“How do we protect our President?” Phillips asked. “When she’s part of a party? How will you and your group protect her? What does she need? What can we do in advance to help her and ensure her safety?”

  I covered my face with my hands, dragging them slowly down until they rested palms-down on the table. My pale hands against the dark wood helped me focus while I took a slow, steady breath. I needed a few seconds to think.

  “First off, she’s a Healer. Healers are clothies. That means they only get cloth armor. Find the most cut-resistant military clothing you have. Boots too. Mine are old Eastern European military surplus; I doubt you can still find them. Cowboy boots, army boots, horse-riding boots…whatever works, as long as they’re protective. Best bet is high-quality military boots. Make sure she wears them often enough to break them in, unless she already has a pair.”

  “Clothing is next. Healers don’t have to wear white or scrubs. A lot do, since they’re doctors or nurses. Ingrid’s a paramedic. She’s mostly been in light blue scrubs since she got a set that fits her new size. Check what the military has for protective combat uniforms. You can pick how they look.”

  “If you want her to look tough, black always works. But soften the clothes up first by washing and wearing them a few times. You don’t want to be distracted by uncomfortable fabric when fighting. That’s from years of western martial arts, not just online gaming.”

  “I understand,” Phillips said, nodding. “I did two combat tours in the Marines. You’re preaching to the choir about boots and clothes. We can handle that. What else?”

  “Gloves. Mine are leather. Technically they count as cloth armor, but they’re still leather in practice. A coif could help too. That’s a cloth padding worn under a helmet. You see them in medieval armor.”

  I mentally checked off the armor she could wear, that was all the major items. It left weapons.

  “Healers can have weapons, but technically not sharp ones. Get her a mace, if she wants something. A one-handed mace she can also use as a focus for healing. She can stick it in her belt until needed. She’ll need some practice swinging it. That means actually hitting things. If you’ve got someone who can train her a bit beforehand, it’ll boost her confidence and ability to defend herself if something gets through to her.”

  “Have you been thinking about this?” Phillips asked.

  I shook my head. “No. All on the fly. Years of wearing armor in different weather helps. The rest is standard game logic.”

  “Alright. Some of our people are already thinking along these lines. We’ll match that with what you’ve said and see where it takes us. Next question: Where do we find a place where we don’t have to worry about civilian safety…and no one accuses us of staging the event?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you where you’re not doing it—across from my house,” I said.

  The people who knew me laughed.

  “I want to keep some privacy in my life,” I added.

  “I understand,” Phillips said with a smile. “We won’t do that without your permission.”

  “You still want to film it. Hmm…alright, I’ve got a couple of ideas. We film at least two fights. First one’s out in the county. Its less populated, gives us time to practice as a group. The second one, in town, with actual witnesses. If we time it right, she might level up during the second one. That gives people something to see, golden glow and all. Anyone who’s leveled before will recognize it.”

  “I’ve seen videos of that. Good thought. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Government can’t be the ones filming it. You can, sure, but the footage that gets shown needs to come from the media. I know someone who might work.”

  “Will, are you talking about that reporter from the battle?” Blaze asked, finally joining in.

  “Yeah. Her and the cameraman, the Air Mage. They already did a piece on the battlefield. This keeps the big networks at bay. And if she’s stopped misusing her powers, call it a reward for changing course. They’ve got a few levels just from being there. That’s more than most reporters have.”

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We can find them,” Phillips said. “Do you think they’ll do it? And keep quiet in advance? Even afterward?”

  “If the offer’s tempting enough, sure. If her network agrees, that gives her a second exclusive. Other reporters might get jealous, though. Might leak something.”

  “I can have the state office director approach her,” Matt said. “Maybe pitch it as a follow-up interview about the battle. If Phillips, or his people do it, it might give too much away. We’ll just talk to them both. Separately, but close together.”

  “Make sure if she pulls anything out to write on, it’s blank,” Blaze said. “She’s a Scribe Mage. Writes her spells, then casts them from paper.”

  “She can use some psychic spells, too,” she added. “She was CHARMing people into answering her questions when we first met.”

  “That’s what she avoided talking about in the post-battle interview?” Phillips asked.

  “It is,” Blaze confirmed.

