The Agency

Sara stared at the sheet of paper on Ness's desk, eyes widening. "All of this?"

"Yes."

"You mean…I have to learn how to shoot people?"

"If you want to be an SA, yes, you do." Ness regarded her seriously, arms folded. "Shadow Agents are routinely placed in situations which involve the use of deadly force. As a specialized Agent you'll probably be spared a lot of that--we protect our powerful psychics and only dispatch them to scenes where their talents are needed. But you will be trained on weapons, and held to the same physical standards as every other human SA."

Sara frowned. "Meaning I lose forty pounds."

"I don't care if you top out at 300 as long as you can pass the course. It's not a matter of size, it's one of ability. As you can see from the schedule there you'll have several trainers. You'll also have courses in policy and procedure, occult law enforcement, et cetera."

"What if I fail?"

Ness sat forward. "You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I said so. Now, the first order of business is to fill out some paperwork--big surprise there, I know. You'll also be expected to keep up with the filing as part of your regular job, but given how easy that was for you I don't imagine you'll have too much trouble. I'm going to assign SA-7 as your program counselor, so if at any point you need to make changes he'll be the one to talk to."

"Okay."

"Here's your application packet." The folder full of forms was half an inch thick. "You have today and tomorrow off as per Dr. Nava, but Wednesday we'll get started, so have those filled out by then. I hope you don't mind moving to a mostly-nocturnal schedule."

"Not at all," Sara said, trying not to sound as overwhelmed as she was feeling. "I'm definitely not a morning person."

"Good, because neither are vampires. Wednesday come in to Admin at 10am, as usual, then at 3 report to the infirmary; Dr. Nava will run a physical and the usual battery of tests. Then at 5 you'll have your first meeting with your counselor."

"Yes ma'am."

Ness stood, her standard dismissal, and Sara did the same, shaking her proffered hand. "Good luck. It will be hard, Sara, but you'll do fine."

"Thank you," Sara said with what she hoped looked like a confident smile. "I won't let you down."

"I know. And Sara…"

She paused, looking back at the Director, who gave her a genuine smile. "I've never been wrong about a new recruit. Prove me wrong and I'll kick your ass."

*****

The novelty of sitting in a vampire's office kept Sara from being nauseated as she waited for her counselor to arrive Wednesday night.

Two hours of being poked and prodded and running on a treadmill hooked up to electrodes and MRIs and x-rays and questions about her medical history had left Sara in a pretty foul mood, but she was still nervous. This would be the first time she'd been alone with SA-7 since he'd interrogated her--plus, she had no idea what to expect from this whole Agent training thing, other than the fact that the thought of holding a gun was both ludicrous and scary as hell.

It occurred to her that even Rowan must have had weapons training, being an SA and all. She couldn't imagine him killing anyone either, but somehow he must have gotten through it.

SA-7's office was, as he'd mentioned, adjacent to the lounge, so the tantalizing smell of coffee wafted in. It was pretty normal as offices went, with a sophisticated computer system, a flat-panel monitor on the wall tracking what Agent was where, desk and chair, a mini-fridge in the back corner…she wondered what was in it…and the usual seeming chaos of papers corralled into piles. There wasn't much in the way of personal effects or decoration, except for an ivy of some kind in a blue pot on the fridge, trailing all the way down to the floor; and a gorgeous figurine of a red and black dragon sitting next to the monitor. She thought she recognized the artist as one that was popular among Pagans--Pena, or something like that.

There was also, she saw, a small brown paper bag on the desk. She grinned, and with a quick glance behind her to be sure no one was coming, reached over and poked it, finding something hard and round that had to be some sort of fruit.

"Beck's patrol route, my ass," Sara muttered. "You need to work on your cover story, Mr. Hot Stuff."

The door opened, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, yelping, which of course made her blush with embarrassment as Jason Adams appeared in all his trench-coated, blue-eyed, utterly indifferent glory.

He sat down at his desk, and she saw that once again he had her file--if the first thing he asked was if she knew why she'd been brought here, she was running for the hills.

"So," he said, folding his hands. "Ness seems to think you'd make a good Agent."

"Yeah." Sara crossed one leg over the other and tried to sound casual. "She also said she's never been wrong."

A flicker of a smile. "She hasn't, to my knowledge. And, for the record, I think she's right this time too."

Sara blinked. Had he just complimented her? "You do?"

