Phoenix Found (Brothers of Fire #5)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Climbing up to the roof with tea and a tub of hearts hadn’t been on Perrin’s to-do list. They’d thrown on a couple of worker’s coats that hung near the cold store not far from the kitchen and then taken the stairs up.

“This end of the castle is mostly staff quarters, kitchen, laundry, and other behind-the-scenes stuff. I grew up running these corridors with the other kids who lived here.”

“Are there many?”

“Ouais. The staff live on site. Kids go to a nearby school. The phoenixes go there too until high school, then they go to a French boarding school.” He remembered the last summer before Kaine had been sent away. It had felt like losing an older brother. Perrin unlocked the door. If he was unlocking it, it meant they’d be the only ones there. “The roof gets more use in summer, sometimes as a make-out spot.”

He swung open the door, glad for the jacket as the icy wind slapped his cheeks. He glanced back. “I promise there is a sheltered spot.”

“The make-out spot, I’m guessing? ”

“You’d be correct.”

They ducked around the corner to the bench where a solid chimney formed a windbreak on one side, and a more modern equipment box—though ‘box’ was the wrong word as it was the size of a small room—blocked a second side.

Then they were out of the wind and the city spread out before them. He placed the tub of hearts on the bench, still not sure how to eat them politely, but Oliver had insisted he bring his food, too.

“One of the best views.” Perrin took a drink, knowing the tea wouldn’t stay hot for long. “I used to think I could see France and Switzerland from here.”

“You can’t?”

“France is behind us, and there’s a mountain in the way. And Switzerland is that way. Technically, you can see it, but there isn’t much to see.” He turned. “Over that way are the airport and lakes. You can just make out the lights on the control tower.”

Oliver followed Perrin’s arm and peered into the darkness.

Perrin walked over to the edge of the roof and leaned against the railing; the wind ruffled his hair. His home. His prison. He had a complicated relationship with the castle.

Oliver came to stand next to him. He unwrapped his roll and bit into it. The smell of the toasted bread and melted cheese always made him hungry, even though cheese—or any kind of dairy—was a mistake. As was bread. He often passed off his odd food habits as allergies and intolerances. He’d go out with friends and not each much. He loved chicken wings, though crunching through the bones was not socially acceptable around humans. At least in the castle, he didn’t have to pretend much.

As Oliver ate, their arms brushed together. Perrin could’ve stepped away, but he didn’t want to. He was enjoying the fleeting contact and the way Oliver kept glancing at him. He wasn’t sure why he’d offered to show Oliver this spot. It wasn’t as though they could be friends.

Phoenixes didn’t roll around in refuse piles with ghouls. Ghouls were only good at cleaning up messes. And that is what his family had done originally.

Even though things had changed, that didn’t mean much when most paranormals liked to forget people like him existed.

Oliver’s poorly hidden glances would end the moment he learned the truth, which is why this was such a bad idea. But Oliver clearly needed a friend. Not a brother, or a teacher…

Perrin glanced at him. “You aren’t thinking of flying away, are you?”

“And where would I go? I do not exist on paper.”

“That’s a problem, though I’m sure Monsieur will have that taken care of.”

“Monsieur?”

“Monsieur le Prince de Chateau Astre, de Mont de Leucoy,” Perrin said, though Oliver’s expression remained confused. Perrin tried again with his much more informal title: “Monsieur Dalmon Vecker.”

Oliver’s dark eyebrows unknotted. “Right. Dalmon didn’t tell me his title.”

“Because you don’t need to use it. You’re family.” Perrin swallowed the last mouthful of tea and dropped the mug into an oversized pocket.

Oliver stared at the roll in his hand. “I don’t feel like family.” He sighed and stared up at the sky, his long dark hair slipping out of the coat to dance across his face. He brushed the strand back. “I should be grateful, but…but I wasn’t aware anything was wrong with my life. And now…” the hair escaped, and he swept the disobedient strand back again. “It’s a lot.”

He took a bite and got a mouthful of hair .

“Let me.” Perrin reached forward to sweep back the strand of hair.

Oliver flinched.

Perrin froze. That was not the first time. “I was only…”

“It’s okay.” Oliver watched him as if not sure what to do while more of his hair slipped free, spilling like ink over his shoulders. “I’m not used to… Only the witches who bled off my magic touched me.”

And how had they touched him? No wonder he pulled away.

“You’re thinking the worst. I can see it in your eyes, and I’ve been asked many times by others.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes. Can you please corral my hair before I end up with another mouthful?”

Perrin moved behind him and gathered up all his hair. It was thick and silky, and he wanted to run his fingers through it to untangle the knotted strands. Instead, he braided Oliver’s hair before tucking the braid into the back of the coat. Where it had a chance of staying put. Not that he minded playing with Oliver’s hair.

“What was your life like, as I’ve talked about mine?” He let his touch linger on Oliver’s shoulder as he returned to standing next to him before letting his hand fall away.

“Until I was fifteen, I thought it was normal. I had parents and a tutor. I never saw other kids. But I was told that was because I was special, and they wouldn’t understand. And then my magic started to flare up. One day, I killed them. Or I thought I did. Then it was magic dampeners and living in fear of the Coven finding me.” He shrugged. “It’s weird, but I felt safe, and I always had books to read and games to play.”

