Crux (14 page)

After Izzy’s threat, the working capabilities of my brain shriveled to that of a sun-dried raisin, and the second half of my evening passed in a blur. With a painted-on smile, I laughed and talked as though nothing was wrong. Several times, I caught Grey watching me, brow wrinkled, head cocked to the side. Between Izzy monopolizing his attention, and my focus on conversing with Dylan, Grey was easy enough to avoid. I had to admit the witch was better than I thought. She’d guessed right I wouldn’t risk more pain to the Mathews.

Not so dumb after all.

The morning paper hangs limp in one hand, a mug of hot coffee warms the other. I slide down the wall to the floor where the cold of the wood penetrates my yellow, flannel pajama bottoms. Fenris comes and sits beside me, whining and nudging me for a scratch, but I have no free hand.

My head rests against his furry back. “Hey, boy. Who’s the best dog in the world?” Fenris sighs. “You know I’m sad, don’t you, sweetheart? Can you understand me, Fenris?” I shove the paper beneath his nose. “Did you see this, Fella?” I don’t know why I’m showing him, but I do. “It’s the grandma I helped off the ground the day I met Jeff.

“Listen, ‘Seventy-two year old Marisa Gonzalez was in critical condition Sunday following a near-fatal beating inside her home. Atlanta police are asking for the public’s help to identify her attackers.

The woman was found by her neighbor, Gary Stokes, who’d grown suspicious around 10:00 PM. Saturday when he noticed her hose was left running in the yard. EMT’s arrived at the scene and found the badly beaten Gonzalez unconscious in her living room.

This appears to be a burglary, police said. We can’t account for some personal belongings, and her house was ransacked. Stokes noticed three young men in the area Saturday afternoon. He described them as white males in their mid twenties, wearing military type jackets. Police questioned more neighbors on Saturday, looking for additional witnesses or other clues …’”

“Look at this picture.” I smack the paper with the back of my hand. “This is her, Fenris, the same woman I met. Do you know what that means? Those guys who took money from Jeff in the alley are hunting the rest of us for our shares. I don’t think there’s much those monsters aren’t capable of.”

At a knock on my door, my head jerks up. Fenris and I scramble up and tiptoe toward the peep hole. Johnny, the super, stares forward. His new tangerine hair half blinds me above a purple, leopard print shirt.

I swing the door wide. “Come in, Johnny.”

He eyes Fenris. “I think I’ll stand here, if you don’t mind. Gobbledepoop.”

“Yeah, okay.” I lift my purse from the kitchen counter and scrounge for my wallet. Handing Johnny a number of bills, I say, “This should square us, dude. I’ll be out tomorrow.”

“Shame.” He flips through the money, his lips silently counting. “You pay on time, and you’re quiet. I like things serene and peaceful.”

I glance at his flaming hair. “I can see that about you.”

“Forwarding address?”

“Nope.”

“Well then. Good luck, Rebecca Orin.” He rolls his hand in front of him and bows like a herald, or maybe the grand squire of supreme kookiness. I’ll miss him in a weird kind of way. This was my first place, something of my own. It sure didn’t last long, but threats hang over me like a guillotine’s blade, and I’m out of choices.

“Goodbye, Johnny.”

15

Layers of sleep lift as if I’m surfacing from the deep end of a pool. Alarr, usually cool against my chest, burns. Without thinking, I grasp the pendant in my fingers, and I’m whisked away, sucked into the Hoover’s vacuum tube again. Squished and spun, I’m as powerless as a tuft of grass.

When the swirling stops, I stand against a rough-hewn wall inside a darkened room. Low burning candles illuminate the wide, wooden beams, and four small beds, one on each side, are nestled against plaster walls. The scent of sap and fresh hay fill the space.

A men’s dormitory?

Three men are with me in the room. They’re dressed in plain, brown robes tied with simple sashes. I assume they’re monks. One stands next to me, a chubby, middle-aged guy with a receding hairline. The other two sit on their beds. Though I’m aware they whisper in some foreign language, I understand the words perfectly. As on my previous trip, I spy on the strangers unseen, a proverbial fly on the wall.

“Brother Michael,” says the chubby guy next to me. “Is the work completed yet?” He addresses a man caressing the spine of a big book. Intricate designs tooled in leather adorn its cover.
A Bible?
My curiosity is peaked.

“It is. I finished only today, yet I wonder if we did enough to end this hated curse. Would that I could meet with King Thorolf even now. Perchance we might put an end to this foul business and lives would be spared. Is there no other way?”

“Peace, Michael,” Chubby says. “You know that would be our undoing. We must trust in God’s timing. He has shown us the way.”

“Will you not read the passage to us again?” asks a third monk who sits on the end of his bed and picks at his bad skin.

Gross.
Dude, they’ve got Benzoyl Peroxide for that.

“Did we do enough to soften the curse? I believe it would bring me solace to hear the solution once more,” he continues.

