When the fire came, Geist gritted her teeth. I’ll never make it.
She willed herself ethereal, shifting as fast as she could, allowing the chthonic heat to pass through her body. The surreal sensation of standing in a blaze meddled with her courage. Every fiber of her being told her to run, but she stayed rooted in place, aware the stormtroopers couldn’t see her.
But they could see Battery.
Frightened and ungraceful, Battery stumbled back when the fire came his way. The flames licked across his arm and chest, scorching his uniform and filling the air with the stink of burnt flesh.
His sorcery shut off. Geist appeared—seemingly from nowhere—and shot forward, rushing the stormtroopers before they knew what hit them. Pulling her Bowie knife, she plunged the blade into the tubbing of the flamethrower. The odd device was nothing more than a backpack full of flammable fuel, a hose, a nozzle, and a pressurized tank. Severe damage would lead to deadly malfunction, if only her aim was true.
Sure enough, the stormtrooper wheeled on her and pulled the trigger. It clicked several times as petrol spilled over his trousers and tunic, coating him with a foul-smelling liquid. Geist kicked at the ground, sparking embers to jump into the air. The soldier caught fire and screamed, his voice muffled by the gasmask. He frantically attempted to pull off the backpack, but it was too late: soon his entire body was covered in billowing flames, and Geist left him to his fate.
A German officer on horseback galloped onto the street. The soldiers pointed their guns elsewhere, but Geist caught her breath the moment she knew the German to be her ally. He wielded a scimitar—a curved sabre from the Middle East, a sword not found anywhere in Liège.
Dreamer.
The horse barreled through the enemy line, scattering ammunition and sending the soldiers tumbling. Dreamer, disguised with a new illusion, slashed a stormtrooper on his way through, slicing open the neck and spilling blood across the man’s flamethrower hose and nozzle. He continued on into the smoke, narrowly avoiding gunshots from the few soldiers that realized he was an enemy.
Vergess grabbed her by the shoulder. Geist hadn’t realized how cold she’d gone until that moment. She couldn’t feel his grip, only see his hand shaking her.
“Battery,” she said, high and loud enough to cut through the cacophony.
“His brothers have him.”
“We need to disengage.”
“Victory’s seen a safe place.”
Geist coughed a mouthful of smoke. Bullets whistled by, and she took a step back. “Let’s go.”
Vergess pulled her arm up onto his shoulder and Geist jerked back, half-stumbling. Her legs weren’t as sturdy as she had expected. She stared down and found shrapnel embedded in her hip and thigh; she felt no pain, but her heart beat hard and fast.
Vergess grabbed her arm again and hefted her up onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Her stomach pressed against the back of his neck, Geist tensed, but allowed him to carry her. He ran without getting winded and the burning particles in the air couldn’t sting his eyes or inhibit his movement.
Geist stared at the bleeding wounds on her leg in disbelief. When had they appeared? Had a grenade struck her? The heat of battle was confusing, and discovering injuries afterward was not unheard of. Despite this logic, terror still gripped her.
I can’t fail before we make it to Spa. I can’t be the one that holds the team back. I have to push through this. I can’t let this slow me down.
Stunned Belgians, seemingly entranced by the carnage, stood in the streets, pawing at mutilated bodies or holding the charred corpses of children. Vergess weaved through them, his grace and speed boosted by his sorcery. He restrained his haste, unwilling to break the illusion of normalcy, but he lifted his arm when the bullets came, protecting Geist as the gunfire pinged off his unbreakable skin.
They broke through the smoke and Vergess ran for a tall, square building. Geist gleaned, from the Dutch on the sign and her own limited understanding of the language, that it was a heritage museum, a hall of records and a glorious monument to the past. Large barrels of petrol lined the museum’s base, tied together with thick oil-soaked rope.
The building is set to burn, Geist realized.
To her surprise, Vergess sprinted toward it, his pace never slowing.
“No,” she grunted. “It’s a trap.”
“It’s Victory’s location,” Vergess replied.