"You need a lot of work, that's certain. Your physical fitness is pretty abysmal. Your psychic abilities, while considerable, aren't half of what they should be in terms of control and finesse. Clearly you've never held a firearm in your life, and if presented with a situation requiring hand to hand combat you'd try to sarcasm your way out of it and end up with a broken neck."

"Thanks," she said irritably, knowing he was right on all counts. "I appreciate the support."

"However," he went on, ignoring her, "You are remarkably calm under pressure for a human; you're intelligent, a fast learner, and able to overcome your fears. You've also got mothering-strong gifts. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be a credit to this Agency. Now." He opened her file, where the enormous stack of application forms were already signed and annotated in what she surmised was his handwriting. "Based on your assessments we'll set up your schedule. Carlos will be your personal trainer, and I'm assigning SA-8 to you on weapons for the first six months. We'll need you to take the SF3AT tomorrow…"

"The what?"

He didn't look up, but said, "Specialized Field Agent Aptitude Assessment Test. Report to SSR-3 for that tomorrow at 10. SA-5 has an opening at 2 for your first psionics session. That will be in L-27. We'll fit the rest of your evaluations in on Friday, and by Monday you'll have a schedule for the next month."

Her mind was reeling. "What kind of aptitudes are they testing for?"

"Tomorrow? English, math, logic and reasoning, written communication, computer skills, the usual. Then you'll be tested out for official levels on your psychic gifts. Friday will be a session with Carlos to determine your physical fitness, and you'll also be given a complete psychological profile."

"All this and filing too," she said, already tired just thinking about it.

"You'll get paid overtime," he replied evenly, making some notations on her forms, before closing the file and finally looking at her.

It was really unfortunate that him being gay didn't stop him from being infernally attractive. The futility of wanting to leap across the table and suck his tonsils out was incredibly frustrating. Just as well that he wasn't going to be her weapons trainer--getting to see him all sweaty and armed would just make things worse until her body caught up with the idea that she was lusting in vain.

Of course, she was still doomed to spend hours at a time with Rowan, and she had a sinking feeling that one-on-one psychic work was going to be even more intimate. What was worse: a gay vampire or a celibate Elf? Couldn't at least one of them have been ugly?

"You'll make bimonthly reports to me on your progress. If all goes as planned you'll graduate in a year. I should tell you, however…" He seemed to debate on whether or not to go on, but said finally, "there's every possibility that you'll be sent out into the field before that on a conditional basis."

"You mean before I'm certified? Can you do that?"

"Under certain circumstances, yes. You may or may not recall Ness saying that our other contact clairvoyant died two weeks ago. We have several Agents with far lesser powers who can work together to fill in if necessary, but if something comes up where only SA-22 would have been strong enough, you may find yourself temporarily drafted."

He saw the panic on her face, and added, "You'll of course be well protected if we have to send you out, most likely with myself or SA-8 as a bodyguard. We're not going to risk your life before we have to."

"That's supposed to be comforting, right?"

For a moment his eyes became piercing, and she had a feeling he was looking into her, not at her. "Miss Larson…this isn't a game, and it isn't for fun. You're training to become an agent of the government who investigates and enforces occult law. As an SA you will see and take part in things that no ordinary human should ever have to be involved with. That may include killing other people and races. It may involve getting injured or killed, or at least seeing other Agents injured or killed. If I put a gun in your hand and you're unable to pull the trigger, you have no business as an Agent. As your counselor I'm taking responsibility for your performance here, so if you have any doubts as to whether or not you can handle this job, you had better back out now. If your work reflects poorly on me or on the Shadow Agency, there will be serious consequences."

She swallowed hard. Here, again, was the predator she'd seen that first night, his eyes edged with silver, steel underscoring every word.

"We'll go ahead with your assessments, but by the time we meet again on Monday I expect you to have thought long and hard about whether you want to do this. There's no shame in not being cut out for this line of work, Miss Larson."

She nodded. "Do you think I am?"

He lifted his chin, considering. "Yes."

"Based on what?"

"Based on the fact that SA-5 said you are."

She smiled. "And you trust his judgment?"

"Completely. Now, do you have any questions before I send your paperwork ahead?"

Sara took a deep breath, waiting for something to come up, but she was still too dazed by the whole thing to really articulate anything specific. The first thing that came to her lips, bursting past her brain/mouth filter as such things were wont to do, was, "Yeah…do you want me to take that to him for you?"

