“I have no one to write to,” she muttered.
Battery rubbed at his neck and frowned. “I know you said your father was a harsh man, but do you really hate him so much that you wouldn’t write him on the eve of your most important mission? There’s a good chance we might not make it back.”
“I know that.”
“Every father is concerned about his son.”
Geist gritted her teeth. Oh, I know.
“Listen,” she said, “we had many disagreements. From my magic, to my place in life… to the war.”
“What do you mean?”
Although Geist didn’t want anyone to discover what family she was from, the thoughts of her father got her on edge. She wanted to talk. She wanted to explain everything. And Battery had been there for her before. Even if she told him details, she suspected he would never betray her trust.
They were Team Teensy-Weensy, weren’t they?
“My father wanted to support Austria-Hungary,” Geist said. “And he wanted me to support them as well.”
Battery’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the room and taking stock of everyone’s location. For all intents and purposes, they were separated enough to be considered alone. When he turned back he lowered his voice regardless. “Are you Austrian?”
Yes. And no.
“I was born in the United States,” Geist stated, not a lie, but not the whole truth. “But my father is Austrian.”
“I had no idea House Weston hailed from Austria.”
Geist crossed her arms over her chest. “House Weston,” as far as anybody in the squadron knew, was a family of total recluses. It was usually the perfect cover, but Battery’s thoughtful expression reminded her that some sorcerers took lineage and house politics serious enough to study.
“You were going to marry into the Royal House of Habsburg-Lorraine,” Battery muttered. “Weren’t you? The Austro-Hungarian royal family.”
“I never said that.” Geist sat up on her cot, her chest tight.
Battery shook his head. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. But that’s pretty shocking. They’re the family behind the whole war.”
“I know.” Geist turned away and exhaled. “Trust me. I definitely know.”
“Who were you going to marry? A princess? A duchess?”
Geist couldn’t reply.
The crown prince, Leopold Habsburg-Lorraine.
“Well, if you’re not going to tell me who, could you at least tell me why you didn’t go through with it?”
“It was a multitude of reasons.”
“Such as?”
“I hated the fact Austria-Hungary started the war, and more upset that their ally, Germany, invaded Belgium. I tried talking my father into joining the Ethereal Squadron, but he had pledged his services, and consequently, our whole family, to the Royal House of Habsburg-Lorraine.”
“He never listened to your input.”
Geist exhaled, allowing her breath to take the last of the lingering resentment. It had all happened a year and a half ago. The yelling, the arguments, the rift that formed in a once-united family.
My father would never listen to his children. Geist grazed the ribbon on her wrist. Not me. Not my brother.
“I still don’t understand how your father managed to get a wedding arrangement for you,” Battery said, staring at the edge of the cot, his eyebrows knit together. “House Weston must have rare sorcery running through its veins. Or maybe that was your father’s attempt to apologize? Setting you up with a favored marriage?”
“Perhaps. But that’s not like my father. It was… probably for his benefit, in the end.”
Her voice faltered for a brief moment and Geist coughed to conceal it. Memories of her father and mother brought back emotions she’d rather not relive. Her father’s disappointment in her magic—and his anger when she didn’t want to marry the crown prince—made him a frightening figure in her memory. He wanted obedience and nothing more. Joining the Ethereal Squadron after running from the house was her final fuck you to the man who raised her.
Her younger brother had been the only one not to harass her for her decisions, though he didn’t intervene when their father scolded. Still, she missed him. Out of everyone she could write, it would be her kid brother, but their father would never allow the message to be delivered.
“Is that from your sister?” Battery asked, staring at the ribbon.
Geist chuckled. “Yeah. My sister.”
Battery brooded. “You could’ve been a prince, or a duke, or even a king. And your children would be powerful sorcerers.”
Queen, Geist corrected in her mind. Marrying the crown prince meant I would’ve been queen of Austria-Hungary.
But what kind of queen would she have been?
“Some titles aren’t worth the price,” Geist muttered.
“But still. Hapsburg-Lorraine sorcery is unique. No other family has ever accessed it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I refused.”
Battery narrowed his eyes. “Was your bride mulish?”
“Mulish?”
“You know. Ugly.”
That’s not what that means. But Geist let the words sink in as she gave herself the once-over. Oh God… Her shoulders slumped.
“My bride was far handsomer than I am,” she said begrudgingly.
“But you didn’t feel anything for her?” Battery asked. “No? A shame.” He leaned back on his cot and stared at the far wall, his eyes unseeing. “I hate the thought of the war ending and you having no home to return to. Maybe someone in my family wouldn’t mind marrying a member of House Weston. I mean, the Hamilton name doesn’t carry as much weight as the Habsburg-Lorraine, but we’re influential enough.”
His offer caught Geist off guard. Battery was so earnest she found herself genuinely considering the matter. Marrying into House Hamilton wouldn’t be as repulsive as joining the Hapsburg-Lorraines, surely—even if she ended up with a second cousin.
And the Hamiltons do have access to a bevy of rare sorceries.
