Crux

by Julie Reece

  I can lift easily with the power of Alarr, but Grey takes every task off me he can.

  He replaces the shields over my head before running his hands down the length of the wall until they’re on either side of my head, and grins. “You’re my prisoner.”

  “Think so?” He’s cocky, so sure of his power over me. I wish he wasn’t right.

  “Mm-hmm.” He leans down, and his lips graze mine. When I try to turn my face aside, he bends his elbows until his forearms rest against the wall, preventing me. “Kiss me.”

  I shake my head. “We can’t. Jeff said all romance is forbidden between Guardian and Wielder, remember? And we’ve already broken that one or ten too many times.” I keep my tone clipped to try and disguise the weakness he knows I have for him.

  “I remember.” He totally ignores me by lowering his head and placing a kiss beside my mouth, tracing the outline of my lips with his fingers a moment later.

  My chest rises and falls, exaggerated with each breath I take. He pulls my shirt away from my collarbone and presses his lips against my skin, traveling up my neck—torturing me with his touch. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “Mmm. And salty from practice. Kiss me.”

  “Nope.”

  He’s just as stubborn as I am. “Yes. Kiss me.” He nuzzles my ear, grabbing my earlobe in his teeth.

  My eyes roll back in my head, and I gasp. “Grey, please?” My voice raises an octave and I make a last effort. “Kissing … counts as romance.” I think. He nips at my jaw. “It will … cloud our judgment. We should be doing a better job with our focus.”

  He chuckles against my skin. “I like my focus where it is.”

  “Cut it out. What happened to ‘Mr. Straight and Narrow’?”

  “I don’t tend to follow rules where you’re concerned.”

  I’ve noticed. I slip under his arm and head for the soccer chairs. My knees are jelly, making my journey a wobbly one. “Jeff left his clipboard and folders down here. He asked me to run them up to his office when we finished.”

  “So, it’s a no on the kissing thing?” He produces a lazy smile that threatens my pulmonary health as he leans against the wall, arms crossed.

  “Rain check,” I say.

  “December twenty second?”

  “Twelve O one, a.m.”

  • • •

  Full of artifacts and history, Jeff’s office is my favorite room in the house. It’s also the place Grey first admitted he cared for me.

  He stands in front of aged, yellow maps of Scandinavia on the far wall. I set Jeff’s folder down on the desk and peek at the bills strewn across his desk: water, power, cleaning service, decorator. Ah ha. I knew he must have had help making this place so flippin’ awesome. My fingers grip a handle, slide a drawer open, and I peer inside.

  “Bird, what are you doing?”

  I glance up, trying to look innocent. “Nothing?” A girl’s got to use what she can to her advantage, but I’m not a thief.

  He lowers his chin and stares down his nose.

  “Just poking around. I didn’t mean to get snoopy, but I know there’s more to Jeff than he’s told me, so I’m curious. Trying to get a bead on the guy, that’s all.”

  “Well, quit it.” His tone is firm, but his lips curve up.

  Mr. Straight and Narrow’s back with a vengeance. “Okay, sorry. Are you hungry, or would you like to shower first?”

  “Shower, definitely.” His eyebrows wiggle as a smile lights his eyes. “Want to join me?”

  “You’re hilarious.” My voice is purposely frosty with sarcasm. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese if you want. Then I’m going to bed early. We need a good night’s sleep before your concert tomorrow and, you know … it’s going to be a huge night for us in a lot of ways.”

  Grey’s face sobers. “Are you scared?”

  I frown. “Honestly? I’m trying not to think about it too much. You?”

  “Nah, I’ve been on stage lots of times.”

  “Comedian.” He knows darn well I’m talking about after the concert, searching for the Snatcher.

  We’re heading out the door when a picture hanging askew on the far wall catches my eye. I halt, swerve back. “Hang on a sec.”

  Grey ducks back into the doorway while I retreat to straighten the painting. Within the generous walnut frame, the blue-green sea depicts a powerful subject. Two Viking longships face each other. Their high bows end in snarling dragon figureheads. The men aboard appear formidable, dressed in glinting armor, red and yellow hair whipping in the wind. Weapons raised, they look ready to spill the blood of their enemies.

