Crux

by Julie Reece

  The bed beckons, and I lie down on the lumpy, red comforter, curling into a ball. Tears slip from my eyes as I think of Jeff and his goofy ways. How I let him down losing Alarr.

  He’ll need a new Wielder. I hope the next one fares better than I did.

  Despite my failure, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Saving the girls in the van alone was worth every risk.

  I wonder if Fenris survived, if the girls in the warehouse got away.

  And Grey.

  What am I without him? My heart is burnt out, void, like the cold remnant left after a supernova. What hurts most is wondering how things went down after those elevator doors closed.

  Will I ever know?

  Pushing every other thought from my mind, I think only about survival.

  Come on, Bird, you can do this.

  At some point, someone will come through that door, and you better have a plan. Plans escape me, however, as fatigue replaces coherent thought. Within minutes, I crash.

  • • •

  The jiggle of the door’s handle startles me awake, but my body won’t move as fast as I order it to. Sven enters in his black trench coat and boots. He shuts the door, but before it closes, I glimpse two more of his thugs standing guard outside my room.

  There’s no way I can take them on without Alarr, so I’ll have to wait for my chance.

  He takes a seat in the ugly chair. Dishwater blond hair hangs in waves over his forehead, partially obscuring watery, blue eyes. Broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist. He eases back in his seat as though he hasn’t a care in the world, his expression aloof, even pleasant, but his eyes hard as slate. “So, Ms. Strongwing, we meet at last.”

  Strongwing? I remember he used that name in the warehouse. “How do you know my name?”

  “I don’t. I know your heritage. We share a long history, Orn Strongwing. What name do you go by?”

  The inside of my head fizzes like a soda can that’s been shaken. I’m trying to make sense of his words, but the threads of the different lives I’ve led tangle like yarn. Rebecca, Strongwing, Orin, Orn … sheeze. What is my name? “I can’t see how it matters, but you can call me Bird. Is there any point in asking who you are or how you know about me?”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide.” He shifts in his chair and crosses his legs. “I am known by many names. Some have changed through the ages, others stay the same.”

  “Well, that clears it right up, thanks.”

  He actually smiles. “The underbellies of Atlanta call me Sir, but I believe I’m known among the guttersnipe as ‘Snatcher’.” He takes a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lights up. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Yes, I do.” I narrow my eyes at him. “They won’t call you anything, anymore, pal. We finished your nasty little escort service last night.”

  His smile widens as he shakes his bangs from his eyes. “Such arrogance, I like that. You remind me of … me.” He raises his manicured nails toward his face. “You still don’t get it, do you? Perhaps I overestimated your intelligence. My life begins again in a few days, as it does every ten years at Gunnarr Blot when I defeat my father. Then I assume a new form—copy an image worthy of me. Do you like this one? Most women do. Allow me to introduce myself … I am King Haddr Bearbane, son of Thorolf Greylock.”

  The can in my head stops shaking. The tab is pulled, and the contents spew everywhere. The man in front of me is not Sven from some make-believe movie. He is both the Snatcher and Haddr Bearbane.

  What have I done?

  I root through the foam in my brain and land on one inescapable fact. If I had waited to defeat Haddr at Gunnarr Blot, I would have destroyed him and the Snatcher in one fell swoop.

  I curl my fists until my nails bite into the flesh of my palms. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I swallow.

  “Thorolf wears the image of another,” Haddr says. “The same way I do. You would know him as the one who trained you.”

  “Wait a minute … Jeff? Are you trying to say King Thorolf is your dad and Jeff? My Jeff? Aw, man.” I wince as my shoulders slump. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Jeff.” Haddr ignores my question, quirks a brow.

  “Jeff Branner,” I say. “A teacher I knew in school.”

  His lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. “Yes, most amusing. You’re funny aren’t you? Well, I am subject to the same rules of my curse as everyone else. All must appear on the battleground on the twenty-first of December, winter solstice. We will travel together to Moorgaurd Bridge, and I will face dear old dad once again. Only this time, the Wielder—you—will not fight.”

  “Like hell I won’t.” I don’t know where the heck Moorgaurd Bridge is, but I assume it’s the site of Gunnarr Blot. Though I know without Alarr, I’m weak—useless to Jeff.

