A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2)

by Shami Stovall

  The boy should’ve been killed ages ago, he thought as he gripped his hands into fists. Now he’s caused me problems. All plans he had to deal with Geist had shattered. He would have to think of something new. Something that would prevent the others from getting their hands on her first.

  Hans chuckled. “I knew it. Wilhelm fights alongside a woman in the Ethereal Squadron. He slipped up when he shouted to help her.”

  “Is that right?” Otto asked. “Curious. We should question her. Perhaps they’re training women sorcerers in the Ethereal Squadron. A new division.”

  “I will handle my daughter,” Lieutenant Cavell growled. “The rest of you will focus on finding the squadron. Dominate and spy on whoever you need—just get me their location as fast as possible.”

  “We could have our Russian agent inquire about their whereabouts within the empire,” Hans said.

  “I don’t care how you do it. Just get it done. We’ll assassinate the team and then continue our harvest. Do I make myself clear?”

  Hans nodded. “Of course, lieutenant.”

  “By your word, lieutenant,” Otto said.

  “We’ll find them,” Amalgam added, his stale breath warming the inside of his gas mask. “And then report to you immediately.”

  Dietrich tensed, his magic and aura flickering.

  … sister … I’m sorry …

  “We’ll find her, lieutenant,” Dietrich muttered. “Rest assured.”

  Lieutenant Cavell snapped his fingers. “Deliver the blood first.”

  Eight

  Dire Mission

  Geist woke with the worst headache of her life.

  She rolled to her side, her forehead throbbing. But even through the pain, she jerked upward, her chest tight with panic.

  What have I done?

  “Geist?”

  A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. Geist grabbed the arm of her companion, comforted by friendly presence. But was she in control of her facilities? She closed her eyes and replayed the last few moments of wakefulness in her mind. She had wanted to kill—but that urge no longer dominated her thoughts.

  “Where am I?” she whispered in a raspy breath.

  “Riga. Near the ports.”

  The timbre of the voice—the way he pulled her close—Geist knew Vergess enough to know she could relax. She exhaled and rested against him. After a few shallow breaths, she opened her eyes.

  “Vergess… I, uh, attacked Victory.”

  “Don’t fret,” he whispered. “He’s being tended to as we speak.”

  “By a sorcerer?”

  “No, unfortunately. All sorcerers with any skill in healing have been shipped to the front lines.”

  Geist took a moment to let the news sink in.

  She had gouged a chunk of flesh straight from Victory’s arm. Even remembering it for half a second intensified her headache. She was the leader of their squad—the one in charge of success and failure—yet she had been turned traitor by the mere glance of the enemy and then made to attack her own!

  Shaking away her inner dread, Geist glanced around the room. The tiny inn didn’t offer much. A bed, a stand, and a lantern. Midafternoon sun shone through the window, illuminating each corner.

  She still wore her uniform, as dirty and bloodied as it was at the Kott estate. Only her boots had been removed, likely because no one in her team wanted to be the one who undressed her. Geist glared at her tunic. What if she had internal injuries? But Victory could use his sorcery to see if some injury was being left untreated, she reasoned. Perhaps this is for the best.

  Vergess wrapped his arm around Geist’s waist and pulled her close.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked in German.

  “Better,” she replied as she rested her head on his shoulder. “What happened?”

  “The Eyes of the Kaiser were among the enemy forces. We were forced to retreat.”

  “Do you know them?”

  Vergess tensed, but he didn’t release her. “We were trained together in the Kaiser’s Guard. I would say they’re the closest thing I had to brothers, though they kept to themselves.”

  “They dominate people…”

  “With their gaze, yes.”

  Enemy sorcerers always posed a unique problem. Geist had never met anyone who could control another. She recalled Lady Coppins, a sorcerer with the ability to sway those who found her attractive, but her magic had been subtle. No one knew they were being affected until long afterward. The Eyes of the Kaiser would be difficult threats.

  “Do you know how we can beat them?” Geist asked.

