CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘You can do what you will, but in any given moment of your life you can will only one definite thing.’
Arthur Schopenhauer
I was a little surprised the next morning when Phoenix buzzed the intercom. I had forgotten I’d agreed to go to the art exhibition with him; I was so blindsided by everything that had happened last night. But now, more than ever, I realised I needed to understand this world. Phoenix probably knew more about it than anyone, and for some reason I trusted the things he told me. Claudia’s death had taught me that exiles clearly knew what I was and if that could endanger innocent people, well, I needed to make sure I wasn’t responsible. But I’m innocent too. I couldn’t help my next thought: Yeah, and tied to the damned.
When I joined Phoenix in the street it struck me how unfazed he was. I felt puffy and stale from the night before. I was dressed in comfy clothes and had barely taken a brush to my hair. He looked fresh and minted. Invigorated almost. When he looked at me his chocolate brown eyes stirred and before he could mask it a smile formed within them.
‘How long have you been here? On earth, I mean?’ I asked as we walked towards the bus stop.
‘Too long to count. We could take a taxi if you prefer?’
‘No. Bus is good.’ I preferred to take the bus to a taxi when I could. I had a habit of getting carsick in the back of taxis.
Phoenix stood aside when the bus arrived, letting me on first. He really was on his best behaviour.
I gave a huff as I took a seat and considered his earlier comment. ‘What? Are we talking hundreds of years?’
‘I guess,’ he said as if it were no big thing.
My mouth fell open. ‘Do you miss the angel realm?’ I wasn’t sure if it had seemed like home to him.
‘Sometimes.’
I turned to look at him. Glimmers of purple floated through the black base of his hair, and as the sun caught different angles a few strands sparkled silver.
‘Your hair is…amazing.’
He smiled and shifted in his seat. ‘You don’t strike me as the hair type. I had you pegged for eyes.’
I felt exposed that he had figured me out so quickly. ‘Do you all have hair like that?’ I said, trying to ignore his comment.
He laughed, sounding more relaxed than I had heard him before. ‘Not exactly. It was more something I inherited. It resembles a natural stone. It’s—’
‘Opal.’
‘Yes.’ The smile he gave me was different, genuine. I knew instantly it was a smile not often seen and something else was apparent too – I was smiling back.
When we arrived at the Contemporary Museum the doors were closed, a sign out the front explaining that the exhibition didn’t open until tomorrow.
‘That’s annoying,’ I said.
‘Not really. It’s better this way. We get the whole place to ourselves.’ Phoenix didn’t stop at the front doors. Instead, he went around the side and knocked on a smaller, more inconspicuous door marked EXIT.
‘Phoenix, you can’t—’
The door opened. A short balding man stood just inside. When he saw Phoenix, he moved aside, widening the door in invitation.
Phoenix looked at me with a sly grin. ‘As I said. Not so bad.’ He held his hand out towards the door and then followed me in.
The bald man shook Phoenix’s hand and told us we had an hour until the next shift arrived. Then he left us alone.
‘Wow. This is amazing. Who was he?’
‘Someone who owed me a favour,’ Phoenix said, and I knew he would tell me no more. I guess I didn’t really need to know, not when there were so many other more pressing questions.
The exhibition was amazing. Some pieces were still in crates waiting to be hung, but we got to see most of it.
‘So, you like contemporary art?’ I asked as we moved through the abstract sculpture section.
‘To be honest, it’s not my favourite. I prefer Renaissance.’ He watched for my reaction. ‘But I knew you would like it. I’m sure you’ve been to a million exhibitions with your Grigori friend, but I knew there was a good chance you wouldn’t have seen these pieces.’
I forced a smile but didn’t respond. I was too embarrassed to admit I’d never been to an exhibition with Lincoln. I hadn’t really been anywhere with Lincoln. We were always training.
‘Is it my turn now?’ he said, as we continued to walk through the oversized rooms.
