Stealing Phoenix (25 page)

‘Really?’ That caught Victor’s interest. ‘There must be one of theirs working in the system. I wonder if that means they know how many of us are here now? We were hoping they had not realized we’d sent for reinforcements.’

‘It could’ve come from the States—the copy of the passport, I mean.’ I pressed my fingers to my forehead, pain starting behind my left eye. ‘I saw someone from New York who knew about you.’ I tried to fool my brain that I wasn’t breaking any rules, only reporting what I’d seen, not what I’d heard. ‘There were others—Moscow, Beijing, Sydney.’ The Seer’s retaliation made my head hurt but I had to tell the Benedicts as much as I could. I couldn’t bear for them to be unprepared. It wasn’t just the Seer they had to worry about. ‘They were together for a kind of summit meeting I think.’

‘Phee, shut up.’ Yves took a tissue and wiped my face. ‘You’re getting a nosebleed.’

Victor shot me a concerned look. ‘I appreciate what you’re telling us, Phee, but we already know there’s a group of rogue Savants in London at the moment. That’s why we are here.’

‘I see.’ That changed things. I had the sudden image of myself falling between a water taxi and the Thames wall, caught in the surge between two implacable forces. The Savants were well aware of the existence of the other group; I was the only one stupid enough not to realize that and was getting squeezed in the middle.

Yves steered me to a chair so I could put my head down. ‘Don’t tell her anything else, Vick. It’s not doing either of us a favour.’

I wasn’t so sure about that. Being in the dark would lead to me making mistakes, like putting myself through a migraine and nosebleed to tell them something they already knew.

Vick squeezed my shoulder as he passed. ‘I think we can give the photos a miss for today. You should rest.’

The bleed had stopped as soon as I’d given up spilling the Seer’s secrets. ‘It’s OK. I’ll be fine in a moment.’

‘I agree with Victor.’ Mr Benedict spoke as if laying down the law, a kindly magistrate presiding over the family. ‘We have only just found you, Phoenix, and, from what I understand from Xav, we need to look after you. The rest of the day on the sofa watching DVDs is what I recommend. I’m sure Yves will happily wait on you hand and foot.’ From his words, I suspected they wanted me kept well out of harm’s way. It can’t have escaped their notice that every time I left I tried to make a run for it.

I sat up, head spinning, but decided to play along. ‘Sounds fabulous. I don’t think I’ve ever had a day off.’

‘Then take it easy. I’ll see you both later.’ Mr Benedict paused to kiss Sky goodbye, a casual fatherly gesture. He hesitated then did the same for me. ‘I’ll send Zed back when Xav takes over from him.’

I leant against Yves. ‘Where is everyone going?’

He shrugged. ‘I think we’d best not ask.’

He was right. The Benedicts had split into teams, each dealing with the different jobs to be done, one of which was making me ‘official’. I didn’t want to guess what the others were doing. ‘So, what shall we watch?’

Yves picked me up, ignoring my squeals and Sky’s laughter, and deposited me on the settee in the living room. ‘Not
The Wizard of Oz,
please. I can’t revisit the trauma of arguing about the rights of green-skinned witches.’

I almost smiled, but I still felt too tender about last night to have the necessary distance to find my behaviour funny. I had been so emotionally overwrought I was embarrassed to remember.

Sky came in and dropped a DVD into my lap. ‘There you go.
Ten Things I Hate About You,
a classic—and Yves?’

He retrieved the case, then crouched by the machine to put the disk in the slot. ‘Yep?’

‘You will not spoil our enjoyment by deconstructing this film with your clever comments on the history of cinematography …’

‘Aw, Sky, would I?’

‘Yes, you would. Neither will you tell us how the plot resembles
Taming of the Shrew
in every aspect, script, characterization etc., etc., capping it all with a review of all other films based on Shakespeare plays.’

‘So you don’t want to hear my analysis of
Hamlet
and
The Lion King
?’

Sky folded her arms. ‘Nope.’

Yves gave a put-upon sigh. ‘Yes, boss.’

‘You will, however, make us microwave popcorn.’

Yves stood up and saluted. He then leaned over me to whisper: ‘She’s small but dangerous—just thought you should know if you’re going to be friends.’

‘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.