“I see.”
Once the train had slowed enough, Geist held Defiant close.
“We’re going to jump.”
He sighed and then twisted his fingers into the fabric of her coat. “Do it.”
She leapt off, trying to keep balance—and not to hurt Defiant—but it didn’t work quite like she had in mind. Both Geist and Defiant tumbled through the snow until they slid to the bottom of the tiny hill, each soaked in freezing water. The impact and roll hadn’t hurt, but the shock of losing her balance had caused a slight amount of panic.
She rested in a ditch of snow, staring up into the dark sky. At least it had worked.
“Beautiful,” Defiant muttered from inside his snowy rut.
Geist couldn’t help but laugh as she got to her feet. After brushing off the snow, she jogged to Defiant’s side. “Admit it. The last twenty-four hours have been the most excitement you’ve had in your entire life.”
“Excitement doesn’t equate to good.”
She held out her hand and helped Defiant stagger to his one good leg. He shivered something fierce, and Geist was tempted to offer him her coat, but she knew it wouldn’t matter, not when they were both soaked. Soon the cold would take its toll on her as well, even if she had apex sorcery.
The glint of lights caught her attention. Vehicles crept along snow-covered roads. The cars turned in Geist’s direction, careful not to drive through snowbanks.
A part of her wanted to run, but she knew Defiant would never make it. Without Battery, she couldn’t make both of them invisible.
“Don’t look threatening,” Geist said. “And let me do the talking.”
“I don’t even have a weapon.”
“Good. Keep your hands visible.”
The military cars pulled up—each of the passengers had glowing golden eyes, just like Blick. They hefted rifles and barked orders in Russian. Geist lifted her hands and took a single step forward.
“I’m American,” she said. “American.”
The soldiers exchanged confused glances.
“I can’t see a thing,” Defiant murmured.
Not only was he missing his glasses, but the evening sky made it impossible for most people to see, even with perfect vision. The sorcerer soldiers, with enhanced vision, no doubt had seen Geist and Defiant on the train long before they jumped off.
I should have known the town with the tsar would’ve had plenty of sorcerer security.
One Russian stepped forward.
“You come vith us,” he said in broken English. “Under arrest.”
Fifteen
Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of the Russia Empire
Geist didn’t resist.
The Russian Empire was an ally against Austria-Hungary and Germany, after all. Fighting with Russian sorcerers would only hurt their chance of moving throughout Russia freely.
The Russian soldiers must have felt the same way. They grabbed Geist and Defiant, but they didn’t use overt force or shout any orders. They gestured and motioned, confused looks on their face as though they hadn’t been expecting an American.
It made sense. The United States hadn’t joined the war, even if American sorcerers had.
Geist and Defiant were loaded into the car and driven to the town of Tsarskoye Selo. A short ride. The cold air, mixed with the ever-increasing pressure in Geist’s head, made the trek a blurry one. She closed her eyes, counted her heartbeats, and tried to remain focused. As it stood, she didn’t know if she’d be able to ghost away. Her damn headache raged so terribly that it would require all her willpower to maintain any of her magic.
The Russian soldiers stopped at a military building within the palace grounds. Geist allowed them to take her to a cell underground. The one who spoke broken English attempted to tell her something, but it was clear he didn’t know the words.
“Wait,” he repeated several times. “You American.”
She nodded to the words, hoping he would understand, but since she spoke no Russian, it was all she could offer.
Defiant was taken to a different cell. It was clear he wanted to stay with her—he half resisted the Russian when they started dragging him away—but Geist shook her head and urged him to cooperate.
“Now isn’t the time to be defiant,” she muttered with a smirk.
He rolled his eyes and complied with the gentle gestures of the Russian soldier.
Left alone in a tiny five-by-five room with no windows, Geist took a seat on the sole bench and stared up at the ceiling. Someone who knew English, German, or French would eventually arrive, and then she would be able to explain the situation. And, if she was lucky, they would take her straight to the tsar.
The frustration of being so close to an important goal, yet somehow so far away, ate at her ability to sleep.
Although Geist couldn’t see the sky, her internal clock told her at least five hours had gone by. Considering how much ground her enemy could cross with just a few hours head start, the timing bothered her. What if something happened while she was locked up?
She had a contingency plan. If, in the next three hours, no one came to speak with her, she would attempt to ghost out of the building. She wouldn’t be able to go far, not with the headaches. Perhaps she might even lose focus halfway through, but she had to try.
I can’t stay here forever.