“Very well,” Michael says. First flourishing his wrists, he reads:

Once a man embraceth fear

Is deaf to truth, seductions near

His foot ensnared on thorny path

Torn and bleeding feels the wrath

Of majesty lost, now dark offender

Peace slips away from tortured mind

Would that he could turn back time

Undo the deed that brought him low

Through ageless eons now must show

A cloaked existence, that of pretender

His penance for the hated thing

Repent, the words redemption bring

Where once were two, let there be one

Broken bond reformed, melded and done

The divider now becomes sole mender.

Acne Man doesn’t look any happier for having heard the ‘solution’, and I agree with him. Frustration boils up inside me as I struggle to understand the perplexing words.

He stares into space and digs at his face with his fingernail until it bleeds.

My innards balk at the sight of his self-mutilation, so I focus on Michael and his questions.

“Will he understand, brothers? None but the King can end the suffering. Will he embrace the spirit of a son that betrayed him so? He must touch him, and the amulet, or all’s for naught.

“God will make it so,” Chubby says. “Everything they need to break the curse lies within those pages. We’ve done all we can. The final role belongs to another. Come, brothers, let us join hands and pray as he must.”

“Wait, what does the poem mean?” I say aloud, knowing they can’t hear me. What good does it do to see this if I can’t understand what’s going on?

They grasp one another’s hands, bend their heads, and begin:

“We repent of all evil. Embrace what is Holy. Return to life’s natural order. Find no dwelling place here. Go to your eternal rest. Be at peace.
”

“What curse?” I scream. “Our curse?”

“Return to life’s natural order. Find no dwelling place here.”

“Who are you … what are you talking about? Please!” My vision sullies as if I watch through a dirty window. “No! Wait!” I want to stay, but no one hears me. “Can I pray, too? If I could just have a minute alone …”

“Go to your eternal rest. Be at peace.”

My lungs experience the pressure of the Hoover whisking me away. Images twist and distort. Darkness folds in on me, and I’m transported back to the present.

I emerge from sleep to wakefulness as Fenris’ warm body stretches next to me.

Darn it!

Jeff said Alarr reveals its history through visions, but what did the monks mean, ‘the solution’? Answers dance at the edge of my understanding but stay out of reach. Boy, I wish I could talk to one of them for even five minutes or get a hold of that stupid book.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and try to focus on something familiar, but none of it is. The occupational hazard of moving so often is I tend to forget where I am. It’s pretty bad, though, that it slipped my mind when I moved into a mansion, and that I left my apartment for Jeff’s and dragged all my belongings to his place the day before.

I hope it won’t be too awkward living with Jeff.
Compared to what?
The good old days in foster care or when I slept in urine?

Jeff was great when I called and suggested the new arrangement. I explained what happened with Izzy, the army jackets attacking Mrs. Gonzalez, everything. He agreed I’d be safer with him and could get in more practice.

The only issue Jeff won’t let go of is ditching my Guardian. My disappearance is for Grey’s own good, for his parents’ peace of mind, and Kate and Scud’s safety. Never mind that I promised I wouldn’t ask him to back out anymore, or that I ran away without explaining or telling anyone goodbye. I had no choice.

Now if I can only convince Jeff we don’t need anyone else. The big … dumb … Sensei. He seems more convinced than ever Grey is crucial.

My stomach cramps at the thought. Grey has ditched several classes since we’ve met—something I feared his parents noticed and attributed to me. The last two days, however, he had important tests to cram for and take. The separation gave me the chance to move and make the break.

I roll over, and an earbud from my iPod falls out of one ear. Music helps me sleep at night, pushing other thoughts away. I replace the earpiece and hit play.
She’s gone, gone, gone …
…
I see your face everywhere I look, and I can’t stand the pain … only half of my heart beats without you here …

Ouch, guess not. I shut it off again and lay the iPod down on top of my sketch pad. Maybe music is not the best idea right now. The Mathews knew me a couple of months. Big deal. It’s not like they’re actually going to miss me or anything.
Are they?

Izzy’s voice inside my head says, “Not likely, honey.”

Shut up, Izzy.

My finger’s stroke Fenris’ thick fur. “Let’s go, puppy. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to kick Viking butt. We might kick some Snatcher butt before we get to Thor and his buddies, though.”

Fenris yawns and slides out of bed.

I’ve been mulling over a plan. It started as a thought that tickled itself into a full blown idea. What if I were to give my abilities with Alarr a test run? Against, say … The Snatcher?

If I’m honest, he couldn’t be any more dangerous than stepping into the middle of axe wielding dead guys. I can just hear that conversation. “Excuse me, Mr. Haddr, Sir? Can you refrain from skewering your father for just a moment? I need to convince you of the error of your ways. If you will admit you’ve been naughty in trying to usurp your daddy’s throne, all these nice warriors can be off to Valhalla. Then I can melt Alarr down to make a fabulous fruit bowl and be home in time to hang my Christmas stocking. Okie dokie?”

Right.

I head into the bathroom to drag a comb through my hair and brush my teeth. In the mirror, my cheeks flush from the excitement of all my plotting.

I’ll walk around in all the places the Snatcher’s van goes. It shouldn’t be too hard to get picked up. They’ll take me to wherever they hide the girls, and Alarr and I will give ’em the smack down.

