Chapter Six

Surprising myself, I progressed rapidly my first week, though my muscles felt like they’d been through hell.

Stocky Guy turned out not to be an Agent. Thirteen called him E.O.D. He was ex-military, drummed out for insisting he saw monsters in some backwater jungle. They didn’t want anyone “unstable” around demolition equipment.

He rode Kaede hard, making her run on the track until she puked and kept going. After seven days of punishment, she stopped hurling insults.

“Why is it only the five of us here?” I asked Thirteen one day.

“Truth?” He moved his hands to spot me at the bench press.

“Always.”

“It’s five people that are healthy today. We’re at war, kid, and grossly outnumbered. It’s why people like Amelia are searching for people like you. There was a time when we had a small army.”

“And?”

“Something has made it their mission to wipe us out, one by one.”

“Not good.”

“That’s the reason for the hard sell. Every recruit is essential. We’re hoping your generation has a lot of potential.”

No pressure.

I pushed my twentieth rep up and set the bar back on the stand. He dropped a hand towel on my face.

With the echoes of the weights gone, the gym went quiet.

He was a good teacher, only getting on my case when he thought I wasn’t doing my best. Amelia was a lot harder to please, impatient little sighs escaping her lips every time I fumbled over the name of some obscure monster.

Or asked too many questions.

I looked forward to the end of summer when I could go back to high school.

As the days went on, Amelia’s lessons stuck to species identification and awareness of supernatural practices. She drilled me on photos, sketches, scents, and names.

It took me a bit…but I started noticing she side-stepped all my questions about The Agency.

What were they an order of?

Who started it?

How were they allowed to operate in the modern world?

Frustrated, I went to Thirteen. “Amelia won’t answer my questions.”

He stopped stacking the weights and turned to me. “What do you want to know?”

“What exactly is The Agency?”

“Just what she’s told you: a secret organization committed to protecting the human world from supernatural threats.”

My right brow rose. “And nobody cares that you walk around armed with swords and crossbows?”

He laughed. “We have the permission of most governments to do what we do as long as it’s quiet. No one needs a public panic. Amelia is cautious with newbies because a lot of how we work is sensitive information. Our lives and the lives of our families depend on being invisible. Secretive.” He tossed me a shenai for sword practice.

I caught it with one hand. “Are you saying the President knows vampires and werewolves exist?”

“I don’t know, but someone on his staff does. You think too much. What have I said about coming to practice with a clear mind?”

“’Focus keeps your head on your shoulders’…yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“We’ll see.” He got into battle stance. “Begin.”

This first month was about the basics of everything, a little here, a little there. I shot arrows, bolts, and darts, was forced to master weapons in both hands, and lost count of how many times my knuckles were rapped by a bamboo sword.

At least he hadn’t made me pick up the hardwood boken, yet.

“So, if we have this power in our skin, why is most of my training about staying at a distance?” I asked another afternoon.

“You’ve listened to Amelia’s lessons, haven’t you? Your touch only burns the undead. Everything else can kill you up close and personal and they’ll try. That’s why we use these.” He opened a case and picked up two rifles, one long and one shorter.

“Guns?”

“Ever fired one before?”

“Pellet gun, and my cousin’s .22. But I’m not killing anyone!”

A roll of his eyes. “I’m not asking you to, at least not anyone human. We tranquilize humans and werewolves. Killing demons and vampires is doing the world a favor. So, today you’re going to learn cleaning and operation of firearms.”

“Are these yours?”

He shuddered. “God, no. They’re from the armory. No rookie is touching my babies when they’re perfect.”

“Spoken like a man…”

He only laughed. “Seven, provided you don’t wash out of the program, one day your weapons will feel like part of you, too.”

A shiver running down my spine, I followed him outside to the target range.

I didn’t want to be that person. Learning to protect myself was one thing—becoming a bringer of death another.

“Safety rule #1: treat all firearms as though they’re always loaded and always perform a clearance check every time you pick one up.” Thirteen slid the bolt back on the smaller rifle to show the chamber was empty. “Rule #2: never point your gun at anything you are not willing to destroy.” He loaded one round into it. “Weapon hot. Rule #3: Keep your finger off the trigger and outside the trigger guard until you are on target and have made the decision to shoot.” He settled the rifle into his shoulder and fired at a paper target with a primary-colored bulls-eye. “Rule #4: always be sure of your target and beyond.” A perfect hit.

The rifle set on a table, we walked out to the target and I learned it was stuck to a bale of hay to absorb the bullets.

“And rule #5: Train physically, emotionally, practically, and tactically for every situation.”

“Every? How many situations could there be?”

He grinned. “Kid, you’ll be amazed.”