by Liz Ellor
Gravel flew from under the tires. The car shot forward. She flipped on her high beams, the light threatening to expose any Descendants who got too close. Even werewolves in moonlight could remember exposure meant execution.
The shadows paused at the trailhead. Katrina whipped the car down the road towards town. Something wet dripped down her chin—sweat, or a teardrop? She couldn’t tell.
“Katrina,” Kyle whispered. “You can’t tell anyone what nearly happened up there, okay? I’m fine. Really, I just got carried away.”
He had a gun to his head. He needs help. She’d leave him and the woman at the hospital, fill the tank with gas, and vanish. Indigo had taught her well. She could stop hurting her family without … doing that other thing. She wasn’t crazy. She’d stopped herself. “Just keep her conscious. Talk to her.”
“What’s your name?” Kyle asked.
“Dr. Phyllis Harper.”
“You know anything about treating gunshot wounds, Dr. Harper?” Katrina asked.
“Not a … medical doctor,” she gasped. “Could you open a window? I need air.”
Kyle rolled down a window in back. Katrina stiffened, instinctively. She’d heard too many stories in Indigo about things thrown through windows.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” Dr. Harper gasped.
“You will.” Katrina turned down a side road that ran between two farms. The quickest route to the hospital. “I won’t let you die.”
“Please, let me use your phone. I haven’t spoken to my mother in ten years. I have to …” and she broke off, coughing.
“Here.” Katrina reached back and handed over her phone. Dr. Harper’s features stood out in the backseat’s lights: Asian, with olive skin and wide, worried brown eyes, around five years Katrina’s junior. “But you’re not going to die. The hospital’s two minutes away. Just keep talking!” A glorious sense of purpose had awakened with her agent’s instincts. She wouldn’t let this woman die.
“Mom? I’ve been shot. Some hikers are driving me to the hospital, but I’m afraid …” Her wavering, sad tone turned to steel. “Portsmith Road. Just passed two barns. Urgent!” The doctor forced herself up and flung the glowing phone through the open window.
Katrina’s veins ran cold. We’ve been had. She slammed her foot down on the gas. The car shot forward. Dr. Harper screamed in pain.
“The fuck?” shouted Kyle. “What—what—”
A white shape plummeted out of the sky and hit the road on the other side of a small hill. A woman walked out of the dip, eight feet tall and dressed in heavy black body armor, holding an assault rifle. White wings, each twenty feet long, extended from her shoulders, blocking out the stars.
Katrina braced herself. Car versus valkyrie.
“There’s a person there!” Kyle lunged forward and pulled the emergency break.
Katrina flew backwards. Her head slammed into the headrest. Stars flickered across her vision. Gravity shifted all around her as the car spun sideway. Her seatbelt dug into her shoulder, holding her down. Lights spun.
Something huge slammed into the side of the car. Kyle gasped. Katrina looked over to see him lying limp in the seat.
“You bitch!” She grabbed the old sunglass case wedged in the CD deck and pulled out Shawn’s butterfly knife.
The window behind her shattered. Strong hands grabbed the back of her neck. She felt a pinch. Spinning as fast as she could with the seatbelt on, Katrina drove the blade into the valkyrie’s thick wrist. Blood spurted over her clothing. She pulled the knife free and tried to strike again, but the pale skin blurred into five wrists, and Katrina’s arm felt as heavy as lead. I’ve been drugged.
“She’s the one,” Dr. Harper said, and the world went black.
Part 2: The Mole
Katrina came to on a hard concrete floor. Fuck. She’d done it again. Two nights in a row. You idiot. You know you can’t be around alcohol. When you’re stressed … and then she realized her hands had been strapped together with a plastic tie. The butterfly knife had been lodged between them. A torn piece of printer paper had been impaled on the blade, reading ‘Good Try’.
She forced herself to sit up. They’d locked her in a dusty, shuttered office. No computer equipment, no phone. The last few years hadn’t been kind to this part of the state, and abandoned offices dotted the countryside. The valkyrie and Dr. Harper had prepared tranquilizers and secured a safe house. Whatever they were after, they had money and organization behind them.
