Stealing Phoenix

by Joss Stirling

  Yves flinched, not so confident now that he had the answer to everything. He looked to his brother, seeking reassurance.

  ‘I’ve told Vick to get back as soon as possible,’ Xav confirmed. They were using telepathy, keeping me out of the loop.

  ‘Just stop it—how do you think I feel knowing you’re talking behind my back!’ I grabbed a stack of magazines and chucked them at Yves, flipping them like Frisbees.

  ‘Calm down. You’re free of him, Phee, this Seer person. You’re staying with me.’ Batting away the missiles, Yves used a soothing tone that right now only wound me up. This was not the moment for being cool and reasonable!

  ‘Shove that: what about Tony?’ I threw a cushion at him.

  Yves caught it. ‘Tony?’

  ‘My friend! You can’t keep him safe too, can you? If I’m not back by nine then he’ll get so hurt and I promised—I promised him I’d keep my side of the deal. Oh God, oh God.’ Strength giving out, I folded in on myself and hunched in the doorway.

  ‘Xav?’ Yves rushed to me.

  ‘I’m on it.’ Xav placed a warm hand on my back and flooded me with his sedative touch. ‘She’s exhausted and run down, Yves. We’ve got to be very careful with her; she won’t be able to take much more. She’s so strung out, more pressure could make her snap.’

  ‘I’ve got to go back,’ I whispered.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Yves gathered me to his chest and lifted me up. ‘Your Seer might be strong, but three Benedicts far outweigh one Fagin. You, Phoenix Corrigan, are going to go to bed and let us deal with this. When Vick gets here, you tell him where to find this Tony and we’ll sort out something to stop him getting harmed.’

  ‘I think we need Sky and Zed,’ Xav murmured.

  ‘Yeah, let’s see if they can break off their vacation. Mom and Dad too.’ Yves laid me down on a bed, then pulled off my shoes.

  Xav gave a dry chuckle. ‘Why not get the whole tribe here— great idea. Call Trace, Will, and Uri while you are at it.’

  ‘She’s my soulfinder, Xav. Nothing’s too much.’ He covered me with a duvet.

  ‘Yeah, I know, bro. I don’t mean to needle you. Mom and Dad are a good idea. We’re going to have to get to work on some serious paperwork to get her out of here.’

  There they went: sorting my life out as if I had not a grain of sense. They were treating me like someone just checking into a secure ward in a mental hospital. Next they’d be cutting up my food and spoon-feeding me.

  I threw the duvet off. ‘You don’t understand. They’ll work out I’m with you. I can’t stay. Just can’t.’

  Yves pulled the cover back up. ‘Don’t worry about that, Phee. We’ll make sure no one gets to you.’

  They were leaving me no choice, smothering me with well-meant but impossible concern. I couldn’t think past nine o’clock. I’d have to freeze them, but I stood a better chance of getting away if they didn’t think to check on me immediately. They would have to believe I was cooperating.

  I clutched his hand. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I pretended that was good enough. ‘OK, I’ll get some rest.’ I snuggled under the duvet, trying to look the good little girl who didn’t have escape on her brain.

  ‘Thanks.’ Yves pulled the curtains, leaving the room in half-light. ‘Trust us, Phee, we’ll get everything straightened out.’

  Trust? In the Community, I’d learned not to trust anyone.

  The two Benedicts left the room. I counted to three hundred but they didn’t return—they trusted me to rest more than they should. I couldn’t wait any longer as there was the mysterious Vick on his way home: he was one Benedict I had no intention of meeting. Slipping back into my shoes, I tiptoed to the door and eased it open. They were talking in soft voices in the kitchen. Perfect. Creeping to the entrance, I peered round and reached for their mental patterns. Away from the aggravation of my presence, Yves’s had shifted to a calm, more abstract intertwining of greys, greens, and blues like a filigree pattern of ivy on a marble column. His formidable intellect was sorting through options, how to get me a passport and take me with him when he left for the USA, what to do when we got there; he had absolutely no doubt that our future lay together. If only. Xav’s was more volatile, a zany stream of thoughts and images—ski slopes, mountains, a pretty girl at the Globe theatre, all on the backdrop of a rainbow window.

