Page 53 of Petrified

“He says there are at least six of him, and all of them are taking over pieces of his life.”

I stare at the speaker while Amand stops typing beside me. “I'm going to need you to repeat that, because I've already decided I heard something significantly less annoying.”

“There are six versions of him,” she repeats. “He says they all believe they're him.”

Amand is already pushing away from his desk before she finishes, and I point at him immediately. “No. Whatever thought just made you stand up, put it back.”

“I have not said anything.”

“You stood up with intent.” I turn toward Rowan and catch him reaching for the empty client folder on the corner of his desk. “And you can put that down too.”

Rowan does not. “Six identical people who all think they're the same person is at least worth hearing.”

“You are both terrible at supporting boundaries.”

The receptionist clears her throat softly over the speaker before adding, “He also says he is a phoenix.”

That shuts me up for approximately three seconds, which is long enough for both of my mates to notice.

A phoenix is rare enough that most of what people know about them comes from badly copied supernatural texts and stories told by somebody who heard them from somebody else. Resurrection is real, obviously, but beyond that the details get inconsistent fast enough that I've never had a reason to memorize any of it.

I press the button again before Rowan can comment on my sudden interest. “Send him in. Apparently these two have decided we're working today.”

The man who walks through the door looks exhausted enough that I almost feel bad for him before he says anything. He looks somewhere in his thirties, though I have no idea whether that means anything for a phoenix, with dark hair, amber-brown eyes, and a faint trace of smoke clinging to him despite the complete lack of anything burned on his clothes.

His magic reaches me before he reaches the chair. Bright, hot, unmistakably supernatural, and phoenix enough that I don't need him to confirm what the receptionist already said.

There is something odd underneath it. The signature is fresher than I expect from someone carrying himself like a man whose life existed long before whatever disaster brought him through our door. I let the thought go almost immediately because I have never met a phoenix before, and deciding how old one should smell after resurrection feels like exactly the kind of confidence that gets investigators embarrassed later.

He drops into the chair across from us and rubs both hands over his face. “I need you to prove that I'm actually me.”

I look at Rowan, who looks at Amand, and Amand calmly reaches for his notebook like the decision has somehow already been made without involving me. “I hate both of you,” I tell them, settling back in my chair anyway because apparently I'm about to hear this.

The phoenix leans forward and drags both hands down his face before he starts. “I died about two months ago. Completely normal death, as far as phoenix deaths go. I burned, resurrected, went home, went back to work, and everything was fine for four days. Then another me showed up at my apartment.”

Amand has already opened his notebook. “Another version who only looks like you, or actually another you?”

“Another me. Same face, fingerprints, memories, magic, blood, identification, passwords, childhood scars, and an extremely strong opinion about which side of the bed belongs to him.” The phoenix rubs at his forehead like listing it all has given him a headache for the thousandth time.

That is considerably worse than somebody using glamour to steal his face. Rowan leans forward beside me. “What happened after he showed up?”

“He moved in.” The phoenix gives us a look before any of us can react. “My landlord cannot evict him because his name is on the lease. My name is on the lease. We are both technically the same tenant because apparently nobody bothered writing rental law for magically identical phoenixes.”

Amand starts taking notes while I seriously consider disappearing before this becomes our problem. Unfortunately, the phoenix keeps going fast enough that I don't get the chance.

“Then another one showed up at my job and convinced human resources that I was the duplicate. A different one accessed my bank accounts because every security question belongs to him too, and another moved in with my ex because he remembers the entire relationship and apparently thinks getting dumped was a clerical error.”

Rowan coughs into his fist, badly disguising a laugh, and I turn my head slowly toward him. The phoenix notices too and points at him. “It’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny,” I admit, mostly because Rowan is trying so hard not to make it worse.

The phoenix narrows his eyes at me. “Wait until somebody else starts sleeping with your boyfriend using your memories.”

I immediately stop finding it funny. Amand’s mouth twitches beside me, so I point at him before he gets any ideas. “Do not.”

The phoenix slumps farther into the chair. “There are six of us now. Maybe seven. I stopped counting after one filed a police report accusing me of identity theft, and the police eventually asked me to leave because none of us could prove which one was supposed to be reporting which.”

I stare at him for several seconds. “One of you reported another one of you for stealing the identity all of you share, and the official solution was to remove whoever happened to be standing closest to the desk?”