He followed her eyes to the paper bag, then looked back at her. His expression, while potentially hazardous to her health, was priceless--a split-second of shock, followed by anger, followed by recognition. Within a heartbeat his face had resumed its usual calm.

"All right," he said, crossing his arms. "What's it going to take?"

"What do you mean?"

He gave her what she was sure was a rare smile, this one wry. "For you to keep your mouth shut."

She laughed. "Why don't you want him to know? It's just fruit."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you playing me?"

"No, no. And I'm not trying to blackmail you either, I swear. I'm not even 100% sure what I'm not supposed to know, here."

He stared at her for a long moment, unspeaking, and she wished she hadn't been so forward--it wasn't as if they were destined to be friends or anything like that. He was, more or less, her boss now, and definitely her superior, and it was none of her business regardless why he let the Elf think Beck kept him in strawberries. One of these days her mouth really was going to get her killed.

Finally, he reached over and picked up a pad of Post-It notes and wrote something on one, then pulled it off and handed it to her.

Sara looked down. "Eliza Doolittle?"

Jason clicked his pen and shuffled through several reports on his desk, looking completely disinterested in her confusion. "When Dru was a child she watched My Fair Lady at least once a day for over a year. Her first pet, a stray cat found near a flower market downtown, was named after the heroine." He shrugged. "Just for your information. I'd suggest you destroy that immediately."

Sara grinned, holding back gales of laughter. "Absolutely. Thank you. I'll see you Monday, then."

"5pm. You can go now."

She did, and all but skipped from his office.

It wasn't quite 6, meaning she wasn't off shift technically for another hour; she could clock out early and nobody would care given the state of flux she was in until Monday, or she could go into the Current Case Files room and…see if there was anything she needed to catch up on for the day. She was, after all, going to have to keep up her work filing while she trained, if she trained. She'd think about that later.

Just to be safe, she looked over at Dru's office door before entering the file room--it was dark. Excellent. The network might detect if two computers were signed on with the same ID.

She ran her badge through the scanner to get access to the main server, and pulled up the Finder. The Personnel files were clearly labeled, but when she had tried to open them she was prompted for a username and password. The usernames were the employee's last name plus first initial. Sara, smiling to herself, typed in "CarterD" and for the password, "elizadoolittle."

It worked. Access granted.

Impossible as it was to believe, her own counselor had just helped her perform espionage. She all but whooped in triumph, and tucked the Post-it note in her pocket; there was an office shredder on the Floor she could run it through on her way out.

There were folders for each department, and within that, a folder for each member of the staff. Naturally, she opened up the SA folder first, and double-clicked on SA-7.

You do not have sufficient security clearance to access this file.

"Oh, god damn it!" She exclaimed.

It seemed that Dru had access to the files for the Admin, R&D, Food Service, Housekeeping, and General Staff, but not the Agents themselves. There were exactly two usernames with those privileges: MacMillanV and AdamsJ.

Bastard. Of course he'd known that. She could spend days poring over the files of all the other staff, and probably find out some really interesting things, but the people she wanted to know most about were out of reach, unless she could figure out Ness's password…or Jason's.

Given that he was over a century old, it could be anything.

She stuck her head back out the door and noted that his light, too, was now off. He'd have left for the field already and would be out of the system. She could try, she figured, but what? "Beck" wouldn't work, the system required at least five characters for a…password…

Sara felt a twinge of almost demonic glee as she typed in, "Rowan."

Access granted.

"Pathetic, SA-7," she muttered. "I hope you're a better secret agent than you are secret keeper. Or that you guys are way more observant in the field than you are when it comes to each other."

The first file she opened, of course, was Jason's.

At least a dozen documents populated the list--basic personnel data, scans of forms, medical results, and a file that was apparently specific data on his species. She started at the beginning.

"Jason Adams, born May 1857, City of New York," she read. "Exact date of birth unknown; abandoned along with twin sister Rebecca on the steps of St. Jude's Foundling Hospital. Later DNA testing confirms: offspring of Irish immigrants."

