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  ‘He should be kicked out.’

  Even with the thickness of the French accent, Franklyn knew Hugo was talking about him.

  ‘Why? Because your boy here can’t take a punch?’ Denham pointed a meaty finger at Marco. ‘Do you have any idea what he is?’

  Franklyn shuddered, the idea that he was something other than human tap danced down his spine.

  What did he mean?

  ‘He is not fit to be an agent.’ Hugo’s voice raised in anger.

  ‘Jealous and French. That’s two strikes against you, Hugo.’

  ‘Quiet. Both of you.’ Vincent’s voice sliced through like a sharp blade, the authority killing the confrontation instantly. His pupilless eyes darted across the screen, a bizarre arrangement of colourful lines interlinking and apparently relaying a message. He shook his bald, elongated head.

  ‘I believe we will need to intervene.’

  ‘Damn.’’ Denham offered with a sigh, his arms folded across his chest.

  ‘It could be a good way to see just how he does.’ Vincent offered, turning to Denham. Instantly, a sneer ran across the perfectly symmetrical face of Hugo LaPone.

  ‘This is an outrage. I will take this case.’

  ‘Like I said, remember your rank.’ Denham’s voice boomed with menace, his hulking frame dwarfing Hugo. ‘It isn’t up to you who assigns the cases. It’s up to Vinny.’

  ‘Not this time,’ Vincent said, still staring at the screen. Denham and Hugo both turned to him, their eyebrows raised in confusion. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the beeping of the four machines, each one chirping its own rhythm that Franklyn was sure was synced to the bizarre, lifeless figure it was attached to.

  ‘Then who?’ Hugo eventually asked.

  ‘Franklyn.’ Vincent instantly snapped his head to the small gap between the shelves, his eyes snatching Franklyn like a bird of prey. Denham and Hugo both turned as well, his angry adversary scowling while his new mentor just shook his head with disappointment. After a few moments of staring, he realised he was holding his breath. With a feeble smile, Franklyn stepped from the bookshelf and into the most bizarre situation he could have ever imagined.

  ‘Hey, guys.’

  ‘This is what I’m talking about.’ Hugo spat venomously. ‘He has no right to be in here.’

  ‘Nice to see you too, buddy.’ Franklyn stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. ‘Herman, right?’

  ‘Hugo.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Franklyn turned back to Vincent, flashing a quick raised eyebrow to Denham, searching for approval. A single eye rolled. ‘First off, what the hell is this place?’

  ‘This is the Archive, Jones. Had you obeyed Denham and sat tight, we wouldn’t need to be having this conversation. However, this is where I spend most of my time. This here, is the heart of the BTCO.’

  ‘Right ... and you guys are running some weird tanning salon?’

  Denham sniggered then immediately regained composure, towering over all four of them. Hugo glared at Franklyn, as did Marco. How to make friends and alienate strange creatures! Vincent ignored the joke.

  ‘Each one of these creatures is linked to my world, tapped into the very fibre of its being. They relay our movements, our activity, working in tandem with each other to map out what is happening in the shadows and where we need to be.’

  ‘That’s pretty cool.’ Franklyn feebly offered.

  ‘It is, yes.’ Vincent stared at the screen, sliding two fingers on one of the screens, enlarging the image, a blurred, black, and white picture of the woods. ‘We call them the Oracles.’

  ‘Three over here has picked up something.’ Denham directed a meaty thumb in the direction of the prone creature.

  ‘It is my next case.’ Hugo butted in, trying in vain to establish his masculinity. Vincent turned, his face an emotionless mask.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ His accent strengthened with anger.

  ‘The reason I called Denham here is because I feel it could be a good idea to ‘test’ out our newest recruit.’

  All eyes fell on Franklyn, who slowly looked at all three of them.

  ‘Yeah, I don’t think I want to.’

  ‘Fuck him, this is my case.’ Hugo rashly interjected.

  ‘Whoa, buddy. Let’s just calm down here.’

  Hugo turned and shoved Franklyn with a firm palm to the shoulder, sending him back a step. Denham, with his arms folded watched with interest.