Fuck. “The fires—” Geist coughed and cleared her lungs of grime. “—it’ll go up fast. We need to hurry.”
“Right. So let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MUSEUM
VERGESS BROKE INTO A SPRINT, reaching the museum within seconds. The lack of smoke and explosions allowed Geist to see her surroundings. German soldiers were holding off the Belgians, preventing them from reaching the museum. There were soldiers at the door, but most had left their posts around the perimeter to join in the fighting. When Vergess reached the west side of the building, out of sight from the front door, Blick rounded the corner from the back and took aim.
For a brief second, Geist tensed.
Blick fired, his glowing gold eyes only requiring half a second to aim down scope before he pulled the trigger. Geist felt the shift of wind as the bullet flew by her face, striking a soldier who had turned and seen Vergess.
“Were you aiming for him?” Vergess asked as he glared over his shoulder.
“He was going to sound the alarm,” Blick said with a half-smile. “Good thing you weren’t in the way, right?”
Vergess huffed and the men regarded each other for a long second before turning back toward the building.
Victory, Battery, and Dreamer stood at the back corner of the building, their backs to the wall and their weapons at the ready. Vergess jogged over and slid Geist off his shoulders. She hit the ground with an unsteady leg but managed to keep herself from stumbling about by leaning against Vergess. He kept a hand on her shoulder, holding her close.
“There are barrels of fuel,” she said, taking in deep breaths to clear the smoke from her system. “The Germans are going to burn this place to the ground. We should take the opportunity to leave while they’re fighting.”
Victory shook his head. “There are Belgian sorcerers inside the museum.”
Geist stifled a gasp. The resistance. That’s what Lucas was talking about. These are the rebels fighting the occupation.
“Can we save them?” Geist asked. “Have you seen it?”
“It’s likely,” Victory replied.
“Is this why your magic brought us here? To rescue these people?”
“My magic doesn’t have a will of its own. It doesn’t lead me places on purpose. Don’t think we must do something just because my power suggested it.”
Geist gritted her teeth. The school of destiny sorcery was so imprecise. But it hasn’t failed us yet, she reasoned. If Victory thinks we can save these sorcerers, then we should.
“Vergess,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Can you make a hole through this wall? We should get in and out as fast as possible.”
She turned to the others and took stock of their condition. Battery had splinters through his clothes and in his hands, not to mention the red and black charred flesh on his chest and arm. The flamethrower had consumed the skin but left the muscle intact. Battery would carry a scar for the rest of his life, but that was a small price to pay for escaping the stormtroopers.
Victory, besides his eye, seemed unscathed. Dreamer, however, had long lines of cuts down his right shoulder, side, and leg—deep and torn enough that Geist recognized the damage of barbed wire. Dreamer’s horse was nowhere to be found, but the cruel twists of the wires had ensnared hundreds of creatures attempting to cross the trap-laden battlefields in the past. The animals all died slow and painful deaths. Geist pushed the haunting memories out of her mind and instead focused on her team.
Blick, too, seemed unharmed. He stood vigilant, his golden eyes scanning in every di
rection, his vision empowered by his magic.
“Battery, I need your magic,” Geist said, turning to face him. “Can you focus enough to use it?”
Despite his raw burns—the red flesh that peeled along one arm and charred shoulder—he nodded. “Yes. Count on me.”
“Good. I’ll go in first and signal the rest of you to follow.”
Dreamer reached out and touched each member of the team individually. The mind-bending cold that heralded his sorcery hung on the air as everyone’s illusions knit themselves together, hiding their injuries beneath layers of magic. Although Geist could still feel the shrapnel in her leg, nothing showed on the surface. The enemy wouldn’t know she wasn’t at her fullest.
Unless they see me limping.
They once again appeared as German soldiers, dressed from head to toe in dark green.
