A Company of Monsters
Shami Stovall
Published by
CS BOOKS, LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely fictional.
A Company of Monsters
Copyright © 2019 Shami Stovall
All rights reserved.
https://sastovallauthor.com/
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review, and where permitted by law.
Cover Design: Darko Paganus
Editor: Jessica Meigs, Tandy Boese
IF YOU WANT TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN SHAMI STOVALL’S NEXT BOOK RELEASES, PLEASE CONTACT HER DIRECTLY AT [email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-7334428-0-0
Created with Vellum
Contents
A Company of Monsters
1. 1917
2. The Ethereal Squadron of Verdun
3. Urgent Operation
4. The Port City of Riga
5. House Kott
6. The Eyes of the Kaiser
7. A Company of Monsters
8. Dire Mission
9. General Volkov
10. Train Ride to Petrograd
11. Dangers in Petrograd
12. Dominated
13. Traitor
14. Tsarskoye Selo
15. Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of the Russia Empire
16. The Tsar’s Family
17. Fog of War
18. House Menshov
19. Riots
20. Disguises
21. Tsar Nicholas
22. Base of Operations
23. Rescue
24. Revolt
25. American
26. Blood Research
27. Anti-Magic
28. Coward
29. Lieutenant Cavell
30. Father Dearest
31. The Last Grand Duchess of Russia
32. The Last Russian Empire
33. Brothers
Thank you for reading!
ABOUT SHAMI STOVALL
A Company of Monsters
by Shami Stovall
To John, for being the first to see.
To Beka, who eagerly awaited this one.
To Tiffany, who wants to know if Capitan UK dies or not.
To Gail and Big John, for all the support.
To Michael Neff, for the support and ideas.
To Ann, for being the best schmoe.
To history, for being so interesting.
And finally, to everyone unnamed, thank you for everything.
One
1917
Geist made an art of stealth.
She slipped through the moonlight shadows around the Watson Manor House, keeping to the grass to stifle the sounds of her steps. Cloaked in invisibility, she made her way across the vast front yard. Her sorcery—specter sorcery—gave her all the power and versatility of a ghost.
Geist. German for ghost. The magics in her blood had defined her codename.
Once she reached the west wall of the manor, Geist peered in through the nearest window. No lamps. No electric lights. And the crescent moon didn’t help with visibility. Despite those limitations, Geist took in a deep breath and calmed herself. Specter sorcery gave her the portfolio of a ghost, but apex sorcery gave her all the superhuman abilities of a peerless predator. Like any jungle cat, she saw through the dim lighting, her vision perfect and unobscured by darkness.
The Watson Manor House, built in 1837, had all the posh and luxury of a grand palace. The ceilings were carved into twisting, vine-like designs, the marble tiles were arranged to create smoke patterns, and massive paintings adorned every wall. Most notable were the bronze, iron, and steel statues of people long since dead. A statue for every corner of the room.
Although it was midnight, someone should’ve been awake and walking the manor—house staff who tended to the fireplaces or groundskeepers going about their duties while the lord slept.
Instead, the chimneys were cold and the estate as quiet as a graveyard.
With enough focus, Geist stepped through the manor wall, her body, Springfield rifle, and uniform incorporeal until she reached the other side. A shiver ran down her spine as she released the magic. A twisted scar on her wrist burned afterward—a souvenir she had acquired in the German trenches. Unlike a knife or bullet scar, the waxy sheen on her wrist represented damage on a magical level. She pulled her sleeve down to hide it and suppressed the terrible memories associated with the event.
Only fools trip on what’s behind them, Geist thought as she examined the dusty dining table and china cabinets. No one had used either in some time.
Geist snuck across the room and into the nearby hallway.
The Watsons were sorcerers with an unusual sorcery—they could shape metal as if it were malleable clay, and while most Watsons used it for artistry, as evidenced by their many ornate statues, some used the magic for crafting weapons. They had provided specialty equipment for the Allies, outfitting soldier sorcerers in the Ethereal Squadron.
But no one had heard from them in weeks. No letters. No shipments. Not even the nearby town of St. Peter Port had any information. The Watsons allowed their servants to live on their property, and the deliverymen couldn’t get past the gate. Their sudden seclusion baffled everyone.
Which was why Geist had been sent. She needed to investigate their disappearance and report back to the Ethereal Squadron in Verdun.
Please let me find someone here, Geist thought. Anyone.
The wood floor threatened to creak if Geist became careless. She took her time and tiptoed through the dark atmosphere of the Watson Manor House. The shadows of the copper statues created human silhouettes on walls, and while a civilian might feel terror for the unknown, Geist had been through hell and back.
