Gone but where, p.4
Gone, but Where?, page 4
Scott, standing off to the side, couldn’t help but grin. “I mean, she’s got a point. Crisis briefing 101: always offer tea.”
Stella raised her arms in a wide, exaggerated gesture, stepping between Rosemary and Sinclair with a sympathetic smile. “You know what? Rosemary’s right. This would indeed be a good time for a break. A cup of tea sounds like exactly what we need.”
She turned, motioning toward the door. “Come on, let’s head to the cafeteria. We can pick this up after we’ve all had a moment to breathe.”
Rosemary huffed, still fuming, but she nodded slightly, following Stella’s lead. Scott smirked as he followed behind. “Tea, solving British problems since forever.”
CHAPTER SIX
As they entered the cafeteria, the low hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes surrounded them. Scott, walking beside Rosemary, kept his expression casual, but his voice slipped into her mind with ease.
“Why didn’t you mention that I was with you at Euphoria?” Scott’s telepathic voice was playful. “You completely left me out of the story.”
Rosemary didn’t turn her head, maintaining her outward calm as she responded. “I didn’t know how much they know about you.” Her tone was cautious. “I don’t trust them yet, not enough to tell them everything about you.”
“But they already know I’m like you, a paranormal,” Scott replied, his mental voice carrying a hint of disbelief. “What difference does it make now?”
Rosemary's lips barely twitched as she kept her thoughts directed solely to Scott. “Yes, they know that. But I want to keep what they know to a minimum until I understand what we’re really dealing with. We’re surrounded by secrets, Scott. Yours included.”
Scott let that settle for a second before chuckling to himself, both amused and baffled. “And ‘too old’? Can you believe that?”
Rosemary shot him a sidelong glance and smirked, both sharing the absurdity of the idea in silence as they followed Stella toward the counter.
They received their drinks and headed to a table. Rosemary turned to Stella as they sat down, her voice steady but with an undertone of urgency. “Stella, would you mind giving Scott and me a few moments alone to talk? There are some things we need to discuss.” She watched Stella for a second, her eyes flicking between the two of them. Then, with a nod, Stella smiled. “Of course. I’ll give you some space.” Without another word, she turned and walked out of the cafeteria.
As soon as Stella left, Scott didn’t waste any time. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “They know about Phaedrus. But what I don’t get is... why were your friends Elizabeth and Jonathan Sallow researching him?”
Rosemary sighed, rubbing her temples. “I should’ve told you earlier, Scott. I didn’t mean to keep it from you.” Her eyes softened with apology. “It’s just... I was waiting for the right time. And then, well, things kept happening, and we started getting jobs. It all got more complicated than I expected.”
Scott’s expression remained unreadable. “Alright. But now’s the time to come clean, Rosemary. You, Elizabeth, Jonathan... what exactly did you find?”
She looked at him for a moment, then made a decision. “It’s Betty, not Elizabeth, she’d kill me if I didn’t correct you. As far as explaining why we were researching, it’ll be easier if I just show you. There’s no way I can explain it all in words. I’ll let you access the memory, the day we found some important information about Phaedrus.”
Scott blinked in surprise but nodded. “Alright, let’s do this.” He reached out, taking her hand.
The world around them seemed to blur, the edges of the cafeteria dissolving into a soft mist. Then, like a ripple in water, the scene shifted. They were no longer in the present, but in the past, standing together in the memory. A vivid flash of the day when everything changed... when Rosemary, Betty, and Jonathan uncovered something startling about Phaedrus.
Scott watched the memory unfold in front of him like he was right there, standing in the middle of the bright, airy kitchen. The light poured in through the windows, making the room feel warm and familiar. Betty Sallow sat at the large pine kitchen table, dressed in a purple cat-print sweater. She lifted her gaze as Rosemary finished speaking, then lowered her “I Love New York” mug.
“Sounds like this box headed creature you encountered was infected with some sort of pathogen,” Betty said, her voice thoughtful. “You do realise that would require some sophisticated genetic expertise?”
