Crux (7 page)

“Lift your arms and float, Birdie.” Jeff’s voice is strong and commanding.

“Do what?”

“Float.”

Grey’s face reflects my inner thoughts.
Yeah, he’s certifiable all right.

I think ‘flight’, but nothing happens. “Didn’t work.”

“No, Birdie. Don’t try. Just do.”

I try to relax, but it’s so hard to let go.

“Think of air, of the eagle,” Jeff says.

I’m nothing if not a control freak, so I close my eyes and picture being in control of the eagle, riding it like a horse, making it do my bidding.

“What the
h
… I want the job.” Grey’s quiet words exit on a rush of expelled breath.

The wind lashes my face, penetrates my skin, wings.

“I thought you might,” Jeff answers dryly. “But you’ll need more information first. You don’t even know what—”

Whoa, this is massively cool. I explore the idea of weightlessness. The eagle’s mind melds with mine, our thoughts become one.

“I don’t care. The job is mine.” Grey speaks toward me this time. Soft and gentle, his voice breaks through my concentration. “Bird, open your eyes.”

Slowly, I raise my lids, glancing around to find I’m floating several feet off the ground. With breath gasping from me, I lose track of balance, physiology, physics and the eagle.

My butt hits the floor. Pain shoots up from my tailbone, leaving it stinging and sore, but I ignore it.

I was flying.

Mother chicken, flying!

8

A gray sky looms beyond the window of Jeff’s silver Beamer; he’s taking us to his house in Buckhead. Wind tugs at the few remaining leaves that cling desperately to scattered oak trees lining Blackland Road. I relate to their plight, never having much control over my life. What little I thought I’d gained in the last weeks seemed plucked away just as fast. Like a cartoon character trapped inside a snowball careening downhill, I have no choice but to wait for the inevitable impact.

Jeff said there’s more to explain, and afterward, we’ll get twenty-four hours to decide.

In or out.

Grey sits in the back seat, quiet as a stone sentinel. Fenris lies in the seat beside him. His white muzzle lying on overgrown paws. The dog always looks so bored. Peering over my shoulder, I seek Grey’s eyes. We don’t speak, but I wonder what he’s thinking. He seemed so impressed with Jeff, the amulet … my flying.

Oh, sure, it’s all fun and games levitating around your living room, until someone loses an eye.

Jeff turns onto Tuxedo Road and rolls up a cobblestone drive. As I turn back around, he stops at an enormous, wrought iron gate, hits an opener on his keypad by the steering wheel, and we pull up to what I assume is his house. No, not house, mansion. I begin to doubt he gave all his money away the day we met.

A quick scan, and thanks to my fifth set of foster parents, I take a guess Jeff’s home is a completely restored, 1930’s European Tudor.
Boy, I’m slummin’ now.

The Darcy’s were a nice enough couple. They were the ones whose neighbor had the husky with eyes the color of Grey’s. Young real estate brokers, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, were stuck in the fast lane and all about making money, wearing designer clothing, and eating at fancy restaurants. They had no children, and I was their only foster. Mrs. Darcy taught me about fashion, dressing me like a life-size Bratz doll. Rarely home, they were married to their jobs. In no time, I figured out I was merely a novelty, an experiment in philanthropy, but it didn’t last. I got in the way of their travel and social calendar, and ten months after arriving, they gave me back to the state.

We all get out of the car and go inside. The foyer’s heavy wooden beams against soft taupe walls remind me of a European castle. After a declined drink offer, Jeff asks us to accompany him to the gym.

Gym?

A medieval suit of armor stands to our left. I can’t help but stare. Sharp eye slots in the iron mask give the face a sinister appearance. Grey shrugs, his mouth curling into an encouraging smile as we pass through room after room.

Behind us, Fenris pads over each thick area rug, his nails clicking against the pine flooring in between. The showy mansion is something the Darcy’s would have loved to list. A freaking fairy tale brought to life.

Grey walks close to me as we follow along, the back of his hand brushing mine. His touch is warm on my skin, and my mind coasts to thoughts of his arms, his lips.

My wishing for more than normalcy is getting pathetic.

The ‘gym’ isn’t much smaller than the one at my last high school. Wood floors gleam. Tumbling mats hang on the walls, and a water fountain hums in one corner. Jeff gestures to a couple of red folding chairs near the door. We slouch into our seats and wait.

“Thank you for coming,” Jeff says. The words sound extra formal in his funny accent. “I’ll get straight to the point. To defeat our enemies, we must work within limited windows of time. Many factors come into play: star alignment, the participation of Orn’s heirs, commitment of a Guardian—the list goes on.” Jeff paces back and forth, his hands deep in the pockets of the rain coat he never takes off. “Once every decade, a portal to the past opens. A descendant of Orn can travel to Gunnarr Blot, join the repetition of events at the battle site, and attempt Alarr’s destruction.”