  I shiver as I realize this will be me soon.

  Who am I kidding?

  I push up on the edge of the frame, but the picture won’t budge. “That’s weird.” As I brace the ball of my hand beneath the corner to shove harder, Grey’s footsteps brush the carpet behind me.

  He reaches past my head and grabs hold of either side of the frame. Instead of adjusting level, the frame pops up with a click and swings out toward us.

  A metal strongbox hides in the wall behind the painted battle scene. I’ve heard of home safes but never seen one. With the safe door ajar, I glance over my shoulder at Grey who shrugs. Pulling on the handle reveals a half dozen velvet boxes, I’m betting hold jewelry, and stacks and stacks of cash.

  Grey’s whistle comes out long and low.

  Sitting in the midst of Jeff’s wealth is a dark, leather bound book. One I’ve seen before.

  My chest expands, and I realize I’m holding my breath. “Holy cow!” I slide the volume from the vault and run my hand over its cover.

  “What is it?” Grey’s voice is tight.

  “I’m not sure yet. I’m just hoping really. I had a dream about a book. Well, not a dream—Alarr takes me on these vision thingies sometimes. In the last one, I saw a big honking book, a lot like this one.”

  “Bird, you’re babbling.”

  I am, but I’m distracted, consumed with the question of whether or not this is the book. The one the monks held in my vision. The one with answers.

  “Dang it!” I slide down the wall and sit with the volume open on my lap.

  “What? Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t. We’re screwed. I can’t read this. It’s in some other stupid, freaking language.”

  Grey sits next to me, looming over my shoulder. He carefully turns the fragile pages. “This is Latin, but not all of it, look.” He points to a page of lists, rows of names written in the same hand. “Vestar Norse Shaker, Ulfar Dane Axe—these are names of Vikings, I’ll bet.”

  “You can read that?” I ask.

  “Some of it, yeah. I had four years of Latin in high school, some in college.” He turns the brittle pages slowly, each crackling with age.

  I angle my head, amazed again by the guy. “A Latin geek, too? What can’t you do?”

  He gives a half smile without looking up. “Nothing. Aren’t you glad?” Grey’s fingers turn the page, another, and another. He stops turning. “Here’s your name, Bird, look.” He points to a fancy, intricately penned word mid-page.

  My eyes scan my name. Flicking to the one above, I gasp. My finger joins Grey’s on the paper.

  Jon Orin, killed in battle at Gunnarr Blot, 2002.

  My throat goes dry. A lump forms, and I swallow. My eyes flash to Grey. His widen, and we both bow our heads to the book at the same time.

  My hands tremble. I grip them together to still the movement, but he reaches over, squeezing both of mine in one hand.

  My God in heaven. It never occurred to me that others in my family might have been approached with the same task I’d been given. “So … my dad didn’t die in Afghanistan?” My throat swells. He died in a war, though, to make the world better for Mom and me. Trying to do what I’m trying to do, but he didn’t survive his quest. “Mom lied to me.”

  “I’m so sorry.” We’re quiet a moment before Grey says, “Put yourself in her place, Birdie.” He sets the
book aside and takes my hand. “You were just a kid, and cancer was taking her away. She couldn’t lay all that on a nine year old.”

  “No, I guess not, but why didn’t Jeff tell me?”

  “I can think of a couple reasons.”

  So could I, if I was honest. Knowing my dad failed attempting to fulfill the same quest I’m undertaking is not the kind of head trip someone needs before a fight.

  “Are you okay?” Grey asks.

  “Uh huh. Just in shock, you know? I feel so dumb. I kept thinking of my ancestors as ancient history, mummy dust. I don’t know why I didn’t consider more recent relatives—I just didn’t.”

  “You’re not dumb. You don’t allow yourself to think in terms of family. You keep that part pretty closed off, even from yourself, right?”

  I twist the hair of my ponytail, forcing thoughts of my parents away again as more immediate concerns take their place. “We need to see if this book is the same one from my vision. The men who created the journal knew how to break the curse, so the answer could be in here. I need to find a poem or something like song lyrics. Can you look for me?”