“Yes, I do,” Rosemary replied, diving into a biscuit tin. “The question is, who created the pathogen?”
Betty stood at the sink, filling the kettle again for what felt like the fifth time that morning. “And the very thing the box-headed creature needed ended up being the thing that defeated it. Poetic. I’d have just slammed the portal shut and called it a day.”
“Box-Head would've tried again,” Rosemary muttered, nibbling on a biscuit. “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced there’s more to all of this.”
Betty clicked the kettle on “Rosemary, I may be retired, but I’ll always think like a pathologist, and I have a nose for these things. This whole scenario feels... orchestrated. It’s worrying.”
Rosemary nodded, Betty’s words hanging in the air as she sat back down with a heavy sigh. “What concerns me,” Betty continued, “is young Scott.” She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rosemary. “His world’s been flipped upside down. Why is it on you to deal with all that?”
Rosemary took a moment, thinking. “It has to be me. I’m an operant. I call the shots. Scott’s a Specialist. He’s going to need training. There aren't many of us paranormals around this area anymore.”
“That’s probably smart then.” Betty agreed. “I suppose you are the best qualified to deal with it.”
“Exactly. There’s just no one left!” Rosemary straightened. “Green Street’s out, Noah’s in New Zealand for another month, and my MOD contact hasn’t responded. I don’t have many options.”
Betty shrugged. “Unusual for the Ministry of Defence to be so quiet... but my advice? Watch Scott closely, stay near him. He’ll need you. Men always do, like children, they are.” She smirked, then glanced toward the kitchen door towards the hallway. “Speaking of which... what’s taking Jonathan so long? He’s been locked upstairs since you gave him that name to research.”
Just as they looked away from the door, Jonathan Sallow burst into the kitchen, dishevelled, clutching several pieces of paper, breathing heavily.
“Speak of the devil,” Rosemary called out with a smile.
“About time,” Betty added, shaking her head. “It’s like having the kids back home.”
Jonathan, his white hair sticking up at odd angles, dropped the papers on the table and repositioned his glasses. “Phaedrus Castellanos,” he panted, “older brother of an Aaron Castellanos, was known here in the UK as... Mr Philip Bright.”
Rosemary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Philip Bright? The paranormal? The adventurer? Ecologist? Head of The McCabe Future Foundation back in... when was it? The late ’80s?”
Betty looked at both of them, shrugging. Rosemary continued, pulling another biscuit from the tin. “Are you serious, Jonathan? Go on. What else did you find out about him?”
Jonathan jabbed a finger at one of the papers. “He was in South America in the early 90s, looking for lost Infantino artefacts, but flew back under orders from the Ministry of Defence to help with the Mortehoe incident.”
“The Mortehoe incident?” Betty asked.
Jonathan nodded. “A big spirit crossover in North Devon. A lot of deaths. But the last thing reported was Philip Bright being found wandering a clifftop cemetery near Mortehoe. No memory. He was later sent to a psychiatric home and died four years later in 1998.”
Rosemary rubbed her temples, the weight of the information settling on her. “So, Phaedrus Castellanos was Philip Bright,” she murmured, more to herself than to them. “Who’d have thought?”
Jonathan waved his hands in the air. “No, no, you’re missing the point. What was Phaedrus Castellanos, Philip Bright doing in South America?”
Rosemary stared at him, thinking hard. “You said he was looking for the Infantino artefacts, right? The so-called Paranormal treasures. I know the stories, Jonathan.”
Jonathan leaned forward, grinning. “So, if Scott now has Phaedrus’ memories...”
Rosemary glanced at him, then at Betty, realisation dawning. “Scott may know the location of some of the artefacts,” she whispered.
“Bingo!” Jonathan exclaimed, slamming his palms down on the table, making the teapot jump.
