Stealing Phoenix (22 page)

‘Go on: your turn.’ He waited for me to copy him.

I looked nervously over my shoulder, not so happy to be caught in sentimental fooling around. ‘Is this, like, a tradition or something?’

His eyes twinkled. ‘Is now.’

Quickly, I clapped my hand to my chest. ‘Satisfied?’ I felt stupid.

He folded his arms. ‘Nope.’

We were attracting the attention of the tourists on the steps. A Korean couple had taken snaps of Yves staggering dramatically with a pretend arrow wound. They looked very disappointed by my feeble performance.

‘Can we go now?’

‘Not until you do the Cupid-arrow thing properly.’ He leaned closer. ‘One of his arrows is nothing to the power of being a soulfinder.’

Realizing that I had to do the full clown routine to get away from here, I went for over-acting, taking the bolt, spinning, staggering and collapsing into Yves’s arms. The tourists applauded.

‘And now?’

He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Awesome. Better than mine.’ He paused. ‘Shall I do it again?’

I tugged him away. ‘No, you nitwit. Let’s get something to eat before the show.’

‘What’s a nitwit?’

‘Look in the dictionary and there’s a picture of you.’

‘Ouch.’

I smirked, but privately I wondered if he had meant anything by his fooling with Cupid’s arrow. I knew I had fallen for him but I had no expectations that he should feel anything so profound for me. How could he? I understood that the soul-finder bond might make the physical part of our relationship more intense than a normal date, but such pre-programmed instincts did not equal love. My worst fear was that he was just acting that he liked me because he knew we were stuck with each other and was too polite to hurt me. I couldn’t bear it if he was faking what he felt.

My self-torture lasted through dinner and up to the very door of the theatre. I was pleased to see that, though some people had dressed up for the evening, Yves and I were unremarkable in our casual clothes, even in the most expensive seats. The usher waved us through, and then another member of staff conned Yves into forking out a fiver for a programme full of adverts.

‘They should be paying you to read that,’ I whispered as we settled into our seats.

He refrained from commenting again on my Scrooge-like observations, restricting himself to a roll of his eyes.

‘But you can buy a lot for a fiver.’ I crossed my arms defensively, feeling cheap. I had an image of myself as one of those prizes kids get at hook-a-duck stalls at fairs that break in five minutes, compared to the exclusive handcrafted items around me, sold in Hamleys’ toy department. A girl two seats along had stripped off a leather coat to reveal a snug red sheath dress and gorgeous Nicole Farhi shoes with ice-pick heels. She was eyeing Yves, flicking her hair in that ‘come hither’ gesture that I’d never even attempted and knew I would not pull off if I did. I gave her a hard stare, only slightly reassured to see that Yves hadn’t noticed, his attention on the cast list. It was rather insulting to know she thought me so unimpressive as not to have considered me any contest.

‘I’ve read the book, but can’t imagine how they’re going to adapt it for a musical,’ Yves said to me, flicking through the programme.

‘What?’ I dragged my eyes away from the competition. Definitely a diamond-encrusted Barbie type.

‘
Wicked
. It’s a retelling of
The Wizard of Oz
from the point of view of the Wicked Witch of the West, a kind of prequel.’ And of course my genius would have read it—as well as every other important book on the planet, no doubt.

‘Oh.’ Even with my dysfunctional childhood I’d seen that one—Dorothy, yellow brick road, and red shoes. I’d even read the original stories by L. Frank Baum, thanks to my library-haunting habits. ‘Is there another side to tell?’

He put his arm on the back of my chair and let it slide to rest on my shoulders. I twitched an eyebrow which made him throw back his head and laugh. ‘Smooth move, hey?’

‘I wouldn’t call it exactly
smooth
. Try obvious.’ I tweaked his thumb.

This made him laugh even louder. I could see Diamond Doll fretting, probably wondering why such a nice guy was hanging out with such a sharp-tongued girl.

Yves ruffled my hair. ‘Sassy—I like that about you.’

My next vinegar remark was cut short by the dimming of the lights. Yves squeezed my upper arm gently and leaned over to whisper:

‘Just enjoy yourself. Everything from now on is going to be just fine.’

