Not only that, but mastering a second sorcery required a lot of time and concentration. Hell, mastering one sorcery usually took a fair amount of effort—some never managed it. The process was like mastering an instrument. People could become a professional violinist, but most people couldn’t stack professional trumpeter on top of it. Some could. But they were the exception.
Although Geist had started learning apex sorcery, she knew it would take a considerable amount of time and effort to fully take advantage of it. Still, having more than one sorcery had its usefulness, especially in a time of war. And Blick was a member of the Hamilton House—they had all sorts of useful sorceries.
“Then what’re you learning?” she whispered. “How can it help us now?”
“I’ve been learning communis sorcery. It allows me to speak to others telepathically.”
Every soldier knew of the importance of communication. Without the proper orders, battles could turn into a real problem, real fast. Speaking to someone over long distances, free of spy intervention, would prove beyond useful.
“How far?” she asked.
Blick glanced down at his feet, a sheepish smile at the corner of his lips. “A few feet.”
Silence descended upon them.
Geist sighed. “Look, I appreciate you letting me know, but now isn’t the time. If you can’t use the ability properly, then we’ll have to—”
“That’s the thing. With Battery, I feel like I can reach farther. Like… I can reach out and talk to someone.” Blick turned to face her, his gold eyes almost transfixing. “I can sense the others like a switchboard operator staring at the empty connectors, ready to make a connection. There are people in the house. At least eleven.”
“Enemies?”
“I don’t know. But if I speak to them, they’ll know we’re here.”
“Don’t. I’ll search inside first.”
A loud crash of porcelain sounded inside the mansion, followed closely by the scraps and slams of a struggle. Geist and Blick tensed, each listening to the conflict with rapt attention. It lasted thirty seconds. No screams or cries for help. Then nothing.
Blick gave Geist a questioning glance.
Their mission was to recover the Russian families and prevent their blood from falling into the hands of the enemy. However, they still didn’t know what they were up against. Geist gritted her teeth, hesitating between getting the rest of her team and gathering valuable information. Someone had been attacked.
“Do you want me to call the others?” Blick whispered.
Geist shook her head. “Stay here.”
She ghosted through the wall, an odd tingle sweeping through her body when she entered and exited solid matter. After a moment to shake off the sensation, she found herself in the middle of a kitchen. The hexagon tiling, alternating between black and white, shone with the luster of a mirror. Every inch of walls were covered in windowed cabinets, all of which were stuffed to the brim with spices, dried food, and containers of water. Nothing looked out of place.
“Geist.”
The voice, not spoken, but clear in her ears, startled Geist. In her brief moment of confusion, her sorcery flickered. Once she regained her invisibility, she turned to face the wall. Had Blick spoken to her? Was it possible for her to speak back?
“Lights came on in a room above you.”
Again, Geist didn’t know if there was a way to respond. She had no blood relation to any sorcerer with communis sorcery, so she could never learn it, and no one in the Ethereal Squadron had ever used it with her.
With her new knowledge, Geist shifted through another wall and found herself in an eighty-foot long hallway. The potted plants and paintings on the wall were undisturbed, but several vases had been shattered across the rugs. Blood speckled the blue and white porcelain, still wet and glinting in the light of the hallway’s electric chandeliers.
Geist stepped around the shards of vases and made her way for the staircase. A corpse waited on the first step, its body curled in on itself, as though half rotted from decades of decay.
It wasn’t old, though. Geist had seen ruina sorcery at work in the past. It aged and rotted everything, including flesh.
By the looks of the clothes, the corpse had once been a nobleman, most likely someone who lived in the house, but perhaps a visitor. Geist knelt and examined the body. Slashes across the neck. Bashed in eye sockets. The man had been fully incapacitated.
Geist stepped around the body and made her way upstairs, each step quieter than the last until she was on the second story landing. She turned and made her way down the hall, her attention drawn by the bright light shining from under one of the doors. The beating of her heart rang so loud in her ears she suspected someone standing a few feet next to her could hear it. There still hadn’t been any sight of her enemies.
Were they invisible, too?
The thought almost got her laughing. Geist didn’t have a way to find others with specter sorcery. They might as well be blind submarines, waiting to strike.
Once she reached the door, she stopped.
“Wir haben drei vermisst,” a man said, his German distinct, even when muttered.
We missed three.
“Härter aussehen,” another man replied.
Look harder.
Geist had her Austrian father to thank for her knowledge of German. Her father had specifically kept them with German language tutors, even when they lived in the United States.
Floorboards creaked as someone walked toward the door. Geist readied her Colt M1911. Whoever it was, they weren’t an ally. And once she disposed of the two men in the room, she could signal the others.
“Wait,” a third man said in German, his speech muffled not just by the walls, but by something on his face. A mask. A gas mask.
The man heading for the door stopped. “Is there not enough blood?”
“That’s not the problem.”
The voice behind the gas mask sounded familiar. Geist took a step back, her mouth dry. Although she couldn’t place the tone, her stomach twisted into knots, as though her body already knew the answer—it just wouldn’t share it with her.