  Oh, Jeff, why didn’t you tell me who you were?

  I cock my head. “It’s a little convenient isn’t it? You just show up here, now, right before the battle like—”

  “Not so much as you’d think. Remember, I’ve been through this a time or two, and it’s actually my father who followed me here this time. We’re drawn together as the anniversary nears every decade. Though I like to keep a low profile, I can’t just sit around and ‘be dead’.”

  He smiles and re-crosses his legs. Full lips pull another long drag off his cigarette. His exhale fills the room with the heavy scent of clove.

  He stares into my eyes. “My time spent with Vlad—more commonly known as Dracula—was interesting. He got a little too much enjoyment from his work. I moved on. Max Robespierre was fun for a while, but his speeches were dry, and he never shut up. Stalin, Zedong, tiresome blowhards. I smuggled whiskey and heroin with Lucky Luciano. Loved that guy.” He laughs. “Good times. I practically destroyed Mexico with the help of Diaz and was a gunrunner in Kenya and Pakistan until I got bored there, too.”

  Another puff of tobacco stops his speech. The type of being I’m dealing with fully penetrates my brain. He’s a demon, a devil. I’m sure the parameters of the curse are the only reason I’m still breathing. There’s nothing good in him to appeal to, so there’s nothing left to lose.

  “I’ll never stop fighting.”

  Haddr holds up a hand to stifle a yawn. “Sure, sure. I’ll make a deal with you. Consider very carefully what I’m about to offer, because I’ll only say this once. On the one hand, you have no choice. You will travel to Europe and face the destiny of your forefathers. You’ve given your word, sealing the bond with Alarr. No one can alter that path now, not even me. But your Guardian …”

  My shoulders tense, I’m ready for the other shoe to drop.

  “… he could survive all of this quite unscathed.” Haddr rubs his jaw. “If you don’t try to escape and agree to accompany me to England where I can keep tabs on you. If you go peaceably … I won’t have my men hunt your boy down and put a bullet in his brain. I’m bound by my word. Even if he appears on the battlefield, I won’t kill him.”

  “Are you freaking insane? I’m supposed to just believe you, I suppose?”

  “What are your options? If you run, I’ll only catch you, but what an imposition for me.” With an expression so bland, so void of emotion, he looks as though he might die of boredom. He seems weary of his own game, of the slightest inconvenience and, I hope, overconfident.

  Haddr snuffs his cigarette out on his hand and lights another. “Do you believe anything would stop me from making sure your little Guardian dies for no more than spite at your defiance?”

  That he will shoot Grey out of petty revenge and pride I believe one hundred percent. Haddr lifts his chin as if he already knows I’ll agree. I want to lunge at him, slap that stupid, superior smile from his face, but what good would it do?

  “Your answer, Ms. Strongwing, do you agree?” He draws on his cigarette with those smug, smiling lips. The tobacco burns red.

  “Fine.” But watch your back, dude.

  “Very good. Very good indeed.” He eyes me up and down
as if I’m dessert. “Even with your face in such a state, I can see you are quite lovely. I’m used to certain … standards. You will look good traveling on my arm, as part of my entourage.”

  His words make me want to hurl.

  “You may find I am not the monster you imagine.”

  “Oh, no,” I say. “I bet you’re a real prince.”

  “King, actually,” he says with a slow grin.

  • • •

  Atlanta to Newark. Newark to Glasgow. Glasgow and we’re back in the air again. Fake passports and I.D.’s were apparently nothing for a phantom crime boss to obtain. Twenty-five hours worth of air flight and layovers, and I find myself in Leeds Bradford International Airport.

  He and I travel alone. Hired goons can’t help him at Gummer Blot, and he doesn’t see me as a threat, just someone to keep an eye on. His arrogance has no limits.

  Nothing happens as I’d envisioned. It’s my first time anywhere and instead of sharing the experience with Grey as I’d imagined, I’m stuck with a narcissistic madman who wants to rule or torture the whole word. I’m not sure which—maybe both. I don’t think he knows, either. I’ve never met anyone so consumed by jealousy and hate, and I pity Jeff for the son he can’t save.