‘For what?’ I asked, suddenly nervous.
‘To ask a question.’
I frowned. ‘I guess.’
He pushed up each of his sleeves. He was so casual and normal in his movements yet they all looked so precise. I wondered how much practice it had taken and about the transition from angel to human. Did he feel more angel or human now?
‘Why are you so afraid to be more than ordinary?’
My eyes instinctively flashed down. Of all things to ask. I felt tears well up and worked furiously at holding them back and getting control of myself. I tried to focus on other things: the twisted bicycle sculpture, the intricate cornicing, the stray bits of crate stuffing scattered on the ground.
‘I’m not, I just…don’t want to be singled out, on display.’
‘And you think that being a Grigori will put you in that position?’
‘I just want my life. The one I’ve been working on for the last seventeen years. I have plans, plans I like, and he…they, had no right to…’ I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him how much it hurt that Lincoln had lied to me. Pretended to be my friend. Had known my future and not told me. I didn’t add that I now included my mother in the ‘had no right to’ category.
‘He? Lincoln, your Grigori?’ Phoenix was not letting it go.
‘He’s not…mine.’
‘Good to know,’ he said, walking on to the next sculpture of a naked woman in flames.
I felt like slapping him. Instead, I put my foot down. ‘We are not talking about him.’
Phoenix took his time inspecting the burning woman before answering. ‘Look, Violet, here’s the thing. Grigori are not usually… friends with exiles. In a way, we’re natural enemies… Nonetheless, saying this as your friend, you need to stop acting like a lovesick child. Whether you like it or not, you’re in this world now and exiles are very good at sensing power in other exiles and in Grigori.’
‘And you can sense me,’ I said, choosing to rise above his other comments. For now.
‘Some part of you must be able to feel how powerful you are.’
I wanted to deny it but I couldn’t. ‘When I touch you I’m swamped. I can’t control it.’
‘I know. Through you, I can feel part of it too.’ He gestured to a wooden bench in the middle of the room.
I remembered how the sensations had subsided when he looked at me in the pizzeria. Somehow, when I was around him they seemed to stop. ‘You controlled it, calmed it down.’
He nodded. ‘I took away some of your anxiety and gave you a little of the emotion you needed to control it.’
‘You gave me emotion?’ I said, my eyes widening.
‘It’s something some angels…exiles can do. One of the reasons we are dangerous to humans. We can read and influence their emotions – intensify some, eradicate others. It’s one of my strengths.’
I immediately thought back, replaying the time I had spent with him, trying to think about what emotions I’d had.
He seemed to know – or read – how I was feeling.
‘Violet, I only did it to try to help you find control. You’ll learn to do it yourself in time. I meant you no harm.’
I looked at him suspiciously. ‘The other day, at my apartment…’
He looked down. ‘I might have given you a little of my own emotion. In my defence, I didn’t take advantage of the situation, no matter how much I wanted…’ He didn’t finish.
‘And last night?’ I pushed, increasingly agitated by this invasion.
‘I just tried to help you get through
what happened to the girl. Take the edge off.’
My eyebrows shot sky high. Now that I thought about it, I had been coping better than I would have expected considering what I had seen. ‘Is that all?’ I asked, my voice filling with accusation.
‘I’ve been a little…clumsy. I apologise.’ He shrugged through a smile. ‘It can be very difficult to contain myself around you.’
I was angry at being influenced and blushing at his words. I held onto my anger. ‘What about today? Now?’
‘Hardly anything,’ he said, waving a hand through the air as if we were talking about whether he had taken an extra chocolate from the chocolate box. ‘Now that you know, don’t think you can use it as an excuse to deny the very real emotions you feel for me.’ And presto, he was back to being his usual arrogant self. ‘Everything you felt last night and today has come from you. I should know. I’ve felt it.’ His smile widened.