“I’ll think about it,” Geist said.
“Really? Brilliant!” he replied, beaming. “I’m sure someone in my family would be interested in specter magic. From what I read, it’s rare. And very useful. People thought it lost to history at one point.”
“Yeah, my father would say so quite often.” Tired of the conversation, Geist stood and walked around Battery’s cot. “I’m going to check on the others. Finish up soon. We should be there within the hour.”
“Of course.”
The tiny passenger area, though cramped, was still an impressive length. Geist weaved between cots until she reached the other end, finding Victory and Dreamer wrapped up in their own quiet discussion. They ended their dialogue once she drew near. Their letters, finished and folded, sat on the nearest cot.
“Battery told me you were all writing loved ones,” she said, staring at the motionless paper.
“You could say that,” Victory said, grazing the bandage over his eye. “I wrote Cross to tell her I got injured just so she could care for me.”
“That mush work for you?”
“She’s a classic romantic.”
“She’s joining in on the assault against Fort Douaumont. Are you worried for her?”
“Of course,” Victory said. “Just like I’m worried about Blick or Battery. But I try not to think too much of it.”
“I think she’ll make a difference there,” Geist said.
“And she’ll impress her family,” Victory added with a knowing smile. “House Moreau has been keeping track of her service record, after all.”
“You know about all that?”
“Intimately. Cross’s mother denied my marriage proposal so that Cross could marry a proper French gentleman rather than an English one. I tried to explain our courtship, but my letters were returned after postmark, unopened.”
“You haven’t written anything to Cross about our mission, right?” Geist asked,
hoping to change the subject.
“Of course not. Nothing about the mission. Do you want to review my letter?” He handed over the paper and Geist gave it a quick glance. She saw the first three sentences and turned away, red in the face.
My dear Mattie,
Already I miss you. Forgive me for being weak, but my thoughts turn to you whenever I am alone. It’s your gentle touch and mellow voice I crave above all else.
“It’s fine,” Geist said, unwilling to read the rest. “Perfect. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Did they know love so deep they no longer felt shame? Desperate to exit the conversation, if only because the feelings it brought up confused her, Geist turned to Dreamer. “Who did you write?”
“A widow in London,” he replied with a polite smile. “I write her before every mission.”
“A random widow?”
“One particular widow. A woman with the lovely name of Evelyn. She appreciates the correspondence.”
Geist cocked an eyebrow, but Dreamer offered no further information. She had a million questions—Why? How did he know her? Wasn’t he an Arab? How did it begin?—but she kept them to herself. Perhaps it was best not to pressure people about their past. Lord knows I wouldn’t divulge everything, even if they asked.
“We should be arriving soon,” she said. “Make sure you’re ready.”
Both Victory and Dreamer replied in nods. She left them to their writing, pushing the love note from her mind. A small piece of her wished she could go home to find letters of such passion in her locker, but another part of her knew it couldn’t be so.
Geist felt a twinge of jealously as she imagined Cross reading an armful of Victory’s letters. Don’t be childish, she thought, scolding herself as she walked. You should be happy for them.
It didn’t take Geist long to find Blick. She entered the galley of the ship to find two crewmen and her large teammate drinking from the stock of rum. They laughed and joked as they filled up another round of jugs. Geist approached and glanced between them, surprised to see their flushed faces. How much had they been drinking?
The dark substance they poured between them had a strong odor. It was the type of rum that made men’s eyes water.
“You want in?” Blick said, offering up his jug. “It’s damn good. Better than the stuff in the trenches.”
“No thank you.”
“You’re not a teetotaler, are you?”
“I drink. On occasion. But not before an operation.”
The two crewmen exchanged cringes. They placed their jugs back in their cubbies and exited the room with due haste. Geist suspected they sensed her scolding tone.
Blick shrugged. “I’m a big guy. I can hold my liquor.”
“I thought you were writing home.”
“I was. That’s why I need a drink.”
“Most men enjoy the thought of writing loved ones.”
“I’d rather be thinkin’ about women and good food than writing loved ones that I might not return home,” he said with a forced laugh. “You ever write someone about somebody who died? It makes you hate letters.”
Geist recalled her own letter to Little Wick’s lover. The few words she had managed to write had drained her of all her determination. His death still haunted her, but her lack of courage to write the woman haunted her more.
“I know the feeling,” Geist murmured. “Just make sure you’ve got your wits about you when we get to Antwerp.” She turned to leave, but Blick held out a hand, stopping her.
“Thanks for keeping Battery safe,” he said.
“No need to thank me.”
“No, I don’t think you understand.” Blick downed another gulp and exhaled. “I’ve already lost one brother. I feel like losing another might cost me my sanity. And writing about it… just gets me sick.”
“It weighs heavy on all men.”
“Not Victory,” Blick snapped. “Not you.” He took a short sip and frowned. “Look, forget it.”
“Blick, I—”
“I said, forget it.”