  He nods and picks the book back up, leafing through the worn pages with as much care as he did before. A grandfather clock ticks off the minutes. Paper ruffles. Hearts beat as I watch him. Patience is impossible. I fidget. Bite my nails. Crack my knuckles. Grey’s head comes up—a grimace on his face.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  He smiles and returns to the search. I’m thankful for his help, certain he’s the best Guardian anyone’s ever had.

  Leaning over the ancient tome, a line forms between his eyebrows. His fingers move across the script. “This might be a poem or a story, I don’t know. Listen, ‘Once a man embraceth fear, Is deaf to truth, seductions near …’ It says here he’s caught … he’s bleeding and hurt by what seduced him. ‘Of majesty lost, now dark offender’ … No idea what that means …”

  I do. “Oh my gosh.” Goosebumps cover my skin as I think back to the monks in their dormitory. To the words they prayed, seared in my memory as I was torn from their presence. I grab Grey’s arm and squeeze. “Keep going, keep reading.”

  As his finger traces the page, he reads, “Peace slips away from tortured mind.”

  Huh … looks like he wants to go back in time and undo what he did.

  “Through ageless eons now must show

  A cloaked existence, that of pretender

  His penance for the hated thing

  Repent, the words redemption bring”

  “This says something like … the two become one yada, yada, yada …”

  “Broken bond reformed, melded and done

  As divider now becomes sole mender.”

  Grey rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t see what—”

  “That’s it!” My stomach jumps with excitement. Tingles run down my arms. “Those are the verses the monks read in my vision. The riddle, I get it!”

  “Wha—” Bewilderment colors his voice.

  “Grey!” I say, overwhelmed by our discovery. “I know how to break the curse!” My words exit on a rush. “Well, I think I do. All this time, the Wielders have tried to destroy Alarr—the stone itself. The answer is to do just the opposite. Divider now becomes ‘sole mender’. It’s Thorolf who breaks the curse!”

  The corners of his mouth curve down. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Listen to this part, ‘Is deaf to truth, seductions near.’ Jeff told me the king was seduced by the pagan arts he’d rejected to make Alarr because he feared losing the war. He turned his back on his new religion—his sin divided him from his son and his soul. See here, ‘would that he could turn back time’ shows he would take it back if he could.”

  “Hang on a sec.” Grey holds up his hand. “I’m not trying to be harsh here, but if you’re right, don’t you think Jeff would have figured that out a long time ago? He’s had the book, and he’s beyond obsessed with ending the curse.”

  “No, no. Jeff couldn’t have known about this.” I lift the amulet from my chest. The chain jiggles as I shake the stone. “The visions are only possible with Wielders through Alarr. Jeff knows the monks came up with a plan to protect the amulet but not the ones to destroy it.”

  Grey scratches the shadowy stubble on his chin. “Okay, let’s say for argument’s sake, your theory is right. What about the rest of the poem?”

  “Well, here, ‘Through ageless eons now must show, a cloaked existence, that of pretender.’ Thorlof’s soul is stuck in time, cloaked in some body until the curse is broken—that’s his penance. And ‘repent the words redemption brings’, means repentance mends the rift, uniting father and son. I’m sure this is what the monks were talking about.”

  “What words of redemption?” Grey asks.

  I sink back against the wall, my momentary elation tempered. “I don’t know. Is there anything else in the book?”

  His dark head bends toward the book as he thumbs through numerous pages. I try not to bug him so he can think, but every second that passes kills me.

  When I can’t take it anymore, I say, “Well … ?”

  “The writing is faded, complicated. I don’t recognize a lot of these words, so I’m not sure I’m reading this right. If you’re right about the poem, and from what I’m seeing here, then this is the monk’s solution to destroy Alarr. Since the curse was sworn from the pagan beliefs, it’s got to be countered with a prayer from the king’s new faith in Christianity.” Grey rakes a hand through his hair. “Once the spell is broken, their souls won’t be able to change into other forms anymore, and the spirits of the king and his son will have to move on. The amulet and band are annihilated in the same process. I think.”

  “So our job is to destroy the kings, not the amulet,” I say. “Once they’re six feet under, Thorolf and Haddr will be set free of the curse, and their warriors will follow.” The truth shines as if someone pointed a flashlight at all the dark places in my head. “I get it. Well, I’m pretty sure I get it.”

