by Liz Ellor
The speech was nearly word for word what Chuck Danby had shouted across the D.C. office before walking out. He never had the backbone for this work. So he decided that we were wrong, instead of realizing that he was weak. She’d seen how guilt affected agents, how empty Shawn and Anaïs acted every time their missions involved kids, the horror in Shawn’s eyes whenever he watched the Universal Vision. War. Massacres in the streets. Thousands of innocents killed. We do as we must.
“You say you want to bring down Indigo?” Katrina continued. “Let me help you. Everyone says Kyle’s mother will be president one day. There’s thousands of other people you could use for your work. I know agents. He knows dozens of people in the government. Let us help each other.”
She paused, watching Dr. Harper’s face. Let us go. Take the bait.
“You could attack Indigo from the inside,” Dr. Harper mused. “They’d never expect that. Enough planning, and we could arrange for Director Fairfax to be assassinated. Find whichever congressmen Indigo use to prop up their budget and reveal Indigo has nothing to do with monitoring the CIA’s internal spending.”
“It would be an unprecedented achievement,” Katrina muttered, as if she was talking to herself.
“Hardly. Look at the Kennedy assassination. Indigo regroups. It always has. Much as I’d love to see Catherine Fairfax choking on her own blood, the real enemy is the system that supports her. It always has been.”
She’s being very frank for a criminal. Either Dr. Harper was starting to trust her, or she planned to have her valkyrie attack the second Katrina left the room. “The system? Indigo’s part of the CIA. Hell, Indigo formed the CIA around themselves. Agents have been part of this country before it was a country. Their work upholds the foundations of Western civilization. It won’t be so easy to destroy that system.”
“No, it won’t. It will take an army.” Dr. Harper’s eyes glowed with passion. “That’s why I want you and Kyle. The Father of Witches stands with us. And I am genetically-engineering him an army no modern soldiers can withstand. You want to bring down Indigo? Take part in my experiment. You can serve as one of his lieutenants.”
Katrina’s heart thudded against her ribs. Cold fingers of ice trailed down her spine. The Father of Witches. Dr. Harper works for one of the Valves.
Magic was a physical force. It required a living body to bring it into the world. And for all of recorded history, those bodies had belonged to the Valves. Seven people who’d anchored the flow of magic to their bloodlines, gaining immortality in the process. Like all pyromancers, she was a Descendant of Aspeth, a reclusive figure who’d kept to himself for the last few centuries. But Mathus, the Father of Witches, had heavily backed the Axis powers in World War Two, and he’d never forgiven the USA and Indigo for what they’d done to stop him.
They aren’t just criminals. They’re terrorists. Indigo had to be warned, whatever the cost. That had to be her number one priority, even if it meant abandoning Kyle. If Mathus was involved, the whole country was in danger. If Mathus is involved, this woman is capable of creating horrors.
“What, exactly, will this experiment do to me?” Katrina asked.
“It will modify your genes. You’ll move faster. Your eyesight will sharpen. You’ll heal faster. Theoretically, the first—”
“Theoretically?”
“It has not yet been evaluated on human subjects.” Dr. Harper shrugged. “Theoretically, the first application of the treatment can cure any physical infirmity.”
“Anything?” Katrina asked. “False advertising suit waiting to happen.”
“When we rule America, all the lawyers will be executed.” Dr. Harper paused. “That was a joke.”
So hard to tell with you megalomaniacs. “Not all infirmities are part of the body. What about mental illnesses? Depression. Addiction.” She tried saying the last one like it meant nothing to her. Had Phyllis noticed?
“The brain is part of the body. Depression is strongly linked to neurotransmitter levels. I believe our techniques can restore these levels to within an acceptable range, along with therapeutic intervention. Addiction is linked both to genetics and learned behavior. Our techniques can theoretically eliminate the genetic factor, lessening the reward effects when the addictive substance is consumed, and certain side effects of the condition may prove additionally effective in treatment of …”
Katrina knew couched language when she heard it. Legalese and medical jargon. It all added up to one desperate hope. She could fix me.