Aside from the fact that his history took place in the 19th century, really, Jason's youth wasn't all that remarkable--an orphan, raised by nuns, then sent to work as a servant in the home of a corrupt Irish politician at age 11. Life was hard for the Irish in New York, so he'd been lucky to find work at all. Beck, too, had worked at the estate as a kitchen maid. It was hard to imagine them that young, let alone that young and practically slave labor, but at least they had a roof over their heads and food to eat…until…

Until six years later, when Jason was discharged for unspecified misconduct. Sara couldn't find any reference to what that might have been. Where Jason went, Beck followed, and the two landed work at a boarding school for young Northeastern aristocrats. Again, only a few months later, Jason was fired, again without a reason given.

The facts were dry in black and white, but Sara felt a stab of sympathy for the twins, alone in a hostile world with no inheritance and few opportunities. In 1881, at the age of 24, they went to work at yet another wealthy New Yorker's estate, this one listed as Charles Duvalier, a Parisian immigrant who, as it turned out, was a vampire.

There had to be more to the story than what she saw, but basically, Duvalier had turned Jason into a vampire and then Jason had turned Beck. All three had lived together for nearly 20 years before Duvalier was killed by members of some sort of anti-occult holy roller society. In turn, the entire society--all 15 members--were found dead, their bodies drained of blood, one by one over the course of the next two weeks.

At that point Jason and Beck left New York and took up residence in Washington, DC. They lived off of Duvalier's remaining fortune until Jason joined the SA, just after it was formed in 1941; he had been an Agent ever since. Beck had followed a year later.

There was a list of commendations and awards Jason had earned during his tenure, which took up several pages. He'd served in six different branches, and had arrived in Austin ten years ago. He'd trained over 100 Agents, been senior Agent on nearly 1200 cases, and had been presented with a Silver Pentagram for Distinguished Service by JFK.

That would, Sara supposed, explain why he didn't have any qualms helping her get into the files. Someone with his record was pretty much an 800-pound gorilla.

According to the data sheet he also enjoyed basketball and played the violin.

She looked at Jason's medical history, again amazed; he'd been injured hundreds of times, but apparently vampires healed very quickly, so only a few of those injuries had still been in existence by the time he got back to the base to file an incident report. Mostly there were just notations, a long log of gunshot wounds and lacerations, a few burns. Once or twice he'd been hospitalized for sun exposure; she'd have to read the other file to see just how bad that was, and whether vampires really went poof if they were in the sun too long.

She'd intended to find out things about him that would make him more of a person and less scary, but instead she was more intimidated than before.

The file on vampires was a good twenty pages long, and she didn't especially want to be in the file room after hours given what a long day she'd already had, so she sent it to the printer while she looked over a few of the smaller documents that remained. Most of it was cryptic, or at least uninteresting compared to the rest.

She grabbed the printed pages and stuck them in her jacket. She really was going to have to see about replacing her laptop. Frog could probably help her decide what kind; they had a government employee discount with most companies, but since the base ran on a Mac system--and that was who Frog had worked for, once--that might be the way to go. Then she could email herself files, or at least transfer them to a thumb drive and take it back to her quarters to violate everyone's privacy in private.

Really, though, everything she'd found so far was a matter of record, not terribly personal. She surmised that this Duvalier person had been Jason's lover, but that based purely on her own reasoning. Why kill 15 people in revenge unless you were in love with the one they'd murdered? The official history hadn't given her any really juicy details, including one that was really baffling her: if Jason and Duvalier had been a couple, where did that leave Beck? Why turn her into a vampire too? Were they some kind of weird incestuous threesome? She hadn't gotten that "keep it in the family" vibe off the twins when they'd met, but still, they were well-shielded. The thought made her queasy, and it wasn't exactly logical if Jason was gay, but it was possible that his reputation was partly to keep people from asking awkward questions about his sister.

Ugh. Sara didn't like where her thoughts were going, and her eyes were starting to hurt from spending too much time at a monitor that day, so she logged out and left the file room with her report on the nature of vampires safely in her jacket. She stopped at the shredder to dispose of the little blue piece of evidence, then clocked out and made for the elevators.

*****

"Um…you didn't read my file, did you?"

Sara chuckled. "Yeah, I did, and I have to say that thing about you and the sheep was really surprising."

Frog turned seven kinds of red and made a face at her. "Liar. You didn't read mine."

"Nah. The only ones I'm really interested in are the nonhumans. And maybe Ness, if I can get into her file. She's probably got even more security on hers."

"You know I should really report you for this kind of shit," Frog pointed out, gesturing at her with his fork. "It's illegal, and totally against policy."