The performance finished at ten, turning us out on to the street as darkness swallowed up the sky and unlit back alleys. Out on the main thoroughfares, the neon lights kept night at bay, bathing us all in the cold sunlight of the commercial twenty-four-hour day. I could hardly believe how quickly time had passed. The rainbow colours of scenery and costumes, music from a live orchestra, actors just a few metres away from me: everything had been breath-taking. I’d been on the edge of my seat the whole time, drinking in every nuance of the performance. I’d wanted to weep at the injustice dealt out to the Wicked Witch; she’d never really had a chance in a world where being pink skinned and blonde was the standard of beauty. Us skanks didn’t stand a chance against diamanté Barbies.

Needing to walk off my temper, I strode down Victoria Street towards the illuminated tower of Big Ben; I was still buzzing with the emotion, wanting to protest at the injustice of life as the witch had tried to do. Yves had to jog to catch up with me, as I’d marched ahead when he’d stopped to exchange a few friendly words with the usher.

‘Phee, wait!’ He grabbed the back of my jacket. ‘What’s wrong? I thought the show was great; didn’t you?’

‘Yeah, it was fabulous. But I’m really, really cross at how it turned out.’

He hugged me to his side. ‘Life’s not fair, even in fairytales.’

‘I want to go and punch the Wizard.’

Yves bit his lip, humouring my anger on behalf of a fictional character. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘Being green and misunderstood is something I can relate to—not the green bit.’ I could not—would not—bear it if Yves laughed at me, and part of me was well aware that I was being ridiculous. ‘I meant being a misfit.’

He nodded, manfully not making fun of my snit. He hadn’t caught on to the fact that what I’d seen on stage had entwined with my self-doubts and fears like ivy on a crumbling wall. If he pulled at it with any teasing, all might come down on him like the proverbial ton of bricks.

‘She tried to do the right thing, but the right thing turned out to be wrong,’ I continued, now thinking of my own situation where I’d tried to protect someone I loved and dragged a whole family of innocent strangers into danger.

Yves tugged me to a stop outside a coffee bar. ‘Phee, you seem really stirred up for someone who is supposed to have had a fun night out at a musical. I don’t think you’re supposed to take it so seriously. How about something to calm you down? Hot chocolate? Sky says it never fails with her.’

I shook him off, suffocated by his fussing over me, telling me what to do. I did not want hot milk and to be tucked in when I could barely stop myself screaming and lobbing a brick through a window. Fortunately for Yves, there was no target in my view—no Seer or any of the Savants I’d met the night before, or I would’ve got us both arrested. ‘No thanks. I don’t want to be calmed down. I want …’ My breath was coming in painful, shallow bursts. ‘I want to be understood!’

Yves held up both hands and took a step back, a lion tamer retreating from the swipe of a fractious wild cat. ‘OK, OK. Can I
understand
you somewhere less public?’

‘I don’t care what other people think.’

‘Maybe not, but I’d really like to get off the street.’

We were attracting curious looks as night revellers caught on to the argument in progress—a one-sided debate where I was throwing all the anger and emotion against his even-tempered acceptance like the sea attacking a harbour wall. That made me feel worse, of course. Yves just stood there letting me splash and spray my fury all over him.

I swore at him.

He flinched but stood his ground. ‘Phee, please.’

I threw an arm out towards him. ‘Why do you let me do that? I just swore at you and instead of giving it back like a normal person and telling me to stop being such a jerk, you stand there like … like Nelson Mandela.’

He ran a hand through his hair, confused. ‘You…you want me to argue with you? I thought you wanted me to understand you.’

Just at the moment he couldn’t do anything right. ‘That’s not understanding me. That’s tolerating me. Pitying me. I hate it.’

‘O-K. Um … look, let’s go and talk about this.’

I squeezed my hands into fists, tempted to hit out but knowing I really wanted to punish myself.

Yves’s phone rang. Giving me space, he took it out and answered. ‘Yeah, it’s over. It was … it was good. Thanks for the tickets.’ He glanced over at me. ‘I think she liked it, maybe. Uh-huh. He did? OK. Yeah, I’ve got the message. See you.’ He slipped the mobile back into his jacket pocket.

