We went up to another floor and walked into a modern-looking range. This broke my brain a bit because you typically didn’t find these in the middle of office buildings. The flying projectiles and all. I had to remind myself that the walls were probably reinforced with some sort of magic. But there was nothing mystical about the huge industrial blowers I could hear filtering the lead out of the air. Technology was still good for something.

We checked in with the ranger master who gave us several bricks of simple ball ammunition in .357 caliber as well as eye protection. He was an older man with salt and pepper hair that was a little longer than was strictly regulation. He introduced himself as Samuel Taggert. Rangemaster Taggert assured me that there was no need for hearing protection when I asked. The range had a special enchantment over it that caused any sound over a certain decibel to be muffled.

Agent Ruthersford led me to a shooting stall and waited while I loaded my pistols and rifle. The box included six extra cylinders that I was able to load and attach to my belt with some custom leather snaps. I also put some ball ammo into the bandolier in the rear of my pistol belts.

Teddy walked me through the standard state marksmanship courses with both my right and left hand. Then I shot my way through a modified rifle course with the Henry Rifle. He tallied the shots with a black marker, but I knew I hadn’t missed. Having to cock the hammer on the pistols and working the lever rifle seemed like second nature. I had shot the tightest groups of my life with the single-action pistols. They felt like an extension of my hands.

“Well, you passed that with flying colors. No surprise there I guess. Why don’t we really test you?” He punched some keys on a nearby digital pad. Six man-sized targets went down range about 10 yards, several feet between each target. One of the targets was the silhouette of a werewolf. Cute.

“Draw, put one round on each target, and holster as fast as you can.” Sam had come over with a shot timer. The two men stood behind me and I waited for the tone. I drew and fired as fast as I could, consciously thinking about drawing, cocking, and firing. After the sixth shot, Sam held up the timer with a frown. It showed a 5.6. I thought that was pretty good and I said so.

“Good for a normal human maybe,” Samuel said, “but some for someone of your supposed pedigree.”

“Try again,” Agent Ruthersford encouraged while I reloaded, “only this time, don’t think about it. Your conscious mind is getting in the way of the magic. Just focus on the task of shooting the targets. Don’t think about how you are going to do it.”

It seemed like a bunch of bunk to me. I re-holstered and Rangemaster Taggert took up his position again with the time. I tried to imagine the targets being shot while I waited for the tone. Sam made me wait a bit this time, he was trying to get into my head.

When the timer finally sounded, my hands acted without much input from me. The next bit I was fully aware of, I was sliding my pistol back into the holster. There was a single hole in the “X” ring of all the targets, except the werewolf who was sporting a new hole in his head. Sam whistled and held up the shot timer. Two point two seconds. “Now we are talking. I think that’s a new world record.” The Rangemaster gave an enigmatic grin. “Not an Agency record though. Try this, Nevada sweep. Put two in the third target.”

He put out 3 new targets at the furthest spread. In a Nevada sweep, I would have to shoot the targets in order and then reverse. I just thought about the order and the pattern, not about the drawing or the aiming. The tone sounded. Two point three. Left-handed. Two point two. We went through several different exercises. I actually got slower as my mind tried to comprehend what my hands were doing. The Rangemaster stopped me. “Stop trying to aim, just let your hands do it. No one can consciously shoot this fast. Even the masters are just using practiced muscle memory and luck. Your hands know what to do, let the magic work.”

I digested this advice and let my hands work of their own accord. My times went back down and I started adding a spin on the return to the holster. This was extremely unsafe, but I did it without thinking and if the Rangemaster minded, he didn’t say anything.

“Well Cash, I could honestly watch you shoot all day. But we have appointments to keep.” Agent Ruthersford smiled.

Sam put the timer away and started sweeping up the spent casings I had been throwing on the floor. “I’ll take care of the brass this one time and one time only. The range is open daily from 10am to 9 pm. Don’t be a stranger. I’d love to see what you can do with that Henry.”

“Leave your car keys, rifle, and gun box here,” Teddy instructed me. “We’ll have an intern drive your car home and leave all your new gear in your agency vehicle. I want to leave right from the swearing-in. I am quite peckish.”

“Should I load up?” I asked.

Agent Ruthersford thought for a moment. “I suppose you should. Load your left pistol with the stunner rounds and your right pistol with the anti-magic ones. Put an assortment of all the types on your belts. You can customize your loads later.” He glanced at his watch. “The chief is waiting for us.”

I loaded my Rugers and belts with the same superhuman speed I had fired them with. I packed up the rest of the gear and left it all on a table with my car keys. Agent Ruthersford was already heading to the door so I hurried to follow him.

“Anything I should know about the chief?” I asked as we entered the elevator.

