Meredith McCardle - The Eighth Guardian

“Wait,” Yellow whispers. “Your former headmaster is behind Eagle Industries?”

“He’s definitely involved somehow. Whether or not he’s behind it I really don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“Huh?” I say it louder than I’m intending. A man looks up at us from the next table and glares.

“Your dad,” Yellow whispers. “He called him ‘Old Cresty.’ How old is old?”

“Oh,” I whisper back. “I don’t know how old he is. Pretty old. Grandfather old? In his seventies?” That’s a total guess. “He was a CIA operative for a really long time, then a division chief before he came to Peel. And he’s been headmaster for a while. At least two generations.”

“Two generations to gain influence in all the government organizations. CIA, FBI, NSA . . .”

“And all the other ones we don’t know about.”

“Annum Guard,” Yellow whispers.

“Annum Guard,” I repeat.

Neither of us says anything for a while. Yellow stares down at the picture of the crested eagle, and I look out the window as the snow falls on Copley Square. I know Yellow is trying to figure out what to do now, and I should probably do the same. But all I can think about is my dad. Maybe this really wasn’t his fault. Maybe Headmaster Vaughn corrupted him early on. And maybe—just maybe—if we go back and stop the headmaster before he has a chance to worm his way into Annum Guard, we can prevent my dad’s death.

“We have to go to Peel,” I whisper.

Yellow shuts the book then looks up at me with a blank stare.

“We have to stop this at ground level, just like with the Gardner.” I put my hands on my hips and stand up straight. “We can’t bring this information to the authorities. Both of us are on the most wanted list in the present.”

Yellow leans back in her chair and continues to stare at me. Her gaze is intense. I’m sure it would unnerve most people, but I’m focused right now.

“We’re going back to 1982,” I say. “We’re going to stop Vaughn before he has a chance to start.”

Yellow has a confused expression. “What?” And then her face settles into understanding. “Your dad was at Peel then, wasn’t he?”

I push back the chair and stand. It makes a scraping sound on the marble floor, and every head in the room looks at me. I walk toward the door, and I hear Yellow follow behind me.

“Iris!” she hisses when we’re on the stairs.

I stop on the landing and turn. The marble lion looms overhead.

“What about Alpha?” Yellow says. “Are you just going to keep making up new enemies in your head until we figure out a way for your dad to live? You can try to deny it all you want, but I know that’s what you’re doing.”

I don’t deny it. I deflect it. “You don’t think Vaughn is an enemy?”

“I don’t think he should be our top priority right now, no. We need to bring all the information we’ve discovered to Alpha’s boss.”

“Yeah, that’s a genius plan. Alpha’s boss is the secretary of defense .”

Yellow crosses her hands over her chest and glares at me.

I narrow my eyes. “Fine. You do it your way, I’ll do it mine. Project to the present and march yourself through the Pentagon demanding to see the defense secretary. Have fun with that. I hope you enjoy prison. I’m going to stop Vaughn, which is going to stop Alpha, which, yes, just might save my dad.”

Yellow narrows her eyes right back at me. “You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. Will you just listen to me?” Her voice echoes through the entire library, and the woman in the swing coat tears up the stairs toward us. Yellow holds up her hand to her. “I’m sorry!” She flashes her most innocent smile. She does have that virtuous-naivete thing down pat.

The woman adjusts her glasses and gives us an icy glare as she holds her finger to her lips, but then she turns and leaves. Her kitten heels click down the steps.

“Look,” Yellow whispers. “I’m not opposed to going to Peel. It’s the only lead we have right now, and we need to follow it through. But I’m not going to follow you blindly without any sort of plan just so you can resolve your daddy issues.”

I take a breath. I want to lash out, tell her I don’t have any unresolved issues, but that would be the biggest lie told since I was drugged and blindfolded on Testing Day. My head is swimming. Bits and pieces of information are flying through it, and I’m trying to grab on to anything that might make sense.

I take another breath. “There’s a chance that Vaughn recruited my dad when he was still in school, right?”

“I guess.”

“My dad graduated in 1982. If we go back to right before he graduated, then that’s our best shot of figuring out whether Vaughn was already using him. We need to find some sort of physical evidence if we want any chance of being believed. I don’t think our word is going to go very far.”

“It’s not,” Yellow agreed. “Not with all the damage control Alpha is doing in the present. He’s completely discrediting us.”

“So we go back, find something concrete, and we’ll figure out how to get it to the proper authorities. That’s the best plan I can come up with right now.”

Yellow takes a minute. I can see her processing what I said. Her eyes flick back and forth as she thinks. Finally she nods her head. “Okay. We go back right before graduation, 1982.”

I nod back. I don’t tell her the obvious wrinkle, that I have no idea when Peel’s graduation was in 1982. It could have been an early graduation, like mine was, or it could have been a later one, like in May. Or anytime in between, really. It’s a total crap shoot. We just have to pick a date and hope for the best.

“How’s February 25 sound?” I say.

“Cold,” Yellow says.

We project to 1982 inside the library’s basement bathrooms. Warmer that way.

“How much money do we have left?” I ask Yellow.

She counts it. “Enough for two bus tickets and some really, really cheap clothes. And after that we’re totally screwed unless we start stealing. I can’t believe we stayed at the Parker House. What was I thinking?”

“Let it go, Yellow.” I shrug. “We can always bet on football games we already know the outcomes of.”

“Which is what I like to call stealing.”

We take the T from Copley to Park Street, then hit up Filene’s Basement. Yellow hands me twenty bucks and tells me it’s all I’m getting. I find a pair of light-wash, tapered jeans and a really ugly lavender sweater on the clearance rack. But the sweater is thick and oversize and will keep me warm, along with the puffy blue jacket I also manage to find squeezed in between two shirts. The total comes to $19.82, which wakes me right up. It’s like a sign or something.

The bus leaves out of South Station. I slide into the window seat and lean my head up against it. It’s a cold, gray day in Massachusetts. Snow has turned to slush, which crunches beneath the big bus tires. I stare at the dead trees whipping past us, and I can’t help but think of my dad.

I’m going to see my dad. A seventeen-year-old version of my dad. A dad who’s my age. A dad who may or may not have already started down the road of selfishness and corruption. Butterflies flit around in my stomach. I wish there was some way I could convince him not to even join Annum Guard in the first place. Or I could—

I sit up straight as the thought hits me. Oh my God. Yes. I could do that.

I look over at Yellow. She’s slouched down in the seat and has her head resting on the seat back. Her eyes are closed. My teeth find my bottom lip, and I decide to let her be. I still need to think things through. My head isn’t exactly clear right now.