He took a seat on the galley countertop, turning to face away from her and stare out the porthole. Geist stood silent for a moment, mulling over the conversation. Blick had been so energetic and happy on the train, but the dark shadow of his depression always lingered. She didn’t know how to deal with it besides allowing him to flirt with women or drink himself into a confidant man, and they didn’t have the luxury of stopping for rest or therapy.
Geist exited the room without another word. She would let him cope in his own way.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
INSPECTION
THE RINGING OF THE DECK bell could be heard throughout the ship. Geist paused when the clang reached her ears, surprised at the clarity. She ran back to the passenger hold and straight for her bag. The SMLE rifle hung off the side, but she knew that wouldn’t fly during port inspections.
“Dreamer,” she called out. “It’s your time to shine.”
Dreamer regarded her with a smile. “Of course. Once everyone has gathered, I’ll handle the problem.”
The others reconvened in the hold. Vergess alone entered from the top deck. He threw his letter down with the others and joined the group, his rucksack already slung over his shoulder. Geist secured her gasmask to her bag and attempted to steady her heart.
Maybe I should’ve taken a drink. Anything to calm the nerves.
Dreamer motioned for everyone to gather. His sorcery chilled the room as he ran his hand across their rucksacks and clothing. Magic wove itself into the fabric of their clothing and the metal of their weapons. Illusions spread across them—rifles became walking sticks, coats became crewmen’s uniforms, complete with ratty loose threads and sun-bleached jackets—concealing their true purpose to anyone looking for enemy soldiers amongst the crew of the Evening Rose.
Battery grabbed at his clothing and gawked. “Amazing. This is way better than I thought it would be.”
“I’m good at what I do,” Dreamer replied, motioning to his own pale English face.
Blick snorted. “Nothing I can’t see through.”
“Then you’ll see through enemy disguises, too, no doubt.”
“The enemy isn’t going to sneak up on us anytime soon.”
“How reassuring.”
The deck bell rang a second time and Geist waved her men to the stairway up. “Let’s go.”
They walked out onto the open deck and into the full brilliance of the afternoon sun. Even the light didn’t penetrate the illusions. Geist ran her fingers over her disguise and wondered how long Dreamer could maintain such detailed sorcery. She stared at him for a long while, realizing that everything about him had been an illusion, right down to his blue eyes. And he never dropped it. Not once. Not even during the storm.
Amazing. He puts Battery’s concentration to shame.
I wonder what they could accomplish together.
The Port of Antwerp sat on the river Scheldt, deep in the heart of Europe. The massive docks could accommodate capesize ships, the largest of dry cargo sea vessels, too large to pass through even the Suez Canal. Small rivers, railroads, and major thoroughfares all connected to the Port of Antwerp in one way or another, making it a hub of trade and activity.
The port defenses reeked of German “contributions.” Cement bunkers with mounted machine guns lined the entrance to the docks, built on the edge of the city or in the rocks that lined the river. Soldiers manned the weaponry at all times, focusing in on each new ship that came to call. The German flag—red, white, and black—waved on the river winds, signaling to all as to who controlled the territory. The black, yellow, and red of the Belgium flag was nowhere to be seen.
The Evening Rose sailed into port at a leisurely pace. The United States, neutral in the conflict, could sell to the Belgians and Germans alike so long as they cooperated with Germany’s strict inspections and regulations. Weapons weren’t allowed to the Belgians, nor were propaganda or wartime materials.
And, most important
of all, the Belgians were not allowed to leave.
Victory stood next to Geist and lowered his voice. “Once we dock, a German inspection crew will board. They won’t see through our sorcery, and as long as we don’t make a scene, they’ll allow us to leave the ship and enter the city.”
“You’ve seen all that?” Geist asked.
“Yes. No need to worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“You’ve been stiff for some while.”
With some effort, Geist relaxed the muscles in her neck and shoulders and allowed herself a few easy breaths. Antwerp was in the heart of enemy territory. She knew the risks, even if she didn’t dwell on them.
“Can you see our success yet?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Let me know.”
He chuckled. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Captain Madison and Shell strode from the damaged wheelhouse, leaving the helm to another officer. The captain signaled his crewmen to secure the ship as it made its way into port.
“I hardly recognized you,” Captain Madison said as he walked up, his eyes panning over each member of the Prometheus crew. “I dare say you’ll make it through enemy territory just fine. And you’d better.”
Geist lifted an eyebrow. “We better?”
“Major Reese gave me a couple details. You better not let Paris fall. Let’s just say I do business there, and I don’t want to do more business with… Germans.”
Shell stepped forward and held out his hand for Battery. “I’ve been meaning to thank you. Your sorcery, it’s unlike anything I felt before.”
Battery took the hand and shook it. “It was nothing,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It was your sorcery that protected the ship. Potentia only enhances what’s inherent to the other sorcerer, you see.”
“I never heard of potentia sorcery. I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
Geist wanted to stop Battery from talking about the specifics of his magic lest he reveal too much information, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop a moment of praise. Battery needed the recognition more than anybody else on the team—maybe more than anybody she knew.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 19
