I close my eyes. I have to focus. I don’t want to focus. I’m sick of putting on a strong face. I’ve been doing it my entire life. For once it would be nice if I could just lie down, curl into a ball, and cry. But the only way I’m ever going to be able to do that is if I end this. If we end this.
“I do,” I whisper.
Yellow’s head whips around. “Huh?”
“I know where we can get help. We need to go back to Massachusetts. Cambridge. MIT.”
Neither Yellow nor I say much on the plane. I take the window seat and stare out of it the entire flight. I don’t want to think about my dad. It hurts too much. But my mind won’t stop replaying the moment when my dad mentioned the ten million dollars. When I discovered he orchestrated an assassination, only to be betrayed and murdered himself.
How many other kickbacks had he taken before that—gotten away with?
I know the truth, but I don’t want to believe it. It’s Alpha. It’s all Alpha. He corrupted my dad. Blackmailed him, maybe. My dad would not have done this on his own. Please let that be the truth.
I puke in a tiny, cramped airplane bathroom.
We’re climbing down the metal stairs onto the tarmac at Logan when I lean over to Yellow. “What happened to Beta?”
Yellow cranes her head around, and her face turns pained. “I don’t think you really want to know the answer to that, do you?”
“Tell me.”
Yellow sighs. “He committed suicide. Years ago. Probably not too long after . . . uh . . .”
“Committed suicide or got taken out just like my father did?”
Yellow presses her lips together.
“Whose father was Beta?”
She hesitates for a moment. “Green’s.”
I nod once. I never got a warm and fuzzy feeling from Green; but here we are, locked together in a mess of corruption and murder. He and I will be forever linked. And I’m kind of glad Beta got his due, all things told. He murdered my father.
Even if my father deserved it.
Maybe.
Probably.
I don’t know.
It’s a short cab ride from Logan to MIT, and I know exactly where I’m going now. Yellow pays the driver while I start walking, head down, toward the building in front of me. I hear Yellow take quick steps to catch up. We are the only two souls wandering the campus right now.
“Are you sure he’s going to be here?” Yellow looks down at her Annum watch. “It’s eight o’clock the day before Christmas Eve.”
“The man practically lives here,” I say. “Besides, Ariel’s Jewish, so it’s not like he’ll be rushing off to trim a tree or anything. He’ll be here.”
“But if he’s not?”
I sigh. “Then I know where he lives.” Although I’d like to avoid going to his house. I don’t know if I’d have the strength not to collapse into a puddle of tears and mourning in the living room.
We round the corner. The sky is dark, and a window on the fifth floor is illuminated. I point.
“Bet you anything that’s Ariel’s office.”
The front door is locked. I jiggle the handle a few times to make sure, but it doesn’t budge. Christmas holidays. Of course the door is locked. I don’t know what I was thinking. We’re going to have to break in.
I turn to tell Yellow, but she’s already standing in front of a first-floor window with a fallen tree branch. “Is there an alarm?”
I shrug. I have no idea. But I guess we’ll find out.
Yellow heaves the limb through the window, but apart from the sound of the glass shattering, it’s quiet. We clear out the glass, then I hoist Yellow up through the window. She scoots a chair over, and I jump to grab her hand.
We’re in.
The hallway on the fifth floor is dark, but light spills from Ariel’s open door.
“Told you,” I whisper to Yellow.
Ariel sits in the corner of his cluttered office with his back to the door. He’s hunched over a stool, tinkering with a small metal object. Papers are piled up and pushed to either side of the desk. I clear my throat, and Ariel turns at once. He somehow looks older than the last time I saw him, which seems weird. That was in 1962. Just over a year ago. Yet the Ariel who’s looking at me now has a harder face, more lines. There are bags under both of his eyes.
“Ah,” he says when he sees me, “Miss Hart, was it? I was wondering when I’d see you again.”
There’s a coyness in his voice. I look over to Yellow to see if she’s caught it, but Yellow’s just standing there staring at Ariel with her mouth open.
Chills dance up and down my arms. “My name isn’t Miss Hart.”
“I am very well aware of that,” Ariel says. “When are you from?”
“I—” Wait. Did he say when am I from?
“You—you know who I am?” My head snaps over to Yellow again. But she has the same shocked expression on her face.
“Not specifically, but when you showed up out of nowhere, begging me to change the design of my machine, I was willing to bet that you were, in fact, already using it at some point in the future. So now I’m asking you when you came from.”
Yellow’s fingers grab my bicep. “Don’t tell him,” she whispers.
I turn to face her. “What?”
Yellow starts backing out of the room, one foot at a time. “We need to go. Now.”
“Yellow, what are—”
“That’s Seven,” she whispers.
My mouth turns bone-dry as my mind races back to my Annum Guard orientation. The first generation Guardians were code named numbers. Only one of that generation is still alive.
Seven.
Ariel.
Which means . . . Abe.
I gasp. No. NO! Not Abe. Not Abe. NOT ABE! I whip my head back to Ariel in a flash. I’m not going anywhere.
