The Eighth Guardian (Annum Guard)

by Meredith McCardle

  The room is empty save for one person. A man. The man who was watching me so intently before. His green tie stares at me.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  The man draws himself up to his full height. He’s tall and trim and intimidating as hell. He looks as if he could be a hit man or something. His light-brown hair is shaved down, though it’s not short enough to hide the receding hairline creeping across his scalp. And even though he’s wearing a suit, it’s obvious that he’s pretty ripped—not as bulky as a body builder, but enough to where you’d be stupid to try to pick a bar fight with him. I have no doubt he’s trained in some sort of martial arts. I try to guess how old he is and decide he’s probably around the age my dad would be if he was still alive.

  For one brief second my heart pangs at the thought of my dad. I wish he was here with me. I could use a father at this moment.

  “Open the envelope,” the man says.

  I look down at my name, then flip over the envelope to the back. It’s sealed with red wax. There’s a symbol in the wax, and I bring the envelope closer to my face to inspect it. It’s an owl. But not a cartoony-looking owl. A scary owl. A hold-you-down-and-peck-your-eyes-out owl. I look up. The last time I checked, the CIA didn’t use an owl as its symbol.

  “Go on,” the man says.

  I slide my finger under the flap and break the seal. There’s a single, folded sheet of paper inside. I flick it open, and my head pops back. It doesn’t say Central Intelligence Agency. Not even Federal Bureau of Investigation. No, there in the middle, in fancy script that looks as if it was scratched on with an old-fashioned quill, it reads,

  Annum Guard

  “What the hell is Annum Guard?” I look up at him.

  And then I gasp. The man is standing only a few inches in front of me now. He’s holding a black cloth bag in his hands, and I know what’s about to happen. I drop the letter and raise my hands to fight, but I’m too slow. The bag goes over my head, and I inhale a faint, sweet smell with obvious chemical overtones.

  Chloroform.

  I kick.

  I scream.

  “No!”

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t. . . .

  I open my eyes. Light swirls in front of me. Foggy shapes become clearer the more I stare. I’m lying down. There are fluorescent tubes lining the ceiling, each set to the maximum wattage. I drop my chin to my chest and squint. My mouth is dry. My head is pounding.

  Where am I?

  I try to lift my arms, but they won’t budge. I’m strapped down. I turn my head to the side. There’s a needle stuck in my arm, pumping blood into or out of me—I don’t know which.

  I gasp. I thrash on the gurney. This is wrong. This is all wrong. No government organization would do this to me, would it? I’ve been kidnapped. I’ve been taken by someone. I have to get out of here.

  A man appears over me. He’s changed his tie. It’s red now.

  “Hello, Iris,” he says.

  I go still. “My name is—”

  “Iris,” he repeats. “At least it is now.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You can call me Alpha.”

  “Where am I?” I swear I can hear my heart thumping in my chest cavity.

  “A room.”

  “Why?”

  He clears his throat. “Routine physical.”

  Not likely. “Why did you take me?”

  “You graduated, remember?” His voice is low, flat. “You’re no longer a student, Iris. You work for the government now. You work for me.”

  The government. The piece of paper Headmaster Vaughn handed me. What did it say? My head is a helium balloon. I can’t concentrate. I can barely see straight. But then it comes back to me.

  “Annum Guard,” I whisper.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “That’s because we’re a secret.”

  A door opens behind me. I turn my head to look, but I can’t turn far enough. All I see is the side wall.

  “It’s almost ready,” a female voice says.

  What’s almost ready?

  “Here,” she says.

  Here? What’s here?

  The door shuts, and the man who called himself Alpha appears over me again. “I’m sorry for the restraints. They’re for your own protection. You lost some blood, and we’re replenishing it for you.”

  Lost some blood? How did I lose some blood? My heart flies into my throat, and I think I might throw up. My training is failing me. I’m supposed to be able to handle this. They taught us to keep our cool. But I can’t. In this moment I can’t.

  Breathe, Amanda. Breathe.

  “Tell me what’s going on.” My voice is raspy.

  “I told you,” the man says. “You’re the newest member of Annum Guard.” He’s holding something in his hand. Something thin and metallic, like a pen, but I know it can’t be a pen. He holds it to my right forearm, right below where the needle is pumping blood into my veins. “This might hurt.”

  I don’t have time to brace myself or even voice a protest. The man punches it down, and pain erupts through the entire right side of my body. I scream. My body bucks up, fighting the leather straps holding down my arms and legs.

  “Sorry,” the man says as he pulls away.

  “Let me out!” I scream. “Untie me! You can’t keep me here!”

  “I believe I can, and I’m going to. You belong to me now, remember?”

  “No, I don’t remember. I don’t know anything.”

  “Annum Guard,” the man says.

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “No, I don’t think you would have. Not many people outside of Annum Guard have, short of the president and the secretary of defense. We’re a secret, Iris. We’re the guardians of time.”

  The guardians of time?

