Crux (20 page)

Grey grins back at me, almost to the point of laughing. “What?” he asks repeatedly.

“Nothing!” I say.

He smiles some more. I think he knows exactly what he does to me.

“I enjoyed the concert tonight,” says Mrs. Mathews. “You were wonderful, honey. So polished, it’s as if you’d never stopped playing.” When Mr. Mathews shoots her a death stare, she clears her throat. “More strawberries, Birdie?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Mr. Mathews’ smile is wooden as he turns to Grey. “It was for a good cause. People are hungry and you helped feed them. You did a good thing, and now it’s over, right?” Mrs. Mathews puts her hand on her husband’s arm, but he moves it away, and his excuse for a smile fades. “Right?”

I hold my breath and await Grey’s answer, but our waitress chooses that moment to appear. “More tea?” She holds up a pitcher and bobs her head toward my empty glass.

I exhale, “Yes, please.”

“Anyone else need a refill?” she asks.

“I’d like to have my coffee warmed up,” says Mrs. Mathews. “Two creams.” She winks at me.

I beam at her over the table, a sense of camaraderie coming over me—aware we’re both grateful for the interruption. Out of the corner of my eye, a group of four twenty-somethings head toward our table, all bundled up for the weather.

“Excuse me?” says a girl with auburn hair. “I never do this, and I’m sorry to bother you, but aren’t you Grey Mathews from Push?”

Grey swivels in his chair toward her. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m Jess. We just came from Yuletide.” She pokes a gloved finger toward her friends. “One of the bands we came to see was yours. Can I get your autograph?” Jess holds out a blue ballpoint and scrap of paper.

“Sure, no problem. I’m glad you came out. I know it went glacial out there once we lost the sun.” Grey places the paper on the table and starts to write.

A tall, blond guy I assume to be Jess’ boyfriend leans over her. “So does this mean you’re out of retirement? Are you guys going to start playing again?”

Mr. Mathews’ shoulders stiffen.

“I don’t know.” Grey’s eyes dart to his father and back. “Tonight was a one time thing. Not sure what the future holds.”

“Well, I love your music, man. I hope you’ll do more.” His friends murmur in agreement.

“Thanks a lot.” Grey hands the paper and pen back to Jess. “And thanks for stopping by.”

Jess nods and smiles. Her friends wave. She starts to turn but stops and angles back toward me. Her eyebrows scrunch, as if she’s seen me before and is trying to place me. “Are you anybody?”

Heat explodes on my face as my brain numbs. My eyes bulge, and I look down trying to think of a response.

“This is my girlfriend, Birdie,” Grey says.

“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I thought I recognized you as someone important.”

Grey’s hand finds my knee, and he squeezes. “She is. Have a nice night, Jess. Thanks again for supporting the locals.”

As he dismisses them, Jess and her friends edge away. They grin and bow a little, like they’ve seen a king—which strikes me as funny.

Grey turns to me, his eyes fierce. I bite at the inside of my cheek.

“That was sweet of your fans to come say hello,” says Mrs. Mathews.

“It was.” I try to smooth the awkward moment. “It’s awesome to get feedback from people like that. Let’s you know you’re doing something right.” I slide the dessert plate over the tablecloth in Mrs. Mathew’s direction, just trying to get a conversation going. Anything to distract from the fact Jess just called me a Jane Doe in front of everyone, even if she didn’t say those exact words. Grey’s hand stays on my knee, steady and reassuring. I shrug inwardly. Jess’s blunder doesn’t have to be a big deal unless I make it one. “So … about this chocolate cake—”

“But are you?” Mr. Mathews’ face is rigid, his jaw tight. “Are you doing the
right thing
? Was this a one-time performance, or are you starting up again? You’ll risk everything we’ve accomplished—school, goals—if you get sidetracked with an old hobby now.”

Aw, hell.

Grey takes his hand from my knee. “
We’ve
accomplished? That’s it, isn’t it, Dad? Only I think you mean
you
. I don’t know if I want to play music forever—probably not—but dictating my life won’t make you feel better about Sean.”

“Grey …” his mother says softly. Her eyes are glassy.

“No! I’ve had it. I don’t want to be your puppet anymore. My becoming an engineer won’t bring Sean back. Dad sees nothing but his own pain. Do you think I don’t miss him, too? I can’t live for Sean, or you, or anyone else. I have to live my own life, and whatever that looks like, I’ll decide.”

“What if you’re wrong? What if you make a mistake you can’t come back from?” As Mr. Mathews shouts, people at the surrounding tables begin to shift their bodies toward us.

“Then it’s mine to make. Come on, Birdie.”

