She Who Sees Through Darkness

Part Twelve

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."

"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.

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