“It sounds as though they took care of you.” Oliver had been a valuable source of power. A glorified pet.

“They did, but only because they wanted my magic. Did they look after me in my last life? Or the one before? Or did they torture me?” Oliver frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know anything.”

“That’s not true. You know that the people who raised you did so with kindness, which is more than some people get.”

“True. Did you want to sit so you can eat?”

Not really, because how did he explain a tub of chicken hearts? “Sure.”

They returned to the bench, and Perrin sat with the tub in his lap.

“Whatever is in there, you either don’t want to share, or you’re embarrassed about liking it.” Oliver bumped his knee against Perrin’s.

“The latter.” Oliver would only have to ask his brothers what he was, and even if they didn’t know him by name, Oliver had enough information to identify him.

“Is it snails? Do you eat them here?”

Perrin made a gagging noise. “Gross, but Dad can make you some if you want to try them.”

Oliver pulled a face. “Probably not. So what is it?”

Perrin lifted the lid, expecting Oliver to pull his leg away and jerk back in horror. “Chicken hearts.”

“Oh…is that all? My father, I mean the man who raised me, liked kidneys on toast.”

Perrin gave him a small smile. “I doubt they were raw kidneys.”

“Err, no. Are they raw?”

Perrin picked one up, which was harder without claws, but he wasn’t ready to share everything. “Yes.”

He put it in his mouth and gave it a couple of chews before swallowing, aware that this little interlude was over. Maybe his father was right, and he needed to find himself a nice ghoul. A guy, not a woman. If that were possible. There had to be a solution that satisfied everyone.

Oliver stared, but not with repulsion.

Weird, but okay. Perrin had expected him to edge away.

“And you’re not a snake shifter?”

It was so tempting to keep lying. “No.”

Oliver’s eyebrows drew together. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“Because in the same way that some people don’t like gay people, some paranormals don’t like my kind.” Might as well get everything out.

“Oh.” He ate the last bit of his roll and chewed.

His thigh rested against Perrin’s, and Perrin wasn’t sure what to make of it. Though he knew what he wanted to make of it, and it wasn’t a hook-up facilitated by a hole in the wall.

“Are you going to make me beg?”

Perrin blinked. “Pardon?”

“I really want to know what you are.”

For a heartbeat, Perrin was very tempted to hear Oliver beg to extend the moment before the truth came out.

Oliver turned to face him, mistaking his silence. “Please, will you tell me what kind of paranormal you are? I am desperately curious.”

His gray eyes were bright, and he was smiling. Perrin wanted to remember that look, not the expression that would follow. He glanced down at the tub of hearts. “I’m a ghoul.”

“I have no idea what that is.” Oliver picked up his mug of what had to be cold tea and took a drink without heating it. “Are you like the ghouls in fantasy books? No…” He shook his head. “You look human.”

Perrin risked a glance up. “I have no idea what books you’ve read. We are scavengers who can eat entire corpses, bones and all. ”

Oliver's eyes widened. “In one bite?”

“No.” Perrin frowned. “And I can’t eat a whole corpse on my own.”

“Not even a whole chicken?”

Perrin’s lips twitched in a smile. “Only if it’s already been plucked.”

He was rather too accustomed to having his meat already skinned and gutted. His father believed he was soft because he wasn’t out crunching through whatever corpse he found. He wasn’t searching for corpses at all. And he couldn’t imagine anything worse than scavenging through discarded organs and body parts at the hospital.

“So why don’t other paranormals like your kind?”

Perrin shrugged. “Fear, I guess.”

“You don’t seem scary.” Another little leg nudge.

“I don’t feel scary either.” And he didn’t want Oliver to ask how he ate. Because then he’d want to watch. And he really didn’t want to do that because then Oliver would say that he was, in fact, quite scary. “What books do you like to read?”

“Anything…” His dark eyebrows knitted together. “I was given fantasy books, mostly. Always fiction. I guess I read what they deemed suitable. I never saw the news or anything like that.”

Perrin stared at him. “Did you watch TV?”

“No. I had music, though.”

“Let me guess—nothing current?”

“I don’t know. I have so many gaps. Not only in my knowledge of the paranormal community but in everything.” Oliver turned to face him, his leg on the bench between them.

Perrin didn’t need to be paranormal to sense the change in the air. A static grew between them as Oliver studied him. His teeth pressed against his lip as if he had a burning question he was trying to hold in. Perrin was very aware that while he was the one holding a plastic tub of raw chicken hearts, it was Oliver who looked hungry.

“It was through those fantasy books that I learned about relationships and what goes on.”

Perrin swallowed and gripped the tub a little tighter. This was a very dangerous path, and he knew exactly where it led. But that wasn’t enough to stop him from skipping along and ignoring all the warning signs. “Such as?”

“Are you going to make me beg for this as well?”

“I’m not sure what you want.” That was a lie because even though they were sitting out on the roof in the cold, Perrin’s blood ran hot. And while he wanted to blame it on sitting next to a phoenix, that wasn’t the whole truth. It was the way the phoenix looked at him.

The same way Perrin looked at chicken hearts.

Like an irresistible treat that needed to be tasted.

“I’m twenty-six, and I have never kissed anyone.”