Sunlight dripped through the shutters. The windowpane was old, real glass. If she got her hands at the right angle, she might be able to smash through the windowpane. But she couldn’t leave without Kyle.
Where is he? A spot in the dust besides her marked where a slightly larger body had rested. Icy fear ran through her veins at the thought of what they might do to him. She’d asked Dr. Harper if she was a Descendant. In doing so, Katrina had revealed she knew the truth about magic. Dr. Harper and her valkyrie could logically conclude both Katrina and Kyle were agents planted by Indigo, and she’d heard stories about what happened to agents captured by criminals.
Once, she’d been told, the world’s civilian Descendants had accepted Indigo as a necessity. They’d trusted its agents to keep their communities hidden and safe, not only from normal people who might react badly to learning about magic, but criminals who used magic for evil purposes. But the world’s population had grown, much faster than Indigo’s resources, and it was all Indigo could do to keep videos of magic use off the internet. Without the constant presence of agents, the world’s Descendants had grown unruly. Robbed their neighbors, raped local girls, started lethal turf wars. Nairobi. Baghdad. Los Angeles. Every time, agents of Indigo had to put down dozens of Descendants before the violence ended and the Seal was deemed safe. Despite Indigo’s best efforts to control communications between Descendants, they’d begun forming groups, and certain names that were only ever whispered in Indigo offices were being whispered a lot more often. The Valves.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. She rolled to her feet, trying to maneuver her bound hands enough to get a good grip on the knife’s handle, but her fingers slipped and the blade dropped from her hands. Quickly, she pressed herself flat against the wall beside the door, arranging her wrists so her fists pointed outward.
The door opened. She held her breath.
“Katrina? Are you in here?”
Kyle! Her heart jumped, but she didn’t move. The valkyrie might be behind him with a gun.
“Katrina?” His voice relaxed. He sounded almost happy. Could he still sound like that with a gun pointed at his head?
You can’t protect him hiding behind a door. If you’re the one they want, they might let him go. If she flung all her weight against the window, she might make it out. Come on, you worthless alcoholic. For once in your life, do something for someone else!
“Kyle.” She stepped out, bracing herself for the worst.
His pants were covered in mud and his shirt was torn from last night’s dash through the forest. But aside from a bruise on his forehead, he appeared unharmed—and he was smiling. Did they drug him?
“We need to get out of here,” she whispered. “Now. These people are up to their neck in some real bad shit. We—”
He laughed. “Drama queen. Relax, will you? They apologized. It was just a misunderstanding. They grabbed us by mistake.”
She stared at him. Is he crazy? He looked different. It wasn’t his relaxed pose or his easy laugh. She knew those well. But the fervor in her eyes reminded her of when a fellow rehab patient had first found Jesus.
“Phyllis—Dr. Harper— she works for a defense contractor. She’s designing biological weapons for the government. There’s this luddite group of religious fanatics out to destroy her work. They tried to kill her last night. Borghild thought we were with them.”
Religious fanatics. The only religion Indigo cared about was your devotion to the Seal. Tread carefully, Katrina. Find ou
t what they said. “Who’s Borghild?”
“The tall blond lady. Dr. Harper’s bodyguard.”
The valkyrie. “Did you notice anything odd about her?” she asked, tensing.
“Odd? Sure, she’s buff, but she’s a professional bodyguard. They get hired on size. Does it matter?”
He doesn’t know what she is. They didn’t tell him the truth. Whatever he’d glimpsed of the valkyrie in her warrior form must have been written off by his brain as a brief delusion before a dizzying crash. There’s still a chance we might get out of this alive. If she could just convince him …
Kyle was glowing. Radiant. “Dr. Harper made me a job offer. It’s a way out, Katrina. New state. New name. New body.”
“New body?” she asked. “What does that mean?” Whatever the hell they might want with the son of one of the most powerful women in the state, Katrina didn’t want to know. “You think these people have your best interests at heart? They’re dangerous. People are shooting at them.”
“In New York,” Kyle said. “Their facility’s in northern Alaska. They’ve got armed guards and shit. The weapon Dr. Harper built genetically modifies people, to make them into the best soldiers possible. She wants me as a test subject. Of course she’s got my best interests at heart. Marksmen like me aren’t easy to find.” He swallowed. “I told them … well, I told them you were a good shot, too. Dr. Harper will explain the details. Please come with me. I need you. And you need to get out.”