She chuckled to herself. I’m the thing lurking in the darkness that men fear.
After slinking through the foyer and making her way upstairs, Geist slowed and crouched close to the ground, hoping to find signs of a struggle. Sure enough, when she came to the bedrooms, she found the hallway carpets disturbed and upturned at the edges. Instead of opening the doors and potentially alerting someone to her presence, Geist ghosted through the wood, maintaining her invisibility and becoming incorporeal.
A child’s bedroom.
It took Geist a few moments to take in all the details. Stuffed animals. Dolls. Blocks stacked into a house-like shape. She caught her breath when she examined the bed.
Pink sheets and a white comforter were twisted around the pale corpse of an eight year old. Geist walked over, her teeth gritted. Apex sorcery heightened all her senses. When she strained her ears, she couldn’t hear shallow breaths, or even a heartbeat.
Geist touched the skin of the corpse and recoiled. The icy chill of death unnerved her more than the thought of battlefields and combat. The child had died long ago.
She unrolled the body from the sheets. Her hands shook as she pulled back the collar of the child’s dress. Deep puncture wounds over the jugulars told a terrible story of a slow death, and the bruises
on the arms screamed struggle and terror. But there wasn’t any blood. None on the dress. None on the sheets.
None left to coagulate in the body.
Geist didn’t look at the corpse’s face. Instead, she covered the body once she had concluded her examination, determined to give the little girl dignity, even if she wasn’t alive to appreciate it.
After a brief moment to steady her breathing, Geist made her way to the next bedroom. A little boy, two years younger than the girl, sat atop his bed in a similar fashion. Cold to the touch and drained of all blood. Nothing but a husk of his former self and shriveled from decay.
The next room was the same. A small child, barely able to walk. The master bedroom, on the other hand, had two corpses, but the room itself had been twisted with bits of metal—even the iron bars over the windows and copper bedframe were warped. Had a fight broken out? Geist took note of the destruction, especially the shattered vase and bullet holes in the wall. One of the corpses held a gun.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Geist made her way back downstairs. War took its toll on everyone, but nothing stung more than seeing defenseless children wrapped up in the violence. She entered the servants’ quarters and gagged on the strong copper scent that wafted out.
Ten men and women lay in the corner of the room, their necks slashed, their clothes and beds black with dried blood. The whole room screamed massacre. If there had been a struggle, Geist couldn’t detect it, which meant fiends had slipped into the sleeping quarters, cut their throats without any of the other servants waking, and then stacked them in the corner.
Sorcerers were far stronger than the average man, and the trained soldiers who fought in the war were far scarier than anything else. The servants never stood a chance, even if they had been awake.
Geist exited the room and searched the rest of the house, her frustration turning to poison in her system without an outlet. Someone should pay for this. A man of honor would never have participated in such a slaughter.
Her findings were what she had feared—every Watson sorcerer had been drained of blood while every civilian in their employ had been murdered.
Geist exited the house, her concentration wavering. With each disturbing thought, her invisibility slipped. She walked down the main road of the house, confident the murderers had left the manor days prior.
Two members of the Ethereal Squadron awaited her at the gates. Even without her apex sorcery to see through the shroud of darkness, Geist knew them by mannerisms alone. One fidgeted with his belt and backpack while the other stood perfectly still, coiled to strike like only trained killers could.
“Geist?” the fidgety one called out. “Thank goodness you came back.”
“What did I tell you?” the other growled. “Of course she would return.”
“She was gone for over ten minutes. That’s longer than her average whenever she goes to investigate.”
“I’m fine,” Geist said with a single chuckle. “You fuss too much, Battery.”
Battery stepped out into the moonlight, his khaki British uniform a sight for sore eyes. He stood the same height as Geist, shorter than most in the Allied forces, but not by much. His youthful facial features and lack of definition hinted at his age. Despite his lack of stature, he stood straight and offered her a smile.
“I’m sorry I doubted,” he said. “But I couldn’t imagine this war without you. Who would lead our team?”
The second soldier scoffed. “She can handle herself. And if anything had gone wrong, I would’ve stepped in to kill it.”
He stepped out to stand next to Battery, a cold glare set on his face as though it were tattoo—permanent and stark. Even if he had an unwelcoming demeanor, Geist still smiled upon seeming him.
Vergess. A German defector to the United States, and one of her most trusted teammates. He wore the drab olive uniform of the American soldiers, complete with a 48-star American flag. While the United States hadn’t officially joined the war efforts, sorcerers weren’t bound by the same restrictions as the average man. Many volunteered for the Ethereal Squadron and were accepted into the ranks after agreeing to follow the instructions of British and French commanders.