  ‘Don’t push me.’ Franklyn warned, a wry smile on his face. Hugo angrily ran a hand through his perfect, shiny black hair, and glared at Vincent.

  ‘This is a mistake.’

  ‘As a senior officer, I’m telling you to take a walk.’ Denham took a menacing step forward, engulfing the furious agent in his shadow. Hugo’s eyes jumped from creature to creature, begging one of them to back him up. Franklyn stood to the side, recomposing himself.

  ‘Bullshit.’ Hugo snarled, before turning, and barging past Franklyn, ramming him full force with his shoulder. Franklyn smirked again, as Marco slithered by, his swollen face twisted in a hate-filled scowl. As their footsteps bounced from the book cases and echoed around the giant hall, Franklyn turned back to the strange creatures.

  ‘He’s a nice man, isn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Frankie. He’s just jealous,’ Denham replied, turning back to Vincent, and the multiple screens.

  ‘Jealous? I thought he was the top agent.’

  The two creatures ignored him, Vincent suddenly lowering his voice to a firm whisper, the edges of each word just falling short of Franklyn’s ear. As they muttered, Franklyn couldn’t help thinking he was the subject of their conversation, especially as Denham threw his singular gaze in his direction. After a few moments, they heard the large, metal door yawn loudly, before slamming firmly behind Hugo. After a few more awkward moments, Denham sighed.

  ‘Vinnie, you know I prefer not to go into the field, right?’

  ‘It is a direct order.’

  ‘Goddamn it,’ Denham muttered. ‘I don’t like this world nor the people in it. You know the drill, I scare him shitless here and then you assign him a babysitter.’

  Franklyn took a step forward, meekly lifting a hand.

  ‘If it helps, I don’t really want to go either.’

  ‘It would be a good chance to test him,’ Vincent spoke, ignoring Franklyn again with what was becoming a frustrating regularity.

  ‘I get it. You’re excited about what he can do.’ Denham jerked his shiny head in Franklyn’s direction. ‘But this ain’t a test simulation. I’m not on the other end of the panel, making him shit himself. This creature finds him, it will kill him.’

  ‘Whoa.’ Franklyn interjected. ‘Just as a note, I don’t think I’m ready either.’

  Vincent glanced quickly at Franklyn, dismissing his contribution to the discussion.

  ‘You will protect him. I know it.’ Vincent’s skeletal face ruptured into a smile. ‘Besides, it will be good for you to get some fresh air.’

  ‘Fuck you.’ Denham retorted, a respectful grin solidifying a friendship that Franklyn was sure had spanned decades.

  ‘You will need to get him some armour. This creature won’t hesitate to kill him.’

  Franklyn stepped forward, making a ‘T’ shape with his hands, a look of concern spread across his face.

  ‘Okay, time out.’ Both Neithers turned to him. ‘This really sounds like a shit idea. Also, why the hell would this thing want to kill me?’

  Vincent answered with extreme clarity.

  ‘Because seven humans have gone missing in three days and I would hazard a guess it wasn’t a game of hide and seek.’

  ‘Cool,’ Franklyn said, his lips upturned as he weighed up the situation, his head nodding slightly. ‘I vote we send Hugo.’

  ‘I agree.’ Denham added, his arms crossed, and his one eye locked on Vincent.

  ‘Enough.’ Vincent’s tone rose with authority. ‘You may no
t realise it Franklyn, but you have an important part to play here. Denham, I expect you to do what you did for many years with distinction. Solve the case and bring this creature to banishment. Now, make your way to the armoury and sign out whatever you may need.’

  ‘Armoury?’ Franklyn asked, his eyebrows leaping with surprise. Vincent, ignoring his outburst, kept his focus on the hulking trainer.

  ‘I will square it with Ottoway.’

  After a few moments of silence, Denham released a defeated sigh, his enormous chest collapsing like a roof panel caving in. With a resigned nod of the head, he patted Vincent on the shoulder, accepting his orders before turning back to his protégé.

  ‘Looks like we’re going on a field trip.’

