Meredith McCardle - The Eighth Guardian

Look around, students . I bend over and rest my elbows on my thighs. My legs bounce higher.

Abe puts his hand on my back, then leans over next to me. “Are you all right?” There’s genuine concern in his voice.

I shake my head.

“Matthew Alder,” the headmaster calls. A boy from a few tables over gets up and walks to the stage as the crowd applauds.

“Hey,” Abe whispers, “it’s fine. I promise.”

It’s not fine.

Headmaster Vaughn goes through rest of the A s, then the B s. Our school isn’t that big, so he’s flying through the alphabet. Once he gets to the M s, I can’t breathe.

“Alyssa Morrison.” I hear a chair scrape back somewhere but can’t look.

“Portia Nichols.” Closer. We’re getting closer.

“Samita Nori.” And my heart stands still. Time slows to a halt. I suck in my breath. Here it goes. I have to be next. Please, I beg, please no. I’m not ready to say good-bye to Abe. Not yet. Not today.

I look at Vaughn, willing him to skip to the P s. Vaughn’s face goes very still, and he places two hands on the podium.

He’s pausing.

And then he opens his mouth.

“Amanda Obermann.”

No one claps. But just about everyone gasps. I feel every head in the room turn to look at me. The plates on the table swirl together in front of me, a mess of coffee and cheesecake. How is this happening? Why is this happening? I failed the water challenge. I must have finished in the middle of the pack. Why why WHY?

Headmaster Vaughn clears his throat into the microphone. I don’t make eye contact with him, but I don’t have to. I can feel him staring at me. I look over at Abe. His mouth has fallen open, and his eyes are moist. He reaches over and squeezes my left hand.

“Amanda Obermann,” the headmaster repeats with firmness.

I push back my chair and stand. The sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoes throughout the stunned room.

“I’ll wait for you,” Abe gasps. “And you wait for me. It’s just a year. Just a year.”

I squeeze his hand back. “Just a year,” I whisper. Then I pull away and walk toward the stage. My legs trudge up the five steps and over to Headmaster Vaughn. His lips are pressed together in a smile as he hands me a plain white envelope with my name typed in the center. I take it and look out over my fellow classmates. They’re all wearing the same expression of shocked silence. I have to look away.

Logic tells me I should be happy. I’m the youngest student to graduate in a generation. This is an honor. A privilege. But my heart wants to be back at the table next to Abe. Where I belong.

The headmaster gestures offstage to the door leading into a meeting room. The dining hall is spinning. I stare at the American flag pin the headmaster wears on his left lapel to find my bearings, then at the bald eagle pin on his right—although I’m so dizzy it looks more like a hawk with a bad perm right now. My legs move again, taking one step, then another, on their own because my head’s not there. I glance back at Abe once more before I open the door. This is the last look I’m going to get for a year. He has his hand clenched into a fist over his heart, as if he’s fighting to keep it inside his chest. I make the same gesture and open the door.

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.