  Vergess took a moment to mull over the question. Then he replied, “Fighting them blind is the best option, but also puts us at a terrible disadvantage.”

  “What about fighting them in the dark?”

  “Their eyes glow. You’d be more likely to stare at them then. It’s a tactic I’ve seen them use in the past.”

  Damn.

  “What about the others?” Geist asked, another spike of panic washing through her veins like ice. “Did they find Blick? What about Battery and Dreamer?”

  “Yes. Blick was wounded, but not as badly as Victory. He should be fine.”

  “What about the little boy I rescued? Have we seen to his safety?”

  Vergess nodded. “He’s already on a boat heading for Paris.”

  Knowing that tiny bit of information eased Geist’s worries more than anything else. As her muscles unwound, she glanced up, content to stare at Vergess’s blue eyes as her thoughts drifted away. He stroked her short hair, his fingers occasionally tangling in the tight curls. He radiated warmth, and although her head still pounded with each beat of her heart, his embrace somehow took the edge off her pain.

  “Vergess,” she whispered.

  “It’s just the two of us,” he said. “Call me Wilhelm.”

  Geist gripped her tunic, her fingers twisting into the fabric. He wanted to use real names? The thought bothered her, though she couldn’t articulate why. Her name—Florence Cavell—had stopped meaning much to her after boot camp. She wasn’t the same little girl afraid of her father as she was years back.

  “You prefer your German name?” she asked.

  Vergess sighed. “If you want, you may call me by my American name. William.” He smiled. “They said Wilhelm was too difficult to pronounce, so it needed to change when I became a citizen.”

  It amused her that both she and Vergess technically had three names. She had her birth name, Florence, her false male name, Charles, and her codename, Geist. It also amused her that she and Vergess had German words as codenames, though his—Vergessenheit, German for oblivion—was rarely said in full.

  She relaxed a bit. “I prefer Vergess.”

  He stroked her hair. “I don’t actually care what my name is. I just want us to have something intimate between us.”

  The tension in her body returned in full force. The word intimate had never sounded so… well, intimate before.

  “The French have interesting phrases for their lovers,” Geist murmured. “Would you be irritated if I called you mio dolce amore?”

  “My sweet love?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Somehow, in English, Geist hated the phrase. At least in French, the language of love, it didn’t sound so blunt.

  Vergess half smiled, like the entire situation amused him. “What shall I call you?”

  “My intended.”

  Geist knew it was a bit presumptuous. My intended was only for couples slated to be wed. Asking Vergess to call her such a nickname, when they hadn’t yet solidified their future, meant that—

  “Very well,” Vergess said. He leaned in close, his lips against the shell of her ear, and whispered, “My intended.”

  Her face grew red and hot. Unable to find words, Geist turned around and embraced Vergess, her grip tight on his uniform. Despite her troubles and mistakes, Vergess made things right. His steadfast presence—the tender way he spoke those last words—shook her into a rea
lization. She wanted him to stay by her forever.

  Vergess leaned down, and Geist sat up to meet her lips with his. She had missed his touch and enjoyed the way he pulled her tight. If she could have, she would have stayed in his embrace for the rest of the day.

  The door swung in, and Heinrich walked into the room.

  In a rush of movement, Geist and Vergess leapt apart from each other, Geist’s face so crimson it screamed the truth of their actions. And in the next second, her headache pulsed back to life, her temples on the verge of rupturing.

  Vergess stood from the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What is this?” Heinrich straightened his glasses, a slight blush to his cheeks, and frowned. “You two should keep your fraternization to yourselves.”

  “You should knock,” Vergess growled.

  “Funny. I wonder which mishap Major Reese would be more disgruntled hearing.” Heinrich held up one hand. “Me not knocking.” Then he held up the other. “Or you two locked in a lover’s embrace while in the middle of an important operation.”

  Vergess grabbed Heinrich’s shirt collar and jerked him close. “Was that a threat?” he whispered in German.