Mr. Mathews glowers at me, though his next words are for Grey. “How much does
she
have to do with this? You didn’t talk like this before she showed up.”

“Oh, Scott … don’t,” Mrs. Mathews says.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? No family … no ties. She comes from nowhere. What do we even know about her?”

My glance flits among the other three people at the table. I want to be a bridge but realize there’s no convincing anyone. What would I say? His father is right and wrong. My gut twists inside me, and I squelch the urge to run out the door. Grey would only follow, and I want him to stay and fight for his family.

Grey’s chest sags. “You’re so blind, Dad. Leave it to you to go there.” All traces of anger drain from his voice. He shakes his head, an uncomfortable silence dragging on before he leans over and lifts my coat from the back of my chair.

I stand as he straightens. “Wait …” I lift my chin so I can see Grey’s eyes. “Can I leave you alone to talk awhile? I’m sure if everyone—”

“No.” He pauses, turning to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t do this with him anymore.”

Grey holds my coat out, and I slide into its warmth. He wraps his arm around me and leads me toward the door.

“Grey?” His father calls to our backs. “Grey, I’m not finished here!” Desperation colors his voice, and sadness engulfs me for all their sakes.

“Yes,” Grey whispers over my head, “you are.”

21

Grey and I sit in his Audi at the corner of Vine and Wilson Avenues, smack in the middle of Atlanta’s warehouse district. The night is crisp and cool but toasty inside his car as Adele croons low on the radio, and the engine purrs. Leather squeaks when Fenris repositions himself in the backseat. His steady breathing and relaxed state proves we have nothing to fear—yet.

Two blocks down the road is where they took Shondra. Tonight, someone’s going to pay for that.

Jeff owns a veritable smorgasbord of weapons. I thought about raiding his stores as back up in case our ability to wield the amulet failed. However, being under twenty-one, if a cop got snoopy or the bad guys caught us, we’d be up the river, deliverance style.

I hold a stainless steel lighter in my hand, the metal smooth, unforgiving against my skin. My thumb pulls the lid back. I point and shoot. “Pow. Pow. Pow.”

Grey’s smile is smug. “Girls suck at sound effects.”

That’s true.

He bumps my knee. “Where’d you learn to use a gun, Bird? You knew before Jeff’s lessons, right?”

“Mm hmm. Mr. Torke, my sixth foster parent, ran an archery and shooting gallery. He was always worried about Russia, or Korea, or China invading, like, any second. He taught his fosters to shoot. Mr. Torke was delusional but decent. At least he took the trouble to teach me about survival … and cars.”

Fenris groans as he rolls over in the backseat. I flip the lighter’s top again and ask the spark to grow larger. When the flame reaches four inches, it dances into my palm. There’s no pain, just a light, tickling sensation.

“Tonight Alarr is my MK 47.” I try to smile but don’t quite make it. “Even Torke’s paranoia couldn’t dream the reason I’d need these mad skills tonight.”

Grey summons the fire from my hand to his. He threads the tiny flame over and under his fingers and back again like a magician rolling a coin before he casts it back to the lighter and the lid clicks shut.” Do you ever think about it? What if we have to, you know, kill somebody?”

“Bird, don’t. Stick to the plan. We go in, find the guy, dial nine-one-one and get out. The cops will do the rest.”

“Just that easy, eh, Superman?”

He doesn’t answer. What can he say? We’ve got an ugly, scary job.

Okay, get your game face on, Bird. Unless you want to go back
. My watch reads twelve forty-five. “It’s time.”

“You’ve got your phone?”

We bought untraceable, prepaid phones. “Uh huh, lighter in one pocket, phone in the other, mace just in case and, of course, Alarr. It’s what all the fashionable vigilantes are packing this season ….” My joke is lame and I get nothing in response. He just stares straight ahead, glaring at the steering wheel like it’s an enemy.

“So … when I see them, I’ll hit send on my cell to let you know. After they have me, hang back. Follow us until you figure out where they’re headed. Then you and Fenris come a runnin’ …”

He still doesn’t answer.

I reach for the door handle, and Grey lunges for me. He pulls me out of my seat and across the stick shift, twisting me into his lap. It’s so fast even Fenris sits up. He puts his hands on either side of my face, his forehead resting against mine. “We have to do this, I get that, but if anything happens to you …”

It’s difficult to move squished together in the bucket seat. One hand is pinned against the door, and I stare at his black shirt, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen to me or to you. We’ve been trained for this, we just need experience.”

His head drops down until his lips brush my forehead.

He rubs his bottom lip along my cheekbone to the side of my mouth. My heart beats out some funky, jungle tattoo. His arms spin a web of seduction, and he wraps me in it.

