Mystics #1: The Seventh Sense (7 page)

“Now the fun
really
begins,” said Tristan excitedly, sharing a look with Simon. “Now it’s time to
see if you’ve really got what it takes to be an operative.”

Z
oey hadn’t expected to see a
Viking when she returned to class with her new friends, Tristan and Simon. A
giant of a man with angular features and muscles that bulged through his white shirt
stood at the front of the class in place of Agent Ward. He looked to be in his
late fifties, but still as fit and strong as an ox. His long, blond hair was
tied in a neat braid. She had read that horned Viking helmets were a myth, but
she couldn’t help picture one on his head. It seemed to fit him.

He stared at Zoey without blinking.

“You must be the Drifter, Zoey St. John,” he said in a deep
commanding voice. Stuart and his gang laughed.

Zoey stood frozen in the doorway; she suddenly felt very small and
insignificant. She saw Tristan and Simon take their seats, and she willed
herself to her place and sat down, doing her best not to look at the Viking.

But then something happened that changed everything. The Viking
smiled.

“Welcome, Zoey,” said the Viking.

“You may call me Agent Vargas. For your practical training, I’ll do my
best to teach you the art of combat, weapons training, and self-defense. I will
teach you how to
catch
and
restrain
illegals. If you are not
physically fit, then you cannot do your job. You can know everything there is
to know about hostiles and the mystic world, but if you can’t fight or defend
yourself—you’re just as good as dead. Might as well quit while you still can,
and go work in the kitchen. Quiet down everyone. I’m going to make agents out
of you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

He winked at her, and she felt her face get hot. She felt even
better when she saw the disappointment on Stuart’s face.

Agent Vargas smacked his great hands together, making everybody jump.
He rubbed them eagerly. “Well, today’s your lucky day, my little colts. I have
a special treat.”

He surveyed the classroom. “I just got a report that there’s a major
power outage in Broken Hill, New South Wales, Australia, and we’ve been
assigned the job.”

The classroom erupted in cheers, as though the fact that Broken Hill
had no power was very
good
news. Zoey
was a little confused. Were they going to learn how to become electricians?
Australia wasn’t around the corner—she figured they would have to fly. She looked
forward to a group trip—it might be fun. She had never been in an airplane
before.

Agent Vargas stood up. “I want everyone ready downstairs in the main
hall in ten minutes. Don’t forget your sprays.”

Zoey watched as everyone jumped from their seats and ran to the collection
of weapons and tools that filled the shelves along the wall. Not sure if she should
join, she stood up but remained close to her desk.

Agent Vargas walked over to Zoey. He was even bigger up close, and
his bulging muscles were distracting. “There’s no better way to assess a new operative
then to throw them into the lion’s den. I believe in hands-on training, so you
will participate with the rest of your comrades today. I hope you’re ready for
a little excitement.”

Zoey’s face brightened—she was going to become an electrician with
the rest of them. It wasn’t what she had dreamed about, but it was a start.

“But first,” continued the agent, “you must come with me. We need to
scan you.”

Zoey stared at Agent Vargas as he headed towards the door.
Did he just say scan
? Her heart pounded
in her ears.
Did he mean a brain scan
?

Her excitement started to wane. She looked over to Tristan and Simon,
who were happily conversing with one another as they stuffed their pockets with
what looked like hair spray canisters.

Tristan caught her eye and frowned when he noticed her panic. He
started forward, but Zoey looked away. She didn’t want him to think she was a
scared little girl. Whatever this
scan
was, the others had probably gone through it already, so she would too. It was
part of the program after all and she was determined to see it through no
matter what, even if it meant to have a few brain cells fried.

Resolute, she followed the big man out of the room and down the
hall. As she marched behind him, her legs felt like metal posts and didn’t want
to move forward. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the
other to keep up with him. Despite the heat, a cold sweat gathered on her
forehead as she imagined a group of mad scientists poking and probing her brain
with glistening tools as they lobotomized her.