As much as Indigo could use this information, they could use a sample of Dr. Harper’s work even more. The threat this army posed didn’t sound immediate, not if Dr. Harper hadn’t tested her work on humans yet. If she let the doctor experiment on her, and she escaped, Indigo would have to take her back—and she wouldn’t have to hurt her family any longer. All she’d have to do was turn over her body. And, potentially, her life.
“I was born without magic,” she admitted. For a second, the cool detachment in Dr. Harper’s eyes morphed into sympathy. “This process fixes genetic deformities. Can it fix … that?”
For a moment, Dr. Harper seemed to tower above her. She spread her hands wide like a pair of scales, weighing Katrina’s life, finding her worthy or wanting.
“I don’t know,” Dr. Harper said. “But you could try.”
She’d spent her whole damn life trying.
“Yes. Yes, I will.”
A private jet awaited them at a local airfield. The logo on the side read ‘Synthos Biotek’. That’s their cover. Borghild stepped into the cockpit and joined the co-pilot. Dr. Harper buried her face in a three-dollar romance novel. Kyle grabbed a drink from the bar and settled down comfortably in his chair.
Katrina’s skin crawled as she watched him, fierce with envy. She needed that oblivion—deserved it, even—but she was on a mission, and a loose tongue could spell her doom. I should ask him not to do that. But the thought of asking galled her. Besides, they’re about to fix me. I won’t need to worry anymore after that. Maybe.
Her fists tightened. She dug her nails into her palms, willing her thoughts to go anywhere but the bar. Fix. It sounded like what you did to a cat that wouldn’t stop peeing on your walls. She wondered how the cat felt, afterwards.
The old, hidden scars on her thighs suddenly burned again. If Dr. Harper been a halfway-decent manipulator, she would have sworn the experiment could restore Katrina’s powers. The mistake told her Dr. Harper had been honest. She wants to make enhanced soldiers. She admits she could fail, and I’d pay the price. She pictured her body shriveling, infested with cancers, scarred with radiation burns. Enough.
She walked over to the plane’s kitchenette, rooted through the drawers, and found a long knife. Standing over the trashcan, she dragged the blade through her hair. Strands tore, ripping painfully. She braced herself and sawed back and forth until a six inch long chunk came off in her hands. She dropped the fine black strands in the trash. It’s just your body. You were okay with destroying it last night. You’re doing this for Indigo. It’s worth it.
“Whoa.” Kyle sat straight up in his seat when she re-entered the cabin. “Katrina?”
“I felt like a change.” She’d chopped off every hunk she could reach. The cool air felt alien on the back of her neck.
Katrina tucked herself into her seat and tried to sleep. Her thoughts kept creeping back to Senator Winters. I’m sorry I got your son into this; I know I promised to look after him. But he can’t be my first priority now. You’d understand. You’d do anything for your country. You’re strong.
The plane touched down in Seattle to refuel. No one but Borghild left the plane. Kyle gave her a letter to post to his mother, explaining where he’d gone. Katrina knew the valkyrie would trash it. How had Kyle’s life been so privileged that he couldn’t fathom someone taking advantage of him?
She sat down next to him and watched the baggage handlers zip back and forth across the runway. They’ll never know what really happened h
ere. Ensuring that was her responsibility. Keep them ignorant, keep them safe.
Kyle took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m really glad you’re here with me,” he whispered. “This’ll be good for both of us. You’ll see.”
“Good for us.” She tried not to imagine a thousand needles stuck in her skin, injecting her with a bubbling green cocktail. Focus on what happens after that. She would walk into Indigo’s headquarters in D.C., her position secured, and watch the respect ignite in everyone’s eyes. We were wrong not to use her talents. That’s the one, the one who never gave up, the one who took on a Valve.
When he walked off to the bathroom, Katrina sat down next to Dr. Harper. She’d finished two novels and moved onto a third. A muscled male torso adorned the cover.
“How’d you get interested in—” she dropped her voice. “—magical genetics?”
“I’m reading.”