“You’re a liar!” I say. “I know you. I’ve known you for years, which means you knew exactly who I was all those times. All those dinners. All those holiday celebrations. And you never said a goddamned word!”
Ariel holds up his hands and rises from his stool. “You need to stop talking right now.”
“Do you know what Annum Guard is?” I ask.
“Of course I do.” He waves his arm in the air. “It’s been in place for over a year. We’ve experimented, and we’re still at least another year away from consistently traveling, but we’re getting there. I’m Seven.” He looks right at Yellow. “I think you already know that, don’t you?”
Yellow doesn’t say anything, and Ariel looks back at me.
“Now will you please tell me who you are, when you are from, and what you want?”
“Iris, don’t,” Yellow says.
I look right at Ariel. “I know your grandson.”
“No.” Ariel holds up a hand with a very stern look on his face. “I don’t want you to tell me anything specific. Nothing at all. Anything you tell me has the potential to completely alter my life’s course, and I’m not interested. I’m on a path for a reason, and I will follow it to the end. So just keep it all to yourself.
“I only want to know who you are, when you come from, and what you want.”
Why should I? Why shouldn’t I tell him every tiny detail of his life to come?
But I know, deep down. Abe. Anything I tell Ariel could affect Abe’s future.
Me being here right now could affect Abe’s future. My first visit, too, when I pointed out Mona. What if I planted that idea too early, and she and Ariel have already dated and broken up? What if Ariel marries someone else, which means no Abe? Ever?
I open my mouth, but my tongue can’t find the words. I don’t know if I can do this. I have to do this. We’re at a dead end. Without help, we’re going to fail. Breathe.
I tell Ariel that I’m Annum Guard, too, and giv
e him the date I ran away. My voice cracks as I do.
“And what do you want?”
I open the notebook and tear out the back page, the page on which Yellow and I had scribbled the information on the four other big CE missions. I hand it over.
“These are four missions that . . .” I stop myself before I tell him about CE. “I just want to know what they are. The dates and locations. Someday in the future, you’re going to have access to this information. All I’m asking is that you share it with me.”
Ariel sighs but holds out his hand for the paper. I hesitate before I give it to him. There are so many other things I could ask for instead. I could ask Ariel to get rid of Alpha the second he’s put in charge. I could ask him to kick my grandfather off Annum Guard One. I could ask him to lock me away so that the Guard would never find me in the first place, but I don’t. I don’t say anything. I’m too close to my future, and I could wreck it all with one innocent comment.
“Why should I do this?” Ariel asks.
I hesitate. I don’t know how to answer that without giving too much away. “Because one day I like to think I’m going to mean a great deal to you, and you’re going to know that I will always do the right thing.” Ariel’s face tightens. “You don’t have to decide now. But if that day comes, and I’m right, then help me. Please.”
Ariel lowers onto his stool. He props his elbow on the desk, closes his eyes, and cradles his head in his hand. He’s quiet for a while.
“I can’t make you any promises,” he finally says.
“Okay. But I hope you will.” It’s all I can say.
Yellow and I leave the building the same way we came in. The broken window on the first floor.
“So now what?” she says.
“Now we project.”
Yellow raises an eyebrow. “Where? You know, I’m starting to lose patience with you.”
“I don’t know where, and it really doesn’t matter. Our present won’t be affected until we project again, right? So if Ariel is going to help us, we have to leave today before we can find out. Isn’t that how it works?”
Yellow nods.
“So pick a date, and let’s go there.”
“I don’t know,” she says with a sigh. “Tomorrow. Christmas Eve 1963.”
I set my watch. One bump of the day knob. “Fair enough.” I watch Yellow do it, too, and then we shut our watches at the same time.
The projection lasts a fraction of a second. I don’t even feel it.
“Well?” Yellow asks, looking at me with wide eyes that blink rapidly with impatience. “Do you magically know the answer now?”
I stop. I think. I don’t feel any different, not that I was expecting to. It wasn’t like Ariel was going to pull me aside when I was fourteen and tell me the truth about everything. No, if he’s going to help us, it’s going to be by giving us the information subtly. But how?
I reach up and run my hands through my hair, tugging on the ends. It pulls on my scalp and it hurts. “Maybe we should project again. Maybe we’re supposed to go see Ariel again in the present?”
“The present?” Yellow repeats. “You want to go to the house of an Annum Guard member in the present? Are you that insane? Maybe Ariel—Seven—isn’t going to sabotage us, but I can tell you that his house is sure as hell being monitored, especially because of your connection.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right. I shake my head. “Then maybe we go to my mom’s house? Maybe Ariel sent me something.”
“You don’t think your mom’s house is triggered with all sorts of alarms, too? Iris, you’re falling apart on me.”
“Well, then I don’t know what to do!” I raise my hands and press the heels of my palms into my forehead. Something jingles.
“Oh my God,” I say. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” Yellow asks, but I’m already clawing away under the sleeve of the itchy gray dress. My fingers loop around my bracelet, and I shinny it to my wrist and undo the clasp. I hold it up for Yellow.
“Ariel gave me this,” I tell her. “The first Hanukkah I spent with Abe’s family.”