Before her panic could choke her, Agent Vargas stopped in front of a
great metal door and waited for her to arrive. She put on her best poker face and
joined him. The sign in black letters at the top of the door read “Militia and
Defense, Room 1B.”

Leaning forward, she strained her ears but she couldn’t hear
anything from the inside, which was even more unnerving. Her mouth was
painfully dry.

“Every operative needs to be scanned,” he said. “You can’t travel unless
you’ve had a full body scan these days.”

He reached inside his pocket and withdrew two miniature beige
cylinders.

“Put these in. You’re going to need them. I wouldn’t want you to go
deaf on your very first day.” He smiled, but Zoey wasn’t reassured.

She stared at his palm. “Earplugs? Why do I need earplugs?”

When he didn’t answer, she twisted them in. The world around her
dulled immediately, like when you stick your head underwater. She noticed that
Agent Vargas didn’t use any earplugs.

He turned the doorknob. Zoey braced herself and followed him in.

The noise hit her first, even with the earplugs. It was like
stepping into a war zone. Explosions, like firecrackers, detonated at the far
end of the room, and purple and red toxic-looking smoke clouded the air. A red
light flashed, then a sonic boom thundered, and another volley of smaller explosions
resounded in the air. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs. Her eyes stung and
watered.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” someone shouted, and another shower of
explosives ignited. The room shook like an earthquake.

Zoey blinked through the smoke. The room was large, twice the size
of the academy home room 1D, and crowded with people. To her left, ten men and
women stood with weapons ready and shot laser guns at moving holographic
targets that looked a lot like the
Duyen
demon that
had tried to kill her.

“Did you see that, Andrew?” said a young woman in a helmet and
goggles that covered most of her face. She held a giant gun. “It exploded with
just one shot! God, I love my job!”

In one section of the room, agents appeared to be defending
themselves from a mystic attack upon a mock house. Their guns were fake, but a real
group of dwarf furry mystics seemed only too happy to be harassing them. Zoey
realized that the agents were playing Mutes, and the mystics were actually
rescuing them.

There even more weapons in this room than back at the academy room. Shelves
were stacked with swords, hand guns, rifles, grenades, flamethrowers, and more
medieval looking weapons such as, spears, staffs, battle axes, crossbows, and spiked
clubs. One section was full with bags of salt. It was a massive library of weapons.

Agent Vargas looked at her.

“This is where we test new weapons,” he raised his voice over the
explosions. “It’s not always this busy, but due to certain recent events, we’re
doubling our defenses. All our agents have been called back to duty to test new
artillery and to freshen up their skills.”

Zoey knew exactly what he was talking about—the interloper—if the
agency was this worried, the situation was even worse than she thought. She was
itching to know more, but Agent Vargas didn’t elaborate any further.

“Come along, Zoey.” Agent Vargas walked through the explosions as
though it were merely a walk in the park. He didn’t even flinch at the
explosions right next to him.

He took Zoey to the far right of the room where the largest mirror
Zoey had ever seen was hung on the wall. She thought it was a miracle it had not
been damaged by the explosions. The rectangular, white oak frame had an arched
top and was highly ornamented. The mirror itself was made of some sort of crystal,
and it gleamed in the room like liquid diamonds.

Next to the mirror was a cubicle made of glass and metal. It was
like the screened off area radiographers stood behind to protect themselves
from radiation. Someone sat in the cubicle with his back turned to them, typing
with spaceman-like gloves.

“Agent Franken,” said Agent Vargas, and then louder, “Agent
Franken!”

The man turned. He was wearing a silver, full body HAZMAT suit, complete
with hood and visor. He looked ready to work for the Center of Disease Control
or walk on Mars. With a little difficulty, he slipped off the seat and stood
up. He was only about four feet tall, and he looked like an old hobbit on his
way to the moon. The suit restricted him from any fast movements, so he moved
like a puppet with half its strings cut.

