The Secret Box (13 page)

21
Ethan

FACT:
Older brothers who spend most of their free time cutting the heads off of Cyclopses are completely out of touch with reality.

I
didn't believe a word. How could a box have powers? Jax got greedy, that was the truth. She didn't want to share. She tried to do this without us but we caught her so she came up with this story about dark feelings. Tyler hadn't surprised me—he was always talking about one of his games or fantasy novels. But Jax had acted like I wasn't trustworthy. I'd never taken anything from her. I'd been her loyal sidekick time and time again. But instead of apologizing, she'd blamed her actions on the box, as if it had power over her. And Tyler had agreed, with his idiotic suggestion about mind control.

Mind control? No one was controlling my mind. Not anymore. Those two could play their games but I was done with this whole thing. As soon as Juniper was safe, I'd go home and find something to do that didn't include great-aunts, kidnappers, or anything Greek.

The Lincoln Memorial stood at the other end of the Reflecting Pool, a rectangular pond that was more than one third of a mile long. The memorial's image floated on the pool's glass-like surface. I didn't share interesting facts with either Tyler or Jax. They wouldn't care that to the right was the Constitution Garden, and that the large black wall was the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. But if I said,
Oh look, there's a hobbit
, they'd be interested.

I stopped walking. The Lincoln Memorial awaited us, gleaming white against the perfectly green lawn that surrounded it. A wide set of stairs led up to the twelve pillars that flanked the memorial's entrance. We stood, Tyler on my right, Jax on my left, gazing upward. “I feel like I'm in ancient Greece,” Jax said.

“That's because it was built to look like a Greek Doric temple,” I told her, my frustration fading. This place was amazing. I felt like I'd gone back in time. “It was a controversial building. Many people thought it was too fancy and didn't represent President Lincoln's humble character. They wanted a log cabin instead.” I'd read about it in the tourist brochure.

We walked up the steps, between a pair of pillars, and entered the monument. It was quiet inside, as if we'd stepped onto sacred ground. I'd seen photos of the Lincoln statue, but none of them compared to the real thing. It was like coming face-to-face with a giant. He towered over us from his throne, his features rugged, his eyes gentle. Above him the following words were inscribed:

 

IN THIS TEMPLE

AS IN THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE FOR WHOM HE SAVED THE UNION

THE MEMORY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN IS ENSHRINED FOREVER.

 

“Saved the union,” Jax whispered.

“Some experts believe that as many as seven hundred thousand Americans were killed in the Civil War,” I whispered back. “Imagine if that happened today. What if the East Coast decided to go to war against the West Coast?”

“Hey, that's a great idea for a game,” Tyler said, nudging my arm. “I'm going to call Walker.” He whipped out his phone but a security guard shook his head. This was not the place to make calls. Tyler sheepishly slid his phone back into his pocket.

Though the box waited, we were caught up in the moment. A tour guide walked past, giving a presentation to a group wearing matching T-shirts. The tour guide was delivering a long list of facts about the height and width of the statue, the type of marble, and a bunch of dates.

My brain was overloaded with all the stuff I'd read last night. “You see the way his hands are posed,” I said to Jax and Tyler. “No one knows for sure if the sculptor meant to do this, but the fingers of his left hand form the letter
A
in sign language, and the fingers of his right hand form the letter
L
, his initials.”

A person from the tour group stopped. “Is that true?” he asked me.

I felt my face go red. I reached for my baseball cap, so I could hide beneath the brim, but it wasn't there. I looked at my feet. “Uh . . . well, yes, it is true. The fingers form those letters.”

Another person stopped. She had a foreign accent. “Vhy is zee statue so big?”

I wanted to turn away, but she was waiting for my answer. The tour guide had also stopped and all the people in the matching T-shirts were watching me. “Uh . . .” I swallowed. “Well, the statue was only supposed to be ten feet tall but that would have made Lincoln look small, compared to such a large room. So they changed it to nineteen feet. Lincoln's only surviving son, Robert, got to see the statue when the memorial opened in 1922. He liked it.”

The tour guide smiled curtly at me, then clapped his hands. “This way folks. Follow me.”