Vergess kept his hand on the wall of the building. The rot spread from his touch, eating through the brick façade like oil through brown paper. He stared at his progress, his brow set in a hard glare, and Geist wondered how difficult it was to use so much ruina sorcery at once. Within a few seconds, a hole appeared in the wall as ash piled at Vergess’s feet. Pipes and wooden beams curled into themselves like the legs of dead spiders, warping under the force of his magic.
Geist wrinkled her nose in disgust. The terrible stench from the black rot of wood could churn the stomach of a corpse.
“Go on,” Vergess said, glancing over to her. “I’ll continue here while you scout.”
Battery held out his hand. Geist took it, eager for the added strength of his sorcery. The moment she felt his power coursing through her, she breathed easy and fell invisible once more.
Geist felt safer in this state, almost invincible. Battery’s powers complemented hers so well: together they were unstoppable.
Slipping through the two-foot-wide hole, Geist stepped into the museum’s restrooms. Her boots clicked on the tile, but no one was in the tiny space to hear her movements. She opened the door and walked out into the museum’s main display hall.
The display cases were shattered and torn apart. Valuables had been stolen and carried away. Bodies—likely the museum’s curators—were strewn about the floor. The checkerboard tiles stained with blood. Even the finished oak of the walls had been scratched and singed.
The echoed crack of a gunshot made Geist jump. She whipped out her handgun, cursing herself for not having drawn it sooner, and glanced around wildly. She calmed herself, remembering her magic. Keep it together, Geist.
On the far side of the massive room—past a labyrinth of shattered glass, overturned bookshelves, and signs—sat a group of individuals huddled in the dark, bound hand and foot and gagged. Prisoner sorcerers, separate from the non-magical men and women that fought outside.
A German officer stood over them, pointing a pistol at them. Next to him stood two Austrian soldiers, their gray-blue informs and black helmets more ornate than the Germans’. The Austrians’ black gloves and gold chain fasteners for their capes marked them as members of the Magischen Jäger—the Austro-Hungarian version of the Abomination Soldiers or Ethereal Squadron.
Magischen Jäger.
Magic Hunters.
A corpse lay between them, still bound and gagged, bleeding from the neck and chest.
The second crack of the handgun sent a splatter of brain matter and blood across the wall as the German officer executed another Belgian sorcerer. The eight remaining captives flinched and turned away, their white faces and trembling bodies a hard sight.
Geist leapt from her position and ran across the large showroom, her boots crunching the glass beneath her feet with every step. The Abomination Soldier and the two Magic Hunters turned toward the sound, their eyes darting around, looking through her but never at her.
Geist brought her gun up and fired on the first Magic Hunter, her aim square between his eyes.
The Magic Hunter shimmered and faded and the bullet passed through his body without harm, striking the far wall. Geist caught her breath—another specter sorcerer, here! She almost lost her focus when she got a good look at him.
No! Geist shook her head as her stomach tightened in a painful knot. Anyone but him!
It was like looking in a mirror. His dark curly hair, narrow frame, and androgynous features were utterly unmistakable.
He was none other than Dietrich Cavell, her younger brother.
The ribbon on her wrist burned in her mind—Dietrich never had the stomach for fighting, only crafts. Even in the split second she had to stare directly into his eyes, she could sense his overwhelming fear.
But here he was. On the wrong side of the war. And she had almost shot him.
“Don’t stand there,” the German snapped. “Do something!”
He waved his hand in an arc and telekinetic force blasted everything around Geist back with tremendous strength, including the busted display cases and bookshelves. Geist hit the floor on her back several feet away, her invisibility dropping as thoughts went black and the room went to pieces around her.
The enemy soldiers stared at her in confusion. Surely they saw only a German soldier—perhaps they thought her a turncoat—and the revelation rocked them into inaction. Geist took the moment to jump to her feet and move under the cover of invisibility, her body stiff and not as quick as she’d like.
“Traitor!” the Abomination Soldier roared. “Show yourself!”
Dietrich ran an unsteady hand over his face and backed away. His fellow Magic Hunter whistled, the sound laced with potent sorcery. Harsh clicks on wood caught Geist’s attention. Five dogs—beasts turned monstrous by magic—lurked in the darkness and stepped out of some void as though they had been waiting there.
