Max awoke with a start. He was on the couch in the den, his leg no longer numb but tingling as though it had been asleep. Looking down, he saw his shoes had been removed and paired neatly on the floor. He could hear a pleasant whistling approaching from down the hallway. Max had barely managed to sit up when the man with the wire glasses entered the room carrying a plate of cookies and a mug of steaming cocoa.
“Hello, Max! I hope you’re feeling a bit better,” the man said cheerfully, placing the plate and mug on the coffee table. “My name is Nigel Bristow, and I’m terribly sorry to have given you such a shock! I hope you don’t mind that I rummaged around your kitchen a bit. You should have a biscuit. They always work wonders for me.”
Max felt too drained to be afraid or to protest. He reached for a cookie, keeping his eyes on Nigel as the man settled into his father’s leather chair. Max nibbled the cookie.
“It wasn’t you that scared me,” he mumbled. “I was being chased.”
Nigel’s smile straightened into a tight line; his eyes glittered seriously.
“What exactly do you mean, Max? Who was chasing you?”
“I got a letter…a letter that said I was going to receive a visitor. She came to the house today and…” Max broke off as tears welled into his eyes. He flung his arm over his face, mortified to be in such a state in front of anyone, much less a stranger.
“I see.” Nigel’s voice was calm and sympathetic. “Max, I want to help you. Do you think you can share what happened with me?”
Max nodded and took a deep breath before telling Nigel the story of Mrs. Millen’s visit.
When Max was finished, Nigel scooted his chair forward and patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s all right, my boy. I want you to stay right here. Based on what you’ve told me, I need to attend to a few things. I won’t be far away.”
Nigel unfolded a nearby quilt and draped it over Max before handing him the mug of chocolate. Murmuring words in an unfamiliar language, Nigel left the room, tapping doorways and windows as he went.
To Max’s relief, the numbness in his leg faded with every sip of cocoa. He wriggled his feet for good measure. Then, hearing Nigel’s footsteps creaking upstairs, Max realized that he was expected at the Raleighs’ house for dinner. Nigel returned just as Max was reaching for the phone.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Max. There’s no need to call the police.”
“I’m not—I know you’re not here to hurt me. I’m calling my dad’s friends. He’s out of town and I’m supposed to stay with them tonight.”
“I see. Max, I think it would be unwise for you to leave my company this evening. If you like, I can handle the arrangements.”
“Who are you?” asked Max, sitting forward.
“I am a Recruiter,” Nigel said, standing to inspect a photograph on a bookshelf. “I am the visitor that you were intended to receive. I am only sorry I did not arrive earlier.”
“Then who was that woman, Mrs. Millen? I thought she was going to kill me.”
Nigel frowned. “I do not yet know who she was or how she came to know who you are. This is no small matter, and I have already informed my colleagues. I’m no great terrifying Mystic, but my presence should deter any trespassers until our specialists arrive.”
Max was not sure he wanted any more visitors.
“Now,” said Nigel. “Let’s fix another cup and I’ll see if I can explain everything.”
The two of them wandered into the kitchen. Max heated the kettle while Nigel hummed pleasantly and rummaged about for more cookies. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a box of Bedford Bros. Crispy Soup Wafers.
“Are these any good?”
“According to my dad, they’ll save civilization,” muttered Max, looking down to rub the remaining numbness from his leg. A moment later, he heard a loud crunch.
“Well, I don’t know about saving civilization,” Nigel crowed, “but they’re rather tasty!”
The Recruiter scooped up a handful of snacks and headed for the living room. It was getting dark outside; thunder rumbled in the distance. Max brought two mugs of cocoa from the kitchen and found Nigel standing before the fireplace.
“Seems we’ve got a storm heading our way. Let’s cheer things up a bit!”
Nigel’s fingers danced as though manipulating a marionette. The cold logs in the hearth suddenly hissed and popped. Yellow flames flicked along the edges. Within seconds, a bright fire was crackling merrily.
“There we go!” Nigel clapped. “A storm on the way, fuel on the fire, and a sip of chocolate to soothe the soul! Come on over here, Max.”
Max gaped at the fire.
“But how did you…?”
“All in due time,” said Nigel, spreading the quilt on the hardwood floor so the two could sit down. “Now, Max, before we begin I need you to promise you won’t tell Mum and Bob that I ate so many of these whatchacallums.”
“Um…okay,” said Max, confused.
“Excellent!” Nigel stuffed a pair of Bedford wafers into his mouth. “These recruiting trips are the only chance I get to sneak a bit of decent comfort food!” He smacked the crumbs from his hands before continuing.
“Max, as frustrating as it might be to hold off on your questions, I’d like you to begin by sharing a bit of yesterday’s experience with me.”
As the fire crackled and the storm approached, Max recounted the previous day to Nigel. Unlike Mrs. Millen, however, Nigel simply listened and did not press for details as Max spoke.
“I don’t know what it all means,” said Max when he brought his tale to a close.
“Ah, it seems someone needs an introduction to Celtic mythology! That’s a most unusual vision, Max, involving the Cattle Raid of Cooley. It speaks very highly of your capabilities as a Potential.”
“What is a Potential? That word was used that way in the letter I received.”
“Why, Max, you are a Potential, and that is why I’m here! You are one of a handful of people on our wondrous little planet with the potential to become one of us. When you found that room and discovered that tapestry, we were made aware of you. I’m here to see if you have enough of that special something to merit making you an offer.”
“Who is ‘we’? An offer for what?”
“All in due time, all in due time. First, I need to administer a few tests.”
Rain pattered on the windowpanes. Max thought he saw a shadow dart across one of the windows.
“Somebody’s out there!”
Nigel smiled.
“It’s quite natural to be a bit jumpy. But we are quite safe. This house is being watched by friendly eyes.”
Max shivered, uncertain if he wanted to be watched by anything, friendly or not.
“What happens if I fail?”
“Then I clean up the kitchen and go on my merry way, happy to have made your remarkable acquaintance. Within a few days, you’ll have forgotten all about me and this afternoon’s unpleasantness. You won’t remember a thing.”
“But—”
“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry. I’ve placed this house under priority watch. Given what’s happened, it will continue to be under surveillance for some time—even if the tests elude you. There may well be more than one Agent standing guard outside this house, Max.”
It was clear that Nigel thought that this explanation was weighty and sufficient. It was not. Max went to look out the window.
“You won’t see an Agent,” Nigel said as Max peered out the curtains. “Even I might not see them. That’s part of an Agent’s job—to be as slippery as smoke.”
Max frowned and closed the curtains; the storm was now directly overhead.
Nigel stood and motioned for Max to follow him back into the kitchen.
The Recruiter set his briefcase on the kitchen table. Opening the clasps, Nigel reached in the case and removed a digital voice recorder and what appeared to be a large silver tennis racket without any strings. Max could not see how the racket had ever fit within the slender case.