  Grey nods. “Yeah, I see now, too. You’re brilliant, Birdie.”

  My head slants. I am? That’s a new one.

  “I’m serious,” he says, as though he’s sensing my doubt. “The way you’re figuring all this out is genius. So what do we do now?”

  “The answer didn’t come from me. I’m just following clues from the visions, telling you what I overheard the monks say and letting you do the reading and deciphering.” I take a breath. “Have you ever felt like you know something is right? You don’t understand why or how, but you just … know?”

  “Yes.” A smile spreads across Grey’s face. He puts the book down and touches my face, his fingers running along my jaw, dropping to my throat. “So that’s it. Now we know what to do when the time comes.”

  “Well, no. Not quite. I mean, we still don’t have the words of redemption. We need to talk to Jeff.”

  “We’re closer than we’ve ever been.”

  I smile as our discovery fills me with hope.

  Grey rubs his cheek against mine, his breath tickling my ear. I can’t help the shivers zinging down my spine. “When you look at me like that, my emotions are in danger of ‘clouding my judgment’.”

  I let go with a nervous laugh and scrape my bottom lip with my teeth. Nerves dance inside me like little jolts of electricity. I resist the urge to kiss him again, even though I want to.

  “Do that again,” he murmurs.

  “Do what?”

  He moves and sits in front of me. Our legs tangle as he draws me close. “Bite your lip. It’s hot. Makes me want to go kick some Viking ass. Get this done, so I can kiss that mouth for the rest of my life.”

  On impulse, my teeth press my lower lip before I check myself and return his smile. “Let’s find Jeff.”

  20

  After calling for rain all week, the high today is sixty-two, sunny, clear, and with no wind. Not bad for mid December, and perfect for the concert. Bands start playing at Centennial Park in Midt
own at four and go until midnight. There’s no way we could spare the time to see every act, and Jeff has only agreed to give us from seven to twelve o’clock—five hours.

  Grey and I studied the book all afternoon, exhausting every scenario. Our plan is sound, but I really want to speak to Jeff. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen him since yesterday. It’s unusual for him to disappear, though not unheard of. I need to talk to him about what we found in his office, to see what he thinks of my theory on what Thorolf must do to break the curse.

  I love the idea of travel and wish it was a vacation instead of a Nordic monster mash. While Thorolf Graylock was King of Norway, the battle of Gunnarr Blot was fought in England, so that’s where we’re headed.

  I’ve never been on a plane. I’ve never been anywhere, but we leave in two days for Yorkshire.

  I stand naked before the mirror and try to figure out what Grey sees in me. I curl my arm and make a muscle. Squeezing my bicep, I exhale on a groan and shrug. My hand drops to Alarr at my neck. I never take it off. Its beauty and ornate craftsmanship are stark contrasts to my bruised and battered body. A shudder runs through me as I think of Gunnarr Blot. I’m stronger, more confident than I’ve ever been in my life, but am I enough? If I fail, will I die a hero or a sniveling coward?

  In my bedroom, I skip past the newspaper open on my bed. I can’t help the satisfied smile that parts my lips. An article on page two reports three young men were found mysteriously tied to a tree with confessional notes pinned to them, admitting the beating of old lady Gonzalez and the murder of Daniel Vernon. Not only did Jeff listen to me, but I learned what at least one of his secret errands was about. A sigh escapes me as I acknowledge the other cash recipients are safe.

  If he can catch a few criminals, I can find Shondra and maybe even take down the Snatcher.

  With my silky, black, thermal undergarments—so lightweight they’re like wearing nothing at all—I pull on tight, weatherproof pants and a matching black zip top.

  I step back into the bathroom to apply a light coat of makeup. Just because I’m a ninja, Snatcher killer doesn’t mean I can’t be cute. I slick my hair back, pulling the ponytail through a hole in my ebony ball cap. My fingers tremble as I lace up my soft, leather boots. My reflection suggests bank robber, but I’m the good guy. The clothes may seem intense for a concert, but they are necessary. I’ll blend in fine amongst two thousand cheering fans, and later, the darkness.