Same old Kyle, always asking for himself first.
The valkyrie, Borghild, rounded the corner. “The doctor is losing her patience. Come on, Ms. Harris.”
Kyle’s encouraging smile seemed to wash right past her as she followed Borghild down the hallway. Her mind spun. Kyle told them my name. Katrina Harris was a common enough name, but only one Katrina Harris with Persian coloring would be out in those woods when Indigo was hunting. I helped Dr. Harper. I could convince her I had nothing to do with the shooting, or even that I came out to stop Shawn. Would they let a poor, powerless woman go? Probably not. Alaska. Was this company Kyle mentioned real? Indigo forbade any kind of independent research on magical genetics. What had Dr. Harper discovered? A company that hired valkyrie bodyguards most likely belonged to Descendants, wealthy ones. Had it really established a base on American soil? How had they kept that hidden from Indigo?
The ghost of a plan appeared in her head, tantalizing and warm. Indigo needed to know.
They turned the corner. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and slammed her into the wall. Katrina gasped as her forehead smacked into the concrete.
“Indigo bitch,” Borghild hissed in her ear. “You think you’re strong?” Her hands wrapped around Katrina’s neck, her skin warm and clammy. Borghild’s weight pinned her against the wall. Katrina squirmed, kicking backwards. Even when her foot connected, it felt like kicking a refrigerator. Pressure squeezed on her windpipe.
“Enough.” Dr. Harper said.
Borghild released her neck. Katrina scrambled away, panting. “I didn’t need your help!” she spat at the doctor. Strength. Borghild had it, Katrina didn’t, and a wave of blind jealousy left her imagining sinking Shawn’s knife into the woman’s gut. I’ll show you strength, valkyrie bitch. With her magic, it might even take Borghild a whole day to recover.
The doctor stood at the end of the dark hallway, wearing sweatpants and a tight exercise shirt that revealed a thick bandage wrapped around her soft stomach. Her face was dead pale and she swayed on her feet, confirming she had no magic of her own.
“You should be resting.” Borghild said to Dr. Harper, concerned.
“I find it hard to relax when you’re left alone with a former agent. I’d prefer her alive.”
She waved Katrina into a side room. The desks and chairs had been pushed against the walls, and the air smelled clean, not musty. Dr. Harper reclined on a couch in the center of the room, her cool beige skin pale from blood loss. Borghild filled up the doorway. An empty chair waited for Katrina. Her instincts screamed at her as she forced herself to sit and smile.
“Are you okay?” she asked Dr. Harper, letting the words tumble out. “I was so worried—”
Borghild scoffed. “Worried? An agent?”
“I’ve received proper medical attention,” Dr. Harper said, quietly. “And she’s no longer an agent. Second generation Descendant. Powerless from birth. Hired because of nepotism. Fired over a drunken brawl at a Christmas party.”
Katrina winced. Do they have a mole in Indigo? Christ, she needed to tell Shawn about this! But first she needed to get out, and the excuse she’d quit Indigo for moral reasons had just been shot down. Be careful. Too nice and they’ll know you’re trying to play them. Be mad. Be irrational. Give them handholds. Convince them they can manipulate you. If she failed, she doubted Dr. Harper would restrain her bodyguard a second time.
“I wasn’t much of an agent.” Bitterness came easily to her voice. “You, Dr. Harper, would make an excellent agent. Bleeding out and still remembering your lies.”
“It’s easier to lie when you’re bleeding out. Pain masks signs of discomfort. And most of what I said was true.”
“You said you weren’t a Descendant.” How else would a powerless woman learn the truth about magic? Dr. Harper had to be someone like her.
“I’m not,” Dr. Harper said. “Not in the way you think, at least. The Valves are promiscuous and ancient. I’m sure I’d find one if I traced my lineage far enough. Of course, magic tends to fade from a bloodline with time, unless one does what Indigo families do.” She paused. “You’re aware that—”
“I am,” Katrina said, curtly. It wasn’t a secret, but it didn’t fit well with Indigo’s modern attitudes. Her grandparents had been half-third cousins; her mother had been her father’s half-great-great aunt. It happened. Katrina glared at Borghild. “And you must be ‘Mom’.”