The three of them fell silent, the weight of what Jonathan had uncovered settling between them. Rosemary stood, slowly making her way to the kitchen window. She stared out for a few moments, then turned back to Betty and Jonathan, her voice quiet.
“This could change... everything.”
The memory began to dissolve, fading away like mist on a summer morning. The light and airy kitchen, Betty’s cat-print sweater, the smell of tea, and the papers on the table, all of it melted away. Slowly, Scott found himself back in the cafeteria, sitting across from Rosemary.
He blinked, reorienting himself, the sensation of stepping back into his own mind leaving him slightly dazed. The soft murmur of conversation around them filled the air, the clatter of dishes offsetting the intensity of the memory he'd just experienced.
“So... Phaedrus Castellanos was... yes, people in England had so much trouble with his name he thought it would be easier to be Philip Bright,” Scott muttered, piecing it together as he ran a hand through his hair. “And you think I might have his memories of those artefacts?”
Rosemary, already stirring sugar into her tea as if nothing extraordinary had just happened, looked at him with calm resolve. “It seems that way. I just thought the Infantino artefacts were just a tale, a bit of folklore.”
Scott exhaled, leaning back in his chair, eyes scanning the room. “Well, no pressure then, there’s a lot in his memories about artefacts. I need time to process them and learn why these artefacts are important.” He shot her a half-smile. “Tea first, ancient artefact-hunting later.”
Rosemary allowed herself a small grin. “Sounds like a plan.”
“It does, but I know what we have to do first.”
Back in Sinclair’s office, Scott glanced at Rosemary, then stepped forward, his voice steady but firm as he addressed Sinclair.
“Look, Betty and Jonathan Sallow have nothing to do with this,” he said. “They need to be left out of this completely. They’ve helped Rosemary, sure, but they don’t deserve to be dragged into whatever this is. They’re just Rosemary’s friends.”
Sinclair leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. “We’re not in the habit of involving civilians unless absolutely necessary.”
Scott’s continued “We’ll agree to help you. But the trust thing... yeah, that’s still up in the air. We’re doing this our way.”
Rosemary stepped up beside him. She gave a slight nod. “I have a friend in Staffordshire who needs my immediate help. Scott and I need to assist them first. After that, we’ll return and talk more. But those are the terms.”
Sinclair exhaled slowly. “I’ll arrange for an escort back and have one of my agents stay with you.”
“No,” Rosemary cut in, her voice as calm. “Just take us back. No agents. That’s the deal.”
There was a brief silence as Sinclair studied her, weighing the situation. After a moment, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
He stood, reaching over to his desk phone as he spoke. “You’ll have 24 to 48 hours, no more. As soon as you’re done in Staffordshire, I’ll have, Agent Liam Grigg pick you up and bring you back here. Then, we’ll get to work.”
Sinclair picked up the receiver, his voice efficient as he issued instructions. “Have a car ready in five.”
Stella, standing nearby, seemed relieved as she smiled at Rosemary and Scott. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. It’s for the best.”
Sinclair looked at Rosemary once again. “I know I’ve apologised before, but for what it’s worth... I am sorry. We never meant to underestimate you.”
Rosemary didn’t respond, but there was a slight softening in her eyes. Without another word, she and Scott turned and followed Stella out of the office, the door closing behind them with a quiet click.
The phone on Sinclair’s desk rang, slicing through the quiet tension left behind by Rosemary and Scott’s departure. He snatched it up, pressing the receiver to his ear. “Sinclair.” A pause followed, and his face darkened. “The walkers are still missing?” His voice lowered, a grim edge to his tone. “It’s looking more like our kind of thing... I see.”
Sinclair paced to the window, his fingers drumming lightly on the glass as he stared out. “Once Stella gets back, I’ll send her down to Yaightford. If this whole thing is paranormal, she’ll confirm it.”
He waited for a moment. “Any word from Professor Rendale yet?”
