When an operative (not to mention teacher) like Joe Solomon tells you to do something, you do it. Even if it goes against doctor’s orders. Even if it doesn’t really make any sense. Even if you can’t find a wheelchair and he’s still in his flannel PJs.
When Joe Solomon grips your hand and says, “Professor Buckingham. Take me to her. Now,” you go.
I knew that Dr. Fibs had developed some new technology that would keep Mr. Solomon’s muscles from atrophying during his long sleep, but he’d been in that bed for months, and it was all I could do to help him start down the hall and into one of the passageways that would keep us hidden from the other students. I tried to tell him that I could go get help, but Joe Solomon was one of the best operatives in the world. He wasn’t going to be delayed one second more, so he leaned against me and we made our way downstairs.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Solomon. Mom’s probably in her office. We can—”
“Not your mom. Patricia,” he said, breathing hard.
“Professor Buckingham?” I asked. It didn’t make any sense, but Mr. Solomon just nodded and I kept walking.
It was harder than it should have been to feel Joe Solomon leaning against me. It wasn’t the weight. It was that the strongest man I knew seemed helpless. And I didn’t like it at all, but I kept going, climbing down stairs and finally into the main hallway on the second floor. I peeked out to make sure it was empty, then helped Mr. Solomon out behind me. We were almost there when—
“Cameron Morgan!” I heard Buckingham exclaim from behind us. “What is the meaning of this?” She looked around and pulled us into a quiet alcove, lest any nosy eighth graders passed by and saw me walking the halls with Joe Solomon’s ghost.
“Now, you wait here,” she ordered. “I will get some help and we will get you back to your room.”
“The necklace, Cammie. Show her the necklace.”
I’m not exactly proud of it, but I actually worried that Mr. Solomon might be seeing things, thinking things—that maybe I had lost my memory and he had lost his mind. But I reached up and found the chain that hung around my neck just the same. I ran my hands along it until I found the small medallion.
“Take that off,” Buckingham ordered, so I gave it to her. She stepped out of the shadows and held the small charm against the light.
“Joe, is that…” she started.
“I think so, Patricia. I think…” But then he faltered and stumbled into my arms. “I need to sit down.”
Five minutes later, we were all settled into Mom’s office with my roommates and Zach and Abby, and Mom was saying, “What is it?”
“Your necklace, Cammie,” Buckingham said. “Show it to them.”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” I said, taking it off again and holding it forward. “It’s nothing, Mr. Solomon. Tell him, Mom,” I said, looking at her. “I was in Rome last summer, and I bought a bunch of jewelry for everyone. Souvenirs and stuff.”
“Look at it, Cammie,” Mr. Solomon said, and I couldn’t help myself: I smiled because he sounded…like Mr. Solomon. I could tell Bex had heard it too.
“Cammie,” Mr. Solomon warned, and I did as I was told.
There was a small silver charm on a matching chain. The charm looked like a shield divided into two, with a large tree covering the center, its branches touching both sides. “What do you see, Ms. Morgan?” my CoveOps teacher asked.
“It’s a seal of some kind. Probably something to do with Rome—that’s where I bought it and—”
“No one bought that necklace, Cameron,” Buckingham told me.
“Yes, I did,” I countered.
Mr. Solomon cocked his head. “I thought you didn’t remember?”
“Well, technically, I don’t. But we know I got a bunch of jewelry at the street fair in Rome.”
“You got it in Rome, I’m sure. But you didn’t buy it.” He straightened on the couch. “I strongly suspect you retrieved that necklace from your father’s safety deposit box,” Mr. Solomon said, and suddenly it didn’t feel like a five-dollar trinket I’d picked up at the fair. It felt priceless. And that was before my teacher talked on.
“What do you see when you look at it?” he asked.
“I don’t remember, Mr. Solomon. I’ve tried, I swear. I just don’t—”
“Not what do you remember. What do you see?”
“It’s a crest,” I said. “It kind of reminds me of the Gallagher Academy seal but without the sword and stuff. I thought that was why I bought it.”