  Tired and hungry, I hurt both in body and spirit, but there’s no point complaining. Haddr informs me we still have a thirty-minute drive to the Town of Moorgaurd Bridge, so while he’s gone to rent a car, I sit in a chair near baggage claim and rest. Escape is a non-issue. As long as there’s a chance to save Grey, I won’t risk his life by running.

  My heart aches at the possibility Haddr lied and he’s already dead, so I push the thought aside.

  If Fenris and Grey had survived, would Jeff still bring them here?

  My mind drifts back to the night Grey and I found the monk’s book. Working so hard, deciphering Latin words to ferret out every clue for the coming battle.

  “Something interesting just occurred to me,” I’d said looking up from a stack of papers. “For our plan to really work, I think we’ll have to touch each other.”

  “I like it already.” Grey gave me a wolf smile, and my heart threatened to stop.

  “Hold up, that’s not what I mean. They said something about physical touch, the monks I mean. They held hands when they prayed. Jeff told me when Haddr cursed his father, he took hold of Alarr and his father’s hand. He screamed his curse to the skies. Out loud … get it?”

  Grey scrunched his forehead. “No. Yeah, I think so … or not.”

  “I’m guessing the curse has to be undone the same way. For good measure, you and the band, me and Alarr, Thorolf, Haddr … we all have to get cozy. Hold hands and sing some Viking Kumbaya.” Ha. That’ll be easy. “Then ole ‘Hagar the Horrible’ says the magic words and … poof!”

  “What words, though?” Grey scanned the book’s pages. “There’s nothing else in here, no more poetry or songs, just a short prayer.”

  “Hmm.” We sat quietly, perusing the book again.

  Prayer, prayer … “Prayer?” I squeaked, all girly and excited. “The monks in my dream prayed, too. I never thought a thing about it. That’s it, oh, it has to be. Keep reading!”

  He bent his head and said, “nos toti mali paenitemus. nos complectimur quod sit Sancti.”

  I squeezed my hands together in my lap. “Uh, in English please?”

  “We repent of all evil. We embrace what is Holy …”

  The words nudged something familiar in my memory. I closed my eyes, concentrated. Alarr reacted, freezing my skin, and I knew I was on the right track. As the verses came back to me, I joined with Grey and recited the rest with him as he read. “Return to life’s natural order, find no dwelling place here. Go to your eternal rest; be at peace.”

  “How do you know these words, Bird?” His voice matched his expression of amazement.

  I tapped the book with my finger. “I heard them in the same dream—the night the monks talked about this book. They prayed those words as I left them. Alarr must have burned the verses into my memory. By the way, impressive reading, Mr. Latin guru. It’s mysterious and kind of awesome when you say stuff in Latin.”

  He smiled but it faded as his eyes clouded. “Do you believe it, though? Do you believe in one all-powerful prayer to remove the curse?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I do. Who would have believed any of this? We can move water, shoot fire. A lot of bad stuff has happened to me in my life. Weird stuff, too, but even more that’s good. If God wasn’t looking out for me, I’d be dead.” I smacked the tabletop. “This is the answer, I’m sure.”

  A voice over the airport intercom snaps me back to the present. If Grey escaped, was he able to tell Jeff our theories on ending the curse? How can that even happen when Haddr holds Alarr? The thought of seeing Jeff and Grey spurs me on, but his band is useless while Alarr is not in my possession.

  I lean over in my seat and pain radiates through my neck and shoulders. Since our attack on Haddr, the Snatcher, my face resembles something a butcher’s mallet tried to tenderize. Even the dark glasses and scarf do little to hide the bruises on my face. My ribs still ache, and I walk with a limp, thanks to my twisted knee.

  Haddr keeps telling anyone nosy enough to ask I was in a car accident. He must have decided my injuries were drawing too much attention, though, because on the way to Scotland, he reached over and took my hand. Deal or no deal about cooperation, I wrenched my hand from his grasp and tried to break his nose. If he thought for one second I was going to get cozy with him, he might as well have killed me right on the plane. All the moron did was dodge the blow and smile. Everything’s a big joke to him. He lifted his hand, and inside, I saw the amulet.

