Chapter 3: The Call

Kitara worked late the rest of the week to sort and index the AIDO’s latest data, meticulously combing over the reports for errors. She might take the heat for someone else’s mistakes, but she’d be damned before anyone criticized her work. Everyone else went home hours ago.

She frowned at the stacks of paper. Ostragarn didn’t launch full-scale assaults against Valëtyria anymore; the icy realm hadn’t posed much of a threat in the last decade without a leader capable of uniting the Netherlings—the catch-all term for the various immortals who called Ostragarn home. The data didn’t contradict that trend, mentioning a handful of AIDO-related skirmishes against mostly rogue Netherlings amidst more frequent reports of Netherlings raiding human medical facilities.

But something about the accounts didn’t add up. Native Ostragonians—vampires—fled when the realm died and their resources dried up, adapting and evolving to subsist on primarily human blood. That led to vampire-run bloodmobiles and stealing from human-run blood banks.

Ostragarn’s recent incursions hadn’t targeted those facilities. Only two locations related to human medicine at all: one in Dublin and another in Minneapolis.

Could someone have mistaken human theft for Ostragonian activity?

Kitara woke the prismatic screen at her desk and typed in the coordinates of the various incidents. As she searched, a trend emerged.

Manufacturing

Industrial Robotics

Industrial Manufacturing

Robotic Research Facilities

Leaning back, Kitara frowned at her screen. What would Ostragarn want with robotics and industrial manufacturing? They lagged behind Valëtyria in their engineering and science, using technology much like Spokane’s outdated equipment, but Ostragarn’s capabilities still outmatched humans’ advancements. Whoever compiled this list clearly hadn’t cross-referenced their own data to confirm these human facilities would hold anything of interest to Ostragarn.

Sighing, Kitara began the arduous process of noting the debatable incidents, highlighting line after line in the list of data. In all likelihood, someone had noticed, but didn’t want to undergo the tedious task of sorting through the mess.

Which is how the stack of ridiculous paperwork ended up on her desk.

Her phone chirped, and she shifted to check the notification of the incoming call.

Unknown

Kitara hesitated. She only kept a handful of contacts saved on her device, so anyone else wouldn’t display a name.

But in her decades within the AIDO, Kitara had never received an unknown call.

Her phone pinged again.

Kitara stood to peer over the top of her borrowed cubicle, confirming the office space was still empty, then accepted the incoming call. “Hello?”

An unfamiliar voice responded. “Kitara Vakrenade, please.”

Her brow furrowed. “Speaking.”

“Hello Kitara.” A self-conscious laugh. “Sorry, remind me what time it is on your side of the world? The sun just set here.”

Kitara nearly dropped the phone.

The sun just set here. A Sleeper was dead.

She scrambled for the correct response. “Um. The full moon is in ascent here.”

A chime sounded on the line as the call-and-response phrase authenticated her identity and confirmed she was in a secure location. The call dropped.

This isn’t possible.

Every Sleeper, including Kitara, could recite the call-and-response phrases even if beaten bloody, high as a kite, or under other duress. But Cornelius Avensäel made it clear long ago she’d receive this call—the indicator of a forthcoming reassignment to replace another Sleeper—over his dead body.

As an immortal, that should have been “never.”

What changed?

Maybe it was a prank, or a training exercise, or—

The crystalline monitor on her desk lit up, redirecting Kitara’s attention to the screen. At first, it only displayed the same background as any of the other computers: the golden seal of the Agency of Interrealm Defensive Operations flaunting a griffin triumphant and ringed with stars.

Then a new window opened—a video conference—and a woman appeared.

To her surprise, Kitara recognized her. “Saoirse!”

The other woman, sporting a bright purple pixie cut,smiled. “Hello, Kitara.”

For a moment, Kitara struggled to vocalize anything coherent as she stared at the High Sleeper: the head of her profession.

She was supposed to be deep undercover in Ostragarn.

A floor-to-ceiling window behind Saoirse caught Kitara’s attention, showcasing a luminous moon hanging in a shifting pastel sky of rose, lavender, and cerulean. Its breadth spanned a quarter of the sky where its equator dipped below the horizon, punctuated by sky-scraping buildings of intricate ivory architecture. Beyond, celestial bodies scattered across a galaxy of velvet indigo.