Another pause, and Sinclair exhaled sharply through his nose. “It can’t be a coincidence. Keep trying. It’s his village, for heaven’s sake. I don’t care if you have to knock his door down, find him!” Sinclair hung up, staring at the now silent phone as if willing it to offer more answers. He crossed his arms, his mind already spinning with the next steps.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The grey Volkswagen Golf came to a quiet stop at the curb on Orchard Street in Stafford. Its headlights cut through the still night before flickering off. Rosemary, Scott, and Alex Blackwood stepped out into the warm evening air, the street dimly lit by a few scattered lampposts. The silence of the late hour made the shadows feel thicker, the darkened buildings looming in quiet rows on either side of them.
As Rosemary took in her surroundings, her attention snagged on something familiar, a red telephone box a short way down the street. Its bold colour and sturdy frame stood out against the shadows, a small but comforting presence. She paused, her gaze lingering a beat too long. A faint smile softened her lips, and she gave a subtle nod, like greeting an old friend.
Scott noticed the shift in her expression and followed her gaze. “What’s up with the phone box?”
Rosemary ignored him, tugging at the zipper and sliding her coat open, letting the night air curl in around her. After a moment, she turned to face them and said, “Alright. Let’s go over what we know so far. Scott, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Scott leaned back against the car, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. He glanced between Rosemary and Alex.
“Noah’s a wizard, technically a paranormal but without the usual abilities, but he does have a skill when it comes to channelling magic,” he began, his tone matter of fact, as if he were talking about the weather instead of magic. “He was assigned to investigate Techguard, a company here in Stafford. Apparently, someone inside was using a combination of computer code and magical spells to break into clients’ secure systems.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s been over two days, and no one's heard from him since. His last location was sent to you, Alex and you Rosemary.”
Rosemary nodded, retrieving her mobile phone from her coat pocket, the screen glowing faintly in the dim streetlight. “Yes, he sent me his last location. This,” she emphasised, holding up the phone, “is where we’ll start. I’m just glad we had time to grab my phone from the B&B.”
Alex glanced around the dark street. “I’ve already searched this area. I found nothing. But then again, I’m just a normal person. Not exactly equipped to deal with magic.”
Rosemary turned to him, offering a reassuring smile. “No one is just ‘normal,’ Alex. Everyone has their own kind of special.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice warm. “You don’t need magic to be important. What you bring to this team matters, trust me.”
Scott’s gaze drifted to the nearby red telephone box. Although the paint was chipped and the glass panels smudged, it stood tall, a resilient relic from another era.
Sensing his gaze, Rosemary smiled softly but kept her focus on Alex “You see that old telephone box over there?”
Alex turned to look, curiosity flickering in their eyes. “Yeah,” Alex replied, raising an eyebrow. “What about it?”
“Made of iron,” she explained, “Iron is an effective protection against witches, fairies, the Devil, and other sorts of troublesome beings. Cast iron protects us from the paranormal and supernatural. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, the man who designed these boxes back in 1935, was a paranormal like Scott and I, or so the stories go. It’s said that part of the reason he insisted that they were made out of cast iron was to act as safe points for ghost hunters and demon hunters.”
Alex studied the telephone box. “I always thought it was just because iron is, I don’t know... sturdy?”
Rosemary nodded, a sparkle in her eyes. “That’s true. Iron is tough, which helps it last a very long time. But in the paranormal world, it serves an even greater purpose. These were meant to be more than just phone boxes. Urban legend has it that if you’re ever in real danger from something... otherworldly, one of these might just save your life.”
Scott whistled low, crossing his arms. “So, those old things are like emergency shelters for people dealing with... ghosts and demons?”
Rosemary chuckled, “That’s the urban legend. Sir Scott, the same man who designed the Liverpool Cathedral and Battersea Power Station, supposedly built them for that extra layer of protection. A safe point for hunters and other paranormals.”
Alex studied the telephone box for a moment longer, a strange sense of comfort settling over him. “So, they’re more than just relics, then.”
Rosemary nodded gently, “More than a relic,” she echoed softly. “It’s a place of safety when things get bad.”
