“What the fuck’s going on?” the German soldier roared.
He lashed out at Vergess, his fingers leaving a trail of rot along Vergess’s shirt.
He’s a ruina practitioner, too!
The first soldier appeared next to Battery and pulled his Luger. Geist leapt to his defense, thrusting her hand into the man’s neck and allowing her body to reform, her fingers curling around membranes and the cylindrical tube of the trachea. She pulled back, rupturing the skin and crushing the man’s windpipe. The man tried to yell as he stumbled back, but all he managed was wet gurgles. He fell to the ground, his blood soaking the carpet crimson.
Vergess and the other soldier wrestled back and forth until they tripped over a cushioned chair. They both tumbled to the floor, the soldier’s hands flailing about, rotting everything they touched. Vergess had a tight hold around the man’s neck, preventing him from shouting again, but the damage had been done.
More are coming, Geist thought, her hands shaking. We need to leave right now!
She ran to the door and barred it with a spare chair.
Battery gasped. “G-Geist!”
Geist whipped back around: the teleporting soldier had used his sorcery to get back to his feet. He grabbed Vergess on the shoulder and “blinked” away a layer of clothing and flesh, all the way down to the muscle. Vergess bit back a shout of agony, his eyes going wide.
Without thinking, Geist ran forward and ripped another chunk of flesh from the injured soldier, this time from the gut. In her haste, she’d forgotten the ruina sorcerer. The man broke free from Vergess during the shoulder attack and then grabbed in Geist’s location, hitting her shirt and spreading his rot onto the collar with a mere grazing touch.
Vergess sucked in breath through his teeth, jumped to his feet, then grabbed the man’s head and swiftly twisted it sideways, breaking his neck in one motion.
“Fuck,” Geist hissed. She allowed her invisibility to drop as she attempted to tear away the rotting clothing. It spread to her flesh, disintegrating portions of her shoulder and bicep.
“Give it to me,” Vergess commanded, panic rising in his voice. “Let me see.”
Geist forced herself to peel away her shirt to expose the skin. Vergess placed his hand on it. Although he couldn’t reverse the decay, he stopped its spread, his cold magic neutralizing the black rot in an instant. He then reached for her shirt, but Geist pulled away on instinct. The rot ate away the threads and she knew it would soon seep through to the wrappings underneath.
“Take it off,” he said as he removed his own affected clothing.
She glanced at Battery. “I… I can’t.”
“Just give it to me!”
“I…”
Vergess wheeled on Battery. The younger man stared with wide eyes as Vergess leapt at him. Before Battery could even form words, Vergess slammed him to the ground and pinned him to the floor, effectively trapping him.
Geist took the moment to rip off her shirt and bindings. She threw them to the floor and covered herself with her arms, her breath coming easier now that she didn’t have anything constricting her.
“What’s going on?” Battery asked, muffled by the carpet.
Vergess didn’t reply, and he kept Battery’s face buried beneath him.
The two Abomination Soldiers lay motionless. The room was still, which only compounded Geist’s dread.
What was she going to say to Battery?
There was no explanation. No lie she could use to justify her actions. No untruth that could shield her from what was coming.
Then the truth would have to do.
She walked to one of the corpses and pulled off a bloody shirt. “Vergess. Let him up.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He stood, and Battery leapt up, glaring. He immediately turned his attention to Geist. She kept her back to him as she slung the shirt over her shoulders.
“Wait,” he muttered. “What’s going on? Geist, your back… there’s nothing there. I thought—”
“I’m a woman, Battery,” she said, almost inaudible.
She trembled, knowing she could never take those words back. The cool air of the parlor brought goosebumps to the skin of her back, but she ignored them, waiting for Battery to reply.
Battery shook his head. “Impossible. That can’t be.”
“It is,” she said.
“There’s no way Geist is… well… It’s impossible. Someone would have known by now.”
Vergess walked over and placed a hand on Geist’s shoulder. She suspected that he wanted her to speak, but no words could escape her lips. She shied away from his touch, anger mixing in with her confusion. We don’t have time for any of this—the enemy will be on us at any second, and we need to flee!
But another question froze her in place: What was the rest of the team going to do when they found out?
“What’s your name?” Battery whispered. “Your real name.”
“Does it matter?” Vergess snapped. “We have an operation to finish.”
“You knew? For how long?”
No answer. Again, a terrible silence descended.
“Florence,” Geist forced herself to reply. “My name is Florence.”
Battery took a step toward the parlor door. He shook his head and gripped his shirt tightly. “I can’t believe it. Are you even from House Weston? I mean…” He took a deep breath and then stared, his eyebrows knit. “You’re from House Cavell. Aren’t you. That’s how you can use specter sorcery.”
Geist inhaled. “I have nothing to do with my house,” she said, her words slow.
“I… I can’t believe this.”
“Something happened to Dreamer,” Vergess interjected. “That’s why our illusions dropped. We don’t have time for this.”