My free hand travels up his neck, fingers thread through his hair. His arms tighten around my body. I can’t breathe. My head spins.

Grey pulls away, lowered lids giving him a sleepy, dream-like quality.

The muscles in his arms flex. I think he might kiss me, but he rises up, and I slide into the passenger seat. My chapped lips tingle from the dry heat. I run my fingers over the cracked surface, extracting power from Alarr to heal and soften them.

“Bird?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He smiles. “Touch your lips like that. I’m trying to focus.”

“Right. Sorry.” I open the door and a blast of winter air chills my face. “Don’t worry. I promise not to take any risks outside of what we’ve agreed, okay? And don’t you either.”

“Be careful,” he calls.

I nod. “
They
better be careful.”

• • •

My actions break every one of the rules I’ve lived by. Don’t go out alone, at night, in areas you’re unfamiliar with, in dark clothing, and countless others.

Ten minutes of pacing and I grind my gloved hands deeper in my pockets, drawing on the amulet’s strength to warm them. Despite the cold, there are plenty of people out at the trash bins tonight, one of only a few heat sources available. I send silent thanks to the heavens for Jeff and the money that got me off these streets.

A sudden, heavy presence surrounds me. Mrs. Moon used to say fear has many faces. Despite the fact anxiety’s been a frequent companion, I didn’t really understand what she meant.

Until now.

Terror doesn’t always jump out and scare me the way the monster under my bed wanted to when I was a kid. As I meander up and down the street,
hoping
to be kidnapped, I understand fear can build, slow and menacing. Oppressive, the weight grabs at my feet, slowing my pace. The sensation claws up my legs and enters through my chest to clog my heightened breathing. As clotting, gunky oil stops up an engine, dread fills me until my brain screams the logical question.
What are you doing?

The squeak of brakes ahead freezes my step, and I hold my breath. Adrenaline drips into my veins, sending tiny prickles of energy throughout my frame. My eyes cut to the homeless scattered around the burning cans and back to the end of the road. Ears straining, examining the smallest sound, I tip my head toward the street corner.

Long and low, a sedan eases into the intersection ahead. A man leans out the window to his waist. He beckons to the crowd closest to the first barrel. “Hey, Joe. Wha cha doin’, man?”

Car tires inch forward. “Say, Joe, you got the stuff …”

I slip into the darker shadows of the building nearest me. All I need is a strung out addict yelling and scaring off my prey.

Several men bunch around the stopped car. Their transaction won’t take long, but my focus darts up and down the street. I bounce in place to expend the extra energy building in my muscles. My heart speeds up. I chant,
go, go, go,
willing the sedan to leave.

A moment more and the vehicle continues on. My breath exits in a rush. Already on full alert, the animal senses on loan from Alarr keep me skittish and raw.

Calm down. Bird, you’ll blow the whole mission.

Back to haunting the side streets and alleyways, I fill my time picturing Grey, wondering what he’s thinking. The temperature continues to plummet. With no sign of the white van, I pick up my pace, skipping a little to keep the blood moving in my veins. A big moon is out, yellow and bright, circled by a paler ring of light that slowly dissipates until it’s swallowed by the blackness. The shining orb hovers like a sentry, keeping me company as I wait.

Twenty more minutes pass and not a single car. The phone in my pocket vibrates.

I hit connect and put the receiver to my ear.

“You want to pack it in?” Grey asks. “I don’t think they’re coming.”

An engine rumbles in the distance, and a white vehicle turns onto the street, inching along at five miles an hour. Two headlights glare before switching off. I blink as if blinded by camera flash.

Bingo.
My fingers clamp my phone. Blood pounds in my ears. “I think this is them. It’s go time.”

With the phone shut, I drop it in my pocket, turn and head down the street—away from the burning cans and anyone else who could get dragged into my plan. Tires crunch gravel as the engine revs.

It appears they’ve taken the bait.

My hands fidget in my pockets as every muscle in my body tenses. To avoid suspicion, I’ll need to fight when they come for me. No one in their right mind
wants
to be stolen … except me. I have to think about that one for another minute.

With a quick glance over my shoulder, I decide it’s definitely the same van that took Shondra. I lengthen my strides, figuring a normal person would do that.

Closer, closer, the van draws near, and a door opens behind me. I walk faster, still. Footsteps hit the pavement at my rear, and I whirl to face them.

The man with a skeleton face stands before me.

I spin back around and throw myself into a run. My legs pump under me, propelling me forward. My breath comes hard and heavy as a new burst of adrenaline pulses through my body. I don’t have to fake that—I’m freaking scared to death.