“We have a visitor,” the gas mask man said. “In the hallway, just outside the door.”
Six
The Eyes of the Kaiser
Geist jumped through the wall of the next room over. A second later, the three enemy soldiers opened their door. It took them a few moments before they entered the hallway, precision in their movements befitting elite soldiers. Geist moved away from the wall at a slow pace, holding her handgun close. She had entered a study with no exits other than a lone window.
“There’s nothing here,” one of the men muttered from the hall.
“No,” the man with the gas mask said. “He’s moved. You two get downstairs. I can sense another outside the kitchen door.” He snapped his fingers. “Dispose of that one.”
The other two took off down the stairs just as Geist registered the command. They were heading for Blick. She didn’t have much time, and she still needed to contact the rest of her team.
Then the door to her room opened, and Geist caught her breath. The voice, his appearance, the way he walked—everything came together. She knew exactly who he was.
Amalgam.
He was a German soldier twisted by the terrible GH Gas, his body melted together and fused with the blood of Geist’s first sorcerer team. It had been her fault he fell into the gas-filled trench in the first place. And after the “accident,” she had seen Amalgam without his gas mask only once—a sight straight from her nightmares. No eyes. A waxy sheen to his deformed skin. How he could still talk with gnarled lips was still a mystery.
“Geist,” Amalgam said. “I know it’s you. No one else… has an aura like yours.”
Somehow his new monstrous form had changed him. Amalgam saw things, unlike a normal man with eyes, especially when it came to magic. He turned his gas mask in her direction, the glass of the goggles reflecting the
room like a mirror.
She took a hesitant step back. “Amalgam. Hunting civilians? Children? You really have become a monster.”
He chuckled, every sound made sinister by the filter of his mask. “None of that matters.”
“How can you say that?”
“I only joined this team in the hopes I would find you.”
Amalgam lifted his hand—a hand repaired through braces and wire, all held together with a gauntlet made of leather, hooks, and black opals. A sickly green flame sprouted from his fingertips and washed across the room, burning paperwork and books in an instant.
As the fire rushed toward her, Geist allowed herself to ghost through the floor. She fell, unaccustomed to the sudden feeling, and lost her concentration a split second before colliding with a table. Her specter sorcery failed her, and she smashed through the furniture and rolled to her side.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Seeing Amalgam stirred a deep-seated dread. He had tried to capture her before—and almost succeeded in turning her into a twisted monster, just like himself. Was that what he still wanted? Had he come searching just to drag her back to the horror-show they called a research lab? She wouldn’t allow it.
With a long groan, Geist forced herself to stand. The throbbing in her side momentarily dominated her thoughts, making it hard to concentrate.
There was running in the house. Shouting in German. It took her a couple minutes to even register what room she was in.
A piano room. Two corpses of children littered the instrument.
“They’re coming,” Blick said, his voice directed straight to her mind. “Geist, they know we’re here!”
Geist reached for her handgun, only to realize to she lost it when she fell.
I don’t have time!
She turned to the window.
The others need to know.
Without giving her actions more than a half second of thought, she grabbed a metal stand for sheet music and threw it at the window. The stand shattered the glass and tumbled into the yard with amazing speed. Geist half smiled to herself, unaware she had tapped into her apex sorcery to help with her strength.
She pulled a spark grenade and tossed it into the yard. The grenade wasn’t designed to do damage, but to be seen from long distances. The intense flare of light, followed by a sparkling effect after the explosion, was thanks to Tinker’s showmanship. He always wanted his gadgets flashy.
A scream from upstairs echoed throughout the mansion.
Geist locked up, painfully aware there were still three Kott sorcerers the enemies hadn’t found. Would Blick need her help? Or would the others make it in time? Her heart beat up into her throat as she turned and headed inside. Once again clothed in invisibility, she ran from the piano room, into the hall, and headed for the stairs.
To her horror, Amalgam jumped down the last couple steps and landed hard. He turned in her direction, a greenish flare of fire sprouting around him, catching the rugs and tapestries with stray embers.
He reached into a pocket and tossed shirt buttons around on the floor.
“Hiding from me?” he called out. “Why bother? I’ll always know where you are.”
If hiding wasn’t an option…
Geist ran straight for him. When she reached out with her ghosted hand, she intended to dive into his body, return to her physical form, and then rip flesh right out of his gut.
Unfortunately, her hand slammed against his uniform as a solid object—his entire outfit was some sort of tight suit made of leather bindings and crushed opals. A magi-tech suit of armor. It canceled her magic, preventing her from ghosting through.
When Amalgam swung with his fist, Geist dodged backward, aware it would’ve connected with her, even if a normal punch couldn’t. Then he held his hand up and unleashed a torrent of puke-green flame.
Geist dove through the wall and stumbled into a library. Although she could pass through most sorcery effects, she wasn’t willing to test her theory with Amalgam’s strange fire. Something told her it would be a great mistake and probably her last.
A smaller spiral staircase sat in the corner of the room. She ran straight for it, painfully aware of the door being slammed open as she climbed the steps, taking two at a time.
