The Eighth Guardian

CHAPTER 11

Throwing myself in front of a cab turns out to be the way to Zeta’s heart. The very next day, he takes me on another mission. And then another after that. And three more the following week. I experience Harlem in the 1920s and Philadelphia in the 1790s. October blinks into November, and I turn seventeen without a hint of celebration. Before I know it, Thanksgiving is looming over me like a dark cloud.

Thanksgiving. Abe and I were supposed to spend it with my mom. I always go back to her for the holidays. It was never the same between us, not after I’d chosen a school I’d never heard of over her; I would put on a brave face anyway. Having Abe with me always helped. Abe can talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime—about anything. His warmth and humor is contagious. One time he was even able to get my mom to crack the smallest smile during one of her lows. That was the moment I realized I loved him.

But now I’m not going to see either of them. Ever again.

I’m in the library poring over a book on early-twentieth-century American politics, something Zeta has assigned me in preparation for a mission that may or may not happen. Who knows?

I don’t have the room to myself today. Indigo is sitting at the desk next to me, and Blue has plopped himself in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. Violet sits in the other, her nose in an ancient-looking book with a peeling cherry-red leather cover.

I’m reading a section on Teddy Roosevelt’s early presidency when a note flies on top of my desk. I set down the book and look at Indigo. He jerks his head toward the note, as if it’s not completely obvious who threw it. I pick it up.

Looking forward to Thanksgiving?

Dammit. One more reminder of what will never be. An image of our dog, Dos, jumping up on me and licking me while doing a whiny little cry because he’s so excited to see me again pops into my mind. Then my mom’s face. I haven’t allowed myself to wonder whether she’d be so happy to see me that she won’t have slept in two days and will have baked seven different pies because she doesn’t know which one I’ll want, or whether she’d be in one of her moods where it wouldn’t even matter that I’m there. I wonder what will happen for real when I don’t show up this year.

And Abe. Abe will spend the holiday alone with his family. Unless he’s met another girl by now. Will another girl be sitting next to him at his grandfather’s worn oak table, laughing at his jokes and mentally planning to take him home to meet her family?

I pick up my pen and scribble a response.

No.

I sail the note back, but it lands on my desk a few seconds later.

Why? :( We put on a good show here; you’ll see.

My eyes scrunch closed. A frowny face? Did Indigo seriously just draw a frowny face? I scrawl another quick note and pass it back.

I’m just not. Don’t really want to talk about it.

I watch Indigo read the note out of the corner of my eye and hope that will be the end of it. He drops the note onto his desk and turns to me.

“Hey,” he whispers. “What’s wrong?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” I whisper back. I pick up the book and pretend to read.

“Hey,” he whispers again, this time louder and with more force. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Sorry.” He looks dejected, like a lost puppy.

I snap the book shut. “Stop being so offended. I just don’t like loaded questions.” My voice is louder, and Violet looks up at me and narrows her eyes. I ignore it.

“Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving? How is that a loaded question? You don’t need to snap at me.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you serious? I didn’t snap at you. I told you I wasn’t looking forward to Thanksgiving and that I don’t really want to talk about it.”

He starts to roll his eyes but stops himself. “Dude, it was a simple question.”

“Fine, hotshot,” I say. “You want to know why I’m not looking forward to Thanksgiving? Because I always spent it with my boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend, thanks to Annum Guard. We always went to my mom’s house in Vermont, which was nice because I had my boyfriend there as a buffer. My mom’s bipolar and refuses to medicate, you see, so I never know if I’m going to get happy Joy or miserable Joy. Yeah, that’s my mom’s name. Joy. Ain’t life fuckin’ ironic sometimes?”

Indigo holds up his hands. “I didn’t mean—”

“And my dad’s been dead for sixteen years, so my mom has no one now. No one. Because I selfishly abandoned her two years ago when my Peel letter arrived. It’s really great for someone with severe mental issues to be all alone. I’ll probably be an orphan soon, and it’s going to be all my fault.”

A book slams shut by the fireplace. I look over as Blue throws the book to the floor and stands. “Are we supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“This doesn’t concern you,” I say.

“Of course it does. You think you’re the only person in this room missing a parent? I haven’t had a mother in more than three years. Violet hasn’t had—”

Violet jumps to her feet. “Leave me out of this!”

Blue jerks his head toward Indigo. “Poster boy over there has two healthy, functioning parents, but he’s the exception. This place kills you. At least you didn’t have to grow up watching it eat away at the people you love. You didn’t have to watch your mother’s mangled body slowly give up on her.”

“Blue!” Violet snaps. “Shut up!”

But Blue can’t take back what he’s said. Bits and pieces of information float together in my mind, and then suddenly the truth slaps me across the cheek.

“Your parents were all Annum Guard.” And now I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out sooner. That was Blue’s path. The path of his parents. Blue’s mother died like Epsilon is now dying. Slowly. Painfully. One of Violet’s parents was the same. Indigo’s parents are still alive. Which means. Oh my God. Of course.

