Meredith McCardle - The Eighth Guardian

“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?”