Red Phoenix

do. I have never seen a mortal do that in my entire history. I had a close look at her and she is an ordinary human. There is something going on here, and I would dearly like to know what it is.’
    ‘I’d like to know as well,’ I said. ‘I don’t feel different. I didn’t even know I wasn’t supposed to be able to do it. It just happened.’ My throat tightened. ‘I don’t want to be a monster. I want to care for all of you. I want to make sure that Simone is safe.’
    ‘That explains it,’ Leo said with satisfaction. ‘Explains what?’ I said.
    Leo pointed at John. ‘He is incredibly cold-blooded sometimes. Look at him: he was just talking about leaving his family as if he was discussing a shopping list. It’s not because he’s a reptile, it’s because he’s an Immortal.’
    ‘Say the word, Leo,’ John said without smiling.
    ‘Oh, all right. Turtle ,’ Leo said. ‘You see? Coldblooded. You somehow get, I dunno…’ He searched for the word. ‘ Detached from the world or something. And now you’re getting like that too, Emma. You’re getting dark, like him.’ He turned back to John and spoke with conviction. ‘Emma will be Immortal without your help.’
    ‘Could be,’ John said.
    Leo quickly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a huge hug. ‘That’s great ! I am so goddamn glad for you two. This is wonderful.’
    I held him and buried my head in his chest. ‘Leo,’ I said, muffled by his shirt, ‘you are the most wonderful man it has ever been my privilege to meet. If anybody deserves Immortality, it’s you.’
    Leo pulled back to smile into my face. He ruffled my hair affectionately, making me giggle. ‘You go, girl. Do it. Then you’ll be here for sure when he comes back.’ He pulled me back in and hugged me so tight he just about killed me. ‘This is great.’
    ‘Leo, you’re in serious danger of cracking my ribs,’ I said into his chest.
    He released me and put his hands on my arms with a huge, honest grin on his face. ‘Damn, but you have just made my day. You should have told me before, my Lord. This is the best news in the world.’
    John spread his hands. ‘We shall see when we shall see.’
    It was our second-last day in Paris. John was with Kwan Yin, replenishing his energy levels, and Leo, Michael and I were sightseeing with Simone. The driver dropped us outside the Madeleine when we’d finished in the Luxembourg Gardens. We proceeded towards the Place de la Concorde; Simone wanted to see the obelisk again.
    Afterwards, as we walked along the narrow treelined Rue du Faubourg St Honoré, I heard someone call my name. I turned, but didn’t see anyone.
    ‘Over here,’ called a female voice with an Australian accent.
    ‘Why are they dressed like that?’ Simone said.
    It was a group of six Muslim women, all wearing traditional dress: long straight skirts, long-sleeved large tops, and veiled faces, only their eyes showing. Three burly male bodyguards holding a large number of glossy shopping bags escorted them.
    ‘Emma!’ one of the women shouted again. She waved, then dashed across the narrow busy street to us. One of the bodyguards quickly followed her.
    It was Louise.
    ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ I said. ‘Does the Tiger make you?’
    ‘No.’ She giggled and pulled the veil from her face. She looked exactly the same: blonde, bony and full of mischief, but I’d never seen her wear quite so much make-up before. ‘We choose to do it ourselves. Isn’t it fun ?’ She looked around at us. ‘And here’s little Simone. Remember me?’ She crouched in front of Simone. ‘I hope I have a little girl just like you.’
    ‘You’re pregnant?’ I said.
    She rose. ‘Not yet. Won’t take long though—I see him nearly every second or third week. Apparently I’ma big favourite.’ She shoved me playfully on the arm. ‘God, Emma, this is so much fun! ’
    One of the women in the group across the road called out with an English accent, ‘Come on, Louise, Chanel will close soon.’
    ‘I’ll be right there,’ Louise called over her shoulder. ‘You go on. Josh can bring me.’
    ‘Okay,’ said another woman with an Indian accent. ‘Hurry up.’
    The bodyguard with Louise was a half-Chinese in his late twenties or early thirties, with very light brown hair.
    ‘Are you a son of the Tiger?’ I asked him. He didn’t smile. ‘I’m number Two Seven Nine.’ He studied Michael. ‘Are you Three One Five?’ ‘My name is