Crux (19 page)

“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 Midtown 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.

My phone buzzes, and I flip the cover and read Grey’s text.
I miss you. Hurry.

Another first—no one’s ever missed me before.

My lips curl up of their own accord. I’m so slow when I text, it’s not like I’ve had a phone since I was eight like most girls. I poke at the keypad until the words,
I can’t wait to hear you sing,
disappear into the void I know will reassemble on his screen.

With my new backpack slung over my shoulder, I motion to my dog. “Come on, boy.” Fenris trots after me down the stairs and out into the driveway to the Audi.

Grey caught a ride with his friend, Michael, to do sound checks and left his keys so I could follow on my own time.

Nerves batter my stomach at the thought of driving his car. “Here goes nothing, Wolfie,” I say to Fenris.

My phone buzzes with another message from Grey.
I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.

• • •

Centennial Olympic Park sits like an emerald oasis in downtown Atlanta. Pretty salmon and peach brick sidewalks line the twenty-one acre park, complete with water gardens, monuments, pavilions, and music venues.

Scud and Kate sit to my right in a sea of little white chairs as music blares from the amphitheatre. To my left sit both sets of parents.

Surprise!

No one mentioned the parents—and me dressed for a jewelry heist?
Perfect.

A fifteen-minute intermission is announced before Push comes on. I’m hungry and wonder if I have time to grab a sandwich. Googie Burger is located next to the Olympic fountains, but it’s not super close. Instead of making a run for it, I fantasize about hot dogs with mustard and chocolate shakes. Indecision, coupled with pain, makes me fidget. The hard wood of my seat is unmerciful against my tailbone, bruised in yesterday’s sparring contest.

“Are you cold, Birdie?” Mrs. Mathews lifts a corner of her red flannel throw. “I’ll share my blanket if you like.” Her eyes soften, crinkling at the corners as she smiles. I think she wants to like me. I don’t know if she does.

“No, I’m fine,” I say. “Thank you, that’s really nice of you. You’ll probably think this is silly, but I’m nervous for Grey.” That, and I’ll be looking for a notorious skin trafficker in a couple of hours. “I’m sure
he’s
doing great. It’s just me.”

“No, I know what you mean. I get the jitters for him, too, every time. And it’s not even me that’s up there.” She laughs.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Mr. Mathews glares at the stage. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he grits his teeth. When his wife speaks, his handsome, model-face turns the bad vibes my direction. He nods and looks away again. It’s like he’s Cyclops trying to melt stuff with his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” I ask Mrs. Mathews.

“Oh, Grey’s dad isn’t crazy about the music business. He doesn’t want even one event to sidetrack his son from what’s important.”

Important to whom?
My blood heats, but it’s not my place to say anything. Especially not when I consider that if he’s worried now, what happens if he discovers Grey’s gone to England with me? Mr. Mathews will need cardiac paddles for sure. Izzy will paint me as some Mata Hari who lured him away, and they’ll all hate my guts.

Grey said he hasn’t told his parents anything about our trip. His plan is to lie and say he’s staying with Michael a while longer. Everything’s all screwed up, so different than what I’d dreamed of when Jeff first gave me his money.

My Spidey sense goes off as I feel the eyes of someone bore into the depths of my brain.

Izzy leans over the back of my chair. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

Can I stop you?
“Sure.”

I follow her over to a grassy isle between rows. Behind us stands a line of blue Porta-Potties, waiting like foul sentries and spoiling my view. I fantasize about shoving her head in one of the stinky, cavernous holes and giving her a nice swirly. The image is so satisfying, I have to suppress a laugh.

Izzy whirls to me. Her lips spread, and she starts with a big, overblown smile that exposes her little white teeth. It’s the kind of grin one of Stephen King’s demonic clowns might give you—right before he eats your face off.

She jerks her head toward our party still seated on their folding chairs. “The people over there think I’m apologizing to you for my interference at the Fox. They know I don’t trust you, and that I only acted out of a sincere concern my dear friend, Grey, would get hurt.”

“Touching.” I lift my shoulders in an ‘aw shucks’ move for the benefit of anyone watching. “So how’s it hanging, Iz? Did your boys wind up in a vice over your failed attempt to get rid of me?”

“Very funny. True, my idea didn’t work out like I’d planned,” she says, “but it’s not over, Annie.”

Annie?
Oh, wait, Little Orphan Annie.
“That’s hilarious. You ought to do your shtick on Letterman.”

“You’re the comedian, or maybe just the joke.” She lifts her chin, and her smile inflates, as though she’s proud of her big comeback. “I figured it out. Grey is like the earth. He’s full of life, like the world, and I’m the sun. I’m the heat he needs to survive. You …”

Wait for it …

“… are this big, dumb, useless rock that’s eclipsed me for about one minute.”

… and there it is!
Gag me.
“Really? The moon?” I say. “How poetic. Your intellect is dizzying. Did you come up with that illustration all by yourself, or have you been watching the Science Channel again?”

Izzy’s brow folds, her eyebrows coming together, making a V.

“Careful Isabel, your claws are showing, hon.”

She glances to where our group waits, smoothes her face into a calm mask and keeps talking. “The nice thing about an eclipse is it doesn’t last. Oh, Grey’s infatuated with you because you need him, but you’ll do something stupid. You’ll screw it up and have to move on, and, well, I’ll still be here, won’t I? Enjoy your evening.”