  I got it then. He would lend me the power of Alarr but only if I held his hand. I could pull the healing properties from the stone without his relinquishing one ounce of control. Smart. I’d be less conspicuous for him if I healed up a bit, and I seriously considered spitting in his pretty face. Practicality won, though. I thought pig, but I slid my hand inside his.

  The stronger I am, the better chance I have to help Jeff. If there is any way I can still do that, I’ll give it another try.

  I open my eyes and witness Haddr in a casual stroll my direction. Every woman in the room stares. The guy’s got swagger. I’ll give him that. It’s almost funny—he’s worried about me attracting too much attention.

  “Shall we go, Ms. Strongwing?”

  “Are you giving me the option?”

  He smirks and raises his arm in the direction of the exit, “After you.”

  • • •

  The tiny village of Moorgaurd Bridge rests near the River Basselhund and goes back to the time of the Romans. Haddr blathers on about historic details like I care. He points across the steering wheel to a viaduct built for bikers, turning the old railway into a cycle track. Naked willow trees wave in the wind along sidewalks dotted with pretty wooden benches. Most buildings are brick or stone. Empty flower baskets hang from slate roofs. The wind sways them right as though directing us to The White Hart Inn at the end of the street. “Wait here,” Haddr says in a clipped tone as we pull up to the Inn. His demeanor has hardened since we drove into town. I don’t pretend to know him, but I assume his mood has something to do with the upcoming battle.

  “Do you intend to feed me?” I ask. “Or is starvation part of your evil plan.”

  “I forget sometimes, not requiring food myself, that humans need to eat. Come with me.”

  How dumb am I? I sit there blinking as I realize why I never saw Jeff eat or drink anything. He isn’t human. Like Haddr, they appear real, but their spirits take temporary housing in whatever form they choose.

  Freaky.

  I get out of the car and limp around to the sidewalk. All this driving on the wrong side of the road weirds me out. I keep thinking I’m about to be in a car crash for real.

  Heat sweeps across my shivering body the instant we move inside where fire blazes from a stone hearth in the lob
by. Haddr leads me toward an antique oak desk parked alongside a steep staircase complete with barley twist banisters. He rings the bell, and a moment later, a plump, brunette woman with laugh lines around her eyes emerges from an adjacent hallway.

  She glances at my face, frowns and turns to Haddr. “Hello. Welcome to The White Hart Inn,” she says. “I’m Mrs. Appleton. How can I help you?”

  “The name’s Bear,” Haddr says. “I believe you have a key for me? I’m also in need of some food items—bread and cheese. Perhaps some soup, if you have any.”

  “Easy enough, if you can wait a few minutes,” Mrs. Appleton says. “Took a nasty spill, did you, dear?”

  I realize she’s asking about my bruises. My eyes cut to Haddr. “Uh yeah, accident …”

  Haddr takes my arm. He gazes pointedly at our hostess. “Let’s not take up any more of Mrs. Appleton’s valuable time. I’m sure she is very busy. Come along, my dear.”

  He leads me, hobbling, over to the sofa in the lobby.

  I sit beside him like the obedient slave I am. The soreness is returning to my body, and my limp is more pronounced.

  Haddr holds my hand again, and for the sole purpose of relief, I allow it. He touches my cheek like a lover. I can’t control my shudder. “Try to behave as though you don’t need a surgeon. Mrs. Appleton will think me a poor bridegroom.”

  “Bridegroom? Did you seriously tell her that? Your people did this to me,” I say through clenched teeth. “So I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on the honeymoon, sweetheart.”

  His hand moves from my cheek to graze my thigh. I recoil at his touch. Bile rolls up from my empty stomach. He might as well be a tarantula for all the revulsion he evokes, but his hold on me is ironclad. I’ll do anything to protect Grey. I try to concentrate on healing myself instead of clawing his eyes out.

  A few minutes later, Mrs. Appleton returns with a basket and key.

  “Thank you, madam,” Haddr takes the items from her. “I’ll have the basket returned.”

  The ends of her mouth turn down. “Never mind,” she says in a pinched tone. “I charged you for it.”

  I want to smile as I glimpse the sparkle in her eye, but it hurts my lip.