Borghild popped a stick of gum in her mouth and chewed hard. “Mother, sister, daughter.” Though valkyries needed sexual intercourse to stimulate conception, each new valkyrie was a clone of their mother. “I am a sword. I live to be swung by my master.” Her voice held a heavy Norwegian accent.
“Who’s your master?” She shaped the words into a sarcastic throwaway. Lives probably depended on provoking the answer. If Dr. Harper wasn’t a Descendant, either she was smart enough to discern the truth herself and accept the reality of magic, or smart enough that a Descendant would risk Indigo’s wrath to break the Seal and tell her the truth. The criminal who employed these women had power, money, and influence to spare. She needed a name.
“Not you.”
“The feds? Like you told Kyle? That’s bullshit. Anyone can see that—”
“Desperation blinds people.” Dr. Harper sat up, wincing as her bandages moved. “Kyle told us what happened up on the ridge last night. I gave him hope. The only hope he’s felt in a long time. You wouldn’t want to take that away from him. He thinks he’s getting a new life, with a powerful patron to guard him and meaningful work to do. He is. Not in the form he expects, but he is. Most of my fellow scientists labor under the same delusion. They’ll learn the truth when our work is complete.”
“You shouldn’t be telling her this,” Borghild said. “Find another candidate. A Russian. Anyone.”
“My orders are—”
“She is one of them!”
“I know who she is.” Dr. Harper’s voice filled with ice. “I know her better than you do. I might even know her better than she does. You aren’t the only person who Indigo has hurt. Leave us.”
Borghild’s lips narrowed as she stepped outside and closed the door.
“Why did you come to New York?” Katrina asked.
Dr. Harper studied her for a long moment. “Do you remember me?” From her tone, she sounded like a professor giving an oral exam. Katrina had always loved those—the key was telling them whatever they wanted to hear. Problem was, she had no clue what this woman wanted.
“I remember you
from last night,” she said, studying the doctor. She had a wide-angled jaw tapering into a small chin, full lips, a short, wide nose, triangular brown eyes. Her black hair brushed her shoulders. Indigo had taught her to look past superficial differences, to watch for any signs of magic, any indication the target posed a threat to the Seal. Dr. Harper could have been anyone.
Dr. Harper lifted her chin. “Boston. 2003.”
Fuck. She’d still been working for Indigo back then, scouring the city for dangerous Descendants, only to find the city’s witches worked as accountants and the city’s New Age shops in the hands of powerless hippies. The most magic she ever saw was back at the Boston station, where her fellow agents used pyromancy to heat coffee and witchcraft to file papers. She’d started drinking just to cope with the envy. It hadn’t helped that the majority of her undercover work had been to search the city’s bars for Descendants among college students. She’d spent eight months in the city and left with two months worth of memories. None of them included a young Asian woman with an unhealthy interest in the area Katrina’s own unhealthy interest lay. If her memories gave her anything, any flicker of a detail, she could have faked the knowledge. She had nothing. “It was nine years ago. Nothing catches my mind.”
“Nothing at all?” The cool edge in Dr. Harper’s voice slipped.
You damn alcoholic. The woman who held Katrina’s life in her hands hated her, and Katrina couldn’t even remember why. Why the hell am I so weak? Why do I always screw myself up?
But a chance to succeed sat right in front of her. Get information. Make her talk. Get her sympathy. Indigo had never offered her an opportunity like this. If she escaped with useful intelligence, something related to a plot to hurt Indigo or destroy the Seal, she could strike a bargain to get back the only job she’d ever loved.
“I don’t remember much of the time I spent in Boston,” she confessed. Her heart raced, fueled by cool adrenaline. This was the work she lived for. “I drank myself half to death every night. The things they made me do … it gets to you. I was fresh out of college when I joined up. My parents had pushed me towards it all my life. What the hell did I know? But there’s no honor or glory in hunting down kids or following around families. I’m glad they fired me before I got in too deep.”