  “Stop,” Geist said as she forced herself to stand. “Heinrich is right. We never should have… well, we should never lose sight of our objectives.” She rubbed her sweaty palms on the pants of her khaki uniform. If Major Reese discovered anything about their relationship… it could mean more than her military career.

  Heinrich knew it, too. Once Vergess released him, he straightened his shirt and gave Vergess a sideways glare. “There are many reasons men and women do not fight on the frontlines together.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Geist stated. “It’s, I mean, we—” She took a deep breath, her throat tightening. With a shaky exhale, she glanced up at the ceiling. “I know there are—”

  “I don’t care,” Heinrich interjected.

  Geist bit back her words and stared.

  He dismissively waved his hand. “As long as it doesn’t happen again, I’ll be happy to move past this. You’re anxious and sweaty enough for ten teenage boys. It’s uncomfortable. And I didn’t come here to discuss the dynamics of your personal relationships and how they relate to your teammates.”

  Still shaken, but delighted Heinrich wanted to move on to another topic, Geist nodded along with his words. “Good. Yes. This was awkward for everyone. Why don’t you just tell me what you needed to say?”

  “Our Russian companion, Varnish, spoke with the Kott child. Apparently, an Austro-Hungarian soldier killed his siblings.”

  Geist waited for Heinrich to continue, but he held his breath and crossed his arms, like he had delivered shocking information.

  “I saw the Austro-Hungarian,” Geist said with a forced chuckle. “And?”

  “What do you mean, and?” Heinrich snapped. “I was told the Eyes of the Kaiser were amongst our enemies. Those two killers would never take orders from Austro-Hungarians, no matter how many alliances their countries made. Hans and Otto are loyal to the Kaiser alone.”

  “What if the Kaiser ordered them to work in a team with Austro-Hungarians?” Geist asked.

  Heinrich turned on his heel and huffed. “Clearly you don’t know the Kaiser! Something suspicious is going on. This enemy task force is here for more than blood, I guarantee it.”

  His voice shook for a moment at the end, and Geist lifted an eyebrow.

  He’s scared.

  “I don’t think they know you’re here,” Geist said as she took a step closer to him. “And you’ll be protected so long as you follow orders and stay in our safe houses.”

  “Even if they don’t know I’m here now, they will.” Heinrich turned back around, stiffer than he usually was. He pushed his thin-framed glasses back up his nose. “I’ve no doubt the Eyes of the Kaiser will drag me back to Germany in pieces. I’m sure there’s a reward on my head for being the one and only magi-tech general to turn traitor.”

  “Vergess and I were just discussing how we’ll deal with those two. You can rest easy.”

  “I’m not convinced our team can handle the two of them,” Heinrich stated in a cold tone. “Especially not when they’re with a squad of allies—all of whom I assume are just as deadly.”

  Vergess stepped between them. “You forget I was a member of the Kaiser’s Guard. Hans and Otto can be dealt with. I’ve seen it happen.”

  “Oh, I remember you, Wilhelm,” Heinrich said. “I oversaw the opal research for the Kaiser’s sorcerers. I took everything I know into consideration before I made my statements.”

  His pessimistic attitude didn’t help Geist’s headache. She rubbed at her forehead and stared at the wood flooring. What was the best course of action? Sending Heinrich home? Focusing her efforts on finding the enemy squad? Rushing to each Russian house and warning them of the dangers?

  I could split up my team and do multiple things at once…

  Geist shook her head.

  But if any one of them were caught by the enemy forces, they would die for sure or potentially get captured and forced to speak about our plans.

  The pressure to make a decision ate at her. There wasn’t much time. Every second they squabbled was another second the enemy gained over them.

  And what if Heinrich was right? What if their enemies were plotting something more than just the blood? Surely the Eyes of Kaiser wouldn’t be sent on a simple fetch quest. What were they after?

  Amalgam…

  Geist took a seat on the edge of her bed.

  He said he came looking for me, but he was surprised when I showed up. What else is he doing here?

  Heinrich walked back to the door. “I suggest that we don’t stay in any one safe house too long.”

  “We’ll head to capital of the Russian Empire,” Geist muttered.