Teddy was quiet for once. I could hear the gears turning. “Be polite, and say as little as possible.” He offered no explanation.

We got off onto the most luxurious floor I had seen yet. “Tell Director Barnum that we are here for the swearing-in,” Teddy spoke to the matronly Administrative Assistant, who nodded once and picked up a phone.

A door buzzed. “Please see yourselves in.” The severe assistant instructed.

I followed Teddy into a spacious office with huge floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a walnut conference table arrayed with some documents and a phone, an ID with my picture on it, and a badge in a leather carrier.

Behind the desk was a woman who stood as we entered the room. She was of average height with a slim build. She had medium-length brown hair and her face was pinched in a frown. I figured if you looked up “Resting Bitch Face” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of this lady.

“Gentleman, please come in. This must be Mr. Renshaw. I’ve reviewed your file. I am Director Dorothy Barnum.”

The way she said “I’ve reviewed your file” gave me absolutely no clue if that reading made her happy or sad. Dee-dee would make a hell of a card player. Still, I was buoyed by my performance on the range and my new toys. I was starting to feel like the old me again. “It’s a pleasure, Ma’am.”

A man stood up from the side chair in front of the desk. He was tall and fit with a close haircut. He sported a weekender tan and bright white teeth. He screamed “G-man wrangler” to me.

“And I am Dennis Northcutt, Bureau Chief of the Investigative Section. You will be reporting to me. Whoa! Nice guns!” the man’s natural enthusiasm spilled over.

Director Barnum became frownier. “Chief Northcutt, let’s get the swearing-in out of the way so we can get back to our discussion.”

The Section Chief straightened his tie and led me over to the table by the door. He picked up a pen from the table and handed it to me. “Just sign, here, here, and here,” he said, pointing to several different forms.

I did so and Chief Northcutt handed me the ID Card, Badge, and a cell phone which seemed to be identical to the one I had seen Agent Ruthersford use.

“Welcome aboard, “ he said in a low voice. “I’ll schedule some time with you this week.” He quickly returned to the dour director’s side.

I pocketed the phone and clipped the ID Card onto my suit jacket. The badge I fastened to my belt near my right-hand pistol. The chief and director both looked at me expectantly, so I stepped up to the desk.

“Raise your right hand and repeat after me.” Director Barnum said as she mirrored raising her right hand. “I, state your name.”

“I”, I bit my lip resisting the urge, “Cash Justin Renshaw”.

“Do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, from this dimension and others; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same.”

I repeated the lines, almost fumbling the part about extra-dimensional beings.

“I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation, magical compulsion or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God or whatever higher beings to whom you pledge devotion.”

I finished the oath, choosing God as my higher being.

Director Barnum almost smiled. “Congratulations Special Agent Renshaw.” She offered her hand.

I stepped forward and shook it. I registered a flash off to the side and realized that Teddy had taken a photo of our handshake. He smiled as he reviewed the photo and gave me a thumbs up.

Director Barnum rolled her eyes and then fixed me with a stare, “We will be watching you with great interest Agent Renshaw. Try not to let us down.”

Not exactly encouraging words. Something about her tone of voice was setting off the Weird Feeling. If either of the other two men in the room noticed anything out of the ordinary, they didn’t react.

Director Barnum sat back down and opened a file folder on her desk. I guess the meeting was over.

Teddy ushered me back to the main elevator. “Well, that was excruciating. What do you say to Baldwin’s Deli while we go over the details of our first case.”

Baldwins was a fancy sandwich place across town. Like Underground Subs, but with waiters and 3 times the price. I guessed I could afford it now.

“Sure T, sounds great. But I am a little surprised. I am starting right away? No training or anything.?

“In a certain sense, you have been training for this your whole life. But no, all the training is done in the field by the senior Agent. Namely, me.”

We exited back into the parking garage. I noticed that my car was already gone. In its place sat a brand new Dodge Charger SRT Wildcat. Agent Ruthersford smiled broadly at the black sedan. “Ah, your faithful steed is back from the garage and ready for service.”

“This is mine?” I could hardly believe it.

Teddy responded by handing me a set of keys. “You just signed for it in the Director’s Office. Really Cash, you should read the forms.”

I took the keys and stared. “Ted, this thing can do almost two-hundred miles per hour. It must have cost over a hundred grand to get this outfitted. I am not sure I am comfortable with this.” I thought back to what Tina had said about the longevity of Special Agents.

Agent Ruthersford smiled and slid an arm around my shoulders, he pointed past the Hellcat and a sedan a little further away from the elevator. “Would it make you feel better or worse if I told you that was my car?”

I followed his outstretched arm to an electric blue Bentley Flying Spur. Of course.

“Worse.” I croaked.

“Then you won’t mind if I drive to lunch?”

I didn’t mind.