“Does this box have something to do with Noah?” Alex asked,
“It might,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stella raised her arms in a wide, exaggerated gesture, stepping between Rosemary and Sinclair with a sympathetic smile. “You know what? Rosemary’s right. This would indeed be a good time for a break. A cup of tea sounds like exactly what we need.”
She turned, motioning toward the door. “Come on, let’s head to the cafeteria. We can pick this up after we’ve all had a moment to breathe.”
Rosemary huffed, still fuming, but she nodded slightly, following Stella’s lead. Scott smirked as he followed behind. “Tea, solving British problems since forever.”
CHAPTER SIX
As they entered the cafeteria, the low hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes surrounded them. Scott, walking beside Rosemary, kept his expression casual, but his voice slipped into her mind with ease.
“Why didn’t you mention that I was with you at Euphoria?” Scott’s telepathic voice was playful. “You completely left me out of the story.”
Rosemary didn’t turn her head, maintaining her outward calm as she responded. “I didn’t know how much they know about you.” Her tone was cautious. “I don’t trust them yet, not enough to tell them everything about you.”
“But they already know I’m like you, a paranormal,” Scott replied, his mental voice carrying a hint of disbelief. “What difference does it make now?”
Rosemary's lips barely twitched as she kept her thoughts directed solely to Scott. “Yes, they know that. But I want to keep what they know to a minimum until I understand what we’re really dealing with. We’re surrounded by secrets, Scott. Yours included.”
Scott let that settle for a second before chuckling to himself, both amused and baffled. “And ‘too old’? Can you believe that?”
Rosemary shot him a sidelong glance and smirked, both sharing the absurdity of the idea in silence as they followed Stella toward the counter.
They received their drinks and headed to a table. Rosemary turned to Stella as they sat down, her voice steady but with an undertone of urgency. “Stella, would you mind giving Scott and me a few moments alone to talk? There are some things we need to discuss.” She watched Stella for a second, her eyes flicking between the two of them. Then, with a nod, Stella smiled. “Of course. I’ll give you some space.” Without another word, she turned and walked out of the cafeteria.
As soon as Stella left, Scott didn’t waste any time. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “They know about Phaedrus. But what I don’t get is... why were your friends Elizabeth and Jonathan Sallow researching him?”
Rosemary sighed, rubbing her temples. “I should’ve told you earlier, Scott. I didn’t mean to keep it from you.” Her eyes softened with apology. “It’s just... I was waiting for the right time. And then, well, things kept happening, and we started getting jobs. It all got more complicated than I expected.”
Scott’s expression remained unreadable. “Alright. But now’s the time to come clean, Rosemary. You, Elizabeth, Jonathan... what exactly did you find?”
She looked at him for a moment, then made a decision. “It’s Betty, not Elizabeth, she’d kill me if I didn’t correct you. As far as explaining why we were researching, it’ll be easier if I just show you. There’s no way I can explain it all in words. I’ll let you access the memory, the day we found some important information about Phaedrus.”
Scott blinked in surprise but nodded. “Alright, let’s do this.” He reached out, taking her hand.
The world around them seemed to blur, the edges of the cafeteria dissolving into a soft mist. Then, like a ripple in water, the scene shifted. They were no longer in the present, but in the past, standing together in the memory. A vivid flash of the day when everything changed... when Rosemary, Betty, and Jonathan uncovered something startling about Phaedrus.
Scott watched the memory unfold in front of him like he was right there, standing in the middle of the bright, airy kitchen. The light poured in through the windows, making the room feel warm and familiar. Betty Sallow sat at the large pine kitchen table, dressed in a purple cat-print sweater. She lifted her gaze as Rosemary finished speaking, then lowered her “I Love New York” mug.
“Sounds like this box headed creature you encountered was infected with some sort of pathogen,” Betty said, her voice thoughtful. “You do realise that would require some sophisticated genetic expertise?”