  “Petrograd?” Vergess asked.

  “Yes. I’ve made up my mind. We’ll head to the tsar first and warn the royal family. Everyone should know the Eyes of the Kaiser are within the empire’s borders.”

  “You’ve never been to Russia?” Varnish asked as he drove the truck along the military roads.

  Geist shook her head. “Never.”

  She sat close to him, the stick shift against her leg. Heinrich sat next to her, and the rest stayed in the back. Blick and Battery crowded around Victory, helping him move his arm whenever he needed anything. Dreamer and Vergess spoke in quiet whispers near the back. The whole vehicle rocked with each pothole and ditch Varnish drove through.

  “You vill like Saint Petersburg,” Varnish said with a smile, a cigarette held with his lips.

  “I thought the capital was called Petrograd?”

  “Oh, it vas. But after the var broke out, the tsar thought it sounded too German, so he changed it.”

  “That’s strange. Does the tsar always make such bizarre decisions?”

  Varnish burst into a short round of laughter until his smoke fell onto his lap. He flailed and slapped at his legs in an attempt to snuff it out against his uniform pants. Once the crisis had been averted, he pulled out another cigarette and lit it up.

  “Vant one, princess?” Varnish asked.

  Geist locked up, her mind immediately grounding to a halt.

  Does Varnish know I’m a woman?

  Heinrich rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “He’s talking about me,” Heinrich said in German. “Don’t worry. This Russian lout doesn’t know your secret.”

  “Why princess?” Geist mouthed back in German, utterly confused.

  “He thinks I’m—to quote him—stuck up and elitist.”

  “Is that your language for yes?” Varnish asked as he passed over a smoke. “It sounds like you’re choking.” Then he glanced at Geist. “Vhat about you, short one? I get plenty from the messengers.”

  Geist shook her head. She had smokes, but mostly to trade with other soldiers. Whenever she needed a stiff drink, she knew she could make a deal.

  Varnish lit his u
p and tucked it back between his lips. With one hand on the steering wheel—a decision that keep Geist tense, especially since they were near the Eastern Front—Varnish motioned to a fork in the road.

  “Ve’ll be taking the southern route,” he said.

  “Petrograd is north,” Geist said. “Shouldn’t we head east and then along the main routes?”

  “Those roads are for supply trains. If ve head south and then east, ve’ll avoid contingents of soldiers. Plus, if one of the majors or staff-captains asks me for assistance, I have to stop my mission and help. It applies to all sorcerers.”

  “I see,” Geist muttered. “Can you make this truck go faster?”

  “Ve’re already traveling forty-eight kilometers an hour. Any faster and ve could strain the engine.”

  “It’s imperative we reach the capital as soon as possible.”

  Geist stared out along the road, her eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary. There was a chance the enemy would ignore the attack and continue with their mission, but she suspected at least some of them would come for her and her team. Although Major Reese didn’t want the tsar involved with Operation Orpheus, Geist didn’t have a choice. The tsar could send out warnings faster and likely had a safe haven for Geist’s team.

  She glanced back into the truck. Victory forced a smile and chatted with his brothers. He hadn’t spoken to her outside of answering a few questions—not about the attack or his recovery. Had she broken his trust? The attack still swirled through her thoughts.

  “Are those cavalrymen?” Heinrich asked in English. He pointed up the road.

  Varnish stroked his mustache for a moment as he squinted into the distance. “Those are horses.”

  “Blick,” Geist called out. “Can you give us details?”

  While he shined his golden eyes on the road, Geist turned her attention to Dreamer.

  “Make us Russian soldiers,” she ordered.

  Dreamer replied with a curt nod. One by one, he touched the shoulder of everyone’s uniform. His illusions coated the fabric, transforming the colors into the greenish brown of the Russian Empire. If someone was looking for them—searching for a group of Englishmen traveling with a Russian—this would keep their identities hidden, at least in passing. Without the ability to speak Russian, however, the disguise would never work beyond any level of scrutiny.