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

by Shami Stovall

  Hours passed, and night settled over the train.

  A lantern, hanging from a hook mounted to the wall, swayed back and forth. The others didn’t seem to mind the jostling of the boxcar. They continued conversations as though they were nobility on a luxury liner.

  “So, here is my plan,” Blick said as he scooted closer to Varnish. “You teach me some simple Russian phrases. Something women would like.”

  Varnish took a long drag on his cigarette and lifted an eyebrow.

  Blick continued, smiling, “When we rush in to save them from this enemy threat, I will be the dashing Englishman who carries them to safety. I need something to say in that moment—something to steal their heart.”

  After exhaling a line of smoke, Varnish said, “Mothers in Russia tell their daughters, date a man who looks like a chimpanzee. He appreciates it more.”

  Others in the boxcar chuckled, but Blick rubbed at the back of his neck and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t understand?” Heinrich asked as he cleaned his glasses off on his vest. “He’s saying you’re so good looking that ladies will know you’re a womanizing lout.”

  Blick brushed back his dusty blond hair, his smile widening. “Is that a backhanded insult or a secret compliment?”

  With a huff, Heinrich replied, “When in doubt, always assume I’m insulting you.”

  The statement sent chortles throughout the group. Vergess and Varnish couldn’t stifle it long. Both men laughed aloud, much to Blick’s noticeable irritation. He shot them glares as he leaned back against the side of the boxcar.

  “Who said Germans don’t have a sense of humor?” Varnish asked as he shook the ashes of his smoke onto the floor. “I’m starting to like you. Ve should come up with a good codename for you to use.”

  “Says the man who picked the word varnish as his codename,” Heinrich said.

  Blick smirked. “I can think of a few colorful codenames.”

  Without acknowledging the statement, Heinrich continued, “Have any of you considered that I’m too prominent of a researcher to have a codename? The enemy will recognize me straight away. An alias won’t save me.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Blick scoffed. “You think the average soldier knows what their nation’s researchers look like? Get over yourself. Unless your mum is a part of the enemy, you’ll be fine.”

  “I personally know some of our enemies.”

  Dreamer, his nose in his notebook, a pencil in hand, glanced up. “Reports sent to Major Reese use a sorcerer’s codename just in case our messages are intercepted. We don’t want to alert spies that you’re traveling in our group. Additionally—”

  “Stop.” Heinrich shook his head. “I don’t need your lecture.”

  The end of Dreamer’s explanation ushered in a long period of silence. Everyone went about their own business. Varnish smoked. Blick stared at the roof, his eyes and expression indicating he was deep in thought. Vergess remained standing, only a foot or so away from Geist, his gaze down.

  Battery and Victory sat at the front of the boxcar. Battery held up a small mirror while Victory patiently shaved the stubble from his chin. While the train occasionally bumped and rocked, at no point did Victory cut himself. He always paused for a moment whenever something would cause him to slip. Normally he handled the task without Battery’s help, but his right arm remained in a sling.

  His injury gnawed at her.

  If it had been anyone else with such an injury, Geist would’ve commanded them back to base, but Victory’s sorcery was too useful to just send away. Plus, it was the type of sorcery that didn’t need to be on the battlefield. He could stay behind and still be useful.

  The longer Geist stared, the more she wanted him to look over and start a conversation. She had never been one for small chat, but she wanted to know things were okay between them.

  Instead, Battery was the one to glance over and catch her eye. Then he glanced to his older brother and then back to her, half glowering.

  Geist turned her attention to the wall of the boxcar, pretending it was interesting.

  The dynamic of her team had felt different since she revealed her true identity to the group, many months ago. It wasn’t negative, quite the opposite, but certain actions were seen… through a strange lens now that they knew she was a woman from Austria-Hungary.

  Dreamer stood, walked over, and took a seat on the crate next to Geist. He held out his book and pointed to his notes—his neat writing precise and legible, despite being tiny.