“Yes, I do,” Rosemary replied, diving into a biscuit tin. “The question is, who created the pathogen?”
Betty stood at the sink, filling the kettle again for what felt like the fifth time that morning. “And the very thing the box-headed creature needed ended up being the thing that defeated it. Poetic. I’d have just slammed the portal shut and called it a day.”
“Box-Head would've tried again,” Rosemary muttered, nibbling on a biscuit. “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced there’s more to all of this.”
Betty clicked the kettle on “Rosemary, I may be retired, but I’ll always think like a pathologist, and I have a nose for these things. This whole scenario feels... orchestrated. It’s worrying.”
Rosemary nodded, Betty’s words hanging in the air as she sat back down with a heavy sigh. “What concerns me,” Betty continued, “is young Scott.” She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rosemary. “His world’s been flipped upside down. Why is it on you to deal with all that?”
Rosemary took a moment, thinking. “It has to be me. I’m an operant. I call the shots. Scott’s a Specialist. He’s going to need training. There aren't many of us paranormals around this area anymore.”
“That’s probably smart then.” Betty agreed. “I suppose you are the best qualified to deal with it.”
“Exactly. There’s just no one left!” Rosemary straightened. “Green Street’s out, Noah’s in New Zealand for another month, and my MOD contact hasn’t responded. I don’t have many options.”
Betty shrugged. “Unusual for the Ministry of Defence to be so quiet... but my advice? Watch Scott closely, stay near him. He’ll need you. Men always do, like children, they are.” She smirked, then glanced toward the kitchen door towards the hallway. “Speaking of which... what’s taking Jonathan so long? He’s been locked upstairs since you gave him that name to research.”
Just as they looked away from the door, Jonathan Sallow burst into the kitchen, dishevelled, clutching several pieces of paper, breathing heavily.
“Speak of the devil,” Rosemary called out with a smile.
“About time,” Betty added, shaking her head. “It’s like having the kids back home.”
Jonathan, his white hair sticking up at odd angles, dropped the papers on the table and repositioned his glasses. “Phaedrus Castellanos,” he panted, “older brother of an Aaron Castellanos, was known here in the UK as... Mr Philip Bright.”
Rosemary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Philip Bright? The paranormal? The adventurer? Ecologist? Head of The McCabe Future Foundation back in... when was it? The late ’80s?”
Betty looked at both of them, shrugging. Rosemary continued, pulling another biscuit from the tin. “Are you serious, Jonathan? Go on. What else did you find out about him?”
Jonathan jabbed a finger at one of the papers. “He was in South America in the early 90s, looking for lost Infantino artefacts, but flew back under orders from the Ministry of Defence to help with the Mortehoe incident.”
“The Mortehoe incident?” Betty asked.
Jonathan nodded. “A big spirit crossover in North Devon. A lot of deaths. But the last thing reported was Philip Bright being found wandering a clifftop cemetery near Mortehoe. No memory. He was later sent to a psychiatric home and died four years later in 1998.”
Rosemary rubbed her temples, the weight of the information settling on her. “So, Phaedrus Castellanos was Philip Bright,” she murmured, more to herself than to them. “Who’d have thought?”
Jonathan waved his hands in the air. “No, no, you’re missing the point. What was Phaedrus Castellanos, Philip Bright doing in South America?”
Rosemary stared at him, thinking hard. “You said he was looking for the Infantino artefacts, right? The so-called Paranormal treasures. I know the stories, Jonathan.”
Jonathan leaned forward, grinning. “So, if Scott now has Phaedrus’ memories...”
Rosemary glanced at him, then at Betty, realisation dawning. “Scott may know the location of some of the artefacts,” she whispered.
“Bingo!” Jonathan exclaimed, slamming his palms down on the table, making the teapot jump.
The three of them fell silent, the weight of what Jonathan had uncovered settling between them. Rosemary stood, slowly making her way to the kitchen window. She stared out for a few moments, then turned back to Betty and Jonathan, her voice quiet.
