She Who Sees Through Darkness

Part Nine

Katrina came to on a hard concrete floor. Crap. 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 out 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 Arab 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."

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