Page 25 of Phoenix Chosen 2

“What is this creature?!” he barks. “Tyler, stay down!”

“No, Kalistratos, it’s?—”

The drone zips playfully over our heads, but Kalistratos whips out his hand and sends a rippling ray of heat at it. The little motors let out an anguished whine before it drops to the ground, just a blackened lump of melted plastic. Everyone around us seems unaware that it was Kalistratos’s doing. I guess when you’re not used to seeing real magic, it can easily pass right in front of your eyes. I grab Kalistratos’s arm and quickly drag him away.

“That was atoy, dude,” I tell him. “You killed her toy.”

“Ah, sorry!” he calls back at the girl, who is gathering the charred remains of her drone.

Alright, I think.We need to just get our shit done with and get out of here before Kalistratos draws any more attention to himself.

Bringing him out of the house probably wasn’t the greatest idea, but I was too afraid that if I stepped away from him, hemight disappear into thin air. I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight.

“By the Gods!” he exclaims and disappears from my side.

I spin around to see him making a beeline for the mall’s crown jewel, the multi-tiered decorative fountain at the center of the plaza. He looks so excited as it sprays multiple jets of water high into the air. He’s like an overly stimulated, sugar-fueled kid. It’s adorable as it is funny.

I watch as he sits at the edge of the fountain, admiring the water. Then he opens his soda cup and dips it in.

“Kalistratos, wait, no!!”

I bolt to him and he looks at me just before he’s about to take a big drink.

“What?” he says. “Is this not a free refill?”

“Not unless you wanna be puking your guts out in a few minutes.”

We walk over to an actual drinking fountain, and Kalistratos takes a disappointed glance back at the cascading jets.

“Such a tantalizing spring could be the watering hole of the great Phehassus himself,” he says. “To fill it with foul water is beyond comprehension.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to Earth, where everything’s made up and the points don’t matter.”

Kalistratos immediately forgets about everything else the moment we step into the department store. The blindingwhite display lights, massive glowing advertisements, and soul-penetrating mixture of scents from the makeup and perfume department have short-circuited his brain. Not even sunglasses can protect him from the overstimulation of this place. The giant smiling face of a woman rubbing cream on her cheek stares down at us from a large-screen TV. Kalistratos reacts as he catches his reflection in a dozen mirrors of every size and position all around us. Someone is testing a perfume, and they spritz a sample onto a little tester strip. The mist floats over us, and Kalistratos coughs and covers his face.

“Cheesus. We’re being poisoned.”

Finally, we make it through to the clothing department.

“Probably just get a pair of jeans, some underwear and a couple of shirts,” I say.

“By the Gods… Is it necessary to need so many garments? Here. This looks similar enough to my chiton. Can I not wear this?” He plucks a short orange sun dress with a blue flower pattern off the rack and holds it up to examine. “Hm. It’s a bit small.”

I immediately picture him with it on, the thin fabric riding up high on his buff calves. I snicker.

“I would pay good money to see you strutting around in that thing,” I tell him. “But for the sake of keeping a low profile, we’d better let me pick your clothing.”

I buy him a pack of boxer briefs, then pick out some dark wash Levis and a few basic shirts to try on, and after explaining how to put everything on, I send him to the fitting room. I loiteraround the area outside, absently staring at the endless shelves of jeans. In my pocket is the piece of paper with the mystery symbol drawn on it, along with my chicken phoenix figurine.

The soothing familiarity of my old life here on Earth has a disturbingly strong pull. I can feel it constantly trying to drag me back in. There’s a routine here, a system I can plug back into. It’s easy, it’s simple, it’s safe. Disturbingly, I keep having intrusive thoughts of running off with Kalistratos and dropping off the grid. Just the two of us living our lives out somewhere, never having to think about the Great Phoenix again.

Not going to happen.

I squeeze the figurine tightly. It’s become kind of like a totem for me. Every time I touch it, I remember Circeana. I remember the baby I left behind.

Then, something strange happens. For a moment, I swear to God it feels like the figurine grows warmer in my palm, like a rock that’s been sitting by an open fire. I pull it out of my pocket and look at it. The feeling has gone away. Was it just my imagination? Just the heat of my hand?

Pay attention.

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