  “This is a report of our status and known enemy capabilities,” he whispered. “Once we stop, I’ll send this off to Verdun. Is there anything you specifically want to relay to command?”

  Geist stared at the report. It read:

  Dearest Mother,

  The battles have not gone as expected. Each day we linger in the trenches, another dozen men become sick. Some have a rot of the foot. Some are bitten by rats that hide amongst the shadows and mud. Others cannot stomach the meals.

  Geist stopped reading. She didn’t know the cipher to decode messages that masqueraded as letters to home. She pushed the book away and returned her gaze to the floor.

  “Tell them about the ancient sorcerers of the Russian Empire,” she murmured.

  “Are you feeling well?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been quieter than normal since our visit to House Kott.”

  For a long moment, Geist mulled over the comment. Leaders had the extra burden of handling their problems themselves—she couldn’t allow the others to know she feared the future or that she didn’t trust herself not get dominated by the Eyes of the Kaiser a second time. Her dread would seep into them, like rain soaked up by the roots of plants.

  If she was weak, they were weak.

  “I said I’m fine,” Geist stated.

  Dreamer shut his book. “War is unpredictable. Even brilliant lights can be snuffed out. There’s no shame in worrying.”

  Although they had spoken in hushed tones, Blick sat forward and sighed. “Bloody depressing, this conversation. There’s also no shame in needing a drink. Didn’t General Volkov give you something?”

  “I’m fine,” Geist said.

  “You might not need a drink, but I do.”

  “We’re not going to drink in the middle of an operation.”

  “How long do we have until our destination?”

  The train operator had said the trek would take twenty-four hours. How long had they been traveling? It already felt like days had gone by, but Geist knew it couldn’t have been long. They had yet to sleep.

  “We still have nineteen hours,” Battery chimed in.

  He held up his arm, showing off his fancy wristwatch. He had become the technological one in the group, with his camera, compass, and timepiece, and Geist was thankful. She hated the idea of carrying around so much equipment.

  “Nineteen hours is a long time,” Blick said with a shrug. “We should enjoy things while we can.”

  Dreamer nodded along with his words. “Blick makes a compelling argument. It is written in Ecclesiastes, ‘There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil.’”

  Swayed by the simple arguments, and by the fact they would have time to sleep off any problems, Geist picked up the box General Volkov had given her. She cracked open the top.

  Old No. 7 Tennessee whiskey and Cabanas cigars.

  The good stuff.

  She pushed the cigars aside and picked up the bottle. There was enough for everyone to have a few drinks, but no glasses. Although fine whiskey wasn’t meant to be swigged straight from the container, she threw back a mouthful regardless. To her surprise, a hint of caramel and toffee played across her tongue. The smell of whiskey stung her sinuses and dried out her saliva, leaving a campfire taste. She shook her head, shivering from the mild sensations of numbness.

  No wonder soldiers lap this up, Geist thought.

  The numb
ing continued through her lips, to her teeth, across her face, and even down her neck. If she consumed the whole bottle, she was certain it would eliminate all feeling, including her restless nerves.

  Then she passed it to Blick. He downed two mouthfuls and handed it to Vergess. Once Vergess had his share, he held it out for Heinrich. Much to Geist’s surprise—she figured he would never partake in such a “crude ritual”—Heinrich downed a mouthful before sending it over to Battery.

  “Is it good?” Battery asked as he swirled the amber contents. “I’ve never had American whiskey.”

  Everyone exchanged chuckles and quick glances. Sometimes Geist forgot how young Battery was. A man barely aged eighteen. He hadn’t seen much of the world.

  “Just drink it, ya ninny,” Blick said.

  Battery took a sip and then passed it to Victory. After a mouthful for himself, Victory awkwardly handed it to Blick with his good arm. To no one’s surprise, Blick took another mouthful.

