Rook

our operatives the best in the world, although their supernatural skills certainly give them an edge. They’re the best becausethey’re brought in at an early age and trained rigorously. This is how the Checquy remains so powerful and the reason the nightmares stay under the bed rather than climbing into it with the rest of us. And now there’s another one, so whoever controls it holds an awfully big weapon, illegally.
    I couldn’t believe it, so I made myself go down there. I had a weekend off, and it was either go on a mini-break to Wales or stay in my house and go over administrative records. So, Friday afternoon after work, I loaded the car up, packed Wolfgang in his carrier, got behind the wheel, and began to drive.
    I actually like to drive. One of the many perks of my position is not having to worry about speeding tickets, and I have enough money to afford a nice frivolous car with a good stereo. So, tearing down the road I managed to sing loud enough to justify the speed but not so loud that Wolfgang wouldn’t be able to stand up without falling over.
    Ah, Wales! Land of my forefathers! Our forefathers! You’re part Welsh, did you know that? I mean, our family moved out of Wales a few generations ago, and though we probably have relatives scattered around somewhere, I don’t recall ever meeting them.
    Ever since I learned that in the near future, one of my compatriots will try to have me killed, I’ve become kind of paranoid. Frankly, I think that’s justifiable. So I elected not to check into a B and B and slept outside in a sleeping bag.
    I haven’t slept outside in years, not since the wilderness training at the Estate. God, I hated wilderness training. I hated everybody in my group, and it didn’t help that I was made to share a tent with Emmie, the girl who shot insects out of her mouth. But this time, I actually found it very soothing to sleep out in the open air. All snuggled up in my new sleeping bag, looking up at the stars, listening to Wolfgang fidget around in his carrier. There was no moon that night, and I was out in the dire wilderness of Wales, so there was no light pollution. Just five hundred million stars glittering down at me.
    The next day, I drove farther into Wales, to some little nothing village where I made some very discreet inquiries. I felt uncomfortable at first, starting conversations with people I’d never met. I was worried that they would correct the way I pronounced my name. I mean, I look at that
w
in the middle, and I always worry that I don’t say it right. Whoever heard of asilent
w?
Plus, I really thought that they were going to yell at me for sticking my nose into other people’s business, but it was actually fairly easy. It turns out that ordinary people like to tell you about their lives, and the old ladies in the hair salon were gold mines of information.
    As far as the residents of the village are concerned, the secret estate is some military installation that deals with very hush-hush materials. At least, I think that’s what they said. Everybody I talked to had pretty thick accents. On the upside, I did get a nice haircut.
    Nobody from the estate ever comes into the village. Trucks full of supplies drive down the main street early in the morning, but the drivers never so much as stop to pick up cigarettes. The estate itself is back in its own little steep-walled valley. There’s one road in and out, and it goes through these woods that must date back to before the Romans. I found some underagers hanging hopefully around the pub and pumped them for information. It’s funny; the bad kids of my childhood rebelled by trying to sneak off a secret military installation, and these kids do their best to sneak onto one.
    According to Darren, Lucy, Ricky, and Maysie: “There’s a place where the fence kind of skips over a gully, and you can slide underneath. You can sit under the trees with a six-pack and a pair of binoculars, and just watch the show. It’s totally amazing.”
    This estate’s very hush-hush reputation is likely the result of the weird things seen in the sky above it. Shapes coursing through the night, brilliant light bouncing off the clouds, and people ghosting along the lawns doing bizarre gymnastics routines. To the bored teens of the village, it’s like having the Cirque du Soleil and a jet stunt team living next door. To me, it sounds like home.
    Now, let me make this clear for you. There is only one Estate. It’s not a case of