Chapter 21: The Department of Extraordinary Events

Agent Carter, a big man with a military bearing, replied first. "We're investigating the disappearance of a series of children around here, including Lucy Ashford. Your arrival in Ravenshollow coincided with her recovery, and we have some questions about the circumstances of that recovery."

"We've already been through this with the local police," James said, his tone calm but firm. "Lucy was found safe, and her father has custody. There's no evidence of foul play, and she's thriving here."

Ms. Travers looked up from her file. "Thriving in an unofficial home that functions as a therapeutic residence without legal approval, run by a psychiatrist who quit practice in Seattle to become a resident in a house with a history of... unsavoryness."

Her tone stung, but I was cool. "That house is a personal residence, not a state institution. Children who live there are in my personal custody, with parental consent or court order if necessary. We're providing kids who've been traumatized a safe place to live and doing a good job."

Warrick raised a hand, silencing the others. "Let's cut to the chase, Dr. Voss. Your family's been here at Ravenshollow for generations, and this house has been linked to unexplained phenomena for over a century. My agency is interested in those events, and particularly as they relate to what's occurred in Salem, Massachusetts, of late."

My heart did jump a beat, but my expression did not change. "I'm not sure what you're talking about by 'unexplained phenomena.' My grandmother was eccentric, but I'm a scientist. I deal with facts, not legends."

Warrick's grin was narrow and self-satisfied. "Facts such as a basement which you can see and then vanish? Or a collection of children's things found in a place that doesn't exist?"

James bristled beside me, but I silently urged him to keep quiet with a squeeze on his hand under the table. Warrick was digging, but he was dangerously close to the truth. How much did he know, and how had he found out?

"I'm a psychiatrist, Agent Warrick," I answered quietly. "If you're suggesting that I'm involved in something paranormal, I'd need more than unsubtle suggestions to take you seriously."

He hunched in closer, his gaze fixed on me. "I'm not here to accuse you, Dr. Voss. I'm here because my department has been tracking unexplained activity in New England for decades, and your family name keeps coming up. So does Detective Blackwood's. We believe you've just solved a large... disturbance in Salem. We'd like to know how you did it, and if you plan to continue."

The room went quiet, the gravity of his words lingering over us like the snow outside. He was familiar with the Whitmore Estate. He was familiar with the bindings. And he knew we had our hands in it.

"What is the Department of Extraordinary Events?" James asked, his tone tight but laced with suspicion.

Warrick's smile crept a fraction wider, but stopped short of his eyes. "We're an intimate, specialized unit whose function is to take a look at things which don't fit into routine law enforcement or science. We're the people who handle what other people chalk up to impossibility."

"And what do you want with us?" I asked.

"Cooperation," Warrick answered brusquely. "We've been monitoring places like this one for decades—places with odd histories surrounding specific families. The Voss family, the Blackwoods, the Whitmores of Salem, and so forth. Most of those families have either perished or lost their ability to perform their... duties. You, Dr. Voss, are an exception. You and your people have accomplished something remarkable, and we'd like to aid your cause."

"How do you assist?" James asked, his tone suspicious.

"Resources, information, protection from bureaucratic red tape," Warrick replied, gesturing toward Travers and the FBI agents. "My friends here are interested in procedure and public safety, but my interest is that whatever you're doing does not further destabilize the region. We know of the other sites, Dr. Voss. We know what's at stake."

I shivered for no winter weather-related reason. He was offering us an alliance, but it was one that came with strings attached—strings I was not sure I wanted wrapped around me. If his department has been keeping these bindings, there could be ulterior motives, motives other than our wanting to switch entities rather than contain or use them.

"We don't need partners," I said diplomatically. "We're managing just fine by ourselves."

Warrick's expression didn't change, but I caught a flicker of something—disappointment, perhaps, or calculation. "I understand your caution. But consider this: the entities you're dealing with aren't isolated. They're part of a larger network, one that's been weakening for generations. If one binding fails completely, it could trigger a cascade effect, releasing others. You've seen what one unchecked entity can do. Imagine six."

His words sounded like my grandmother's letter with a sort of sickening accuracy. The idea of a web of bindings, each one depending on the others, was something we'd just discovered in her hidden documents. If Warrick told the truth, his unit could have knowledge we were eager to gain. Believing him, though, could put our children, our mission, and ourselves at risk of undisclosed outcomes.

"We can take our time considering your proposal," I said, standing to signal the end of the discussion. "This is a lot to take in, and we have children to attend to."

Warrick nodded, rising gracefully. "Of course. We'll be staying at the Ravenshollow Inn for the next few days. Contact me when you're ready to talk." He handed me a business card with nothing but a name and a phone number, then gestured for the other agents to follow him out.

As the door closed behind them, James breathed out he had been holding. "That was too close. He knows a whole lot more than he should."

"He's not wrong about the network," I replied, producing my grandmother's letter and reading once more over the part about the six other sites. "If what he's saying is true, we can't approach these bindings in isolation without having some idea of how they fit together."

Lucy was in the doorway, wide-eyed and serious. "Elena, I need to speak with you. When they were leaving, I felt that shadow once more—the one I felt in my dream. It wasn't on Warrick's tail this time. It was on ours."

My heart fell. Whatever we'd awakened by changing the Hollow Man and the Salem guide had caught someone's notice—not just from human authorities, but from something other. Something that could look at what we'd done as a danger, or a chance.

"We need to head to the basement study," I said, recalling my grandmother's postscript. "If there's more on this network, it'll be here."

James nodded, already moving towards the kitchen. "Do it now, while we're here, before some other people show up unexpectedly."

By the eastern wall, I pronounced my grandmother's name three times, my voice firm amidst the growing tension. The air undulated, and the thin familiar staircase materialized, the wooden door creaking open into the blackness below.

Whatever answers awaited us, they did not come cheap. And as we descended into the cellar study, I found myself wondering that we were about to uncover things that would make our previous struggles seem a walk in the park in comparison.