  “Englishmen drink like this?” Varnish asked. He inhaled his cigarette to the end and then stomped it out on the boxcar floor. “Give me the bottle. I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

  “Hey. You stick with floor cleaner and leave the good stuff to the rest of us, got it?”

  The screeching of metal, and the shaking of the boxcar, ended the conversation. Geist jumped to her feet. The lantern swung around and left its hook, but Vergess caught it before oil and fire could shatter across the floor. They were nowhere near a scheduled stop.

  “Varnish,” Geist said. “Speak to the train operator.”

  The Russian headed toward the front door. When he opened it, a rush of frigid air blasted into the car. A second later, he closed the door, but the chill remained.

  Geist turned to Victory. “Why didn’t you warn me about this?”

  He shook his head. “I… didn’t see this.”

  Nothing? He saw nothing about this? That’s not like Victory.

  The train continued to rumble until it came to a complete stop, its engine hissing in protest as it worked to stop the motion it had tirelessly built up. Battery braced himself against the wall until the last of the shaking subsided.

  A few minutes passed before Varnish returned. Again, the brief second the door opened dropped the temperature another few degrees.

  “The train operator says there have been problems with the track at this point,” Varnish said as he shook off the cold. “Sabotage happens a lot out in these parts. They’re sending a crew to investigate the railway.”

  The news bothered her. Austria-Hungary and Germany hadn’t broken through the Eastern Front. Enemy soldiers couldn’t be in the Russian Empire. Was it the enemy special forces unit who had tampered with the tracks in the past? Unlikely, but the possibility existed. If a train operator and his mundane engineers attempted to bother a group of trained sorcerers, it would be a bloodbath.

  Her team stared at her, each tense and silent.

  Geist took a deep breath. “Varnish, go tell the operator to stay in the engine room. We’ll handle the investigation.”

  Varnish shrugged. “As you say.” Then he disappeared through the door a second time, quicker than before.

  “Battery, Vergess,” she said. “You two are with me. We’re going to investigate the tracks. The rest of you protect the train crew.”

  “Wait,” Victory said. He stood and held his injured arm close. “Take Varnish with you. I… don’t know why… I can’t see much about this. All I know is that Varnish will return if he investigates beyond the tracks… but no one else will.”

  The statement chilled the boxcar more than the night air.

  Something was waiting for them.

  Geist reined in her pounding heart and replied with a curt nod. She, Vergess, and Battery waited for Varnish to return. Once he did, she motioned for him to join the team. A small bit of solace came from the fact that Victory saw them all returning. We can handle this threat, she assured herself. We’ve handled far worse.

  Right before Geist exited the boxcar, she stopped and grabbed Battery’s arm.

  He flinched, his nerves plain to see. “W-what? Do you need my empowerment?”

  “No. Empower Blick. If Victory sees anything unusual, I want him to use his telepathy to contact us.”

  “Wait, telepathically? Blick doesn’t know communis sorcery. He chose his sorcery based on how little effort he could exert and still be considered a sorcerer.”

  Blick shot him a glare. “Didn’t you have an operation to help you focus when you were younger? I don’t think you have room to comment.”

  “Battery, empower him,” Geist commanded. “We don’t have time to dilly-dally over trivial details.”

  The two brothers exchanged odd looks. Battery offered Blick his hand, and once Battery had used his sorcery, Geist opened the boxcar door and jumped off the train. She landed in the mud, ice, and snow, a foot away from the tracks. Vergess landed second, followed by Varnish. Battery stepped out of the train next, shivering the entire time, despite being the only member of the squad to have brought a scarf.

  A thick fog blanketed the area.

  A terrible fog.

  And it didn’t help that it was the dead of night.

  As a group of four, they trekked alongside the tracks. Once far enough away from the train, Geist glanced over to Battery.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  She never talked about his operation. The opals embedded on his back helped him focus his complicated magic, but it also left him a little smaller than the average man and scarred more than men shredded by barbed wire and shrapnel. And the one time they did discuss it, it obviously pained the man.

