Meredith McCardle - The Eighth Guardian

That won’t be me. It won’t. As soon as we stop Alpha, I’m never projecting again. Ever.

Time check. 5:30 in the morning. I shake my head and turn around, then I gasp. I should be used to this by now, but I’m not. The plant that stands before me is probably half the size of the plant I left behind. Well, that should make finding Eta marginally less difficult. A sign outside the door welcomes me, not to General Electric but to Thomson-Houston Electric.

Just as I suspected, the plant is pretty empty at this time. I wander around the perimeter to get my bearings and try to come up with a plan. There’s an entrance marked WORKMEN ONLY around the side of the building, and I figure that’s going to be my best bet. I’ll pretend to be an employee.

But when workers start showing up a few hours later, I realize the fatal flaw in my plan.

They weren’t kidding when they said work men . They’re all men. Men dressed in pants and shirts and work boots. And I am very obviously a female wearing a wrinkled black dress.

I put my head down and duck behind a group of men anyway. They’re carrying silver-colored lunch pails and talking about the census. It dawns on me that I don’t even know what day of the week it is. A workday, obviously, but Friday? Monday? Who knows?

Vulnerability creeps into my skin. I feel so unprepared. I hate this feeling more than anything.

I duck my head even lower as I follow the workers through the doorway. My eyes are trained on my feet, and I’m not really watching where I’m going.

Which explains why I run right smack into a tall man with enough girth to put a sumo wrestler to shame.

“What are you doing in my plant?” the man growls.

I meet his gaze. One eyebrow is cocked to the sky, and he’s peering down at me from a very red face.

“I work here.” I straighten myself. It’s something they taught us at Peel. Standing up straight asserts authority even when you have none. Which is what I have in this situation. None. Less than none.

The man’s eyebrow raises even more. “Since when?”

“Today.” My voice is loud.

“You one of Bessie’s girls?” he asks.

“Yes.” I have no idea who Bessie is. Hell, she could be running a prostitution ring for all I know. But if telling him I’m a part of it means I can stay in the plant, then I’ll pretend to be a hooker. Emphasis on the word pretend , of course.

The man’s left eyebrow lowers to meet his right. “Bessie’s girls don’t enter through this door. They go in through the front. Turn around and go back to the main door.”

My mind races. What if I go back to the main door and they won’t let me through? That will make two entrances that are blocked for me. There can’t be that many more doors in and out of this place.

“I’m already late.” I give a sheepish smile. “Is there a way through from here?” And then I blink my eyes a few times because it strikes me as something Yellow would do, and Yellow seems to have no problem getting what she wants.

The man grunts but jerks his head toward a hallway to my left. “That’s the main hallway. It’ll take you to the entrance. You know where to find Bessie from there.”

I fly down the hallway and pick up the hem of my dress to prevent from tripping. The hallway ends in a lobby of some sort. There are a number of men standing around, so I slow myself and wait. I close my eyes and try to listen to their voices.

Male voices run together in my mind. Deep. Some of them have the distinctive North Shore accent, and some of them don’t. I squeeze my eyes and concentrate.

One voice floats above the crowd. It’s lighter than the others. Not as masculine. The voice stops speaking, then starts again. I peer into the lobby and look at everyone. There are a lot of conversations going on, but I zero right in on the one I’m listening for.

The speaker is a short, thin man wearing a three-piece suit. His wildly curly hair peeks out from under a top hat, and . . . hang on a second. I stare at the man’s hands. They’re small. Delicate. I look at his feet. Same thing. That’s not a man at all.

That’s Eta. Pretending to be a man.

I squint. Eta is white. Violet is not. I guess I never really stopped to think about this before. Just then, a man with white hair and a white beard strolls into the lobby and extends his hand to Eta. She takes it, shakes it firmly, and then she follows him down another hallway.

I need to see where they’re going.

I take a deep breath and step out into the lobby, then walk across it like I own the place. Confidence can get you anywhere.

Except when it can’t.

A big arm reaches out to stop me halfway, and a man in a gray, three-piece suit with a gold pocket watch chain pinned to his vest stops me. I have no idea who he is, but from the way he’s looking at me, I think it might be a good guess that he does actually own this place.

“Who are you, and where are you going?”

I bow my head at him. “I’m one of Bessie’s girls, sir.”

“Are you now?” He draws himself up tall.

I do the same. Two can play at that game. “I am.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I escorted you to Bessie right now so she can confirm your employment.”

Shit.

“Actually, I’m supposed to be with them.” I nod my head down the hallway as Eta and the group of men get farther and farther away from me. But then they stop at what looks like the last door before the hallway curves to the right. They all file into a room.

“That,” the man says, causing my head to snap back to him, “is a financial meeting that I’m certain doesn’t concern you.”

“I’m . . .” I’m what? Think! I say the first thing that pops into my head. “I’m to make sure your guests are well accommodated, Mr. Thomson.” The name is a complete guess. I’m at the Thomson-Houston Electric Company, so I just threw it out there. But from the way the man’s lips press together and his chin tilts down, I instantly know I’ve guessed wrong.

“My name is Bauer,” he says with a telling look. “Now, since you’ve clearly been here before and are in my employ, I’d like for you to lead the way to Bessie.”

And I’m done for.

But then a girl right about my age strolls into the lobby. A floor-length black dress hangs off her skeletal frame, and she’s wearing a long apron and a lacy cap that looks like something I wore with a Halloween costume when I was five. She meets my eye, and I instantly read her. She has meek, little mouse written all over her, from her timid expression to her hunched shoulders; and I pounce like the lion I need to be.

“She knows me!” I cry, pointing to my mouse. “She can confirm I work here.”

Bauer turns to the girl, and his face dawns with recognition. “Annie, know this young lady?” His arm flies in my direction.

I stare at Annie and raise my eyebrows at her, hoping I’m being both persuading and intimidating.

“I do, sir,” Annie says. “She’s new.”

Bauer brings his hand to his chin and takes a long breath. I can see he’s mulling over the whole thing—deciding whether he wants to be a hard-ass and press me on this or just let it go—and I bow my head to him like Annie did. Sometimes winning means knowing when to submit.

Then Bauer pulls out his pocket watch and takes a quick glance before tucking it away. “Very well then.” He turns and starts down the hallway after Eta and the other man.

I wait until he’s out of range before turning to Annie. “Hey look, I really appreciate what you—”

And then I stop. Because I have completely neglected to realize how the parable of the lion and the mouse ends. But it’s clear Annie hasn’t. My meek, little mouse has fire in her eyes.