"Whatever. The Agency spies on people. It's got a file on me going back years. All this proves is that I have the right mindset."

They were sitting in the cafeteria--although that was really a harsh word for what was in reality a very nice place. It was set up more like a restaurant than some institutional chow line, and had self-serve bars as well as hot lines for the entrées of the day. She'd popped by Frog's to see if he wanted to join her for dinner and bring his Mac catalogue.

She'd felt oddly protective of Frog since the explosion in Lab #4, but he'd come out of the accident none the worse for wear and was already back at work, albeit in a different room. The lab itself would take weeks, and millions of dollars, to rebuild. The only things that had been spared the blast were those that were in the wall vaults, including Frog's inhibitor. He'd been more worried about the device than his own body afterward.

She sighed, looking at the huge plate of macaroni and cheese in front of her. "I guess I'm going to have to start eating actual vegetables and stuff if they're going to turn me into an Agent."

"They'll probably have a plan for that too," Frog said. "Carlos is big into nutrition, I hear."

"So what do Naiads eat? And Elves?"

"Dru eats a lot of fish and sea vegetables--you know, kombu and kelp and stuff. Loves sushi. But she also really loves potatoes, for some reason. I think it's kind of like ice cream for her. Rowan's pretty much a vegan but I don't know if that's an Elf thing or a him thing."

"How do they feed the vampires?"

"The Agency has a contract with the Blood and Tissue Center, so they get human blood delivered twice a week, fresh. It's given directly to the twins, though, not here. I'm kind of grateful for that. Don't know if I could watch."

"You don't mind the blood coming out of that steak," she pointed out.

Frog looked thoughtful, then nodded and took another bite. "Good point. I just hope the vampires don't like to sop theirs up with garlic bread when they're done."

"Oh, gross." Sara laughed. "I wonder if that garlic thing is just a legend--I'm going to read through that file tonight and see what it says about all that stuff."

"Cool, you'll have to tell me what you find."

"Deal, if you tell me what to buy." She tapped the catalogue. "Keep in mind I'm on a budget here."

Frog, who was as zealous as any other Mac devotee, launched into the merits of various models and why she was better off with one versus another, and she listened with half attention, watching the ebb and flow of the people in the cafeteria. Finally she got him to just circle what she needed in the catalogue.

"So are you excited?" Frog asked when that was dealt with.

Sara stabbed a noodle and turned it this way and that, as if she were looking at her own fate, plus cheese sauce. "I don't know. I was, but now…I don't know. On the one hand it sounds so great… I love the thought of being able to use my talents for something that could actually help people. But…then there's the whole danger and guns thing, and…the psychic guy they had before me died, did you know that?"

"Yeah. I heard. But you know how he died, right? Did Ness tell you?"

"No. He got shot or something."

Frog laughed. "He got hit by a bus. Seriously. He snuck out of the base without leave to get drunk on 6th and tried to walk across Congress totally wasted."

"You're joking."

"Nope. The last hardcore psychic to get killed in the line of duty was about thirty years ago. They protect you guys, Sara. Do you know how hard it is to find anyone with a talent over level 4? That's why Rowan and I are working so hard on the inhibitor. About one in a hundred people can hit a 3 on at least one gift, but one in ten thousand goes over 4. Someone who can read stuff by touch like you is probably one in a million."

"Wow." Sara sipped her iced tea, a bit taken aback. "Hit by a bus. That's really…lame."

"I know. Ness was super pissed."

They finished their meal in companionable silence, but then Sara looked up at the clock on the far end of the room. "Damn. I should probably get to bed soon," she said as she savored the last bite of her macaroni. "I've got tests and psychic hoo-hah tomorrow, and I have no idea what to expect."

"Well, congratulations anyway," Frog said with a lopsided grin. "I knew you'd get drafted into the Agent program eventually. I think it's awesome."

"Why, because I'll do a good job?"

The grin widened. "No, because it means Frank in Lab Three owes me ten bucks."

*****

"L-27," she muttered, wandering up one corridor and down another. "Where the fuck is L?" The ground-level rooms were either numbered, as in the staff quarters, or they started with G. There were no L's anywhere. All the sub-surface rooms started with SS.

"Why isn't there anyone else walking around this time of day?" Sara demanded of the empty air. "And where the hell am I?"