  “I’ve had to live with older brothers my entire life,” Battery said. “It doesn’t bother me. I promise.”

  Vergess offered a half smile. “Want me to beat him up?”

  Everyone shared a brief chuckle.

  “No,” Battery eventually said. “He only gets like that when he’s upset. I think he might not be well.”

  The observation quieted the conversation. Geist kept her attention on the fog, hoping her apex sorcery would allow her to catch any sign of movement. But her thoughts kept returning to the Eyes of the Kaiser. Every tiny movement made her tense.

  “Vergess,” she muttered. “If I’m dominated again… you’ll stop me, right?”

  He didn’t look at her when he nodded. “Of course.”

  “I mean it. If I… well, if I was responsible for killing any of the others…”

  Geist couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Her chest tightened, and it was hard to breathe. She could kill the others—it wouldn’t be hard, not with her sorceries. She’d never be able to wash their blood from her hands.

  Battery rubbed the length of his arms and then turned to Varnish. “Do supply trains get stopped often?” He asked so loud that Geist knew he was trying to steer the conversation away from the wretched topic it had been on.

  Varnish shook his head. “People tamper with the train tracks regularly. All to stall supplies to the front lines.”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  “Lots of people are upset by the var. Ve’ve been losing some engagements.”

  “So this is the work of Russian revolutionaries?”

  “Right. The Bolsheviks.”

  The way Varnish said the last word—it came out with a hint of venom and pure disgust. Geist knew the Bolsheviks had caused social unrest, but she didn’t know they resorted to such dastardly tactics. Harming the supply train didn’t hurt the tsar. It hurt common, everyday soldiers. It was a coward’s method of getting attention.

  On the other hand, she was happy to hear it was the Bolsheviks. At least then it wasn’t the Eyes of the Kaiser.

  “We should quiet down,” Vergess said as he glanced around.

  The fog seemed to get denser, and Geist couldn’t help but remember the way GH Gas always moved toward people, never away. But she knew the fog wasn’t magical—s
he would’ve been able to sense it then—yet it still unnerved her.

  Geist pulled out her pistol and held it close. Blick will inform us if Victory sees anything… We’ll be fine. Then again, the enemy could be lurking in the fog. Their glowing eyes would pierce the damp weather and steal their free will.

  Focus, Geist. Focus.

  They walked on the railway, keeping clear of the sleepers and spikes. No one wanted to get their boot caught on the tracks, though Geist knew she could always ghost out of the situation if it became a problem.

  Walking around warmed her from the inside out. And the harder her heart beat, the more her breath steamed the air.

  Vergess gave her a sideways glance and lifted an eyebrow.

  “I’m fine,” she mouthed.

  Battery placed a hand on his Lancaster pistol.

  “That’s fancy equipment,” Varnish said. “Most Brits don’t carry that model.”

  “It was custom made,” Battery replied.

  “Is that right?”

  “It was my grandfather’s. It’s more like a good luck charm.”

  The evening winds brought the smell of gunpowder and a biting chill that pierced even the thickest of uniforms. Fortunately, it took some of the fog, clearing more of the environment and revealing a field of stumps. Beyond them, perhaps half a mile away, Geist spotted trees. The forest would make for an excellent hiding place.

  No wonder the train operator stopped here. The Bolsheviks likely hid in the trees, and that’s why they’ve been cutting them back.

  “There,” Vergess said as he pointed. “Do you see it?”

  Geist stared. Her nose stung with each inhale, but she maintained her concentration regardless. Her sorcery sharpened her vision, yet it wasn’t enough. She rubbed at her eyes and shook her head.

  “I see nothing,” she said.

  “You need to practice your sorcery more.”

  Varnish readied his rifle. “Vhat did you see?”

  “Something on the tracks,” Vergess replied. “Something metal. Not marked. Most likely civilian made.”

  Geist glanced up. “Is it magi-tech?”