Finally, he stood before them and removed the headgear. He had a
mass of white, stringy hair and thick glasses that magnified his eyes to the
size of grapefruits. His bushy white eyebrows topped the rim of his glasses
like caterpillars. He waddled over to Zoey and inspected her carefully. He
stood so close that she could smell the coffee on his breath. After a moment he
broke into a grin, and Zoey noticed he only had four front teeth.

It wasn’t so noisy at this end of the room, so Zoey removed her
earplugs and stuffed them in her pocket.

“Is this the new recruit?” said Agent Franken in a squeaky voice,
still examining her.

“Sure is,” answered Agent Vargas. “Came in last night with Agent
Barnes.”

Zoey felt uncomfortable being discussed in the third person, like
some post office parcel.

“Well, well, well,” said Agent Franken. “It’s been a while since
I’ve laid eyes on a Drifter. So this is her, huh—where do come from, girl?”

Zoey shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “Toronto.”

“Toronto!” Agent Franken tried to throw his arms in the air but only
succeeded in a jerky motion like a robot. “Never liked that city—too many
buildings, too many people. One could get lost just walking down the street.
No, no, no—I don’t like big cities.”

Zoey tried to hide her smile.

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” said Agent Franken. “Let’s see
how brave you are,
Drifter
.”

He pulled out a syringe-like instrument and grabbed her hand. Before
she knew what he was doing—he had stabbed it into her index finger.

“
Ow
! What was that for?” Zoey pulled her
hand away. Blood seeped through a small needle incision on her finger.

Agent Franken put the syringe in his pocket. “Matter backup, just in
case.”

“Just in case of what?”

“Never you mind,” said Agent Franken.

He raised his arm with difficulty and pointed to the mirror. “Face
the mirror. Let’s go. Come on now—there’s no time like the present. I’m a very
busy man. I don’t have time to waste on little girls. Hurry up!”

Zoey’s legs were glued to the floor. She looked at Agent Vargas, who
gave her a nod of his head.

“Do as he says, Zoey,” he said. “Face the mirror.”

How scary could a mirror
be? It was just a mirror
.

She couldn’t see how it could hurt to stare at her own reflection.
Still, she walked carefully towards the giant mirror, studying the frame and examining
her own reflection. What a mess. She tried to flatten the top of her hair, but
it was useless. It looked a million times redder and crazier in this mirror.

And then something strange happened.

The more she stared at herself, the weirder she felt and looked. Strangely,
she looked
like
herself, but
different
at the same time. It was like
trying to remember a face that kept changing and fading in a dream. Could that
be possible?

She stepped closer and inspected herself more carefully. She
did
look different. It was like her
reflection was pixilated on a large television screen, with millions of
different tiny dots of herself. She waved her hand in front of the mirror, and
the hand moved, too—but slower, as though her reflection was catching up to her
real self. Goose bumps riddled her skin. She took a step back and watched as
her reflection stepped backwards a second later. She was suddenly very
frightened of this mirror.

“Stay where you are, please,” said Agent Franken.

He made his way back to his seat. After some effort, he sat and replaced
his hood over his head. “
Voont
Moo!”

“What did he say?” Zoey’s mouth was dry. Her stomach lurched, and
she was tempted to bolt.

“VOONT MOO!” repeated Agent Franken. His visor began to fog up, and he
waved his arms around in a weird motion, like he was trying to swim backwards
against the rapids.

Agent Vargas walked over to the old man and lifted his hood. “We
can’t understand you—what did you say?”

“Oh, sorry,” laughed Agent Franken. “Can’t hear a blasted thing with
this on. What I said was,
don’t move
.
If you move we have to start again, so don’t move. I’m powering up the mirror
now, so stay where you are.”

“Agent Vargas, please stand behind the glass protector. We don’t
want to have a
matter
mix-up again. It
was a
very
messy business the last
time that happened. It took months to find all the pieces of Agent Jones—may her
soul rest in peace.”

“What?” said Zoey, and she felt a tide of fear cascading up from
deep inside her.

“What? Nothing, nothing.” Agent Franken pretended not to hear her.
“Stay where you are. Don’t move.”