  Go easy, like wriggling into a pair of tight jeans, inch by inch. Take them and … hold.

  My nap on the sofa had restored something like my usual strength. Unaware that they were being set on by a stealth attack, they drifted into freeze mode. I couldn’t risk destroying this delicate balance by rifling their pockets; I went straight for the front door. Yves had left it unbolted so I was able to slip out without further delays.

  And let go … I released my grip on their minds gently, like breathing out; if I was lucky, they would not have even noticed their few seconds of absent-mindedness.

  Trying to look as if I had every reason to be there, I headed for the lift, guessing that the stairs would be nearby. When I triggered the alarm by opening the fire door without a key, my departure would be announced, but I was hoping to have enough of a head start still to beat them down. My plan was to summon the lift on the floors below as I ran past, making sure a lift-car would take ages to get up to the twentieth. They might choose to take my route, but by then I’d be lost in the concrete labyrinth of the Barbican. I was pretty confident that, on home turf like this, I was fairly impossible to outwit.

  As I passed the lift, the doors opened with a chime. A tall man stepped out: sleek suit, long but neat hair tied back, keen grey eyes. This had to be the third brother. I sensed the warning in my gut: a shark had swum out of the weeds among the shoals of little fishes. I fixed a vague smile on my face, thanking my lucky stars that he didn’t know what I looked like.

  ‘Want me to hold the car for you?’ he asked politely, putting his hand in the gap where the doors slid back.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said breezily. ‘Just going to my friend’s.’ I gestured down the hall.

  He moved away, letting the doors slide to, slipping his key into his back pocket. I wondered for a brief mad second if I dared freeze him, but as I didn’t know his strength, I couldn’t risk it. I let him go. I walked purposefully on, eyeing the entrance to the stairwell as I passed. Vick entered the apartment and shut the door.

  Now or never. I ran back and pushed the metal bar to open the fire door, bounding through so quickly that the alarm had barely started ringing when the heavy door crashed closed. The stairwell was an ugly grey space smelling of concrete car parks, very different from the carpeted luxury of the corridor. One floor below, I broke through to the next floor and punched the call button for going down. I could hear the hum as the car Vick had used began to move. I then summoned all the other lifts. Down two more floors and I repeated the delaying tactic. That was all I had time for. The Benedicts wouldn’t waste seconds waiting for lifts when they knew I had left by the stairs; I had only a brief space before they sorted out their plan to recapture me.

  Twenty floors is a heck of a long way. By about eleven I was unable to focus on the treads—they had become almost like an abstract painting of lines—and nearly lost my footing. My concentration wasn’t helped by the sound of pursuit. The Benedicts were not shouting or making a fuss, rather they were relentlessly thudding down the stairs like an army squad on fitness training. Of course, it helps if your buddies also speak telepathically.

  Phee, stop this madness!

  So Yves had decided to try and reach me then. I’d half expected him to have attempted it earlier but I guess he and his brothers were too busy planning how to cut me off. I was banking on them not considering that I knew about the underground car park below level one. While Vick or whoever waited to catch me in the lobby after succeeding in summoning one of the lifts, I was going to be slipping past them a floor below.

  Ground floor. Basement. I pushed the bar
and stumbled over the sill into the dark warren of the car park. Turning sharply left I raced towards the Barbican Centre, knowing I’d be much harder to spot in a crowd than on one of the empty pavements along the traffic-choked roads. The walkways to the arts complex were filling up with people coming to dine at the restaurants before the evening performances began. Flat rectangular ponds reflected the buildings crowding the skyline, water barely ruffled by some optimistic ducks gliding on the surface. I wove in front of one large party of German tourists and slowed to a walk. Running would only draw attention to me. Breath coming in painful gasps, I tried to act normally. I caught a red-dressed lady looking at me curiously as she strolled by arm-in-arm with her husband.

  I gave her a sheepish smile, flapping my hand to cool my cheeks. ‘Have you got the time? I’m worried I’m really late.’

  My rush accounted for, she glanced at her watch. ‘Five- thirty.’