“And there’s a clue hidden in your bracelet?”
“There is.” As soon as the words escape my lips, I know it’s true. Ariel hid the information we need to know in this bracelet. My Ariel. My Abe’s grandfather. The man who opened his arms and his heart to me when he knew who I was but also knew that I had no idea. He would help me. And the answer is in this bracelet.
I hold it up to my eyes and squint. It’s a silver bracelet with a number of charms dangling from it. There’s a mini Eiffel Tower—not that I’ve ever been to Paris—next to a mini poodle—not that I’ve ever owned a dog that wasn’t a mutt—then a silver key, a birdcage, and a—
Hang on. I squint my eyes even more so that they’re almost closed. And then they pop open, and I gasp.
“It’s here!” I tell Yellow. “Right here!”
“What’s here?”
I hold up the birdcage, which can’t be more than half an inch tall. “Look!” Inside of the tiny cage, behind the thin metal bars, is a small scroll of yellowed paper.
Yellow’s eyes cross as she peers in. “You’re sure that wasn’t there all along?”
“If it was, I never noticed it. I have to get this open.” The charm is purely decorative. There’s no door on the birdcage, and the bars are only a few millimeters apart. I’m going to have to break it. “I need your bag!” I tell Yellow. “Do you still have that scalpel you swiped?”
“The one you used to butcher my arm?”
“Hey, you told me to—”
“Dude. Joking.” Yellow roots around in her bag and pulls out the scalpel. She hands it over, and I slide it through the bars and twist. Two of them pop right off. It’s a pretty bracelet, but not very well made. In a matter of seconds, all the bars litter the ground, and I’m holding the tiny scroll of paper in my hands. And I mean tiny. I unroll it, then unfold it, and it’s like two inches by two inches.
There are four things written on the paper. Four things. Four CE missions.
“He did it,” I whisper. “Ariel came through.”
Yellow peers over my shoulder at the paper. I hold it close so we can both make out the tiny writing.
280 Fenway, Boston, MA, March 18, 1990, 1:24 a.m.
Palais des Tuileries, Paris, France, April 30, 1803, 4:21 p.m.
100 Bureau Drive, Gaithersburg, MD, October 21, 1939, 8:00 a.m.
1100 Western Avenue, Lynn, MA, June 2, 1890, 9:12 a.m.
Yellow takes a breath. “What is this?”
“I think it’s the exact locations and times of the other four big CE missions.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Yellow leans in closer to the paper. “Catch the next flight to Paris and head to the—” She grabs the paper. “Palais? That means ‘palace.’ We don’t have the money for that, and I’m fresh out of things to sell. Not to mention, how are we going to get inside a palace?”
“Look,” I say as I point to the first entry. “That’s the Gardner. We know that one. It’s a nonstarter. There was nothing about a CE or a Cresty. We can count it out, as well as Paris, because . . . well, yeah. But”—I point to the last one—“Lynn is, like, not even ten miles from here. Maryland is farther but still doable. We’ll take those two and see what we can figure out.”
Yellow shakes her head. “But I don’t understand what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“Yeah, me either.” Which is the truth. I have no idea what we’re supposed to be looking for. But in this moment, I’m going to trust Ariel. I should have trusted him from the beginning. “That’s what we’re going to find out. I think we should split up this time. Do you want Lynn or Maryland?”
“Neither,” Yellow says.
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Look,�
� Yellow says with a huff in her voice. “What if . . .” She takes a breath. “What if the entire organization is corrupt? Every single member? What if my dad is working with Alpha? I don’t know if I can face the fact that my father might be a . . .” Her eyes get big as she realizes what she’s about to say.
“A traitor?” I finish. “Like my father was?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. It’s not fine. Nothing my dad did will ever be fine. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think your dad knows. I mean, Alpha had my dad and then Beta, and then when they were . . . taken out . . . he had to move on to someone else for these two.” I tap the last two locations on the list. “I don’t know what happened to that person, but now, all of a sudden, Alpha is trying to get the ability to project himself. That’s why he sent me back to get Ariel to change his design. The whole entire thing was one big setup to give Alpha the ability. If someone else was in on this CE thing, Alpha wouldn’t be so desperate.”
“That’s Eta or Gamma,” Yellow says.
“Huh?” I know she has to be talking about two members of Annum Guard Two, but I have no idea who they are.
“Eta and Gamma. They both died only a few years ago. Gamma’s—well, she was Blue’s mother. I’m going to doubt it’s her. She did a lot of the early lifting on missions, before the gravity chamber was invented. Lots of repeated projecting.”
“You mean like we’re doing?”
She ignores me. “Her body gave out on her. Just stopped. She lost the ability to walk, then even to stand. Her muscles atrophied. She—”
I hold up my hand to stop her. I don’t want to hear any more. I’m picturing Epsilon as she was in my orientation, her body twisted and broken by years of unprotected projections. How much damage am I doing to my own body trying to bring down Alpha? I’m young and healthy now, but how many years do I have left before I suffer the same fate? I don’t want to think about it.
The Eighth Guardian (Annum Guard) Page 25