I folded my arms, trying to tear myself out of my mood like someone detaching their feet from a puddle of sticky tar. ‘One of your brothers checking up on us?’ I asked coolly.

‘Er, yeah.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the coffee bar. ‘I need a drink. Come with me if you like.’

He entered and joined the queue at the till, posture spiky and stressed. His new tactic worked and I felt obliged to follow him. Where else could I go?

‘What’ll you have?’ he asked.

‘Decaf something.’ I was wired enough as it was without adding a shot of caffeine to the bloodstream.

He ordered two decaf lattes and suggested I go find a booth. I slid into one near the back of the shop, a dark corner where I could mope. God, I was horrible. He’d tried to give me a nice evening and I was messing it up going on a chaotic emotional stampede, flattening him in passing.

The bench squeaked as he sat. He pushed the tall glass over to me, a peace offering.

‘Thanks.’ I ran my fingers up and down the warm surface.

‘I should warn you, Zed saw you running off. Vick phoned to tell me not to be a jackass.’

‘It wasn’t you.’ I couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I flew off the handle.’

‘The show’s not real, you know.’

Whosh! My temper flared again at that spark. ‘Of course I know that! I’m not stupid!’

‘I wish we’d seen
Phantom
instead,’ he said plaintively.

Turn it down, Phee, turn it down. ‘But even though it’s a fantasy,
Wicked
is true to experience—mine at least. Best intentions get screwed up.’ Then I leapt feet first into what was really bothering me. ‘You have to tell me, are you going to betray your family—the Savant Net? I can’t stand not knowing.’

His hands flexed around his drink, fingertips going white. ‘You have to trust me.’

He was still ducking a straight answer. ‘I can’t believe that you will—and so I’m wondering what’s going to happen the day after tomorrow. I won’t hurt them. You can’t take me back to that flat.’ I crumpled up a sachet of sugar spilling the brown sugar over the table. ‘You can’t do that to them—or to me.’

‘If you can’t trust me, at least trust my family to do what they do best.’

I kicked the granules around with my index finger. ‘And what’s that?’

‘Look after each other—and us.’

He still didn’t get it. ‘But that’s their soft spot. They don’t realize you’ve brought a snake into the nest. I don’t want to turn and bite them but that’s what’s gonna happen and you know it. You told the Seer you would keep your bargain but you can’t—you just can’t. I won’t let you betray them.’

He took a gulp of his drink, controlling his knee-jerk response to my cutting and slashing at him. ‘You don’t really know, Phee, what I can do—what my family can do.’

I took a deep breath, realizing that I had just been putting off the moment that I would have to leave him. If I truly loved him—and I now knew I did—I had to make the choice for him. ‘No, I don’t. But I know what these men can do if they get their hooks into you. You think you have a safety net—a loving family, your home in the States—but they are everywhere, your enemies. They will take everything away from you—strip each petal off the flower. You are walking into a trap.’

‘With my eyes open.’

‘Open—shut—it doesn’t matter.’ I slid to the end of the bench. ‘Look, I know you think you’ve got some clever way out of this, but you really haven’t. I’m primed to hurt your family and then go back—I’m the weapon the bad guys are using against you. You’ve had a go at deciding my future— without asking me, by the way, don’t think I didn’t notice.’ He looked a little shame-faced as he realized I had a point, which gave me space to make the rest of my speech. ‘I’ve been trying to ignore the obvious. Make all the plans you like but I can’t stay with you. Look at me—I’m a thief, Yves. I even like being one.’ I can see that this shocked him. He’d been persuading himself I was more a victim than a criminal.

‘But you never kept the stuff—you did it because you had to.’

‘Yeah, yeah, you go on telling yourself that, sweetcheeks. I’m not a good person. I like it because it’s the only damn thing I’m good at. In the bad column is everything else, including relationships.’ I felt something crack inside me. ‘Oh, what’s the point? It’s been … it’s been lovely meeting you. I’d better get going.’