  ‘Thanks. Yeah, I’m late.’ I gave her a parting smile and began to speed walk past the square concrete planters brimming with summer blooms.

  Yves had given me fire-flowers. No one had ever thought to do that for me.

  Phee, tell us where you are, please! We’re not angry with you— we just want to help you.

  I wasn’t going to answer in case he sensed my direction from a stray thought.

  Phee, please! Don’t try this!

  The Barbican Centre lived up to its name, appearing like a modern fortress of brown-grey concrete, so completely miserable that I couldn’t understand how an architect could get away with designing it. Cities were dispiriting enough without the buildings slumping into a deep, untreatable depression. The interior was better: wide foyers for mingling with the marks, discreet corners to check what you’d lifted out of a handbag— it was very well organized for those in my profession. I’d overheard the visitors remarking that the theatres and concert halls were excellent but that wasn’t the kind of place people like me got to see. For us, all the drama happened offstage.

  Phee, don’t give up on us before we’ve even had a chance! Yves’s pleas were becoming more desperate.

  I followed a sign down a flight of stairs to the Ladies and ducked inside. A cheap retreat perhaps, but I doubted they would break in unless they were sure where I was. Standing at the sink I gazed at my reflection. A wild-eyed frump stared back. I needed a serious make-over if I wasn’t going to turn heads for the wrong reasons. I’d abandoned my bag at the Benedicts’ flat so had to do my best with soap, handtowels, and my fingers. I smoothed my hair down and splashed my face. I then remembered I had a stub of eyeliner and a tube of lip gloss—one of the advantages of frumpy clothes is capacious, line-destroying pockets. With a dab of make-up, I began to look more myself. Then, retreating into one of the cubicles, I unzipped my skirt and wriggled out, to reveal my shorts underneath. I unbuttoned my white shirt and reknotted it under my breasts. I felt like one of those circus ‘quick change’ acts—ta-dah, no more Wimpy Wendy, now we have Slinky Phee rising from the ashes. I rolled the skirt up and tucked it under my arm, planning to swipe the first plastic bag I saw to put it in.

  Checking my appearance for a final time in the mirror, I was pleased with my transformation. A couple of elderly ladies came in and frowned disapprovingly at my display of midriff. Yep, I’d got it right.

  Phee, we know you’re in the Barbican Centre.

  How did they know? Or were they just guessing and hoping to catch me out? These questions mingled with my doubts as my brain went into spin cycle. Was I doing the right thing running like this? Did I have another choice? Leaving my soul-finder, even if it was for his benefit in the long term, felt like sawing off my own arm.

  Look, cut messing us around and meet us. I’m standing by the shop on the ground floor.

  Yeah, yeah, and his brothers were staking out the other exits. I wasn’t born yesterday.

  Do you want me to beg? He was getting angry with me—I couldn’t blame him. I had hit him where he was vulnerable, striking at his confidence dealing with girls, and I was sorry for it. He was perfect as he was and didn’t need to be shy. But he couldn’t be mine. Can’t you just give me one little chance?

  Sorry, no can do. Not in my world. His only chance was to keep away from me so my life did not infect his.

  I took a final look at myself in the mirror. I could do this. Leaving the Ladies to head straight for the exit on the lower ground floor, I sent a final wish.

  Be happy, Yves.

  Big mistake. I stopped in my tracks. Yves was standing with his arms folded, his brothers either side, directly opposite the Ladies. He had tricked me into thinking him upstairs.

  Nice. Like the new look. He didn’t sound as if he liked it one tiny bit. He sounded fit to be tied down and given a dose of sedatives.

  How did you find me?

  Unique energy signature, remember?

  I took a quick survey of my options. Back up and wait them out—but no they’d just come in after me. Go with them, and let the Seer hurt Tony tonight and then them when he came for me. Use my power on them—too many people and they would know to resist. A fourth option—make a fuss. They couldn’t haul a girl from a public place if I kicked up enough noise. Though I hated drawing attention to myself it sounded a pretty good moment to learn.

  Don’t even think about it or Vick will have to do his thing on you, warned Yves, who must have read my intentions from my furtive glances around the foyer.