Up until now the maps she'd been provided with had been lifesavers. They were drawn perfectly, except for the fact that L-27 didn't seem to exist. The ground level was a big square donut, with staff quarters on the north and south sides, and other rooms on the east and west. The east and west rooms were designated G-1 through G-26. There wasn't even a G-27, so she could think that Jason had told her wrong.

"G-22, G-23…" She followed the numbers with her finger on the diagram, going around in circles without taking a step. Conference rooms, lounges, the audio/visual theater where big presentations and Staff Movie Nights were held…a couple of hallways leading to the open space at the center of the building…

What was at the center, anyway?

She scrutinized the diagram. There was a large round shape, and an ameba shape, kind of like one of those kidney bean swimming pools.

"The pool!" she said. "Dru lives by the pool! And the pool is across from the labyrinth!"

She ducked down one of the hallways to the center, pushed open the door, and stepped out into the blinding sun.

She'd barely been outside since coming to the SA; staff were allowed to leave the base, but only if they checked out, so they could be found in an emergency. A lot of field trips went on for staff members both to encourage bonding and discourage association with outsiders. It was best for all concerned if those who worked here didn't have a lot of ties with reality.

The interior of the main building was a gigantic courtyard about the size of the Floor five stories below it. It was landscaped as a park, complete with paths and huge oak trees that had probably been there since before the base was built. To her far left, beyond a fence, was the pool. A sign on the wall bore its designation, P-28, and an arrow toward it. According to the sign, in the opposite direction, was L-27.

The labyrinth.

Sara followed one of the paved paths among the trees and shrubs, past an absolutely gorgeous herb garden that smelled like a Witch's paradise, and through a border of rosemary bushes that opened onto a wide, circular plain. Sure enough, it was a labyrinth, laid out in flat round stones interspersed with grasses.

She'd walked labyrinths before; they were an excellent meditation tool, and could be found at botanical gardens, monasteries, and even hospitals all over the place. One had only to consider one's problem or prayer and allow it to ferment while walking the twisting paths, trusting that by the time the center was reached, an answer would present itself, or at least the questioner would feel more grounded.

Well, one thing was for sure--after four hours of standardized tests in a freezing cold room, followed by a maddening trek all over the building, she sure as shit needed to ground.

Sara found the entrance easily enough, but as soon as she stepped on the path to get a closer look, she felt a strange humming start in her feet, not quite a vibration, but electrical in its way. The hum traveled slowly up through her body, and it seemed that the air over the labyrinth shimmered with heat…no, with energy.

There was power here. A lot of it.

And it was waiting for her.

She took a deep breath and started walking, trying not to think of anything in particular. As she followed the path deeper in, she felt herself slipping into a trancelike state, her mind slowing down, her feet and their motion the only things that mattered. Her psychic barriers parted very gently, and she felt something…or someone…move through her, head to toe, root to crown, examining, evaluating, weighing her in ways she couldn't quantify.

In any other situation she might have felt threatened, or at least invaded, by the energy, but her whole being felt at ease, trusting the power that touched her so gingerly, as if she were made of spun glass. Everywhere the energy moved, she felt a familiar sensation of comfort that could very easily tip into arousal; it was as though fingers were trailing over her skin, from the inside. She hadn't felt that kind of tickle in a very, very long time.

To her disappointment, she soon reached the center. There she paused, unsure whether she should walk back out the way she'd come, or wait.

[One moment, please,] came a voice she knew, and she smiled.

As she watched, mouth dropping open in astonishment, the stones in front of her moved, shifting so that the path opened up to lead her straight out of the labyrinth.

On the far end was an enormous oak tree that she hadn't noticed before, and sitting underneath it, reclining against the bark, was SA-5.

"Hi," she said as she approached.

"Good afternoon," he replied, gesturing for her to sit.

"You built this," she said. "It's incredible."

"Thank you. I find that it's much easier to test people if they're relaxed."

"So what did you test me for? Did I pass?"

"I should say so." She saw that he had her file, and a clipboard, and had been filling out yet another form. "Psychometry, also known as contact clairvoyance, level 7. Telepathy, level 4. Empathy, level 3.75, possibly 4 with further training. General psychic ability--that means anything we can't really categorize--3."

"How high do the levels go?"