“Sorry,” Katrina said. “Just curious. It’s not often I run into someone I can talk to about this stuff.” She realized how very true that was. She had Shawn and her family, but New York’s other agents knew about her disgrace, and most of the other Descendants she’d known fell firmly in the category of criminal. “Especially not a woman without powers. We have a lot in common.”
“I’m a good person. You aren’t,” Dr. Harper said, turning a page. “The suspense is killing me, Ms. Harris. Will Chad’s giant penis heal Penelope’s inability to orgasm? Excuse me, I can’t pay you any attention. I must focus all my resources on unraveling this text. Please. Leave me.”
Katrina slid back into her seat. Moralizing terrorists. Worse than Shawn’s stories from Afghanistan. What the hell did I do to her in Boston? A thousand worries spun around her head, and she yearned to make them go away. Her eyes flickered to the plane’s bar, but then the seatbelt light flipped on. She belted herself in and gritted her teeth. It’s your life if you talk!
“It’s a four hour flight from Seattle to Anchorage,” Kyle told her, and lowered his sleep mask.
Darkness wrapped around the plane, leaving her with no clue where in the world they were. The plane had television screens built into the backs of the chairs. She found a DVD copy of Die Hard in the cabinet marked ‘Entertainment’ and settled down to watch.
Hans Grueber reminded her of Dr. Harper. Tell people a story they can understand, that terrorists are taking hostages, that the government is building a living biological weapon, and they’ll proceed accordingly. You can pull off the crime of the century under their noses. Annoyingly, it reminded her of one of Indigo’s first lessons: the lies you could give to explain magic, small ways to avoid needing to kill a target who’d seen something they shouldn’t. People need explanations. Hallucinations, drugs, government project. No matter how outlandish the lie, they’ll believe. Anything’s better than facing the unknown. That way lies chaos.
Four hours came and went. Dr. Harper fell asleep. Eventually, Katrina’s nerves got the better of her and she walked up to the cockpit.
“Are we going to Russia?” she demanded.
“I wish,” Borghild said.
“Alaska’s a large place, ma’am,” said the co-pilot. Concentric circles and arrows had been drawn on his hands, and he’d occasionally tap a wooden compass that would move on its own, pointing northwards. A witch. “Wyvernhall is sixty miles south of the northern coast—”
“Wyvernhall?” Katrina’s voice rose an octave. “That’s what you call your headquarters?”
“The doctor has many gifts.” Borghild said. “She can recite three hundred digits of pi. Break into any encrypted computer system she chooses. When it comes to picking names, she has the creativity of a dead lemming.” Her voice softened. “I suppose I should thank you for saving her life. Thank you. Don’t expect me to be in your debt, Indigo bitch.”
“No worries,” Katrina said. “Wouldn’t expect much gratitude from a valkyrie.” Throwing around the V-word felt especially daring, a reminder that she was indeed a Descendant, finally back in the exclusive, important club. She supposed it was juvenile, how that thrilled her, but thrill her it did.
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Borghild turned in the pilot’s chair and glared at her. In her light grey irises, Katrina glimpsed the gun and the overlook in the woods. The Dead Eye. “We’re all alike to you. We appear identical—if one ignores scars, age, a smile, a nervous tick.” Borghild popped another stick of gum in her mouth. “I’ve read Indigo’s papers. You know there’s some among them who want to give witches a new classification, because the term is considered insulting? But witches are useful, witches are trusted. The children of Umara remain monsters. If you believe a valkyrie is a monster, what do those things matter? A valkyrie is something you kill.”
The co-pilot shrank in his chair. “Ms. Asen, please—”
“Close your mouth,” Borghild snapped. “All my mother wanted was to fly. To be who she was. My family moved to the country and bought a farm. Our nearest neighbor was three kilometers away. She was careful. I know she was. One day, I came home from school. Two men with guns were there. They had shot everyone. Even Eir, my little sister. She was seven. They beat me until I couldn’t walk, and then they left. Respect the Seal, they said, and you’ll never see us again.”