Even though I wanted to die, knowing that he had been able to feel every one of my emotions, he wasn’t going to deter me. ‘How will I ever know if what I feel when I’m around you is real or not?’
His smile faltered and he looked worried. He leaned towards me a little. ‘You’ll be more aware of it now. If you ever caught me doing it, I know you’d never trust me again. I wouldn’t risk that.’
He was right, I wouldn’t. But would he?
My eyes subconsciously found the exit door. Force of habit. But I got the feeling that if I ditched Phoenix right now, he’d only be waiting at my doorstep again when I got home. I ran my hands through my hair. The fact was, I was running low on allies – if I pushed him away as well, where would that leave me?
‘OK, but don’t…’ I warned, trying to quash my flight instinct and muster as much threatening emotion as I could to reinforce my words.
‘I won’t,’ he promised, hands in the air in mock surrender.
The next day, I went back to the alley where Claudia had been killed and left a bunch of sunflowers at the entrance. There were already piles of wilted flowers she would never see and cards she would never read from her friends and family.
‘I’m sorry, Claudia,’ I whispered.
Now that I knew Phoenix had been altering my emotions, it seemed easier to look within and find the sadness and – most of all – the guilt. The sound of her neck… The very last look on her face when she knew what was about to happen. I had seen her blue eyes before they were reefed to the side under a blanket of red hair – I had seen the pure fear.
Before I left, I turned back to look down the empty alley.
‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you,’ I said through the awful lump in my throat and the terrible realisation that this might only be the beginning.
Phoenix called as I was walking home and talked me into having lunch with him. I was tempted to refuse when he told me we were going to ‘our cafe’, which turned out to be Dough to Bread, but he promised to behave after I explained to him that we didn’t have an our anything.
Surprisingly, spending time with him was becoming increasingly easy. Even the senses were less intrusive. They still came and went, but sometimes I seemed to notice them more than others. I wished I could say being with Phoenix filled the void left by Lincoln, but the closeness, the completeness I felt when I was around Lincoln could not be replicated. It was disheartening to consider that the connection I’d felt so strongly may have just been a result of our ‘angel’ components and – even worse – that I may never feel it again. At least with Phoenix it was honest…to a point.
We still hadn’t talked much about what had happened to Claudia. I got the feeling I wasn’t the only one uncomfortable about it. I hadn’t even told Steph everything, just the same story we’d given to the police. There was no way to tell her more without having to explain the whole thing, and I still didn’t seem able to do that.
Phoenix explained that angels in their realm could compel people to say or not say certain things. This was generally against the rules for normal humans, but it seemed I was no longer in that category. He figured this was probably the reason I wasn’t able to share more with Steph or my dad. Apparently it was standard procedure for a still-undecided Grigori.
‘Why are you different?’ I asked Phoenix when our food arrived. I thought back to how he’d told me he wasn’t like an ordinary exile.
‘Just lucky, I guess.’ His sarcastic tone didn’t exactly sound convincing.
I wrapped my hands around my mug of coffee, glad to have the comfort of my old dependable. ‘Why are you so evasive when it comes to talking about yourself?’
He didn’t respond.
‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’
‘Have I proved to you that I’m not here to hurt you?’ he asked through raised eyebrows. Phoenix didn’t drink coffee. He didn’t seem to have any little rituals like me. Everything he did was always so different – and extreme. He would order the strongest-tasting food, the sweetest or the most unusual he could find. Today he was eating a steak sandwich with extra beetroot – because he liked the colour – and a side of gherkins and fresh chilli. I almost wished the same waiter who’d turned his nose up at my breakfast soup and coffee combo were here.
‘Yes. I think so,’ I admitted, crinkling my nose as I watched him eat a small red chilli in one gulp.
‘Then can’t that be enough for now?’ he asked. I watched him as the impact of the chilli hit his system. To my disbelief, only the smallest lift in the corner of his mouth gave it away.