“I thought…” Battery took another step toward the door. “I mean, I… I trusted you. I idolized you, Geist. I thought we both had been operated on, and that we were truly brothers in arms. But… you’re a traitor and… and a liar.”
“Stop,” Geist pleaded. “I know what you’re thinking, but—”
Battery withdrew his empowerment.
“I need to speak to Victory,” he murmured. “He always knows what to do.” He turned and threw the chair away from the door before rushing out into the hallway, heedless to the danger beyond.
Vergess went to follow, but stopped halfway, cursing under his breath. He wheeled back to Geist, conflict scrawled across his features.
“I’ll go after him,” he said, glancing between her and the door. “I’ll bring him back. But…”
But I can’t leave you.
Geist nodded, half drowning in her own thoughts. “Go. I’ll be fine. I can handle this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I said I’ll be fine. Please. Get Battery. If he gets caught, the mission’s over.”
There was a long moment of silence before Vergess stepped up to her and pressed his lips against hers. The quick touch left a fire on her skin, and Geist wished he could stay, but Vergess had already turned and dashed out of the parlor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ABOMINATION
GEIST WAITED, LISTENING TO HIS boots pound down the long hallway. Alone with two Abomination Soldier corpses, she stared at the wall opposite her, unseeing.
Her chest was tight. Agony throbbed from her upper arm. More than just her body—without Battery’s empowerment, everything hurt.
The dim lighting of the parlor blackened her thoughts.
I lived through trenches, artillery bombardments, and deadly gas, she thought with a smirk. This can’t kill me. Or if it does, I’m going to be furious.
Biting down on her lip, Geist tasted copper. She pushed away from the wall and pulled her shirt tightly closed, hiding the bloodstains. Her injured arm—twisted by the GH Gas, weakened by the corrupted dogs, and now rotted through ruina sorcery—could barely move. Her hand was a claw, her fingers unable to extend, and it hun
g at her side like it belonged to somebody else.
Taking one step after the other, Geist exited the parlor, her hair disheveled, her face red, and her strength drained. She didn’t know how Vergess and Battery made it through the hall undetected, but she gave it no thought. Instead, she stumbled forward, heading straight for her destination.
Without Dreamer’s sorcery, it was clear she was a woman and she made little effort to hide it, but no one wandered the hall. Perhaps servants would walk by, but she also didn’t care about them. She could hear shouting in the distance and she suspected an alarm had been sounded.
Geist continued, her mind buzzing. The manor layout was still fresh in her mind. She pictured the room she wanted and turned down the hall without seeing. Once at the door, she opened it and slipped into the opulent bedroom, clicking the lock behind her.
Geist couldn’t wait a second longer. She ripped off her clothes, the seams tearing noisily in her haste.
This isn’t about me. Not about my pain. Not about my secrets. I can’t let anything stop me, not even my own team. I’ll do it myself. I’ll find a way.
Like I always do.
She walked to the closet and tore open the doors. The women’s apparel that hung before her came in every color. Garments of pastel pink and dark velvet and delicate patterned embroidery—the closet of a princess. Geist didn’t care. She grabbed the first gown and discarded her old outfit in a few quick motions.
Once dressed, Geist fought through the pain to slip into a pair of long gloves—anything to hide her damaged arm.
She entered the adjoining washroom and glanced at the mirror above the sink. Her mind played tricks and, for a brief second, she thought she saw her mother in the reflection. Choking on a laugh, Geist sifted through the makeup on display and selected a few products. Applying what she could with one hand, she could not help but remember her father once had to hold her down while her mother painted her face—like a proper lady, she’d said.
Everything would be better if you weren’t so difficult.
Geist smiled darkly. “She was probably right.”
Satisfied with her work, Geist pushed away from the washbasin. She walked back into the bedroom and plucked a large-brimmed hat from the display rack next to the closet. Before she left, she slipped into a pair of heels.
She exited the room and strode through the manor with her head high.
No one attempted to stop her. No one questioned her presence. Geist walked among the mingling sorcerers as one of them, even as they muttered rumors and exchanged gossip. She offered a smile and a royal nod as she continued to the eastern side of the compound, to the basement entrance.
The sentries—the men with glowing gold eyes—gave her the once-over, but they no longer worried her. Geist had no illusions to see through. She was a sorcerer of House Cavell. Was she the belle of the ball? No. But she belonged, and that was all that mattered.
Even when the soldiers began searching rooms, they ignored her. A woman wasn’t who they were looking for. She was invisible again, though without the use of sorcery this time.
“So many soldiers rushing to the courtyard,” one noblewoman said.
“I heard something dreadful,” another replied.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Enemy operatives were found outside. Spies, most likely. Or assassins.”
“Oh, my.”
“Come to kill the crown princes, no doubt.”
Geist refused to let her mind wander to her comrades. Battery and Vergess had already gone to deal with the situation. They would make sure the others were safe.
Geist entered a small stone-walled room, once used for storage, but it had nothing of interest except for a door leading to the subterranean levels of the manor. She ambled in and met the gaze of the lone guard.
Don’t falter, Florence. Only fools trip on what’s behind them. Finish the operation.