Thinking of Grey, of how much faith it took to let me do this, I keep running.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Hey! Wait a minute.” The voice is gruff.

I yank on my own arm but can’t get free.

Another set of footsteps runs down the road toward us. “You got ’er?” A second man asks.

“Yeah. This one’s a pussycat.”

My right hook misses his face by inches. Alarr burns against my chest, begging to be used, but I don’t need it, not yet.

The first guy balls his fist.

I’d prefer not to get punched, so I wrench my arm free only to be hoisted into the air.

The skeleton tosses me over his shoulder, his clothes stinking of weed and cheap booze. His shoulder grinds against my stomach, stealing my breath. My head hangs low, giving me an upside-down view of the street. I bite back tears, not of pain but remorse, as my mind fills with visions of Shondra and the horror reflected in her eyes. My fists pound his back as my kicking legs connect with his chest. I don’t fight too hard, though—not wanting to give them a reason to get the baseball bat.

“Quit your squirming, darlin’,” says the skeleton. His silky tone slithers up my spine like a viper. The van door opens, and I’m tossed inside the black hull. “Shut them in and let’s git ’er done, ladies.”

The second man laughs. A body brushes past me, making a break for freedom. Breath whooshes out near my ear as another man punches the would-be escapee in the gut, sending her barreling back. Several whimpers emanate from the darkness behind me. Doors slam shut, sealing what little light there was out. The smell of urine hits my nose—urine and …
Crap.
Literally.
Aw, man, one of the prisoners has definitely lost it.

“Listen to me,” I hiss. “My name is Rebecca Orin. Is everyone all right?”

Nothing.

“I know you’re scared, but I’m here to help. I’ve come to get you out. Is anyone hurt? How many of you are there?” Rap music starts a steady beat from the van speakers. I move to the back doors and grope for the handle. My eagle vision adjusts to the dark, zooming in and out, trying to focus. The van lurches into motion and makes a sharp left. I hang on as my legs slide right.

“I already tried that,” says a shaky voice from behind. “It’s locked, the handle won’t turn.”

“There’s six of us, two are hurt bad.” Another voice pulls my attention to the right.

“What’s your name?”

“Lisa.”

“Okay, Lisa, I’m
going
to open this door. Then you and your friends slip out when we stop at a red light. Don’t let yourselves be seen in their rearview mirrors, or it’s game over. Run straight out and then hide. Everybody understand?”

“Yeah, but these two is knocked out. They ain’t running nowhere.”

“You let me take care of them, okay? You and anyone else who can run, get ready. I’ll tell you when.”

“Amy’s my friend! I can’t leave her.”

“I relate, believe me, I do. Lisa, feel for my hand—can you reach me?” I hold out my hand. With my night vision, I watch her grope wildly in the dark until she slaps my arm down. I take hold of her coat sleeve and squeeze. “The cops are coming. Do you hear? You’ll have to trust me. Get to safety. I will protect your friends.”

“Okay.” A tiny whisper floats through the gloom.

I whirl and grasp the door handle. Siphoning power from Alarr, I apply steady pressure, not wanting to make any noise that will alert the goons. Scuffling sounds move across the metal bed of the van as four bodies file in behind me. The handle bucks, turns over, and the double doors spring ajar.

As I spin back toward the girls, their eyes open wide. “Wait until I say go. If they see you, we’re screwed. If you don’t want the cops, disappear. If you do, I’ll send a nine-one-one distress call to the street where you get out. Got it? Okay. Get ready.”

The van slows. I crack the door and look around at an empty intersection. It’s perfect, with alleyways, dumpsters and trucks parked on the roadside. Plenty of places to hide. I nudge the door open a bit more.

“Go, go!”

The van starts to creep forward.

Move faster.

Four girls leap onto the street, tripping and stumbling as they hit the ground running. The last girl falls and rolls as the vehicle speeds up. Road rash roughens her cheek. I watch herstand and limp a couple of steps and hobble off.

In the distance, a car turns the corner. The sight of Grey’s Audi gives me courage, and I ease the doors closed. The goons driving the van must be stoned out of their minds not to hear us.

I crawl across to the two unconscious girls left with me and feel for their pulses. Veins twitch under their skin, strong and rhythmic.

We sit still in the van maybe another five minutes. I try to count how many turns we make, two left, one right, but eventually lose track. Our bodies bounce and roll as the road roughens until the van squeaks to a stop. The bed shifts as people exit the front cab, footsteps pace near the back doors.

Another set of tires rolls up behind the van. Grey and Fenris, I hope. My assumption is confirmed when Fenris howls, low and baleful outside. The sound would chill the hearts of most souls, but it evokes a silent hallelujah from me.