“And you think they were agents of Indigo?” Katrina’s stomach churned. She’d heard rumors of agents going crazy, purposefully terminating civilians who hadn’t endangered the Seal, but those were horror stories, propaganda, not real.
“I hope they were. Because then they will come for me, when we break the Seal, and I will show them just how strong I’ve become.” She smiled. “With Dr. Harper’s equipment, I can keep a man alive for weeks.”
Borghild Asen. She mentally filed away the last name, still shaken, as potentially valuable information. You could put that name on a mailbox or write it on a form. It was the name of a person, with hopes and dreams and ambitions. Don’t be ridiculous, Katrina, of course they have last names. They’re people, too. They’re just very dangerous people. She couldn’t help picturing a little blond seven-year-old with a bullet wound in the chest. Not fair, of course, but people don’t know how stressful an agent’s work can be. Valkyrie girls grow fast. An agent taking on an unknown farmstead, in an unfamiliar territory—they barely had fifty agents monitoring Northern Europe! You couldn’t always avoid collateral damage. It’s all for the greater good.
Wasn’t like valkyries had never killed anyone. And how does she know Indigo was to blame? Agents are trained to avoid using firearms, in case they encounter enemy pyromancers. Could have been another valkyrie. A turf war. Some hired thugs to pin the blame on Indigo. That made more sense.
She spent the last hour of the flight staring out the window and trying not to think.
The seatbelt icon flipped on. The plane pivoted. Light flashed outside the window. Is that a mountain?
A second circle confirmed it. A ridge of mountains rose from the tundra. The one at the end of the chain was dotted with well-lit buildings emerging seamlessly from the slopes. A wall wrapped around the mountain’s base. Tiny lights sparkled from houses just outside the walls.
How did they build that? They’d need underground tunnels to connect all the buildings on the mountain. How did they move that much rock without giving themselves away? They’d have needed to get permits and host inspections. Had a geomancer been involved? They’d cleared out some spaces below Indigo’s headquarters. But could they move that much rock?
It struck her, suddenly, that she didn’t know. Such uses of power were so strictly regulated and concealed that no unnecessary personnel were permitted to witness them. She’d spent her childhood watching Shawn carefully experiment with his power—lighting candles, making shadow puppets, baking her cakes. It had all stopped after his first few missions. Magic belonged in the shadows. It wasn’t compatible with modern society. How different the world would be without Indigo.
The plane touched down. Katrina searched her memories. If they have half as many
Descendants as I think they might, they’ll have an aeromancer waiting. Like clairvoyance was the secondary skill of pyromancers, aeromancers possessed telepathy: the ability to view the thoughts of others.
Tires bumped down on the tarmac. Cold wind washed in as the doors were opened.
Katrina seized a glance at the mountain: shallow dustings of snow, brown stone where the light touched, a disk-shaped building emerging higher up that blocked out the stars. Dr. Harper guided her and Kyle into a Hummer, and Borghild drove them through the gate in the fifteen-foot-high wall. The muddy road wrapped around an army-style obstacle course and lead deep into a garage the size of her whole house.
Kyle stiffened as the garage doors closed. She reached out and squeezed his hand.
“I’m here with you,” she said. It was all she could say.
The Hummer stopped. A man in heavy white snowgear opened the door. “I’m Captain O’Brien. Head security officer here at Wyvernhall.” He was tall, white, around fifty, with hair like straw and weathered features.
“Captain, take them to the Eyrie,” Dr. Harper commanded. “Run them through the physical evaluation.”
Three security officers in white gear escorted them from the garage into a network of underground tunnels. The cold walls closed around them. Katrina shivered. She expected Kyle to make a snide comment or demand a coat. Nothing came.
They lead them to a bank of elevators. The whole group squeezed into one. Letters marked the buttons. Captain O’Brien pressed ‘E’, and the car shot upwards, rising quickly. The tightness in Katrina’s shoulders dissipated as she locked her eyes on the closed doors. Another morning, another elevator ride.
The doors opened on a rock tunnel leading to a stairway. Lightbulbs dangled from wires taped to the ceiling.