"Ten is the highest in existence," he replied, and her heart did a cartwheel. "Anything level 8 or above, however, is crippling and requires such heavy shielding that most people with that great a power end up classified as insane and locked away before they can be trained. The average human tops out at about 3 on everything. The SA requires a 4 or above in telepathy for Agents due to our communication system."

"If you don't mind my asking--"

He smiled. "I'm a level 6 telepath and a level 9 empath. General ability, level 5."

"Holy shit. No wonder you don't get out much."

"My people are capable of controlling those levels pretty easily. It's part of who we are. Humans for the most part deny the existence of psychic ability, so when they have it, it's either blocked off while young or goes rogue."

"So am I that high up because I'm a Witch, or am I a Witch because I'm that high up?"

"That's a question you'd have to ask yourself, Sara. My jurisdiction is how we proceed with what you have. Now, your basic shields are very good; I'm not as concerned with that as I am with you learning to use your gifts actively. The SA is most in need of your ability to read objects and locations. It's my opinion that we need to fully train all of your gifts; empathy in particular can be…very debilitating if allowed to run amok."

"This is going to be hard, isn't it?" she sighed. "Months and months of mind-breaking work. Just learning to meditate without writing grocery lists in my head took a year."

Rowan laughed, and she felt the sound in places she probably shouldn't have. God, she needed to get laid before things got out of hand.

"Actually compared to learning to shoot a gun or use the Ears, this will be very easy. With your consent, I can step into your mind and implant the knowledge you need directly. It takes several weeks of sessions to be sure your energy doesn't burn out, but there's really not a lot of effort involved until afterward. I'll give you exercises to do daily--a workout regimen, if you will--to keep yourself sharp."

"How come you can't teach people to use the Ears that way too?"

"I don't fully understand the technology," he admitted with a shrug. "I've never learned how it works because I don't teach it. And most of the time, when I train someone, we have to do it the old fashioned way. You, Sara, are strong enough to make my job easier as well as your own."

"Wow. I mean…damn. I had no idea. I mean, I've been able to do stuff all my life, but I had no idea."

"A testament to your shielding," Rowan observed. "You've been able to keep your energy under control even though you couldn't do a fourth of what was possible with it." Something dark she couldn't interpret crossed his face briefly. "I envy you."

"So…what happens now?" she asked.

He shook his head and the lightness returned to his eyes. "I send this to SA-7 with my recommendations, and he takes that, your other test results, and whatever Carlos comes up with tomorrow and creates a training schedule for you. I'll probably see you five days a week for the next two or three weeks, then three times a week after that, tapering off to once a week until you're certified as an Agent."

"God, I'd forgotten about that. Exercise and I have never been more than nodding acquaintances. I'm dreading that almost as much as I am the whole weapons thing. Speaking of which…you're officially an SA, right?"

"Yes. And yes, I can shoot a gun. No, I've never killed anyone in the line of duty. Very few Agents have, when all is said and done."

She would have disagreed, having read Jason's file, but she didn't want to give herself away. "Good. That makes me feel better."

"We're not all gun-toting lunatics like the Adams twins," he said wryly. "However…on the few occasions when I've left the base, I've always requested SA-7 as my bodyguard. I'd trust him, and Beck, with my life before anyone else."

She thought about Jason's password and the bag on his desk, but again, said nothing.

"For now, you're free to go and finish out your day however you like," Rowan said. "If you have any questions about the work we'll do together, or need anything at all, my quarters are 117, in the southwest corner of the building."

"Thank you," she said, unfolding her legs and standing up. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

"Likewise," he told her warmly. "I'll see you Monday, then."

She picked her way back across the courtyard, along the paths that wound among the herbs and a few early-growing vegetables. She knew, just by looking, who'd planted them, and the thought cheered her that she was going to get to spend so much time with the Elf. His presence was soothing, his kindness a welcome relief after so much that was clinical and ruthlessly efficient.

She could still sense a lot of sorrow beneath that kindness, and some instinct--maybe her empathy, actually--made her wish she could do something about it. Regardless…Sara definitely knew whose file she was reading next time she had an hour to herself.

The question still remained, as she returned to her quarters: was she really going to do this? SA-7 had been right to doubt her when it came to the violence of the job. So many of the case files she'd read had been aftermaths--the Agency had responded to an emergency after the deed was already done and the child sacrifice or explosion or whatever had already occurred. Did they ever actually save anyone, or prevent any crimes, or was it all cleanup? What would she have to offer such a group?