I whip around to Indigo. “Your dad is Zeta.” He doesn’t deny it, and his face admits it. “You were all born into this.”

“Chronometric Augmentation is genetic,” Blue says.

“Blue, shut up!” Violet says again. “She can’t know this!” She launches herself at Blue, but he pushes her aside.

“No!” he yells. “Why shouldn’t she know the truth? If she’s going to be one of us, she has a right to know.”

“No, she doesn’t.” She jumps toward Blue again. “She doesn’t even belong here. She’s not one of us.”

“She does belong here,” Indigo says, pushing himself between Blue and Violet. “Alpha chose her. It’s not right that they’re still keeping her in the dark like this.”

Everyone breathes heavy, and we all exchange glances, as if we’re daring one another to make a move.

Indigo blinks first. He grabs my hand and spins me to look at him. “Our grandfathers started Annum Guard. Their children took their place. And now it falls to us. That’s how it’s always been. Until you.”

He glances at the door, and Blue and Violet do the same.

“She’s not supposed to know any of this,” Violet says.

“Violet, hush,” Indigo says. But now he looks nervous. Like he’s about to change his mind.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why until me?”

Blue jerks his head to me and juts his chin up in the air. “You’re the first outsider. You weren’t born into this like we were. The government is using you to decide whether they want to expand us to a host of outsiders.”

Outsider. He’s now said it twice. They all view me as an outsider. But I already know this.

“How is it that I’m able to project then?” I ask.

“Alpha took your DNA,” Indigo says, and just like that I’m snapped back to waking up in a cold, sterile room, strapped to a gurney with a needle in my arm. I never bought the “routine physical” line, obviously, but it’s nice to finally know the truth. “He took it, and they injected it into one of the Annum watches. Ergo, you can now project.”

My head is swimming. They stole me from school, from Abe, from my mom, from every truth I’ve ever known. They stole from my body. They used me. It’s too much. It’s all just too much.

I bolt out of the library, then out the front door. An alarm sounds as I go, but I don’t slow down. I have to get away from here. The cars are barreling down Beacon Street, but I fly into the road. A big black SUV slams on its brakes, missing me by inches, and I bang my fists on its hood before darting past it.

“Iris!” a voice behind me yells.

I’m across the street now. I turn back to see Indigo shouting to me. “Iris, come back!”

I tear down the steps into Boston Common. The Frog Pond is to my right, Park Street to my left. I run straight, as fast as my legs will carry me.

“Iris!”

Indigo isn’t far behind me, I can tell. He’s faster than I am. He’s going to catch me at this pace. I bend down and sprint toward the other side of the park, toward Tremont Street. It’s close. There’s a bustling downtown shopping district on the other side. If I can make it across the street, I can lose Indigo no problem.

There’s a pizza shop on the other side of the street. It’s all I’m looking at. That’s my target. I’m at the street, still running full steam. I take a breath and leap out onto Tremont when a strong arm grabs me and yanks me back.

A bus barrels through the intersection.

I gasp.

A bus.

I look into the eyes of a very shaken young businessman. He releases his grip on me, and his mouth pops open as his briefcase clunks to the sidewalk. I stare back at him, panting hard. And then another hand grabs my shoulder from behind. I don’t have to turn.

“Iris!” Indigo pants. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re a liar!” I try to push his arm off me, but he just holds on tighter. “All of you! You lied to me!”

I ignore the group of Asian tourists gaping at me outside the Boston Common Visitor Information Center. A tour guide dressed as a colonist—powdered wig and all—tries to divert their attention to the Park Street Church just a block away.

“Nobody lied to you,” Indigo shouts. “They withheld the truth. There’s a difference.”

“There’s no difference.” I duck down and dart left, then grab Indigo’s shoulder and flip him onto his back. “A lie told is no different than a truth omitted.”

Indigo’s eyes pop open in shock, but he doesn’t try to get up. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Iris!”

It’s a different voice this time. A louder voice. An angrier voice. I already recognize it.

I look up to see Alpha running toward us. That’s when I also notice the crowd of people gawking at us from both sides of Tremont Street. It’s not just the tourists. It’s everyone within a two-block radius. Can I turn and run? Doubtful. But there is something I can do. I have time at my disposal. I pull the Annum watch out from under my sweater.

“Don’t even think about it,” Alpha growls as I pop open the lid. He’s closing in on me. Only a few steps away.

I spin the top knob a few times. I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t want to project—that would be stupid—but I don’t want to be here right now.

“I’ll track you,” Alpha says. “I’ll track you, and I’ll find you, and I’ll strip you of that watch and ship you off to Carswell so fast your head will spin.”

Carswell again. Prison. Texas. That’s far away from Massachusetts, from Vermont, from everyone I know and love. And I have a tracker in my arm. Even if I did run, I’d never make it.