“Wie geht es dir?” Vergess asked, his German smooth and natural.
“I’m fine,” Geist replied and with an exhale. “But the Watsons aren’t as lucky.”
Battery shot Vergess a sidelong glance. “I knew it. You were worried about her.” Then he turned back to Geist. “Well, I came prepared. If the Watsons are dead, we should use the camera to record the evidence. It’ll take me a few minutes to set up, but I understand how to use it.”
“Didn’t you set a camera on fire back at the base?” Vergess asked with a chuckle.
“Th-that’s not accurate! Tinker played a trick on me!” Battery straightened the straps of his backpack. “Besides, I read the instruction manual and trained with the cameramen of the 87th regiment. I’m a professional now.”
Battery’s huge backpack carried a giant box made of mahogany wood and steel hinges. He kept the tripod strapped to the outside. The entire getup appeared cumbersome, and the straps of the backpack dug deep into Battery’s shoulders.
Geist didn’t understand cameras. All the reporters said this would be the first war truly captured in detail, yet they never explained how. Their boxes of lights and pictures confused everyone. It wasn’t magic—Geist could understand magic—yet their photographs took still images of reality and made them permanent.
“There are corpses in all the bedrooms,” Geist whispered. “And the servants are dead in their quarters. If you want photographs, make it quick. All the sorcerers were drained of their blood.”
Both Vergess and Battery tensed, their eyes going wide.
“You think Abomination Soldiers targeted them?” Vergess asked.
“Yes.”
They all knew why.
Before the Great War, sorcerers could only develop magic that was in their bloodline. But after the war started—once the Germans and the Austro-Hungarians began fiddling with technologies never thought of—they developed Grave-Maker Gas. It melted flesh together at a baser level, creating deformed monsters of multiple people or animals. They used the gas to melt blood into their bodies in order to steal the magics from other sorcerers.
And now they were collecting rare samples.
Geist’s mouth tasted of cotton.
“Major Reese needs to know about this,” Battery said. He hustled past Geist and headed toward the Watson Manor House. “I’ll be done soon.”
Vergess shook his head. “I can’t believe they’re acting this fast. Especially after we destroyed their stores of gas during the assault on Paris. Do they really have more?”
“Maybe they’re just collecting blood for once they have it,” Geist muttered. “Either way, we need to stay on guard. If they catch any of us, they’ll drain us dry.”
Even muttering the phrase they’ll drain us dry sent a shiver down her spine. She knew the enemy wouldn’t hesitate, considering her father and ex-fiancé were top military officers. They had both tried to kill her in the past, and she didn’t see why they would stop now that they had a way to steal her specter and apex sorcery.
Geist glanced back at Battery. He came from a long line of sorcerers with rare magic. And not just one magic, but untold numbers. Would he be a target? The thought lingered in her mind for a prolonged moment.
“Stay with him,” Geist commanded, “while he takes his photos. I’ll go to the port and make sure our ship is ready to take us back to Le Havre.”
Vergess replied with a curt nod.
Two
The Ethereal Squadron of Verdun
Geist tossed the photos down on Major Reese’s desk. He stood from his chair and snatched up the documentation, his eyes narrowing as he progressed through the stack.
The poor ventilation of Fort Belleville made everything hot. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, and the copper tang of blood wafted down the halls from t
he medical rooms. Geist didn’t mind the atmosphere. She had come to associate it with safety—all three years of her service had taken place at Fort Belleville, under the command of Major Reese. At a certain level, it was hard to imagine her home being anywhere else.
“You didn’t find anyone alive?” he asked.
Geist shook her head. “No, sir.”
When he frowned, the age lines on his face deepened. His haggard appearance didn’t boost Geist’s confidence in the situation. The war sometimes felt like it would go on forever. Day after day, month after month. The enemy wouldn’t quit, and they had turned to dastardly tactics. Unrestricted submarine warfare sinking passenger ships like the Lusitania, secret military pacts, dangerous magical-technology hybrid weapons, and now their schemes had turned to espionage. Dealing with such villains would add twenty years’ worth of stress to anyone’s appearance.
“No blood,” Major Reese muttered. “They’re trying to steal sorceries.”
Geist nodded.
She had given her reports the first time she found the Grave-Maker Gas—the Grab-Hersteller Gas in German—known as the GH Gas in their reports. The allies had feared the enemy would capture members of the Ethereal Squadron, but Geist had destroyed most of the gas stores. Obviously, it wasn’t a permanent solution, yet she had hoped the gas would never resurface. How did they make it? She didn’t know.
A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2) Page 1