  The man takes a minute. His eyes flick to the wall, then back to me. “We have the ability of Chronometric Augmentation.”

  What the hell is he talking about? I thrash and kick against my bindings, but then he’s above me again.

  “You see, we project back in time and tweak the past to improve the present.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I practically spit. “No one can travel—project—whatever the hell you call it—back in time. It’s physically impossible.”

  “Oh, but it’s not. You’ll see.”

  I suck in my breath. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to let me out of here or else—”

  “What?” the man interrupts. “Just what do you plan to do? Scream? Go ahead. But I think I’ve already proven that you’re stuck here until I let you out.” His fingers wrap around one of the leather straps holding down my ankles, and he tugs it for good measure.

  “Who are you?” I hear my voice starting to crack. Not good. I need to pull it together.

  “I’ve already told you that. You can call me Alpha. I run Annum Guard. We project back in time to—”

  “Stop lying to me! How did you get me out of the school? There are cameras and gates everywhere. You couldn’t have just drugged me and carried me out.”

  “Unless I had the express permission of your headmaster,” Alpha says. “Which I received the second I told him I had chosen you to graduate and join Annum Guard. Then you became mine.”

  “What did you put in my arm?”

  “A tracker. I need to know your location at all times.”

  A tracker. There is a tracker in my arm. My head spins as I try to process this, but then the door opens again. I don’t bother to turn this time. I can’t see behind me.

  “It’s ready,” the same female voice says.

  What’s ready? My heart is pounding.

  Alpha clears his throat. “Thank you.” A few seconds later he appears over me, holdi
ng something. He opens his hand and brings a round bronze pendant of some sort toward my face. I don’t flinch. But then the pendant stops, an inch or so above my nose, and I can finally see it. It’s a pendant on a chain. A necklace. As it swings back and forth in front of my face, I focus on it. It has an owl etched into it. The same owl that was on the wax seal back at school.

  “What is that?” It comes out as a whisper.

  “This is what gives us the ability to project back in time.”

  “It’s a necklace.”

  “Very good. No one can ever say you lack intelligence.” Is he mocking me?

  “Are you telling me that a necklace gives human beings the ability to travel back in time?”

  Alpha nods.

  “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “I do. But not just any human beings, Iris, only those who have been chosen. And you have been chosen.”

  “Why?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” I don’t believe him. He’s insane. People can’t travel back in time. That’s a physical impossibility. I mean, I’m not a physics genius or anything, but you can’t do that. This man has stolen me for some reason, and I need to figure out why.

  “Because I recognized qualities you exhibited during Testing Day, qualities that will make you a good fit with Annum Guard.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “I didn’t finish the water challenge.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me.”

  He’s giving me nothing to go on here. Absolutely nothing.

  “And what about the other challenges?” I ask.

  “You showed intelligence in the detention challenge. Most of your classmates sat there until the men came back and then tried to overpower them. You didn’t even consider that as an option. You were proactive. I didn’t care about the final challenge after that.”

  His tone hasn’t wavered once, and his answer is intentionally vague. Damn, he’s good. He isn’t giving anything away.

  “Are you ready for me to prove to you that time travel exists?” he asks.

  I don’t respond for a few seconds. Things are changing. He’s going to untie me. I know the door is behind me and that he’s the only person in this room. Alpha’s bigger than me, but I’ll have the element of surprise. I can do this. One step at a time. First I get out of this room. Then out of the building. Then back to Peel. Back to Abe.

  “Sure,” I say, my voice slow.

  Alpha nods his head once. He unties my hands, and I leave them by my side. No use wasting energy when my legs are still tied to the table. He fiddles with the left strap, then the right. Here we go.

  I spring off the table and launch myself at Alpha, ready to attack, but he’s quicker. He anticipated this. Shit. I don’t have time to respond. All I know is that my hands are behind my back, and Alpha has slammed me to the floor. The side of my face rests against the cool concrete. Alpha’s knee is pressing into my back, between my shoulder blades. I can’t move.

  “Honestly now,” he says. “You didn’t think that move was a little obvious? That’s disappointing. I thought we were going to be able to do this the easy way, but I guess not.” There’s a metal click-click as a pair of handcuffs are slapped onto my wrists.

  Alpha pulls me up. He marches me forward, out through the doorway and into a blindingly white hallway. I have to squint because the fluorescent bulbs overhead make my eyes water. The walls are white and the floor is white, which only magnifies the light. I feel as if I’m stumbling around inside a solar flare.

  Alpha leads me to the end of the hallway. There’s a door straight ahead and a girl standing outside of it. She can’t be much older than me. She has straight hair that falls to her shoulders in a bob. And it’s purple. Bright purple. It really pops against her light-brown skin. There’s a gold-plated plaque hanging above the door. It reads:

  ENHANCEMENT, NOT ALTERATION

  “Here.” The girl holds out a plain black knapsack to Alpha. He takes it. I recognize her voice as the one from the room before. I think back to my training. See everything. I try to take in her voice, the smell of this hallway, the lighting, Enhancement, Not Alteration. My eyes scan the walls for identifying marks. But there are none. And it’s all happening too fast.