  Then a fifth option arrived, one none of us had anticipated. Unicorn and Dragon walked swiftly up from behind the Benedicts and passed them before they knew it.

  ‘Phee, great to see you!’ Unicorn said with false friendliness. ‘I thought we’d be late for the concert. Come along.’ He hooked my arm on one side, Dragon on the other.

  Now it had come, I wasn’t sure I wanted this rescue.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Yves made to intervene, but Vick held him back with a speaking look. A brawl in the Barbican was not a good outcome for any of us.

  ‘We’re her brothers.’ Unicorn squeezed my arm painfully. ‘You won’t see her again. Sorry if her light-fingered ways bothered you. She’ll be punished for it.’ So Unicorn thought this was about a steal that had gone wrong. That made sense: why else would the three Americans be chasing me through the Barbican. He whipped the skirt from under my arm and shook it out. ‘She’s not got the stuff on her so I suggest you check the Ladies. She’s probably stashed it there.’

  Dragon wrenched my arm behind my back. ‘Say goodbye to your friends, Phee. Sadly she can’t stay to play.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Go on, say it!’

  ‘Bye.’ God, I was so tired of bullying men.

  The gold bracelet around Dragon’s wrist began to glow with heat. ‘What the—!’ He let go of my arm and shook the band off. It melted into a flat disc on the tile.

  Yves gave him a challenging look. ‘No one hurts Phee.’

  Wrong. They did all the time. But Yves had made a mistake and revealed that he was a Savant, which propelled this confrontation into a new dimension. Dragon sent an arrow of a look at the metal and glass sculpture hanging overhead a little way behind the Benedicts. With a rattle of bolts coming loose, it fell diagonally towards them as he pulled it with his power.

  ‘Yves!’ I screamed.

  The three Benedicts threw themselves out of its path as it smashed to the floor, losing shape like a beached jellyfish, a mess of splinters and wire. The resulting commotion of screams and officials running to the site of the incident allowed us to slip away. Unicorn and Dragon shot out of the entrance onto the underground street before the Benedicts had time to recover their feet. At Unicorn’s hail, a taxi peeled from the rank and stopped to let us get in. I felt the urge to laugh crazily— my second ride in the back of a cab, so fast on the heels of my first. Boy, was I living it up.

  Yves, are you OK? I had to know.

  Yes, just a few cuts. He sounded relieved that I cared. But, Phee, are you OK? Who are those
men?

  My brothers, maybe. I hunched in a corner, head against the window as the taxi pulled away. Goodbye, Yves. It would’ve been nice to know you. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.

  There was no need to be told that I was in dire trouble. Dragon and Unicorn chose not to mention it before the taxi driver but they were seething. Some of their reaction might have been down to post-battle adrenalin, but I knew that I had added insult to injury when I had warned the Benedicts, spoiling Dragon’s attack. The Community were supposed to stick by each other; I’d made my split loyalties all too clear. I could only hope they would not make too much of the fact that Yves had known my name and stepped forward to defend me. I dreaded to think what they would do with the knowledge that I had discovered my soulfinder.

  The electronic clock on the taxi dashboard showed that it was still only six when we got out a street away from our temporary home. So early? I’d lived through so much today that I felt it had to be at least midnight. I shivered, horribly cold in my shorts. Unicorn had managed to drop my skirt during the scuffle—no loss to fashion but I’d had a few things in the pockets I would’ve liked to keep. Then again, the missing skirt was the smallest of my problems at the moment.

  A sheet of newspaper tumbled-turned down the alley and wrapped itself around my legs. I kicked it away. ‘Do I go back to my room?’ I asked, not really expecting a reprieve.

  ‘You’re joking?’ mocked Unicorn. These were the first words we’d exchanged since getting in the taxi.

  ‘Oh, Phee, Phee,’ Dragon took hold of my arm again, ‘why did you do it?’

  I wondered what exactly he meant. Get caught? Shout my warning? Fail in my mission?

  ‘After talking to you last night, the Seer knew something strange was going on. He sent us to keep watch on you and it was as well we did.’ Anger made the tendons on his neck bulge as he clenched his jaw. ‘You spent five hours in our enemies’ company.’