I didn’t think that I would ever accept a relationship that involved secrets again. After everything that had happened with Lincoln, it seemed hypocritical to accept that Phoenix should be allowed to keep the truth about himself a secret. But then again, it’s not like we’d been hanging out for long. I couldn’t expect him to trust me with everything instantly. Not unless I was willing to do the same.
‘Will you tell me one day?’ I asked, suddenly realising I saw Phoenix as a part of my world now, part of my life.
He smiled and I could see he was reading me. I blushed and smacked him on the shoulder.
‘You know, if you were a Grigori, you would pack a lot more punch.’ He laughed aloud and the sound made my heart beat a little faster. Who would’ve known – it still beats after all!
‘One day, Violet,’ he stood and then pulled me up to leave, entwining his fingers with mine and tugging on the tip of my baseball cap, ‘I’ll tell you everything.’
After a couple of days of following me around, I let Phoenix into the apartment. It was no small thing for me to let him into my private space. The only outsiders I had ever invited in before were Steph and Lincoln. But Phoenix’s pestering had worn me down. He seemed so enthralled with me, so interested in me. I knew on some level it was because of the whole Grigori thing, but a lot of the time I was around him, it just felt like hanging out with any other friend.
Phoenix had little regard for my personal space – something that left me rethinking my decision to permit entry on more than one occasion. It took less than a day before he started lounging around in my bedroom, reading my limited selection of books and messing about with everything as if it were his own. I did, however, stand my ground when he tried to follow me into my art studio. No one, not even Dad, came in there. But I couldn’t deny that having Phoenix around made me feel better. I knew it might just be because of his empath abilities, but there was also another reason – I liked him.
I asked him a lot of questions. He gave me a lot of answers too. Not always full answers, of course, and often they only led to more questions, but he tried and asked me questions in return. I answered some and avoided a lot. Every now and then he would try to encourage me to go see Lincoln, saying it was for my own good. I still hadn’t seen or spoken to Lincoln since storming out of his car a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t even know about what had happened to Claudia. I considered, briefly, calling him to tell him, but hadn’t managed to pick up the phone yet. All in all, I had ignored the issue as muc
h as possible… Until today.
It was mid-morning and Phoenix had come over to take me to the movies. We were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast when Dad walked through the door.
‘Hey, Dad. Is everything OK?’ I asked.
‘Morning, sweetheart.’ He kissed me on the head. He smelled of shaving cream and aftershave. He had been loyal to the one brand for as long as I could remember. ‘Just popping in on my way to a client. I left one of the blueprints here last night.’
Dad’s attention drifted to Phoenix and then back to me.
‘Oh, sorry. Dad, this is a friend of mine, Phoenix.’
Dad’s hands froze on the pile of papers he was rifling through as if he had just realised two things: someone else was in the apartment – and that someone else was male.
He straightened and squared his attention to Phoenix. ‘Hello, Phoenix, nice to meet you,’ he said, though the look on his face said otherwise. He was giving him the cautious berth that only a father can.
‘You too, James,’ Phoenix said, barely looking up from the magazine he was casually flipping through at the breakfast bar.
Dad and I shared a brief look before I quickly broke the father-daughter telepathy. Phoenix was the first of my friends to ever call Dad by his first name. Even Lincoln called him Mr Eden, though Dad had told him to call him James. Somehow I didn’t think Dad would have offered the first-name basis to Phoenix had he not just assumed it anyway.
‘Coffee?’ I asked. Diversionary tactic 101.
‘No, thanks, I have to go, but you do remember we have that fundraiser tonight. You’re coming, aren’t you?’
I had actually forgotten. It was a project Dad had been working on for a while. His firm had become a big contributor to a charity group for homeless kids. They designed buildings and houses on a pro bono basis that were built on the outskirts of the city where there was cheap land. Once kids were allocated a home, they then had to work with the building crews to put up the next one. It gave them a home, job, income and purpose. It was a good system.
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