“This could change... everything.”
The memory began to dissolve, fading away like mist on a summer morning. The light and airy kitchen, Betty’s cat-print sweater, the smell of tea, and the papers on the table, all of it melted away. Slowly, Scott found himself back in the cafeteria, sitting across from Rosemary.
He blinked, reorienting himself, the sensation of stepping back into his own mind leaving him slightly dazed. The soft murmur of conversation around them filled the air, the clatter of dishes offsetting the intensity of the memory he'd just experienced.
“So... Phaedrus Castellanos was... yes, people in England had so much trouble with his name he thought it would be easier to be Philip Bright,” Scott muttered, piecing it together as he ran a hand through his hair. “And you think I might have his memories of those artefacts?”
Rosemary, already stirring sugar into her tea as if nothing extraordinary had just happened, looked at him with calm resolve. “It seems that way. I just thought the Infantino artefacts were just a tale, a bit of folklore.”
Scott exhaled, leaning back in his chair, eyes scanning the room. “Well, no pressure then, there’s a lot in his memories about artefacts. I need time to process them and learn why these artefacts are important.” He shot her a half-smile. “Tea first, ancient artefact-hunting later.”
Rosemary allowed herself a small grin. “Sounds like a plan.”
“It does, but I know what we have to do first.”
Back in Sinclair’s office, Scott glanced at Rosemary, then stepped forward, his voice steady but firm as he addressed Sinclair.
“Look, Betty and Jonathan Sallow have nothing to do with this,” he said. “They need to be left out of this completely. They’ve helped Rosemary, sure, but they don’t deserve to be dragged into whatever this is. They’re just Rosemary’s friends.”
Sinclair leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin. “We’re not in the habit of involving civilians unless absolutely necessary.”
Scott’s continued “We’ll agree to help you. But the trust thing... yeah, that’s still up in the air. We’re doing this our way.”
Rosemary stepped up beside him. She gave a slight nod. “I have a friend in Staffordshire who needs my immediate help. Scott and I need to assist them first. After that, we’ll return and talk more. But those are the terms.”
Sinclair exhaled slowly. “I’ll arrange for an escort back and have one of my agents stay with you.”
“No,” Rosemary cut in, her voice as calm. “Just take us back. No agents. That’s the deal.”
There was a brief silence as Sinclair studied her, weighing the situation. After a moment, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
He stood, reaching over to his desk phone as he spoke. “You’ll have 24 to 48 hours, no more. As soon as you’re done in Staffordshire, I’ll have, Agent Liam Grigg pick you up and bring you back here. Then, we’ll get to work.”
Sinclair picked up the receiver, his voice efficient as he issued instructions. “Have a car ready in five.”
Stella, standing nearby, seemed relieved as she smiled at Rosemary and Scott. “I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. It’s for the best.”
Sinclair looked at Rosemary once again. “I know I’ve apologised before, but for what it’s worth... I am sorry. We never meant to underestimate you.”
Rosemary didn’t respond, but there was a slight softening in her eyes. Without another word, she and Scott turned and followed Stella out of the office, the door closing behind them with a quiet click.
The phone on Sinclair’s desk rang, slicing through the quiet tension left behind by Rosemary and Scott’s departure. He snatched it up, pressing the receiver to his ear. “Sinclair.” A pause followed, and his face darkened. “The walkers are still missing?” His voice lowered, a grim edge to his tone. “It’s looking more like our kind of thing... I see.”
Sinclair paced to the window, his fingers drumming lightly on the glass as he stared out. “Once Stella gets back, I’ll send her down to Yaightford. If this whole thing is paranormal, she’ll confirm it.”
He waited for a moment. “Any word from Professor Rendale yet?”
