning a sphere of fire on his palm. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Geez, don’t you get it, Yves? This is not about your soulfinder—it is about you and your arrogant assumption that you, a kid of seventeen, can out-think everyone else. Well, face it, bro, you can’t.’

  Yves stared mutinously into space.

  ‘Aren’t you listening to me or do I have to remind you of what happened to Zed and Sky last fall? You told us the security perimeter at home couldn’t be breached—that your work was without equal, but a couple of Kelly’s goons still got through and took potshots at them.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to remind me.’ The ball of fire in his palm went out. ‘And I’ve made improvements since then. No one can get through now.’

  ‘Just listen to yourself—you’re doing it again. You’re clever, there’s no doubt about that—but you forget that so are other people. They can out-smart you.’

  Yves folded his arms. ‘Our home is safe. Phee will be OK with me.’

  ‘So you take her side rather than your family’s?’

  ‘It’s not about sides—and she’s family too, now.’

  Victor slapped the countertop with the papers, annoyed with Yves and himself. ‘Maybe.’ Yves glared. ‘OK, I know it, but she’s pulling us apart.’

  Yves pushed to his feet, his stance combative. ‘She’s not and I don’t want to hear even a whisper from you that you blame her for this situation. My choices are my responsibility—mine alone. I can get the right result if you do your thing and let me do mine.’

  ‘You’re asking me to trust that your brain is street smart as well as intelligent?’

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Yves, you’re killing me here. I look at you and I try to make myself believe you know what you’re doing, but part of me thinks you’re going to be just as stupid as the next guy when a girl comes into the picture.’ He heaved a frustrated sigh. ‘I don’t want to argue with you. I want to help you. Of all my brothers, you are the one I least want thrown into this kind of business.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re too nice. Don’t see the bad in people, give them too much benefit of the doubt.’

  Yves shook his head, not budging an inch. ‘I hope you’re not talking about Phee, because if you are I think you’ll rapidly discover just how unpleasant I can be.’

  Victor must have recognized that stubborn look and stopped pushing on a closed door. ‘These are hers.’ With an abrupt change of direction, Victor dropped the papers on the counter. ‘You know she’s not telling you everything, don’t you?’

  Yves shrugged and leafed through the documents.

  ‘I could get her to give us full disclosure—use my gift.’

  ‘No.’ Yves’s word was concise and final.

  ‘No? You won’t even consider it?’

  ‘Too many people have messed around with her over the years, Vick. If we become just another group breaking trust with her for our own purposes, we’ll never get her back. She’s told us what she can. You saw her today—she gave herself a headache and nosebleed trying to warn us what we faced.’

  Victor removed his jacket and tugged at his tie to loosen his collar. ‘I don’t doubt her good intentions in that, but my radar tells me she’s hiding more—stuff that she could spill if she wanted. Things that disturb her so badly she’s in denial.’

  ‘So? Then it’s personal and none of our business.’

  ‘Is it?’

  My spike of alarm must have given me away because Yves’s eyes went to the dark doorway. Oh yeah, unique signature: I’d forgotten he was an energy bloodhound.

  ‘Not asleep yet?’ he asked coolly. Now he had another thing to be angry about: I had been eavesdropping.

  Reluctantly, I came into the light. There was no point hiding the fact I was listening. ‘I couldn’t. I found your discussion too fascinating. I mean, I was the subject, right?’

  ‘Yes, you were.’ Victor took a seat, perhaps trying to make himself less threatening, as he had been looming over me, but I caught the ‘I told you so’ look he flashed Yves, underlining my untrustworthiness. ‘I’m sorry you heard that, but I had to make my opinion known.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ve been telling Yves that he shouldn’t put any of you at risk for me. I’m not worth it.’

  ‘I didn’t say you’re not as important as any of us, Phoenix,’ Victor corrected. ‘Just there’s more to think about than what we do with you.’

  I wasn’t sure if that was any different; it was all a question of priorities and I wasn’t number one for him. ‘Of course, I get it—really I do.’

  Yves now looked irritated by both of us: me for being so dismissive of my value and Victor for being so insistent on the worth of his operation. ‘OK, Vick, we’ll get out of your hair tomorrow. You go do what you have to do and we’ll go sightseeing.’ Yves pushed the papers over to me. ‘Sign there, Phee.’ He caught my distrustful expression and sighed. ‘It’s just a passport application, nothing more.’

  We had the meeting with the Seer tomorrow. Wasn’t he even going to tell his brother about that? ‘But Yves—’

  ‘Not now, Phee; I’m feeling angry right at the moment and don’t want another argument. Just sign the damn papers.’

  I wasn’t protesting about the papers and he knew it. Biting my lip, I put my signature in the box. It was weird—the first time I’d ever signed anything. My name looked loopy and childish; I wished I’d thought to practise.

  ‘Look, Phoenix, I don’t want you to think I don’t care about what happens to you.’ Victor slipped the documents back in his leather bag. ‘I just have a lot to balance right now. If you can persuade my brother to take me into his confidence it would be a whole lot easier.’

  I nodded, knowing I’d get nowhere with Yves. ‘Sure, I’ll work on that. Um … good night.’

  ‘Yeah, sweet dreams,’ said Victor.

  Doubtful. I anticipated a night of tossing and turning. I was now terrified as to what Yves was planning for tomorrow. As his brother said, he might be super-intelligent, but was he street smart? The two were not the same and Yves could well be led astray by thinking he was cleverer than the rest of us. I was g
oing to have to come up with a plan of my own while Yves and Victor were busy on theirs.

  Our appointment at the London Eye came around too quickly. Despite the tensions, the previous forty-eight hours had been an oasis in my desert of a life, and I had no wish to get back on the Seer’s caravan to nowhere, but what choice did I have? At breakfast, I could feel the order to make the meeting pushing away inside me like a cattle prod. Any time I tried to think of alternatives, my brain would short circuit and I would find myself at the door, heading out. Only Yves understood the reason for my bizarre behaviour; the other Benedicts were all too polite to make any comment but they must have thought I was the rudest house guest they’d ever entertained—and cruel to Yves as well.

  ‘Give yourself a break, Phee,’ he whispered as he let me rest my head against his chest, latest assault on the door foiled. ‘It’ll work out.’

  I just did not believe him. Overnight, I’d come to the conclusion that the only plan that had any chance of succeeding would be for me to stop Yves handing over anything. I couldn’t attack Dragon, Unicorn, or, God forbid, the Seer, but Yves wouldn’t expect me to turn on him. I’d steal it off him as soon as I had a chance and make sure no one noticed.

  So here we were, as I had always known we would have to be: ten fifteen on a breezy morning in the queue for the London Eye. White crests formed on the river where the wind went against the tide, seagulls struggling to hold their position as they glided overhead. I had to wait until we met up with the Seer before making my attempt; I didn’t want Yves to abort the encounter if he realized too soon what I’d done. We had no idea exactly how the Seer would choose to make his rendezvous, so followed logic and bought tickets for the overgrown Ferris wheel with its views of Westminister, Big Ben, and the Houses of Parliament. We were just approaching the front of the queue when Dragon and Unicorn appeared beside us.

  ‘Glad you made it.’ Dragon’s grin was all teeth. ‘We have reserved a private capsule for our party.’

  They pulled us out of the line and took us over to the VIP entrance. I shrank away from Unicorn.

  Don’t let him touch you, I warned Yves. He’s a life-stealer.