The sudden recognition of Saoirse’s whereabouts startled a question from Kitara’s lips. “Saoirse, what are you doing in Valëtyria?”

The High Sleeper laughed. “That’s your first question?”

“You’re supposed to be in Ostragarn!”

Saoirse glanced over her shoulder at the otherworldly tableau. “Circumstances required my presence.”

Kitara struggled to keep her compounding questions to herself. For their own safety, Sleepers didn’t fraternize with or know details of others’ assignments. Saoirse had made an uncharacteristic—and dangerous—exception to even speak to her.

Sensing her conflict, Saoirse moved on. “I’m so glad to see you, Kitara.”

Something like tears burned the back of Kitara’s eyes. “You too, ’Sha. I’d hoped you were safe, but—”

The High Sleeper waved a hand at her. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been under so long I’m practically a citizen.”

It was her kind way of reminding Kitara she couldn’t talk about her assignment—and Kitara shouldn’t ask.

Clearing her throat, Kitara gathered her thoughts. “What is going on? What could possibly be so important you needed to exfiltrate from deep undercover?”

Saoirse folded her hands. “Headquarters’ Sleeper is dead.”

Things became much clearer then. “I’m sorry to hear that. It explains the call though. I thought maybe it was a prank at first. You need me to cover the vacancy for whoever was promoted to HQ? Temporarily, of course—”

“Kitara,” Saoirse interrupted, “I recommended you to replace him, and Phoebe seconded the recommendation. The High Council agreed.”

Once again, Kitara found herself at a loss for words, the meaning behind Saoirse’s statement not immediately connecting. Her mind spun and she blinked, almost certain she’d misunderstood. “What?”

“If you want the assignment, of course,” Saoirse continued, an amused smile on her lips. “I thought you would appreciate hearing the offer from me.”

Impossible. Cornelius never would have approved this.

Heart thundering, Kitara stammered. “But…Cornel—High Councilor Avensäel…”

“Was overruled,” Saoirse cut in sharply. “Outvoted ten to three. You’re the most qualified agent we have, Kitara. I may be biased, but the majority of the High Council concurs.”

“They wanted me dead when I first came to the AIDO,” Kitara whispered.

“Until you showed them all what an asset you are.” Saoirse’s gaze softened. “Your father’s blood doesn’t define you, Kitara. It just took the rest of them a little longer to realize that.”

“Stars and hellfire…” Kitara whispered, falling back in her chair with a hand to her forehead. “Headquarters? Really?”

The purple-haired woman’s smile widened as Valëtyria’s breathtaking sky shimmered and winked behind her. “Yes.”

“God, Devika just transferred there. We thought it would be years before we saw each other in person again.”

“I know how fond you are of her,” Saoirse acknowledged. “I’m sure we can arrange for you to see her. But you wouldn’t live at headquarters: you would have a place in the city.”

Kitara nodded slowly, still in a daze. “Right, of course.”

But the possibility…

“The position is yours if you want it,” Saoirse continued. “But there are some…caveats.”

Of course there were.

Kitara rolled her eyes. “Color me surprised.”

The other woman snorted. “Cornelius insisted you have a new handler.”

“Let me guess. One of his choosing?” Sleepers had partners in the form of handlers: someone within the AIDO who served as a point of contact for intel or in case of trouble. At least, well-staffed outposts did. Kitara didn’t have a formal handler in Spokane and wouldn’t put it past the head of Valëtyria’s High Council to choose someone totally wrong for the job simply to ensure she failed.

“I see you haven’t forgotten his…management style.”

“Hardly. Who did he suggest?”

Saoirse cleared her throat and laced her fingers together on her desk. “Before I tell you, I want you to know…the Council voted on this too. I’d like you to keep an open mind.”

Well, that sounded ominous.

“Okay…” Kitara leaned forward, shifting her weight in her seat uneasily.

“He recommended his son, Storm.”

Kitara stiffened, tension radiating down her spine. “You’re not serious.”

The High Sleeper steepled her fingers. “I am.”

Suddenly, Saoirse handling this call personally made a lot more sense.

