Wyverns of Mass Destruction

Seamus I, Part 2

John snatched up his cane. Wires shot out from its tip, forming a cobweb that seemed to crawl across the floor on its own. Once, John had beat an agent to death with one end while tracking his position with the other. Seamus was not in the mood to watch John show off.

His small office was in a repurposed storage room along the back of SecC-1. The only decoration he'd picked out for himself was an aerial photograph of Belfast hanging on one metal wall, a sobering reminder of past failures. The mahogany desk had been a gift from his father. It had clawed feet and gold caps on the corners, a sign Mathus had dragged his brain into the Baroque period for a few hours. A perfect circle of gold sat in the top. When Seamus touched it, his papers would organize themselves. It was the most obnoxious piece of furniture he'd ever owned, but Seamus wasn't about to antagonize Mathus over something as small as a desk.

He sat behind it; John remained standing, his face was twisted in a smirk. They shared long, heavy features, and thinning patches on their crowns, and yet they looked nothing alike. John wore naked anger and his blindfold, covering fleshy dimples too small to ever have held eyes.

"Don't call Koleva and Litvak horsefuckers," Seamus said. "You remember those checkpoint bastards who'd yell 'here, paddy, suck my dick?' It's the same thing for Issirians."

"I didn't mean them, specifically," John said. "We don't have horses here."

"You should devote more time to building explosives and less to your boyish pranks. This is why I'm the captain and you're not." John had always been impulsive, incapable of planning ahead. Seamus was predictable and steady. The death of John's wife, the planning of a war, and the brothers' ten-year-exile from their homeland had done much to temper John's wildness. But their pattern had been set since childhood.

"I'm not the captain because Da's embarrassed of me. I remind him that the power in his bollocks is fading."

Embarassed? The Valves had discarded all mortal emotions thousands of years ago. "Dr. Harper gave Veick a pilot. That means Synthos must be almost ready to challenge Indigo. We're going to war. We can't afford to be undisciplined."

John barked out a laugh. "That's the same thing you told Mathus three years ago, before he exiled us here. He doesn't want a bunch of bloody knights. He doesn't want the love of America's Descendants. He wants soldiers who'll do anything, anything at all, without asking questions."

"That's enough. Don't speak that way of an ally. I—" Something metallic banged out in SecC-1. Seamus was out the door in two seconds, reaching for a wand that held a coronary spell.

His soldiers had split into two groups. A barefoot Morales kicked boulders at Erin with unearthly accuracy. Tanner's jaws snapped left and right as Litvak darted in and out of his forelimbs, both men fully shifted into their animal forms. Koleva danced around the sober, serious Adebayo, who flung walls of waters her way. Dorcas fired a crossbow at Barkov. The Russian witch shouted a word. The bolt bounced off his chest.

Seamus grinned. The hope he'd felt during the executions sat warmly in his chest. Ingido had wiped out all knowledge of how to properly teach magic, but they'd learned and taught one another. Mathus had only entrusted a small portion of his Descendants to Seamus for training, but with the Wing, they'd subdue Anchorage before Synthos's full forces could even cross the Bering Straits. A new, free age would dawn . . .

"Irishman!" Borghild shouted as she stomped into SecC-1, her cheeks red and covered in sweat.

"There's two of us here!" John yelled over the din.

"Two-eyed Irishman!" she called, and John chuckled.

"You could try Captain," Seamus responded. "Or even my name. We're old friends, after all."

Borghild frowned. When Seamus met her eyes, he glimpsed an overturned Hummer, an accident from last spring. When you met a valkyrie's eyes, you saw the last time you almost died. "You've been demoted."

"What?" Had her English failed her?

"Dr. Harper isn't happy you never noticed the spies. To be honest, she might just be trying to get rid of me. But she's the head administrator, and I have my orders. So I'm the captain now. You can be my deputy if you want."

Impossible. The security officers were there to train and guard the fortress, not comb emails for treason. The IT department was to blame, if anyone was. How could they expect anyone to betray a cause this important?

"Welcome to your new command, Captain." The words felt bitter in his throat.

"Thank you." Borghild popped her gum. "Where's my office?"

Of course he'd lose his office. For a moment, his last last fraying strand of civility seemed to snap. The coronary wand hidden up his sleeve grew heavy. No. Mathus would come soon, if the war was starting. He'd override Dr. Harper's order. Death was for traitors and martyrs in song. Not temporary annoyances.

Besides, maybe Borghild would cover that ugly desk with gum.