“I’m sorry,” the man said in formal German. “But you’ll need to return to the festivities. This is off limits to civilians.” The operatic music in the room over was muffled by the thick stone and wood walls.
Geist fanned her face. “Oh… I’m so sorry. I’ve had so much to drink. I thought this was a washroom.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Do you mind showing me to one? I’m so turned around.”
“I’m not to leave my post, but the washroom is on the other side of the dance floor.”
“Oh, thank you.” She crossed the room and smiled up at the guard. No doubt he was an Abomination Soldier. “Do you mind if I stand here for a moment longer? It’s much cooler here than in the commotion of the dance floor.”
The man nodded, his stance relaxed. She got up close and giggled, the sound foreign to her ears, but the soldier seemed to enjoy it. He offered a one-sided smile.
Geist stepped up in front of him, running her fingers over his dark green uniform tunic. She couldn’t feel anything from her injured arm, but that didn’t matter. The man’s smile widened and he leaned in close.
With a smirk of her own, Geist reached around and opened the door, driving her shoulder into the man’s midsection. Caught off-guard, the soldier fell back and plummeted down the stairs, his grunts and cries trapped in the stairwell. Geist stepped in and shut the door behind her before taking the steps four at a time to reach him. Her stolen hat fell from her head and fluttered to the ground behind her, forgotten.
To her surprise, the soldier had his trench knife ready by the time she reached his side. He slashed at her, but Geist let the long blade to pass through her body without making contact, though he did slash the stomach of her gown.
Geist lunged and took the knife. The man attempted to stand, but the fall had twisted his leg. Geist fell upon on him, using her strength and weight to plunge the point of the trench knife deep into the soldier’s chest. The man writhed and choked out a whimper of agony, but it was too late.
House Cavell. The house of assassins.
Vergess’s words echoed as she watched the man’s life fade, his eyes full of pain and terror as they stared up at her. She was an assassin. House Cavell had cultivated specific schools of sorcery to make their sons and daughters efficient killers. Geist could run from her past—from her home, from her family—but she’d still used their sorceries to kill hundreds of men.
Once the man was dead, Geist retrieved the handgun from his belt and tucked it into the bodice of her dress. She knew she was running on borrowed time—once the corpse was discovered, soldiers would swarm the basement like termites. Either she would get her information or she would die here. There were no other options.
Stepping over the warm body, Geist opened the door to the basement floor. She shivered: magic lingered in the air. So much magic. The click of her heels sent chills down her spine. Geist discarded them on the first few steps and continued barefoot.
The largest room of the basement was once a wine cellar. Empty wooden casks lined the walls and glass bottles sat on racks scattered around without rhyme or reason. Electric lights provided enough to see, but not enough to illuminate the corners or the shadows under every step. Geist’s eyes played tricks on her, seeing forms lurking in every dark corner.
Several doors and hallways led from the central chamber, most of which looked to have been made recently through additions to the house and impromptu mining. It was a true labyrinth, not documented by Lucie Coppens’s detailed maps.
But where is Heinrich? He said something about a room with windows…
Geist walked to the far door and opened it with slow, cautious movements. She took three steps in and froze. More rooms. More hallways. More areas to search. How large could one basement be? How long would it take to search it all?
An arm wrapped around Geist’s body, its steel grip trapping her against the chest of a man. Her heartrate jumped as the barrel of a pistol pressed into her flesh—right where the jaw met the neck—and she locked up, her whole body seizing in sudden terror.
So this is how it ends.
Geist waited—for the bullet, for the agony to shatter her neck and jaw—but it never came.
“I know you,” the gruff voice of a man muttered into her ear, his hot breath running down her neck. “I’ve met you. More than once.”
Her heart stopped. She knew that voice. She could never forget that voice.
First Lieutenant Agustin Fechner. The man she’d thrown to the GH Gas the night her team died—the night she saved Vergess.
The arm around her body tightened and Fechner stepped forward, pushing her forward as well. Geist’s mind raced. Last she had seen Fechner, he’d been broken beyond even Cross’s ability to heal, lying on a medical table with his body half-melted by the GH Gas. A dead man, clinging to life through force of will alone.
So how was he here?
“You were different before,” Fechner said, his voice echoing along with his boot steps in the dark halls of the basement. “You were the nurse I couldn’t get out of my head. Imagine how surprised I was when I sensed you here. I couldn’t believe you’d have the audacity to infiltrate the Oberste Heeresleitung.”
Geist wanted to turn to face him, but the pistol at her throat stopped her. She kept her eyes open, tracing their path in her mind. Fechner came to a door and kicked it open, walking in with Geist still pinned against his chest.
There were no lights. None whatsoever.
“And then I remembered where I first met you,” Fechner drawled. “And I realized why I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re that soldier I met in the trenches. You’re the one that pushed me into the gas.”
He drew her into another room, one somehow darker than the last and filled with stagnant air. Geist couldn’t see, but she didn’t need to. Fear hung in the air like pollen.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 32