Tyler patted my shoulder. “You know, little brother, I think we may have just found a career for you.” There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice. It was the nicest thing he'd ever said to me.

“I can't believe you talked in front of all those people.” Jax put her arm around me. “That was amazing. I'm so sorry I acted like an idiot. I know you'd never take the box. You're my best friend.”

It might have been one of those awkward moments, but Tyler in his usual annoyed tone said, “Are we just going to stand here and talk about how much we
love
each other, or are we going to open the box?”

We didn't dare open a backpack inside the monument, not with all the security guards standing watch. So we walked back outside and around the building until we found a spot of shade next to one of the pillars. Tyler sat against the stone; Jax and I sat crisscross facing him. I opened the backpack and took out the box. The metal was slightly warm, as if a freshly baked cookie lay inside. I set it on the ground between us and then looked at Jax. “You should be the one to press it,” I told her.

She moved her finger toward the button, then pulled away, her expression uncertain. “What if I touch it and get those weird thoughts again?”

“Jax,” I said calmly. “It's a box. It's made of metal. It can't give you bad thoughts.”

“What if it can?” Tyler asked.

I groaned. He was absolutely no help. I could tell by her clenched lips that Tyler's story about Sauron and the ring had freaked her out.

“I'll do it,” I said.

And I pushed the button.

22
Jax

W
hen I first pushed the button back home in Chatham, New Jersey, I wasn't biting my lip with fear. My heart wasn't pounding in my ears. I'd expected the lid to pop open and inside there'd be a Starbucks gift card or something else that was totally normal. But nothing about this birthday present was normal. The box had changed my dreams, had changed my feelings. Ethan could deny it but he hadn't been inside my head. He hadn't felt the darkness roll through my thoughts.

No one was watching us. People strolled around the memorial. Sunlight fell upon the stone, brightening it like a new coat of white paint. If all the tourists suddenly disappeared it would be easy to pretend that we were back in ancient Greece, temple pillars towering above our heads. The only things missing were our togas and sandals.

This was it. The moment when we'd discover whether we'd succeeded or failed. The box would open and reveal its secret. Or not. As Ethan pushed the button, I held my breath.

The screen lit up.

Final Attempt.

Then it went dark. And stayed dark. No more words appeared.

Hello? Why didn't it open? We'd failed. My shoulders sank as if weighed down by boulders. I wanted to lie on the stone floor and cry.
I'm sorry
, I thought.
I'm sorry, Juniper
. Tears stung my eyes. “You said geometry would solve it,” I snapped at Tyler. “We did what you said. We made the circles.”

“What? You're blaming this on me?”

I needed to blame it on someone, because if I didn't, the disappointment would well up and I'd explode. And besides, Tyler just happened to be sitting next to me. “I'm totally blaming it on you,” I said, folding my arms. “You said math solves everything.”

“That's just great.” Tyler got to his feet. “I take time out of my precious schedule to drive you all over the planet and you blame this on me. I'm not the one who did the readings.”

“Open,” I ordered the box. “Open, open, open!” I wanted to shake it, but if I touched it those dark feelings would come again. “Open!”

“Uh . . . Jax?” Ethan looked around. “People can hear you.”

So what if I was acting like a baby? The stupid box wasn't cooperating. I leaned against the pillar, folded my arms, and squeezed my eyes shut. “This isn't fair.”

“Jax?” Ethan scooted closer. “Please don't start sulking. I hate it when you do that. We still have to save Juniper.”

“Leave me alone,” I grumbled.

“Whatever,” Tyler said. “Once again, this quest totally sucks. I'm going to go find a Starbucks. My life points are low. I need some major caffeine.” He started to walk away.

“Look,” Ethan said with a gasp. “There's a new message.”

“What?” My eyes flew open. The screen had lit up again. Tyler sat back down and we all drew quick, excited breaths.

Congratulations, Jax. You have found the right spot.

A shiver darted across my shoulder blades. The box knew my name. This was the proof that it wasn't supposed to be opened by Mr. or Mrs. Camel, or by the owner of the evil voice. It was meant for me.

