Crux (18 page)

“I’m not going to leave you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

He hangs his head. When he lifts it again, the intensity in his eyes blisters my soul. “Sooner or later, if you really want to live, you’re going to need a little faith.”

He lifts his palm between us, and I grab hold.

19

Wayward strands of hair fall across my face as I sit on the gym mat and clean the large supply of weapons Jeff left me. The acrid scent of metal polish fills the air. I push my hair over my shoulder, but long tendrils inch their way back as I dip my head to inspect an axe blade.

Jeff is meticulous in the care of his weapons. They better be spotless, or there’ll be hell to pay.

When I look up, Grey smiles from across the gym where he sits cleaning his own stack of blades. I forget my own name when he smiles like that.

Remembering how silly I get when I’m sleep deprived, I go back to my task.

Jeff’s gone to secure our passports and paperwork for travel and left us to practice alone for a few hours. I’m deliriously happy every time he runs errands, not only because he’s been riding us hard for over a week, but because I get to be alone with Grey.

Up at four or five to practice. In bed by nine. Jeff alternately starves us and stuffs us with protein, wakes us up in the middle of the night to fight again, or kicks us out. He’s even made us sleep in the backyard in freezing temperatures to toughen us up.

He calls it conditioning. I call it something else.

We’ve had to bury ourselves in pine needles, cling to one another, teeth chattering, and seek warmth from Fenris, who’s been thrown out, too. Jeff won’t let us generate heat from Alarr—that would be cheating. I argued that manipulating the elements for survival would be beneficial. He refused to budge, saying I could practice healing the onset of pneumonia instead.

Funny guy.

He doesn’t say much, but often folds his arms and nods in a self-satisfied way.

Despite it all, I think he’s pleased with our progress.

I stifle a yawn.

Poor Grey has it worse than me. He told his parents he was staying with Michael Harbin, the drummer from Push, so he can practice for Yuletide when, in fact, he’s moved in with Jeff, Fenris and me until Gunnarr Blot. He still has to make plans and rehearse for the concert, and from what little he’s told me, his father isn’t taking to the idea too well. Grey’s trying to finish his classes and, in between, train for war. At least he’s a good athlete. Jeff says he’s a natural warrior—his moves are instinctual. He’s beaten Jeff twice and me more than half the time.

“Okay,” I call out. “I’m done.” I lift two of the ten-pound wooden shields over my head to hang them on their hooks. “How much do you have left to clean?”

“All done here,” he says, standing. “Hey, let me get that for you.”

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.”