The canine brutes stood four feet at shoulder, their heads wide and their jaws lined with double rows of teeth. Their shiny black coats had a distinct sheen; even in the low light of the museum prison, shards of opals embedded into their hides were visible. Bulging red eyes stared outward with an undead luster that gave them an almost demonic appearance. Every time the dogs exhaled, the room filled with the stench of decay.
The Magic Hunter panned his gaze between his beasts. “Find him. Kill him.”
All five animals sniffed the air and turned towards her with freakish precision, despite her invisibility. She froze and caught her breath.
They could see her.
Fuck.
One dog lunged for her, teeth bared in a soundless snarl, and would have thrown Geist to the ground had she not ghosted. The beast flew through her, didn’t pass through her harmlessly like the stone wall—it stung for the half second they were connected, like her magic rejected the intrusion. The dog collided with the museum equipment, rending it apart with little effort. It stood, unfazed, and wheeled around with a ravenous growl.
Shaken, Geist dodged the second animal that came for her, stumbling back and half slipping on the droplets of blood that bled from her shrapnel wounds.
The third dog crashed into a toppled display case after it flew through her body.
The Abomination Soldier wheeled on Dietrich with a fierce glare. “What is this? A specter sorcerer? Another Cavell?”
“I don’t know,” Dietrich said, his back against the wall, his palms pressed against the wood.
“Weed him out!”
“I—”
“That’s why you’re here! Get out there!”
But he stayed against the wall. Geist knew he could ghost through it, if he needed. Unlike her, their father had beaten his magic training into him. He was younger, but his specter magic was fully developed—especially for fleeing.
Then Vergess stepped out of the restroom and into the main museum hall. His German bloodline did him well. At first glance Geist thought him to be the enemy, especially with Dreamer’s perfect illusory uniforms. The others must have thought the same thing as they smiled upon seeing him.
“Brother,” the Abomination Soldier called out. “Careful! An enemy specter sorcerer is
among us!”
“I’m here to help,” Vergess replied, his eyes darting to the dogs.
The swarm of beasts had Geist preoccupied. She ghosted through support beams and display cases, keeping the dogs from “connecting” with her.
Vergess hustled across the room. Upon reaching the German, he smiled. “Perhaps ruina sorcery will end this.”
“Ruina?” the enemy asked, confusion and realization striking him at almost the same time. Before he could voice his alarm, Vergess grabbed the man by the face. The next moment dark rot consumed flesh, but the Abomination Soldier placed his hand on Vergess and shoved him back with a blast of telekinetic force. Vergess tumbled away and crashed into a bookshelf, sending papers flying.
“Traitors!” the German sputtered through his damaged lips and cheeks. “Traitors!”
“Kill him as well!” the Magic Hunter shouted as he gestured to Vergess.
The rot on the Abomination Soldier spread regardless. Within seconds it became impossible to yell and the man struggled to gulp down air, his face strained red with panic. No matter his thrashing, his body caved to the destructive magic.
Three dogs stormed for Vergess, but Geist ignored the fight, instead turning her focus to the Magic Hunter who summoned them. If he dies, his damn dogs might all go with him.
She ran forward and brought the barrel of her gun to the man’s temple before firing. The bullet ruptured his skull and he collapsed to the floor.
But the monster dogs didn’t disappear.
They barked—deep, echoed grunts with unnatural timbers—and flew into an unrestrained frenzy. Each animal went for the closest thing to them, smashing wood furnishings and eating shards of glass from the floor. One hit Vergess and toppled him, but even its razor-edged fangs couldn’t pierce his flesh. Instead, it shook him like a terrier, tearing his shirtfront to pieces with its teeth.
Two more leapt at the bound sorcerer hostages before Geist could act. The first dog bit down on a man’s shoulder, right where it joined with the neck, and ripped through muscle and veins. The other dog latched onto a woman’s face and crunched through bone, chewing through the screams.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 24
