Section F: Fairy Tales & Physicists

Prologue

Grey. So much grey. No woodland green, just a glimpse of sky-blue and so, so much grey.

Noise. Inescapable, all-pervading noise. Roaring, rushing, blaring, wailing. Nowhere the gentle babble of a brook, nor the soft chatter of the forest, nowhere the sweet serenade of birdsong.

Pain. Intense, incandescent. Fading.

Confusion. No ruby-red apple, crisp and tart on the tongue, no sparkling spindle piercing lily-white skin. No stepmother scheming, no evil queen plotting, no dragons, no witches, no serpents, no spells.

No. Only...only...

Darkness.

"Hey, Director. What's up?"

"Hello, Agent Peregrine. I'm afraid I have bad news. It's your partner."

"Ah, crap. Don't tell me he's back on deck already? With the pounding he got on our last case, I was hoping he'd be out of my hair for at least another week."

"Er, no, it's not that. You see, the thing is—"

"I mean, don't get me wrong—he's a great guy. Looks good in the suit, handy in a fight—most of the time, anyway—decent shot and runs away pretty good, when needs be. Bit dim and can't really handle his carbs, but hey, you can't have it all."

"Peregrine—"

"The thing is, boss, he's just a little...lacking in open-mindedness. Not particularly receptive to new ideas, if you get my drift. In point of fact, I don't think he's really cut out for Section F."

"If I could just—"

"He's really more of a hindrance than a help, if I'm being honest. What with all the I-can't-believe-its and the that's-impossibles and the holy-shit-where-did-that-come-froms and please-make-it-stops. Gets a bit tiresome, to tell you the truth. Listen, I don't suppose you could convince the docs to keep him in for a bit longer? I've got this hot tip on a big case, and I don't need him getting in the way."

"You know, I don't think that's going to be a problem, Peregrine."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You see, the doctors don't release too many patients from the morgue."

"Huh? You mean he's...?"

"That's right, Peregrine. I'm afraid the injuries he sustained proved to be fatal."

"Wow. Bummer. I'm just a bit surprised, 'cause after all, we only got jumped by a bunch of pi—"

"Ah, I'll just stop you there, Peregrine. Before you go any further, perhaps you might like to take a moment to reflect on my stance on these kinds of cases. And on the Agency's stance, for that matter."

"Oh, yeah. You mean the stance where when things that don't officially exist do stuff, then the stuff they did kind of doesn't exist either? At least, not officially? And that when the things that don't officially exist do stuff that doesn't exist, you don't wanna know about the non-existent stuff they haven't done? Is that the stance?"

"Yes, dammit. In any case, irrespective of their official existence—or otherwise—it would seem the, uh...assailants in question were of the toxic variety. And Barilaro somehow ingested part of one. Namely, one of their feet."

"Whoa. Yeah, those little suckers have got a mean kick. And I told you he couldn't handle his carbs. Although, I guess pi-...uh, these particular assailants would probably be more in the protein line? Definitely not vegan, anyway."

"Yes, yes. Look, Peregrine, the primary issue here is that this once again leaves you without a partner."

"Yeah, I guess it does. But don't sweat it, chief. I'm happy to go solo for a bit."

"No, I'm afraid that just won't do, Peregrine. Regulations dictate no agent is to be active in the field without backup. And I should think that's even more important in your particular, ah...areas of expertise."

"Yeah, I s'pose. It never hurts to have another gun backing you up—or another body to draw some of the fire. Ha!"

"Indeed. Now, given the somewhat secretive and, well...frankly dangerous nature of your work, for your new partner we need someone with both discretion and advanced skills in fieldcraft. Not to mention, someone who is, ah...how should I put it..."

"Disposable?"

"What? No, of course not. Well, not strictly disposable, as such. More so...non-critical to core Agency activities, if you see what I mean. And also—"

"On your shit-list?"

"Peregrine, while I appreciate that perspicacity is a valuable trait, and no doubt plays a key role in your line of work, might I suggest in future you try a little harder to temper it with some discretion? Being right is a no doubt a commendable thing, however—"

"No-one likes a smart-arse? Gotcha, chief. Discretion it is. From now on, circumspection is my middle name. Tact, diplomacy and subtlety will be my watchwords."

"You know, for some reason I find that a little hard to believe, Peregrine. Look, just watch yourself until I find you some back-up, alright?"

"You got it, boss. But listen, there's no hurry. May as well let whoever you choose enjoy their pre-Section F life for a little bit longer. Poor bastard."

"Well...indeed."

A clock ticks. Dusk settles. Motionless, a woman sits and watches the vast sweep of the city fade into gloom. One by one, its familiar constellations bloom in the darkness.

The table at which she sits is set for two. The food is cold. The champagne is warm. The ice has melted.

This was to be the night. The night she let him know it was time to ask. The night she made it clear to him where his priorities lay. The night she had planned.

The night she deserved.

There will be some excuse, no doubt. Some raid or bust, some stakeout, some high-stakes, seat-of-the-pants, life-or-death nonsense. There always is. Excuses she accepts with good grace, on the whole. Well, her version of good grace. The version that doesn't involve bloodshed.

But not tonight. In fact, not ever again. He promised tonight would be different. He promised to be here. He is not. With slow deliberation, she reaches for her phone.

High stakes? Oh, of that, there is no question. The stakes are undoubtedly high. It's just a shame he's focused on the wrong ones.