Boo-yah!

Back in reality, I walk down a long hallway, painted a soothing vanilla cream color. What one guy needs with all this space, I’ll never know. Passing numerous closed doors, I emerge on the stair landing. Fenris jogs ahead of me down the steps. I follow until we reach the kitchen.

The ceiling is stamped Victorian tin. Black and white marble covers the floors, while the walls are painted pale yellow. Copper cookware hangs on a pot rack over an antique walnut island. I bet a decorator designed this—an expensive one, too.

Fenris goes out the back door to do his business on Jeff’s pristine lawn beneath a sky roiling with gray clouds.
Ugh, sorry, dude.
Freezing air hits my skin, chilling me until goose bumps spring up like Braille. Maybe I should have thrown a sweatshirt over my flimsy white tank.

Jeff walks in and takes a seat in the chair by the bay window. He’s positioned to see both the yard and kitchen at once but only seems to notice his paper. He sports the same five o’clock shadow and wears the same trench coat that he always has on
. Does he sleep in that thing?
The guy’s one note like he’s frozen in place or something.

“Morning,” I say. “Can I fix you some breakfast?”

“No, thank you, Birdie. Help yourself, though. I’d like to start training as soon as you’re ready.” He glances up from his newspaper. “We’re going to the next level today.”

Interesting.
“Okay, cool. I actually don’t eat breakfast. I’d love some orange juice, though, if you have any.”

“In the icebox.”

Icebox? Who says icebox anymore?
“Thanks.”

I pour a glass and sit across from Jeff. I follow his gaze to Fenris, who drags a rosebush by the roots across the backyard. Uncomfortable, I shift in my chair and pretend I don’t see my dog’s annihilation of the plant or the deepening line between Jeff’s brows.

“Hey, thanks again for letting us crash here,” I say in an attempt at small talk.

No answer.

“Are you married, Jeff? Do you have family in Atlanta?”

He tears his attention from whatever my dog is mangling in the backyard and turns to me. “I was married, once. Had a son. That ended long, long ago.”

You’re a conversational phenom, Jeff.
“Sorry.” I sip my juice. “So what do you, like, do? For a living, I mean, ’cause this is an awesome house.”

The corner of Jeff’s mouth lifts a bit. “I come from old money. I’ve dealt in antiquities most of my life, but the destruction of Alarr has been my priority for some time.”

“Gotcha.” I run my finger around the rim of my crystal glass ’til it whistles.

A clock ticks somewhere. Jeff’s watery blue eyes stay fixed on the garden, but I suspect his thoughts go far beyond. There’s something interminable about the guy I can’t explain, but I’ve grown to like the old geezer. I remember the day we met, how miserable he looked. Staring at him now inspires me to sketch him, his pain. Maybe I’ll get the chance.

“The day we met,” I say. “Why did you hand out all that money? Why did you involve those other people and not come talk to me alone?”

“I needed to get your attention.”

Check.

“And to make it worth your while to talk to me. In truth, I hoped you’d feel beholden, enough to listen to my story and hear my proposition.”

Another score.

He lifts his hand. “The others were lucky bystanders. Would you have spoken to me if I approached you alone? I think not. As for the others, they were a means to an end, any soul can benefit from my restitution. Money means nothing to me, but it might to them.”

“Lucky?”
Tell that to the dead guy.
I hoped the anonymous phone call I’d made to the cops, complete with detailed descriptions of the three losers, would assist in their apprehension. “You know those men who followed me are hunting the others down? For the money.”
Money you gave them.
“Shouldn’t you …
we
help with that?”

“Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do than follow up on every good deed I perform?”

“No. Well, yeah, actually. I mean, isn’t that your shtick? Especially if you know something is wrong. You
are
Mr. Nosy-Do-Gooder in a trench coat, after all.”

The corner of his mouth twists up.

Mine curls in response, and I laugh. “Uh huh, see. We’re having a moment, aren’t we?”

“Birdie, I gave the money away to help them. But I can neither aid nor prevent what happens afterward. Best to stick to the plan. We can prevail best in that effort.”

I drop the subject, though I don’t agree. “You talked about regrets for choosing the wrong path. What did you mean?”

“I’m weary, Birdie. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about those people, but the quest is my focus for now.”

My head bobs in understanding. “I get that, but—”

“I’ve made many mistakes. Sinned against God and my family. It’s time for the reckoning. I’m much older than I appear.”

“Oh, I dunno.” I think he looks pretty old now.

“Older doesn’t always mean wiser. What I said that day was … I put impatience and greed over duty and faith. I’ve a lot to atone for.”

His vague answers do nothing but heighten my curiosity. “And when you said cursed, and warned us to ‘do good’ with the money … ?” I make air quotes with my fingers.

“I wasn’t really talking to the others there or about money specifically, though the advice was sound to any who would take heed. I was talking to you—presenting a challenge. I wanted you to avoid the mistakes I’d made. One moment of weakness started a chain of events that have followed my kith and kin like a scourge.” He leans forward, shoulder’s stiff, eyes blistering with intensity. “If you are successful, you will not only end an age of torment …”