Grey holds up a hand. “If that’s true, why hasn’t anyone annihilated the stone before now?”

“Attempts were made throughout the years.” The lines decorating Jeff’s face deepen. “Mental as well as physical agility are needed to complete the mission, and many would-be Wielders proved poorly suited to the task. Some were seduced by the power of the amulet, others died in battle. If an heir refuses the challenge, he cannot be forced. “The bonding process of Alarr forms a tie between the spirits of Haddr, Thorolf, and the Wielder.” Jeff’s eyes focus on me, “It’s the burn you experienced when you first held the amulet. Based on what I’ve seen, you’re an excellent candidate.”

I shift in my chair as Jeff continues speaking.

“Once Alarr marks the Wielder, Haddr does everything in his formidable power to stop them. He will hunt you, now, unless the bond is broken with your refusal. That’s why I brought you here. Should you accept the quest, the bond with Alarr completes, and you will begin training in this room.”

I try to think of some clever quip to diffuse the panic engulfing me, but nothing comes. None of this is funny, and I’m tired of being scared all the time.

My father’s face swims, faded and distant, in my mind. Didn’t he die doing the same kind of thing? He fought for the home and country he loved. While supporting mom and me, but also for an ideal, for the freedom of his countrymen, and people he didn’t know.

There are doers and watchers, little Bird.
I can almost hear his voice repeating one of his favorite sayings as I’d hang back from some new challenge,
doers and watchers.

As I acknowledge my usual place in the second category, I swallow hard. I reach down and play with Fenris’s ear where he lays on my feet. I’m steadied by the action. “Lemme get this straight. The king guys are dead, right?”

Jeff confirms with a nod.

“But not really ’cuz their spirits live inside other people—”

“Not inside.” He waves me off. “Their spirits are trapped in the curse Haddr swore at Gunnarr Blot on the battlefield,” Jeff says. “While they cannot possess the body of another, the king and his son, who falsely considers himself king, are shape shifters and can take any human, male form. They change their appearance every ten years, the son still seeking dominion over the father, even in his diminished form. He is immoral, evil, and wreaks havoc on the earth’s people in his quest to rule. If the Wielder fails as they have thus far, the curse is renewed.

I heave a breath. Grey’s hand squeezes the arm that’s not busy petting my new dog. “Okay, and once the amulet’s power is broken, the kings’ spirits are basically poof, done, gone, finito, then?”

“Yes. But until that time, innocent people are caught in the middle of their rivalry. The two are doomed to fight this battle until Alarr is destroyed and their spirits freed.”

“Well, but … isn’t there some other heir that could go all ninja on these guys?”

“I believe you are up to the task.” Jeff’s gaze locks onto mine. “I’ve been watching you, Birdie.”

“That answer just earned you ten more points on your already very impressive creep-o-meter score.”

Grey snickers. The tension in the room eases.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I say, “I’m a girl. A scrawny, wimpy, cowardly kind of girl. So I ask again, wouldn’t a big, tough guy bent on adventure and glory be better?”

“Yes,” Jeff answers, “but you’re all I’ve got.”

Ouch.

“In the past, many faced your task alone. Not every Wielder is fortunate enough to enlist a Guardian. Your friend here seems perfectly suited as your second, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, no you don’t. I—”

“Can you not hear?” Jeff’s voice rises. He stops pacing.

I swear the room gets darker, and I slink down in my chair. The tension ramps back up to ten.

His brow furrows, nostrils expand, adding to his sudden menace. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. “Are you addled, girl? Can you not understand? Only a handful of heirs exist on the planet at any given time. While most refuse the task, others are too old or too young, sick or infirm. Haddr is here, in Atlanta, even now. You must choose for yourself—accept and train, or decline. Your refusal will break the bond, and you can walk away and never see me again.”

Never see Jeff again? The thought makes me giddy, but what about those innocent people he talked about? Are they even my problem? As I question this, I know they are. If someone else had been available, Jeff would be asking
him
.

“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving day,” Jeff says. “You will come here on Friday and give me your answer.”

“I don’t need to wait,” says Grey. “If she’s in, I’m in.”

“No way,” I say. My body shakes with merging anger and fear, and I turn to face Grey. “This isn’t a video game. You saw me flying … or floating … or whatever. This is obviously real. I don’t want you to get hurt because you’re some kind of adrenaline junkie looking for a fix, Grey. You … you don’t even know me!”

He straightens in his chair. “I know all I need to.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I promise you, you don’t.”