Another pause, and Sinclair exhaled sharply through his nose. “It can’t be a coincidence. Keep trying. It’s his village, for heaven’s sake. I don’t care if you have to knock his door down, find him!” Sinclair hung up, staring at the now silent phone as if willing it to offer more answers. He crossed his arms, his mind already spinning with the next steps.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The grey Volkswagen Golf came to a quiet stop at the curb on Orchard Street in Stafford. Its headlights cut through the still night before flickering off. Rosemary, Scott, and Alex Blackwood stepped out into the warm evening air, the street dimly lit by a few scattered lampposts. The silence of the late hour made the shadows feel thicker, the darkened buildings looming in quiet rows on either side of them.
As Rosemary took in her surroundings, her attention snagged on something familiar, a red telephone box a short way down the street. Its bold colour and sturdy frame stood out against the shadows, a small but comforting presence. She paused, her gaze lingering a beat too long. A faint smile softened her lips, and she gave a subtle nod, like greeting an old friend.
Scott noticed the shift in her expression and followed her gaze. “What’s up with the phone box?”
Rosemary ignored him, tugging at the zipper and sliding her coat open, letting the night air curl in around her. After a moment, she turned to face them and said, “Alright. Let’s go over what we know so far. Scott, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Scott leaned back against the car, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. He glanced between Rosemary and Alex.
“Noah’s a wizard, technically a paranormal but without the usual abilities, but he does have a skill when it comes to channelling magic,” he began, his tone matter of fact, as if he were talking about the weather instead of magic. “He was assigned to investigate Techguard, a company here in Stafford. Apparently, someone inside was using a combination of computer code and magical spells to break into clients’ secure systems.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s been over two days, and no one's heard from him since. His last location was sent to you, Alex and you Rosemary.”
Rosemary nodded, retrieving her mobile phone from her coat pocket, the screen glowing faintly in the dim streetlight. “Yes, he sent me his last location. This,” she emphasised, holding up the phone, “is where we’ll start. I’m just glad we had time to grab my phone from the B&B.”
Alex glanced around the dark street. “I’ve already searched this area. I found nothing. But then again, I’m just a normal person. Not exactly equipped to deal with magic.”
Rosemary turned to him, offering a reassuring smile. “No one is just ‘normal,’ Alex. Everyone has their own kind of special.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice warm. “You don’t need magic to be important. What you bring to this team matters, trust me.”
Scott’s gaze drifted to the nearby red telephone box. Although the paint was chipped and the glass panels smudged, it stood tall, a resilient relic from another era.
Sensing his gaze, Rosemary smiled softly but kept her focus on Alex “You see that old telephone box over there?”
Alex turned to look, curiosity flickering in their eyes. “Yeah,” Alex replied, raising an eyebrow. “What about it?”
“Made of iron,” she explained, “Iron is an effective protection against witches, fairies, the Devil, and other sorts of troublesome beings. Cast iron protects us from the paranormal and supernatural. Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, the man who designed these boxes back in 1935, was a paranormal like Scott and I, or so the stories go. It’s said that part of the reason he insisted that they were made out of cast iron was to act as safe points for ghost hunters and demon hunters.”
Alex studied the telephone box. “I always thought it was just because iron is, I don’t know... sturdy?”
Rosemary nodded, a sparkle in her eyes. “That’s true. Iron is tough, which helps it last a very long time. But in the paranormal world, it serves an even greater purpose. These were meant to be more than just phone boxes. Urban legend has it that if you’re ever in real danger from something... otherworldly, one of these might just save your life.”
Scott whistled low, crossing his arms. “So, those old things are like emergency shelters for people dealing with... ghosts and demons?”
Rosemary chuckled, “That’s the urban legend. Sir Scott, the same man who designed the Liverpool Cathedral and Battersea Power Station, supposedly built them for that extra layer of protection. A safe point for hunters and other paranormals.”
Alex studied the telephone box for a moment longer, a strange sense of comfort settling over him. “So, they’re more than just relics, then.”
Rosemary nodded gently, “More than a relic,” she echoed softly. “It’s a place of safety when things get bad.”
“Does this box have something to do with Noah?” Alex asked,
“It might,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