  ‘Goodie,’ Franklyn responded, following his mentor towards the gap in the maze of book cases, their oak shelves crammed with knowledge he would never comprehend. Before stepping through the leather-bound labyrinth, Franklyn shot one last glance over his shoulder, committing the wonder before him to memory. Never had he seen such a sight, the four creatures twitched in their pods as the wizardly Vincent glided between them, understanding the myriad of statistics racing across the screens.

  Their world speaking to ours.

  The enormity of everything began to fall upon him. He had seen behind the curtain, realising now that the BTCO wasn’t just a clever name. The world he’d lived in before was only a half truth, yet he’d known since day one what was truly lurking in the shadows. The world was not alone, both sides of the divide needed to be protected and helped and that was what he’d been assigned to do. He thought back to when he watched his family disappearing down the corridor as he was carted off to his padded cell.

  The heart-wrenching moment a few weeks prior as he stood in the rain, his daughter giving him one last wave before being pulled away into her new, stable life.

  Franklyn realised then that he wasn’t just aware of the truth, he was now a part of something bigger.

  That after watching the world turn its back on him, he would now dedicate himself to protecting it.

  And the world would never know.

  With a shake of the head, he followed Denham to the exit, ready for his first case.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Franklyn flicked his left hand upwards, clicking the indicator up, and pulling into the fast lane. It had been a while since he’d been behind the wheel of the car, but old habits die hard and his body gave a little shudder of excitement when they gave him the keys to a company car.

  A sleek, black, Mercedes C-Class.

  Thundering up the A11, Franklyn overtook the family car that was stuck to the middle lane, passing a driver who clutched the wheel with both hands and was clearly terrified of the motorway. After successfully overtaking, he chuckled as he pulled back in front and shot forward across the empty tarmac ahead.

  The motorway was one of the safest places to drive.

  Nothing could catch you by surprise.

  Franklyn was cutting through Cambridge at eighty-two miles per hour, headed towards Elvedon Forest where his first ever case awaited him. The forest itself housed the popular Centre Parcs, an overpriced chalet experience complete with forest cycling and a large swimming pool. Despite the extortionate cost, he’d dreamt of taking Chloe there when she was old enough to ride a bike, lazily cycling through the woods like the models in the brochure.

  The perfect family.

  Franklyn clicked the button for the window to slowly retract, the whipping air filled the car with a freshness, the pressure wrapped around his body like a sash. The sun was out, the August afternoon was awash with sunshine that painted the surrounding fields in a wonderful glow. He lifted a cigarette to his lips and popped the in-car lighter down to heat up.

  When he’d been handed the keys, a faceless suit and tie went over the ground rules of borrowing the vehicle, handing him a policy he instantly tossed back onto the desk.

  Apparently, it was written by a Montgomery Black.

  It forbid smoking in the car.

  Franklyn lifted the lighter to the tip of his cigarette and let his lungs, and the car, fill with smoke, before exhaling with a loud satisfaction and metaphorically wiping his arse with the policy. Although he wasn’t necessarily heading towards the Midlands, the journey reminded him of the man he had taken during his student days, his mind shooting back to those evenings at Derby University, sat in his dorms with his best friend, Brett Archer. While they smoked as much tobacco and weed as their lungs could handle, his friend never once questioned his sanity.

  If anything, he envied Franklyn’s ability to see the truth.

  Franklyn took another pull, making a note to contact Brett now that he was out of the nuthouse and working as a secret agent. An agent who was headed into the woods to try to find missing people, all of them probably taken by a creature from his darkest nightmare. After a few more puffs, Franklyn flicked the cigarette through the window, allowing the wind to carry it to its oblivion while he wondered just how Brett would react to the recent changes to his life.

  Probably with a big grin and the clinking of a pint glass.

  After passing a sign for Thetford, Franklyn pulled off the motorway, slowly making his way towards Thetford Forest Park, the huge woodland area that housed not only Centre Parcs but a few other attractions such as a luxury spa and a Go Ape experience, which consisted of crazed people strapping themselves to wires and swinging from trees. Franklyn, not one for heights, decided hunting a potentially deadly monster through the midland woodlands was a more appealing option.