I drop the watch and it plunks against my chest. Indigo pushes himself off the ground and stares at me with worried eyes.

Alpha grabs on to my shoulder, spins me around, and marches me back toward Beacon Street. His grip is strong. “Explain yourself.” He’s whispering, but it’s low and dangerous.

“You explain yourself,” I spit, and Alpha yanks on my shoulder to let me know I’m out of line. But I don’t care. “Chronometric Augmentation is genetic? And I’m your guinea pig?”

“I told you all of that before.”

“No, you didn’t!”

Alpha stops halfway across Boston Common and whips me around so fast I stumble over my feet. “I told you that membership in Annum Guard has been set since it started and that the government wants to experiment with adding new members. So tell me, what exactly did I lie to you about?” Indigo comes to a halt a few feet away and looks at the ground.

“It’s what you didn’t tell me,” I say.

“I didn’t tell you that Chronometric Augmentation was genetic. Fine. Now you tell me. Why is that such a big deal? Why are you acting like such a child over this?”

“I’m not acting like a child,” I say, knowing full well that it makes me sound like a whiny kid. “Your parents were Annum Guard, too. You’re all a part of this secret society, and I’m the outsider.”

Alpha stares at me, long and hard. One second passes. Two seconds. Five. Six. Way longer than necessary. Then he jerks his head toward Beacon. “Walk.”

We cross the Common without saying another word. Indigo follows behind us. I’m dreading reaching Annum Hall. Hall of Lies.

I wonder if this is it. If they’re going to throw me out and lock me up. I never found out about my dad.

My feet feel heavy on the stairs leading to the stoop, and Alpha unlocks the front door. He holds it open for Indigo, then pushes me through.

“I trust you have an assignment to keep yourself busy?” he asks Indigo.

Indigo nods and then shoots me the same look as before. Concern. Genuine concern. Dammit. Why does Indigo have to be so nice all the time? I give him a stone-faced stare in return, and his brow creases and his face crumples. He walks into the library and shuts the door behind him.

“Follow me,” Alpha orders.

I do. I have no choice. We cross the living room to the hallway by the stairs. We’re going to his office. Dread washes over me, threatening to suffocate me.

Alpha stops in front of his office and raises his hand. He angles his back to me but not enough to fully block my view. I pretend to look at my feet but train my eyes up and over to the keypad, just like they taught us at Peel. Never stare at someone when they enter a code. But never miss what they type either.

Alpha enters 940211, and I’ve already got it broken down and memorized as the door clicks open. 940. That’s an area code in Texas. It covers Wichita Falls, where my freshman year roommate at Peel was from. The area code would pop up on her phone all the time. 211. That’s the community service phone number in Vermont. They play it on commercials. 940211. Got it.

Alpha turns the handle and gestures me inside. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to sit or stand, so I stay on my feet. Alpha crosses around the desk and sits. “I should report this.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Pleading is a sign of weakness.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

Alpha wants a reason? I could give him one. I could call him out. But I don’t. Not yet, at least. “Because nothing happened. I went for a stroll across Boston Common, and that’s it.”

“That’s not it, and you know it.”

“I was upset because I found out you’ve all been lying, and—”

Alpha slams his hand down onto the desk so hard the entire thing shakes. For a second I wonder if it’s going to crack in two.

“If you say that word one more time, you’re done. I am your superior. They taught you this at Peel, no? Listen to your commanding officer; do what you’re told. CIA, FBI, it’s all the same, Iris. It amazes me that someone with such an authority problem made it this far.” Alpha pauses for a few seconds and then continues. “The information I choose to disclose to you is based on security concerns and is done on a need-to-know basis. So stop acting like I’m your father.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Father. I don’t have one of those. But when I look at Alpha, his light-brown eyes, buzzed haircut, and five-o’clock shadow fizzle away, and I can’t help but picture my dad’s face on Alpha’s body.

The image is fuzzy. All I’ve seen of my dad are two old photos in my mom’s house, but the image is there. What is it like to have a dad who cares enough to yell at you when you mess up? God, do I have daddy issues or what?

I shake the image from my mind and look back at Alpha. “I never—”

“Save it. You’ve been trained better than this, and I don’t want to hear it anymore. Just remember what I told you the first day we met. There’s no running from me. I’ll find you. Wherever, whenever you go, I’ll find you. You almost made a very, very foolish decision today. Don’t repeat it. Now go.”

Alpha points to the door. I can barely remember how to walk. But I put one foot in front of the other and leave the office. I trudge over to the stairs and start climbing. Holy Jesus. That was . . . scary.

I shut the door to my bedroom behind me and think about what Alpha said. I clench and unclench my fists, but that doesn’t release my tension, so I do what I always do when I have excess energy. I drop down and start doing pushups. I only get through twelve when I sit up and cradle my head in my hands. Is it really that big a deal that they haven’t told me about the genetic thing before? Why am I so upset over this?

I don’t know the answer to either of these questions.