  Alpha lets go of me with one hand and slips the necklace around my neck. The owl pendant falls to my chest with a thump. My heart rate picks up. This is not good. Something is about to happen here. I need to make a break for it now.

  But before I can move, Alpha is back on me. His elbow loops around my neck, and he’s got me in a choke hold. He’s had some serious combat training. I can’t move. My heart is thumping so loudly that the two of them have to hear it.

  “Why did you choose to attend Peel?” Alpha whispers behind me.

  I’m starting to get dizzy. “What?”

  “Why did you choose to attend Peel?” His voice is rougher. Firm.

  I repeat Peel’s mantra for him. “To learn the tools necessary to someday serve my country to the best of my ability.” And that’s true. But it’s only half of it.

  “Well, then.” Alpha unlocks my handcuffs. “That day has come. Go forth and serve. Listen carefully, because I’m only going to tell you your mission once.”

  The girl with the purple hair flings open the door to reveal blackness. How is that possible? This hallway is so bright that I should be able to see something in there. But I can’t see anything.

  What is this place?

  Alpha shoves the knapsack into my chest, and my fingers claw at it.

  “There’s only one rule,” he says. “No communication. Do not talk, do not gesture, do not interact with anyone.”

  “What?” Don’t interact with whom? What is he talking about?

  Alpha comes around to the front of me and fiddles with the necklace. I glance down as he pushes on a knob on the top. The owl pops open, revealing a watch face. It’s a pocket watch. The necklace is a pocket watch. Alpha spins a dial to the right of the face, then fastens the watch shut. He takes hold of my chin and jerks it up.

  “Your mission is simple. Get back. Leave from the place where you started.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, but Alpha turns me around and pushes me through the doorway. I hear the door shut behind me, and suddenly the room is spinning so fast I don’t know if I’m up or down. But I do know I’m going to vomit. My brain is crushing against my skull, flattening and trying to seep out through my ear canals. My hands fly to my ears, and I’m pretty sure I scream.

  I’m falling.

  Down.

  Down.

  Down.

  I land. Hard, right on my backside, with a thud. My wrist braces my fall, and I cry out. I cradle my wrist in my hand, carefully moving it side to side. It hurts, but it’s not broken.

  I groan as I look up and take in my surroundings. And then my jaw drops open. I’m in . . . a closet? It’s dark, but there’s enough light coming under a door behind me to make it out. I grab the door handle and jiggle it, but it doesn’t budge. It’s locked. I shake it and yell, then pound on the door and throw myself against it. Nothing.

  I turn around and lean my back on it, and that’s when I see the other door. There’s another door.

  I grab the handle and turn it. The door swings open, revealing a cobblestone street lined with redbrick buildings. I step out into the empty street, and the door closes behind me.

  “No!” I yell. Because the handle on this side doesn’t turn. I’m locked out. Or in. I don’t really know.

  “Pardon me, are you all right?”

  I look up. There’s a young man stopped on the street, maybe twenty feet away. He’s staring at me. He’s insanely good-looking. Movie star good-looking. Big, bright eyes, a strong jawline, and chiseled cheekbones.

  But I can barely even process that. Because
he’s wearing a tuxedo and a top hat. And he’s sitting in the back of a horse-drawn carriage.

  This has to be a joke.

  I open my mouth to say something, but then Alpha’s voice is ringing in my ears. Not his actual voice—his warning.

  Do not interact with anyone!

  I have no idea what’s going on, but one of the first rules they teach at Peel is never to act before you know your location. Have an exit strategy. I can’t start breaking Alpha’s artificial rules—or try to get away—until I at least know where I am. And so I turn and run as fast as I can down the alleyway, far away from the runway model in the carriage.

  “Oy!” he yells after me. “I must ask that you stop! You’re bleeding. Allow me to fetch a doctor.”

  I run faster. I’m dizzy. My elbow bangs into the side of a brick building. I’m sure that’s bleeding now, too, but I keep going. I zip to the left at the first intersection and throw my back against a wall. I didn’t run that far, but I can’t catch my breath.

  I bend forward and clutch at my chest, willing the air to stay in my lungs. I feel like a balloon stuck with a pin. All the air has exploded out of me.

  I’m dizzy. I’ve slept for—what is it?—one hour in the past thirty-six? Maybe two? I have no idea what time it is now or how long I was out before I woke up strapped to the table. But none of that matters. I have to figure out where I am.

  I straighten up. I’m in a sea of redbrick brownstones with black shutters and black wrought iron railings. They’re to the left. They’re to the right. They’re on both sides of the street.

  It’s . . . charming. The sort of place I like to imagine myself living someday. For one brief second I picture myself clutching the metal railing and floating up the staircase, laughing at Abe as he follows behind me.