  He was to drive to the Centre Parcs car park, but then take a sharp right, which lead to some private cabins. There he would meet a Mr Kenneth Rowe, an elderly gentleman, and former groundsman. According to the file, he knew the woods like the back of his hand but now, after many years of retirement, spent his twilight years with his wife, Tabitha.

  Denham would meet him at the property, but Franklyn ran the show.

  Kenneth wouldn’t be able to see Denham.

  See the truth.

  With a sigh, Franklyn eventually pulled onto the Elveden bypass, following the signs directing him to the resort and his first dance with another world. The drive from London had been surprisingly quick, with the daytime traffic a pale comparison to the horrors of rush hour. With the sun beating through the windscreen, Franklyn pulled into the Centre Parcs car park, before turning sharply, and steering the Mercedes over the bump onto the coarse, beaten track towards the private estates.

  The luxury car jolted uncomfortably, the uneven, stone ground making a mockery of its expensive design. Carefully guiding the vehicle through the high, over bearing trees, Franklyn passed several chalets, the exteriors rendered to look like log cabins. An old lady, muttering incoherently as she tended to a row of plant pots stared at him. The dead weeds hung over the edges of their ceramic prisons, reaching for freedom.

  Sure enough, as he rounded the corner, the impressive bulk of Denham was waiting outside the final building. The sun cut through the trees like a guillotine, bursting behind Denham, and casting a mighty shadow. The Neither was dressed in a black gown, which hung over a grey, re-enforced body plate. The handles of two swords poked out the bottom of his cloak, easy access which Franklyn felt a flicker of gratitude for.

  Denham would protect him.

  Despite his overbearing and belittling nature, Denham’s loyalty was clear.

  As he slowly brought the car to a stop, he thought about the majestic warrior he saw training weeks previously. Never had he seen a creature move with such speed and conviction, moving the blade within its hand like a cheerleader whirling a baton.

  Argyle.

  Could Denham protect him from Argyle?

  The car came to a stop and Franklyn pushed open the door, stepping out onto the dried mud. Wearing black Converse, blue jeans, and a black polo shirt, he looked less agency, and more like a holiday rep. He slid his sunglasses over his face, before turning to address the mighty warrior be
side him.

  ‘Howdy.’

  ‘Nice drive?’ Denham asked, his one eye peering beyond Franklyn to the curvaceous sports car behind, almost with envy.

  ‘Like a dream.’ Franklyn lit another cigarette, politely fanning the smoke away from Denham who chuckled.

  ‘Son, do you think second hand smoke can harm me?’

  ‘I’ll be perfectly honest with you, mate. I haven’t got a fucking clue about much anymore.’ Franklyn offered with another long drag. ‘But we live and learn.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  A cool breeze danced between them, followed by the delicate chirping of a distant, hidden bird. He turned to the chalet before him, the front lined with logs to give off the design of a genuine log cabin. The well-maintained porch was lined with potted plants and a few ghastly gnomes, everything in its correct position. It made a mockery of Franklyn’s quarters back at the Shard, with his method of tidying being little more akin to a grenade going off. After a few more puffs, Franklyn felt his stomach tighten, a small twinge of fear spasming through his body.

  ‘So, err ... what do you think it is?’ His words stuttered, his voice box shaking with fear. Unexpectedly, Denham reached out one of his mighty hands, wrapped in leather straps, and placed a reassuring palm on his shoulder.

  ‘I’ve got you.’ Denham spoke softly. ‘And you’ve got this.’

  Franklyn took a deep breath, nodding as if to convince himself. He took a long puff of his cigarette and then flashed another glance to Denham, who offered a reassuring smile.

  ‘Who are you talking to, sonny?’

  The words whistled through a toothless mouth and Franklyn’s attention snapped back to the cabin. Standing in the doorway was an elderly gentleman, his skin wrinkled, and covered in liver spots. A welcoming smile spread across his face, drawing the skin into thick lines around every crevice. The file said that Kenneth Rowe was eighty-three years old, but he looked surprisingly fit for a man of his age. Despite the training with Denham, where Franklyn had started to see some muscle definition when he glanced in the mirror, he was still pretty sure Mr Rowe could beat him in a race.