Click
. A red light appeared, like a pinprick in the box's corner. Then the light began to move along the edge like a flame and as it did so, it left a thin crack. It ran around three sides, then stopped. The light extinguished.

Before anyone said a word, Tyler's hand darted out and he opened the lid. We leaned forward so quickly that Ethan and I knocked heads. “Ouch,” he said, rubbing beneath his bangs.

The pain was sharp but I didn't care. “What is it?” I asked, still afraid to touch the box.

“There's a note,” Tyler said.

We leaned close. I recognized the same handwriting that I'd seen on Juniper's photos.

 

Dear Jax,

DO NOT open this jar under any circumstances. It is extremely dangerous. DO NOT sell this jar, no matter how much money is offered to you. Protect it. Keep it safe until I arrive. If you do not hear from me within a year's time, drop the jar to the bottom of the ocean and forget it ever existed.

With sincerely kind thoughts,

Your Great-Aunt Juniper Vandegrift

 

“Protect it,” I read. “I was right. I am the protector of the box.”

“A jar that's extremely dangerous?” Ethan reread the letter. “This sounds bad. Really bad.”

Tyler pulled out something that was covered in bubble wrap. It was small enough to hold in one hand. Carefully, he peeled back the wrap. And there, in his palm, lay the little black clay jar, decorated with white swirls. The top was sealed with a plug that was also made from clay. Tyler moved it to his other hand.

“Careful, don't break it,” I said.

“I'm not going to break it,” Tyler said. “But it's making my hand sweaty.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It's hot,” he said. “Real hot.”

Both Ethan and I touched the pot. My fingers sizzled with heat, as if a fire burned inside the clay. “So that's why the metal box was always warm,” I realized. “But why?”

“Uh . . .” Ethan quickly withdrew his hand. “Remember how back in the motel room you wondered if it might be a weapon of some kind?” I nodded. “Only three elements produce heat—potassium, thorium, and uranium. All three are radioactive.”

“Radioactive?” I gasped.

Tyler quickly set the jar on the ground, then we all scooted away.

“Why would Juniper send me a radioactive pot? She can't send radioactive stuff through the mail, can she? Don't they check for that sort of thing at the post office?” Ethan and Tyler both shrugged. There had to be another explanation. “Maybe the jar is hot because it was trapped inside the box. It's a hot day.” What else could it be? If Juniper had sent me a radioactive pot, then that would make her a terrible evil person and that would make us culprits in some kind of weapons deal.

Ethan took out his phone and began to type. “I remember reading about an app . . .” He typed some more. “Here it is. I'm downloading it now.”

“Ethan? This is important. Stop playing with your phone.” I couldn't believe it.

“Wait, this might work.” He typed some more, then held his phone over the jar. “The app uses the camera feature to detect radioactivity. Radioactivity creates current that disrupts the camera feature, and will show up as bright spots.” Ethan moved the phone around the pot. “Nothing,” he reported. “No radioactivity.”

“Phew,” I said. “That's a relief.”

Ethan slid the phone into the pocket of his plaid shorts. “I was just thinking how bad it would be if we'd been carrying around a radioactive box for the past two days. Radiation poisoning is serious. We read about it in history class. You get vomiting, fever, bloody diarrhea, and then you die.”

“So now that we know it's not going to liquefy our bowels, how about we open it,” Tyler said. He reached for the clay plug but I grabbed his hand.

“Wait.” I said. “The note says don't open it.”

“What?” Spit sprayed from Tyler's mouth. “Don't open it? We came all this way and now you don't want to open it?”

“We can't ignore the note. And besides, I have a feeling.”

“Another feeling?” Tyler scowled. “Why don't you just admit it, Jax? You want to open it without us. You tried to sneak away and keep it for yourself because you don't want to share.”

“Uh . . . you'd better stop arguing,” Ethan said. “Look.”

I spun around. Mr. and Mrs. Camel were walking along the edge of the sprawling lawn. Mr. Camel held onto another woman's arm. She was too far away to make out her features but her hair hung in two long white braids, and a red bandana was wound around her neck.

“Great-Aunt Juniper,” I whispered.