  “One last question,” Phillips said, turning to me. “Mr. Bannister, at your level, could you defeat the President’s bodyguards if they were all at Level 5?”

  “Yes. I can take on several at once. Depends on how many. I’m already handling full spawns by myself. They haven’t hurt me yet. If I group them right, it takes about a minute…maybe two…if I’m only using Mana Bolts. I’ve got a quest to kill 90 levels worth using only that spell.”

  “I see. Thank you,” Phillips said. “That helps me understand the level gap. I know some of my colleagues won’t like this. But that’s why I want you with us.”

  “This ends our discussion and question-and-answer session.

  He picked up his phone, tapped the app to stop recording, and slipped it back into his pocket.

  “Off the record. The President wants to meet with you first. She’d like it to be at your home. I understand Agent Pozarkova is staying with you. She wants to meet you both informally, before anyone knows she’s even in town.”

  Blaze and I exchanged stunned looks.

  [Blaze:] [William of Brinsford] [Do you want to do this? Just the two of us and the President?]

  [William of Brinsford:] [Blaze] [Sounds like just her and maybe a bodyguard. I’ve only seen a President once, on a campaign stop. I’m game if you are.]

  [Blaze:] [William of Brinsford] [I don’t know. How can we turn the President down? How do we even say no?]

  [William of Brinsford:] [Blaze] [If it’s just her and maybe a bodyguard. I’ll do it if you will.]

  [Blaze:] [William of Brinsford] [OK. Meeting the President. Wow! We can do this. Yes.]

  [William of Brinsford:] [Blaze] [Let’s tell them. On three….1….2….3!]

  “Yes!” we both said in unison, looking at Phillips.

  “We agree,” I said. “We’ll do it…but just her or her plus a bodyguard.”

  Phillips nodded and, for the first time, genuinely smiled. “I’ll be in touch, William of Brinsford. I’m GunnySedrick.”

  With that, he stood and left the room.

  The tension dropped instantly. Matt and Srihari both congratulated us and thanked us for taking the heat off of them.

  “Hanna?” Matt said, noticing her expression. “You look pale. Are you alright?”

  “Still in shock, I think,” she said. “I mean…I always thought maybe someday I’d see the President. Not meet her. Not like this. What do we do? What do we say? Is there protocol for this?”

  She held out her hand. It was visibly shaking. I reached across and gently held it.

  “I didn’t even feel this way with Madam Boudoir or at the battle. I was scared, but not like this,” she added.

  “Just breathe. Deep, steady breaths,” I told her. “You were probably trained for this.”

  “She was,” Matt said in that calm, grounding tone they teach first responders. “We all went through basic protocol training. Hanna, remember what you learned…slow breath in…let it out. Don’t hold it in. And thank you.”

  “Thank you? And…thank you for what?” she asked.

  “For making me realize we need to update our protocol training,” Matt said. “Specifically, for dealing with high-profile individuals. Informally. And as party members in the game.”

  “I’m still in charge of recurrent training,” he added. “So, being part of this game, and protecting VIPs in it, is going to be a requirement for all agents now. We’ve started, but most agents are still at Level 1 or 2. I’m one of the few at Level 3. Thanks to you and the rest of your guild for helping me level up. I’m sure my assistant hates me by now.”

  “Why do they hate you?’ I asked him.

  “Because every time I’m with you, I send him a shit ton of emails about changes, additions, or things that need fixing between now and, oh, the end of the day.”

  “Now I have to revise protocol, and create training for leveling up VIPs and protecting them at the same time.”

  “I shouldn’t laugh, but that is kinda funny,” I said. “The FBI is supposed to be this old-school agency. Always spying on people, but with some cool new tech. At least on TV. And lately, you’re the scapegoat for covering up stuff for politicians.”

  He didn’t look thrilled about that last part. Can’t blame him. No matter which side you’re on, someone thinks the FBI is the enemy.

  Then he surprised me…he smiled.

  “Those reputations? They’re all partly true. Some more than others. My jobs to make sure we do better. But training someone doesn’t mean they’ll always do what’s right.”

  I have to let old and new agents know you can’t do some things the way we used to do them. Trying to get them to be politically neutral at work is a losing cause.” Matt looked down at the dark brown table, sighing.

  At that moment, the door opened. Two men in black suits entered, earbuds in place, serious expressions on their faces.

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