More screaming. Something in Russian. Geist couldn’t understand the words, but some things were universal. She sprinted down the hall and then leapt through a locked door.
Geist found herself in the middle of a tragedy. An Austro-Hungarian soldier, marked by his country’s flag on his shoulder, stood over two small children, no older than five, their blood draining from slashes on their necks, spilling into buckets like they were animals in the slaughter. A single Russian boy, around the same age, cowered in the corner of the room, his leg mangled, his eyes wide, his breathing shaky.
The enemy soldier wore the same damn magi-tech armor.
Geist pulled out her trench knife and charged. The man must have heard her, because he glanced up just as she approached. With one powerful swing, she caught him across the face, her blade breaking bone. The man collapsed to the floor with her weapon embedded in his skull.
The heavy footfalls of Amalgam kept her blood pressure high.
Geist dropped her invisibility, turned to the boy, and hoped her concerned expression crossed their language barrier. He stared at her, his legs trembling so hard he couldn’t stand.
“We need to go,” she whispered.
Using her apex sorcery, Geist scooped the boy into her arms and held him close. Although her specter magic allowed her to become incorporeal, she still couldn’t use it on others—at least, not without Battery’s help.
The door slammed open.
Geist sprinted for the window. She leapt at the glass, shattered through, and sailed through the air until she collided with the ground. Attempting to protect the young boy, she rolled across the grass, her left arm and hand wrapped around his head. The impact, small cuts, and tumbling motion rattled her mind. Again, she lost focus and her sorcery left her.
I need to regroup with the others…
Shirt buttons flew out the window and landed on the lawn.
Geist stood, the world spinning all around her. Amalgam appeared where one of the buttons had landed. He just appeared—teleporting to the button’s location—and then headed straight for her.
Smoke wafted out of the broken windows, and flames flickered within. Soon the whole estate would be ablaze.
She ran to get around the mansion, but before she could round the corner, Amalgam popped into existence in front of her, his hands coated in a bright green flame, the embers licking at his magic-immune clothing.
“Nowhere to run,” he whispered. “You might as well surrender.”
Just when he lifted his hand, Victory stepped around the corner and fired his rifle, the crack echoing over the yard. Amalgam stumbled forward and collapsed to one knee, but Geist knew that wouldn’t kill him. Hell, it wouldn’t even subdue him. She had seen him take much worse.
As though flood gates had been opened, a torrent of gunshots rang out across the estate. A small war had erupted, but the chaos focused Geist’s thoughts. In combat, she knew exactly what she needed to do—a skill developed over years of trench warfare and painful battles.
“Victory!” she said as she ran forward. “Where are the others?”
He pulled back the bolt on his rifle. “I knew you might need a hand, so I left them near the stables to come get you.”
“You and your damn amazing future vision,” she said with a chuckle.
“We need to hurry. Something is about to happen.”
They ran together along the side of the mansion, Geist never releasing the Russian boy from her grasp. As they passed a garden door, it opened, revealing two men dressed in bright red tunics with gold switch-back lace—a common Russian nobleman outfit.
“Help us!” one man said, his English clear enough.
The boy in Geist’s arms said something in Russian. She stopped, her h
eart racing.
There were three unaccounted for. Weren’t those the children she had seen earlier? Who were these two?
Victory lifted his SMLE rifle. “Look out!”
Both Russian men pulled out pistols, but Victory shot one square in the chest before either could open fire. The second Russian aimed for Geist and pulled the trigger. She ghosted on instinct, dropping the boy to the ground and allowing the bullet to pass through her forehead without harm.
Victory bolt-loaded another round and fired again. The second Russian collapsed onto the stone walkway, his blood pooling out into the dirt and bushes.
Why did they attack us? Geist wondered as she scooped up the crying Russian boy. The Russian Empire is our ally! We’re here to save them. We’re even wearing our nation’s uniforms.
Victory closed his eyes and stumbled back a foot. “It’s happening.” Sweat dappled his skin and hands shook.
“What’s wrong?”
“They’re here. The eyes.”
Another man exited the mansion, clothed in a grey and black version of the German uniform—the kind with a second coat over the tunic, reserved for decorated officials or special operatives. The man tilted up his cap and revealed purple glowing eyes, similar to Blick’s. Geist and the man locked gazes, and he smirked. The chill that followed caused her shiver.
“Kill your allies,” he commanded in English.
In that instant, something clicked. Geist dropped the Russian child a second time, her vision burning with the details of operative’s eyes, even as she turned to face Victory, like the sinister gaze would forever be an afterimage on her sight. Although she wanted to stop, her body moved on its own, her thoughts a dull white noise. She took a step closer to Victory.
Kill your allies.
Victory lifted his rifle and shot at the enemy operative. The bullet cut through the man’s uniform, but not his flesh.
Geist rushed forward and ghosted a hand into Victory’s arm. She tore flesh away, exposing muscle and ripping his weapon from his grip.
“Geist!” he shouted as he fell back on the ground, his arm held tight against his body. “What’re you—”
A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2) Page 5