Pensive, she passed by her door and went to the staff lounge to sit and think for a while. There was hardly anyone there, but as always there was coffee and baked goods, so she scored a muffin and sat down, wishing Rowan were here this time too. He could tell her a lot more about what she was getting into, and if it was what she really wanted.

Her whole life she'd sort of drifted from one thing to another, going where the wind blew her, but now she had a chance to really make a choice. Granted it was a weird choice, one that could permanently sever her life outside the borders of this world she hovered at the edges of right now. But still, it was her choice.

Everything pivoted on the central question: did she want to be a Shadow Agent? Beyond the thought of having the coolest job on the planet, and beyond the thought of belonging to such an elite group of creatures, beyond the idea of saving people if that's what she'd be doing…was it what she, Sara Larson, wanted to do with her life?

That question continued to plague her throughout the weekend, all day Monday, and right up until her meeting with SA-7 where she was supposed to tell him the answer.

She stared at his desk, trying to hammer her thoughts into some sort of shape, and he watched her, silent, waiting.

Finally, he sat back in his chair, hands folded, and said, "Let me tell you a story."

"Oh, okay. Sure."

"About twelve years ago I was SA-3 at the branch in California, operating out of Sacramento. We received intelligence of a large Artifact trafficking ring in Los Angeles, run by some fairly nasty characters. After the standard recon, I was sent with three other Agents to raid the warehouse and bring the operation down, preserving as much evidence as possible."

Sara nodded, "Right."

"So we got to the warehouse, broke in, and the suspects opened fire on us. Two of my team were killed, a third injured, and I took a bullet to the arm. I took out all three suspects. While we waited for the med-evac team and reinforcements to arrive I took a look around the place. My thinking was that they were awfully jumpy for men who were just supposed to be dealing stolen crystal balls and grimoires. That was when I found the hidden door."

He paused, took a sip of his coffee, and went on. "The warehouse was a front for the Artifact trafficking, but the Artifacts were a front for something else--a whorehouse. This woman, one we'd been trying to get behind bars for decades but never could get enough concrete evidence, was running a buffet of dirty delights for all races and all tastes. Her most popular…employees…were children, especially children of other races or humans with psychic abilities. Her people had some fairly sophisticated tech that allowed them to control their slaves using neurotoxins injected via an implant in the skin."

Sara felt a bit nauseated at that, thinking back to the file she'd read about the little girl whose heart had been fed to a demon. "God."

"Ah, but it gets even better. I broke down the door to the whorehouse, and what do I find? A slaughter. One of the slaves has gotten free, somehow gotten his hands on a gun, and shot the old woman dead along with all her henchmen."

"Good for him."

"No, it really wasn't." His face took on the slightest haunted quality as he said, "The slave was an Elf. Elves are pacifists, they abhor bloodshed. This one had been tortured and abused for so long, and poisoned for years by that toxin, that he had completely lost control of his powers, lost himself. He no longer even really knew who he was, just that he was not going to take it anymore. He had the gun to his head when I got there. I stopped him, got the medic in. Then he started screaming--he lost his hold completely. He just screamed, and screamed…I'll never forget that sound. It was like the wailing of the damned. They had to sedate him so deeply that he nearly died. As they were waiting for the helicopter to come airlift him out, I sat by him and held his hand, did what I could."

"So…what happened to him?"

"Dr. Nava, who works here now, was in California at the time. She's an expert on Elven physiology, but there are better facilities here, so she brought the Elf here to treat him. It took months, and in a lot of ways he's still badly damaged, but he survived. The SA rescued him from that hell and gave him another chance. This is what we do, Sara. We shut down people like that woman who think that just because someone isn't human they have no rights and no free will. We keep people from hurting each other when they can't tell the difference between Harry Potter and the real thing. We stop people like your old coven who believe power is an end in itself regardless of the consequences. We bring the consequences. And we find members of the Elder Races, other beings who've shared this planet with humanity since they first climbed out of the trees, and let them know that the human race isn't hopeless, that we can work together."

He caught Sara's gaze and held it. "Now. Do you think that sounds like something you'd like to do with your life?"

She couldn't help it--she started to laugh, a strange kind of dark joy bubbling up from within her. She practically beamed at the vampire as she answered, "Oh, hell yes."

He smiled back and slid a piece of paper across his desk to her. "Then sign here, and let's get started."