“This was the concession we made to appease Cornelius,” the High Sleeper continued. “That’s the offer. Accept the role of top Sleeper at headquarters with Storm as your handler…or stay in Spokane.”

Kitara almost surrendered then. Gave in. Threw up a white flag to the High Councilor. Cornelius had chosen his weapon well. A double-edged sword, as it were.

A snide tone leaked into Kitara’s words despite herself. “Was Storm given the job because of what he is, or because of who his dad is?”

For a moment, Saoirse seemed taken aback by her bluntness. “Neither,” she answered. “He is a Major—Academy-trained—first in his class with additional commendations in advanced swordsmanship and war tactics. His mother, Ilythia, is a Myragnar and a Warrior in her own right. Storm…takes after her a great deal.”

Kitara inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just because Storm is…who he is doesn’t mean this won’t be a problem. Given how things are between me and his father…”

“He is close friends with Phoebe’s son, and she personally vouched for him in this role. He is a good man and a promising leader—you could do much worse for your handler.” When Kitara’s expression still conveyed skepticism, Saoirse straightened. “Kitara, I’m the High Sleeper, and you’re my protégée. Do you really think I’d let Cornelius jeopardize you for spite?”

“Of course not,” Kitara replied automatically. “It’s just…Storm Avensäel? After Phoenix?”

Saoirse’s lips pursed with distaste. “I suspect the High Councilor thought it might…dissuade you from accepting the position. Phoebe thinks Storm can handle it.”

Cornelius wanted to flaunt his son’s prestige and celebrity in Kitara’s face, knowing full well Kitara’s own birthright resulted in a murdered family, borderline-exile assignments, and decades of mistrust.

“Kitara, we don’t expect you to trust him blindly,” Saoirse said gently. “Relationships between Sleeper and handler require mutual respect and understanding to work properly; you both have to learn from each other in order to make this arrangement successful. But I believe that the two of you can find common ground if you try. You have my full support, whatever you decide.”

Kitara swallowed hard. She had one family torn from her, disappearing as if it had never existed in the first place. Her gold and black wings branded her an outsider, the daughter of a traitor, at least in some capacity.

The stack of misidentified paperwork almost mocked her indecision.

“I’ll do it.”

Saoirse exhaled a sigh of relief. “Great. I’ll send off the transfer to your Commander then. I think you’re already familiar with headquarters’ Commander…?”

Kitara nodded at the reference to Kenric. “Yes, of course.”

“Good. We have to arrange transportation for you: not just anyone can portal in and out of headquarters. Protocol, you understand. We should have you there within the next…three to four days, I would think.”

Devika had mentioned something similar. “Okay,” Kitara acknowledged.

Saoirse’s eyes softened. “Congratulations, Kitara. Phoebe and I are so proud. Moriah would be too.”

Kitara swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat at the mention of her mother. “Thanks.”

“Take care—”

“’Sha, wait.”

The High Sleeper gazed at her expectantly.

“Are you—will I get to see you? While you’re…around?”

The other woman’s half-hearted smile answered the question before she opened her mouth. “Probably not, love. It was risky enough getting me into Valëtyria unnoticed. I can’t loiter around AIDO facilities on Earth.”

“Of course not,” Kitara replied. “Well…I’m glad I got to see you for a few minutes, anyway. I’ve missed you.”

“And I you. You’re going to do great things at headquarters. I know how much you’ve wanted this, and I can’t wait to see how you thrive.”

The lump in Kitara’s throat returned. “Thanks, ’Sha. Stay safe.”

Saoirse smiled at her. “You too.”

The video conference disconnected, again displaying the AIDO’s crest on the screen as the program terminated, erasing all evidence of the interaction.

Kitara felt disconnected too, like she watched it all happen to someone else: a true out-of-body experience. Then the reality began to sink in, and cautious hope blossomed in her chest. After years of denials and rejections and skepticism, she’d finally been offered a chance.

Another notification pinged her phone. Kitara opened the communication and read through the assignment details. At the bottom, a single word stood out, highlighted for her acknowledgement. Inhaling a long, shaky breath, Kitara tapped the icon, silently hoping it would portend the sentiment in more ways than one.

Accepted.