Guardians

The next day Mr. and Mrs. Sky drove us into Chicago to prepare for the mission that night. We had a difficult time locating the warehouse; we finally found it after a few hours of frantic driving. I had been on muggle transportation in London, but the traffic was nothing compared to Chicago! Noticing a small floral shop directly across from the warehouse, Kari, my friend, and I got out of the car and headed towards it. We kept the pretense of doing something productive by looking at assorted carnations, lilies, and roses in a large window display. In truth we were watching the warehouse for any sign of activity. My eyes caught sight of the video cameras focused on the gate in the chain-link fence. Meanwhile Kari attempted to start a conversation with the Latina lady behind the counter.

"How much for a dozen of these?" she asked, pointing to the carnations.

The woman replied in a thick Mexican accent, and Kari looked again at the strange muggle paper money in her hand that her mother had given for an "emergency."

"Maybe I should settle for a half-dozen," Kari answered sheepishly. As the woman wrapped up the flowers, my friend decided to mention the warehouse directly.

"It doesn't add to the backdrop, does it," he stated, pointing casually towards the large brick building.

"You are not from around here," the woman responded, her curiosity aroused by his accent.

"We're from England," I said. "What's that building used for? It looks like there's a lot of security."

"Used to be old meat-packaging plant, I think," she commented, warming up to the conversation. "Now it is used for storage."

"What's inside, anyway?" asked Kari.

"Old stuff," the lady shrugged. "Very...how you say: valuable. The señorita in charge, ella está loca, pero está amable."

"Well, thanks," I said, not understanding a word she said, and we took our leave of the flower shop and headed back to the car. Kari tried to the best of her ability to hide the carnations from her parents; fortunately my friend distracted Mrs. Sky as we got into the car.

"Why aren't you giving them to her now?" I whispered as Kari carefully hid the flowers underneath the seat.

"They're going to be from Susan," she replied softly. "She's going to owe me big time after this!"

Chapter 23

Not wanting to attract any more attention than need be, we had the Sky's drop us off a block away from the warehouse that night. Mrs. Sky was so tense and worried that she actually hugged both of us, telling us to be careful. Now that we were free from the suffocating embrace, my friend and I walked down the street by clutching to the darkness. I practically held my breath the entire way in case someone would hear us. Of course, the way my heart was pounding, they could probably hear us anyway. It wasn't long before the ominous shadow of the warehouse loomed over us.

"Doesn't this seem familiar?" I mumbled in spite of myself as I glanced at cameras perched high on the fence posts.

"Ready?" asked my friend, and I nodded. The silver of the Othersight flashed over his eyes as the darkness concealed us from view. I paused at the front gate which was flooded with white from street lights above. Then I took the object that Mr. Sky had loaned me for this purpose. Shaped much like a muggle cigarette lighter, I now released the cap and captured the light streaming from the fluorescent bulbs. When finished I recapped the "lighter" and put it back in my pocket. Continuing our way under the cloak of darkness we came to a small fence door in the middle of the larger gate.

"Alohomora!" I cried out softly, and the door opened without a sound. I did this again when we reached the building itself, and then we were inside the former meat packaging plant. Machinery from its meaty past still cast eerie shadows across the room, but what astonished me the most were the boxes. Stacked end on end on huge shelves that reached up to the ceiling, they created aisle after aisle of uniformed secrecy. Each box could contain valuable treasures that would be worth thousands, even millions of galleons, yet there was no way of telling what could be inside.

"How are we ever going to find it in this maze?" my friend voiced his concern in a moan. Looking for guidance led me to the large sheet of paper posted on the door we had just come out of.

"This might help," I replied with a lopsided grin as I directed his attention to the map.

"Figures," he muttered as his finger traced the sheet. It finally rested on the southern half. "According to this, we could find it either in 'medieval' or in 'weaponry'."

"Which one's closer?" I asked.

"Weaponry," he answered. "It's located in aisle 23." I scanned the black ceiling above for signs, but nothing revealed itself. Before I could tell my friend, I realized that he had already gone into the Othersight, his eyes focused on an invisible object. I watched him as his eyes changed back into their normal velvet brown eyes.

"This way," he motioned, and I followed him through the semi-darkness. I found myself glancing furtively for any pairs of eyes; even though the darkness hid us well, the feeling of being watched refused to dissipate. We moved down an aisle and stopped halfway.

"It should be one of those boxes up there," he said, pointing up to the fifth shelf.

"Looks like it's time for more magic," I sighed. "Wingardium leviosa!" With quite some effort (it was, after all, a wooden crate containing massive metal pieces), I managed to bring the box slowly to the floor. My friend slid the lid off and rummaged through its contents. He emerged with his head shaking "no". I brought the box back up again and repeated the process. After searching two more with no luck, I levitated the last box marked weaponry down to our level. We both reached for the lid at the same time, knocking heads. With whispered apologies we lifted the lid and looked inside. There, right on top, was our goal. It was in the same shabby condition as the Galleon Sword; in fact, the similarities were uncanny.

"Well," I whispered as my friend held the hilt with two hands, "that was easy." Just then a heavy hand fell on my shoulder.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a low voice answered my fears. For a moment I turned back to my friend and was startled to see the flash of anger that entered his innocent eyes as he glared at the guard. The grip on my shoulder simply tightened until I was forced into a grimace of pain. Concern, then dejection replaced the unnatural fury that had risen in my friend only moments before. We both knew it then: we had been caught.