I laugh like she just said something witty. “Bite me, Iz. I’m not playing. Grey’s not a prize you win at the fair. He’s a big boy who can make his own choices. We’re done here.”

We turn and walk back to the others as Push walks onto the stage, all the members dressed in black as if they just stepped out of their poster. The crowd cheers.

“Hello, Atlanta!” Grey speaks into the mike.

Screaming commences.

“We want to thank you all for coming out tonight. It’s a little cold, so you might want to … get closer.”

The crowd answers with hoots and whistles.

“If you’re here with someone special, snuggle up. If you’re not, make friends with the one next to ya.”

Everyone laughs.

“It’s all for a great cause, and we’ll have a good time while we’re at it.” He backs up, turns toward his base player and nods in time, two, three, four …. His guitar screams, and they launch into their first song,
Speakeasy,
followed by
Manic,
On Your Way to Me,
and
Darker Star.

Grey’s lips move against the microphone as he sings. It’s sensual to watch. I remember his kisses, those lips pressed to mine. The arms that hold his guitar held me—the fingers, so masterful against the strings, touched my face.

Good Lord.
Heat bleeds into my cheeks. I doubt my sanity for the hundredth time since we met, wondering if I imagined everything. I’m glad it’s dark—it feels creepy having these thoughts while sitting next to his mom and dad.
Okay, eew.

Push is brilliant. Grey’s brilliant. I watch as if I don’t know him, but I’ve heard his music through my headphones and seen him sing for a minute, once, in Dylan’s basement.

This is different. He’s smooth, confident, animated, not to mention sexy, and having the time of his life doing what he’s been gifted to do. I can’t understand his father. Has he never seen Grey perform? Why force an eagle into a birdcage? The cruelty of it pisses me off.

Push finishes to thunderous applause and exits the stage. The crowd wants an encore, but they won’t get it. The benefit allows each band a short set in order to get through all ten on time.

Push was good, but Grey was fantastic.

The night has been fun and exciting, but a shadow looms dark and foreboding, and soon it’s back to business. The dream of a normal life chafes at my desire to do right. I want to claim Grey as my own, to kick responsibility to the curb and run from the idea of Jeff and his stupid curse. I won’t, though. I’m determined to make that way of thinking the old Birdie.

• • •

Yuletide’s host comes on the stage to announce the next band. Our party shuffles out of the isle and off to the side to wait for Grey and Dylan. I’m anxious to congratulate them.

“Do you know how long they’ll be?” says Izzy to no one in particular. “I’m starved.”

Kate grabs my arm and drags me away from the others, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mom and Dad want to take just you and Grey for dessert tonight. Relax, go with it, and don’t be weird.”

“Aw, really? That spoils my plan to be as weird as possible around your parents.”

“Oh, hush.” She smiles and smacks my arm. “Izzy doesn’t know it yet, but Dylan and his date are taking the rest of us to a Yuletide after-party with some of his friends from the other bands.”

My mind fills with stereotypical images of hotel rocker parties, ending with everyone wasted and a sofa crashing through a window of the fourth floor to the street below. I lift an eyebrow.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says, one octave higher. “Get over yourself. They’re not random guys from some heavy metal vomit band. They’re friends of Dylan’s, and Scud will be there. Chill, girl.” She glances over toward her mother and back to me. “Mom’s trying really hard to be supportive of Grey’s choice to play tonight … and of you. They don’t say much, but there’s serious tension between my dad and brother.”

Great. Dylan’s soiree sounds better every minute.

“Go with them and have fun. Once ya’ll get to know each other, it won’t be as awkward, ya know?”

Kate’s always so positive, but she’s right; it would be good to get to know them. I’ve poked some fun at the perfect, plastic people that they didn’t deserve. Grey was right, too, I
had
judged his family. Envy and fear played a part, and I needed to make that right.

“Sure, sure. We’ll keep things light. It’ll be fine.”

She nods. “You’re a nice person, Birdie. Just be yourself. It’s going to be great.”

My bottom lip quivers. I don’t know why, but I reach out with both arms and hug her. She jumps before hugging me back and squealing. I squeal, too. My first girly sound that plays oddly in my head. I make a mental note never to do it again, but right now, however crazy it seems, I know it’s important.

• • •

Mr. and Mrs. Mathews, Grey and I sit in wide rattan chairs at the Cheesecake Factory. The restaurant glows with gold paint, and etched glass accents sparkle over a cream tiled floor. Leafy green palms adorn corners where big columns—whose design strikes me as some funky cross between Aztec, Egyptian, and big pineapples—support the ceiling. Delicious scents our waiter indentifies as Fettuccine Alfredo and Jamaican shrimp war for attention and seduce my waiting appetite, but the winning items sit on the table: chocolate cake and fresh strawberries.

I’m so hungry, it’s hard to be polite.

There’s never been a time Grey and his family didn’t intimidate me. Between Kate’s offer of friendship and Grey and I beating the tar out of each other daily, those feelings have lessened. However, sitting here next to Push’s guitar-god brings it all back. I keep smiling and glancing over at him as if I have a crush on a blind date. He’s a teen idol from Hollywood on a mercy date with the head of his fan club.
Ack.