Crux by Julie Reece Page B

from my hands. He hefts his grocery bags and gives a half wave goodbye. He doesn’t seem to understand, and I see my hope of escape dwindling.
    “Excuse me! Excuse me, sir?” A store employee walks toward me and the overgrown ape attached to my back. “I’m Harry Stone, store manager. I’ve received a complaint. Would you and your girlfriend please come with me?”
    Thank God for tattletales.
    The cashier shakes the box of tampons I’m purchasing high in the air, as if to demonstrate she’s already started my tab.
    Lovely.
    Mr. Cue Ball removes the pointy object from my back, but his fingers bite into my flesh. “We’re not going anywhere, but you can go to hell!” he shouts.
    “Not her. Just him .” A thin Asian woman points over my head.“That man nearly knocked me down pushing through the line.”
    “That was an accident.” His breaths part my hair, coating my ear. “We’re together. Aren’t we, honey?”
    I stare at Mr. Stone, praying he can read fear in my eyes. I hope he’s convinced I’m not with this clown.
    “If you’ll move this way, sir, we can speak in private.” Mr. Stone’s voice is determined but calm. Another guy shows up and stands next to him. I’m guessing he’s some plainclothes security guard. “We don’t want a scene,” Mr. Stone continues. “I’m sure we can clear this up if you’ll just—”
    “I know where you shop now,” the bald guy whispers against my face, making my skin crawl. “Later, Blondie.” I fly forward, crumpling against the check-out conveyer belt, as Cue Ball bursts past me and bolts out the front entrance.
    Everyone stares at the open, automatic doors. Rain splatters in from the wind, and beyond, only the darkness of night remains. The other shoppers’ eyes turn to me. Questions and annoyance, pity and confusion, their expressions run the gamut, and my normal, little shopping trip ends up anything but.
    The cashier leans over and says, “Miss? That’ll be sixty-two-fifty.”

7
    As I roll out of bed, I catch my reflection in the wall mirror. My hair sticks up six ways from Sunday, but I’m exhausted and past caring. I spent half the night trying to concoct an excuse to get out of having dinner with Grey’s family, and the other half waiting for the army guys to find me.
    My eyes shift toward the front door. Coffee and a perusal of the morning paper sounds relaxing, but a hot bath sounds better. I leave the suds to form while I get the amulet from its hiding place at the bottom of my laundry basket. Careful to avoid touching the stone, I drape the chain over the faucet of the tub, so I can study the necklace.
    I ease into the hot water, and the stress drains from my body. Hanging there, over my sparkly, blue painted toenails, the amulet shines, dangerous and beautiful. “What are you really?” I murmur as though the stone can answer. “How many lives have you helped or ruined? Jeff says you need to go. If your power corrupts people who try, how can anyone destroy you?”
    Leaning up through two feet of bubbles, I stare at the ice-like stone. Maybe I only imagined the scene at the bank. “How can something so small …” My fingers inch closer and brush the gem.
    As before, my lungs squeeze under the sensation that I’m being shoved down a three-inch pipe. I gasp for air, but the pressure seems less painful this time, maybe because I know what to expect. The power of the amulet transports me to the same courtyard where the rune stones jut into the sky twelve feet or more.
    Snow no longer coats the landscape; green colors the meadow while the sun burns white-hot in a cloudless sky.
    Across from the courtyard where I stand, men work hoes and picks in a huge garden. They dress in brown burlap-type robes, which they secure in the middle with woven belts. Their legs are covered in animal skins, laced together with thin strips of leather. My guess is they are priests or monks from the stone temple across the lawn. I didn’t see that building the