Jeff ignores us and pulls a bronze armband from his coat pocket. The metal is thick, finely wrought, and bears the same design as the amulet around my neck, but there’s no stone. “A Guardian swears an oath to protect the Wielder. He has no power apart from this armband, and the band no power apart from Alarr. If you accept, you will train until December twenty-first, the winter solstice, when we travel to the battle site and confront Haddr.”

The blood in my veins slows and turns icy cold. “That soon?”

Jeff nods. “Make no answer now, but consider carefully. Ms. Orin is quite right. The task is dangerous and has claimed many lives. You need intensive training, and there’s not much time. In fact, it’s never been undertaken with so few days to prepare.”

Grey sends a glance my way before looking back to Jeff. “Can Birdie refuse my offer of Guardianship?”

I stare hard at Grey, fury tightening my jaw and furrowing my brow. I’m livid—at myself. It’s my fault he knows about the quest. Selfishness took over, so I could pretend someone cared about what happened to me. Now I’m in over my head, and so is he, thanks to my stupidity.

“No,” Jeff answers matter-of-factly. “Obviously, the situation improves if the two work well together. On the other hand, romance is forbidden between Guardian and Wielder. Emotion clouds judgment. Goals change on the battlefield. People die for each other instead of the quest, and the mission fails. It’s happened before.”

I curse the tears welling behind my eyes, revealing a weakness I’d rather keep hidden. “Grey, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

Jeff crosses his arms, giving me a stern look.

Grey reaches out and touches my face. His eyes warm as his thumb runs the line of my cheekbone.

My heart twists in my chest when I think about his perfect life in danger, and that I’m responsible. I remember Shondra, and the tears fall. “I’m not … I can’t …” The words stick in my throat like shards of glass.

He smiles at me with an expression of sheer confidence. “
We
can.”

• • •

I glance at the time on my cell phone: 6:30. Grey is picking me up any minute, and my nerves are screaming. I stand in the bathroom in my black, Prada techno dress and boots. I’ve been pretty frugal with Jeff’s money—except when it comes to clothes. The dress I’m wearing, for instance, Mrs. Darcy would so love this outfit.

Arms outstretched, I move around like a horror movie zombie and worry my nervous sweating will stain this dress like the three others I’ve discarded on my bed. My legs look so skinny. Maybe it’s the tights. Too much black? I’m on the verge of taking them off when the doorbell rings.

I pass my worthless dog stretched out on the sofa. Not a peep out of him. I’m still trying to figure out why Jeff suggested I keep him for protection as I open the door.

Grey stands in the hall wearing dark jeans, a crisp white shirt, and navy corduroy jacket. Why wasn’t he born ugly or smelling bad? The fact he’s so hot just makes my decisions even harder.

One side of Grey’s mouth pulls up. His eyelids lower slightly over smoldering eyes.
.

I snap my mouth shut when I realize its hanging open.

“Mmm, thanks, you look nice, too.”

I hate you.

“So, you ready?” He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “There’s no rush. My mom said anytime after seven, so we have a few minutes.”

“Hang on a sec. I just need to get my purse. You want to sit? I’ll be right back.” I disappear into the bathroom and throw a couple items in my clutch. Back in the living room, I stare down at my escort who lounges on the couch with my dog. “Grey, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Truthfully, I feel like I’m crashing. I won’t exactly know anyone there. What if your parents think I’m a—”

“How can you be crashing if I invited you?” He stops petting the dog and leans toward me. “And, why are you so freaked out? They’re not going to bite or anything.” He smiles. “Scud might, but let me worry about him. I’ll protect you. That’s my job now anyway, right?”

“About that …”

“What about that?” His look suggests I might be cheating him at cards.

“Never mind, let’s talk about it later.” I turn and head toward the bathroom again. I glance back over my shoulder and find he’s watching me. He shrugs and smiles. My cheeks light on fire as I face front and keep walking.

“Was your family cool with you spending Thanksgiving with us?” he calls after me. “My mom goes all out for the holidays. We do the turkey and sides most people do, I guess. What about yours?”

“Oh, holidays were always a little bit different,” I answer. “But I was all about the food, however it was served.”

“Was?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I wrap both arms around my waist. “I … I don’t have any family around anymore, remember? I told you.”

“Oh, yeah, but I thought … You don’t want to talk about this do you?”

“Not so much. Sorry. I’m not trying to go all Emo on you or, like …” I always get flustered talking about my childhood. People tend to react in two ways: pity or condescension.

Grey rises and steps toward me. “Evasive?”

“Yeah.” I sigh and stare at my shoes. “My dad’s name was Jon. He was killed in Afghanistan when I was eight. My mom, Lucee, died of cancer the year after. I moved a zillion times when I was little, living with different people. Sometimes life sucked, but I also learned a lot. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, since tons of kids had it worse.”
Much worse.