Just as Geist was about to stand and attempt a few uses of her sorcery, the door opened. She squared her shoulders and stood straight, surprised to see a member of Russia’s Imperial Guard. He stood in the doorway, a white coat on his shoulders, his bluish-black trousers and tunic crisp with pressed folds. He even wore a hat with feathered frills.
And, like all Russians, it seemed, he maintained a thick mustache.
“I am Sorcerer Captain Uthof of the Palace Grenadiers Company,” he said, his English stiff.
Geist saluted the captain and then took a step forward. “Sir, I’m with the Ethereal Squadron. I go by the name Geist, and I’m a commander of a small squad.”
“I see,” Captain Uthof said. “Well, then I have good news. Sorcerer General Volkov sent word you would be arriving. And I believe your squadron is already at the palace. They arrived a few short hours ago.”
The news took a great weight off Geist’s shoulders. She figured the others would arrive in Tsarskoye Selo of their own accord—it was their official destination—but she had worried they would opt to stay in Petrograd instead.
Captain Uthof stepped aside and ushered Geist into the hall. “I will be escorting you to Alexander Palace.”
“What of my companion?” Geist asked. “I was brought here with another man. He’s a researcher with the Ethereal Squadron. An important individual meant to help the Russian Empire with their magi-tech research.”
“He was already taken to the palace to receive medical attention.”
“I see. Thank you.”
As Geist walked by Captain Uthof, she couldn’t help but note the difference in their height. The captain must’ve stood a good foot taller than her, and even he seemed to raise an eyebrow when she passed.
“Most American sorcerers I’ve met were… larger,” he said. “They always boasted about their fine beef upbringing.”
Geist rubbed at the back of her neck. “I’m more of a spy. It’s advantageous to go unnoticed.”
“Hm.”
Together they walked into the hall, Captain Uthof moving with a march in his step. Geist kept her normal gait, but his formal movements did tempt her to follow suit. It felt unusual to walk differently when next to other military personnel, but her fatigue was already dragging her down. She didn’t know how much longer she could function without rest.
When they exited the building, the large expanse of the Alexander Estate lay before them. Perfect stone walkways, trees planted around the perimeter—and the building itself was a massive U with white pillars, two stories, and a balcony rooftop. Captain Uthof led her straight through the gates. The soldiers standing guard
flashed their golden eyes for a moment before returning to their posts.
“Captain,” Geist said. “I need to warn you about enemy sorcerers in the area.”
The captain made a hmm noise, but otherwise said nothing. He kept his gaze forward as he marched along.
“These Austrian-Hungarian and German sorcerers are masters of infiltration. There was a fleshcrafter among them. And the Eyes of the Kaiser. These aren’t threats to be taken lightly.”
“You needn’t worry,” Captain Uthof said. “They will be dealt with in due time.”
“But—”
“I wouldn’t expect an American to understand. The Royal House Romanov has ways of dealing with intruders.” He smiled as he stroked his mustache. “Why do you think Russia has never successfully been invaded? Our sorcery is far greater than the other European powers.”
Although Geist didn’t know what the Royal House Romanov had in the ways of sorcery, she didn’t care in that moment. “One of your sorcerers was already a victim. An agent by the codename of Varnish. He was killed and his body used as a disguise for the enemy.”
“We will inform Tsar Nicholas.”
It was the first sentence that really struck a chord with Geist. She held her breath, and her energy returned in full force. She desperately needed to speak with the tsar. He had to be informed. He had to know what the Abomination Soldiers were plotting.
Soldiers at the entrance of Alexander Palace saluted as Geist and Captain Uthof approached. They threw open the double doors and allowed the captain entry without question. Geist gave them quick glances. Their Imperial Guard uniforms were blue, white, and accented with yellow—striking colors that could be seen from a great distance. How many were on the palace grounds? Were they all sorcerers? Geist didn’t know, but she hoped there were plenty nearby.
“Geist!”
She returned her attention to the palace and stopped dead in her tracks. The massive entrance hall, large enough to be a ballroom, had staircases on either side of the room. Pillars stood in the middle, and the golden trim of the wallpaper glittered under the electric lights. It was almost too much to take in at once. Who had called her name?
Then she spotted them. Blick, Victory, Battery, and Vergess stood around one of the pillars, obviously waiting for someone or something. Battery waved—the one who had shouted her name—but it was Vergess who approached her first. He walked over with a few quick steps.
“What happened?” he asked as he flashed Captain Uthof a sideways glower.
“I’m sure you have much to discuss,” the captain said. “I’ll speak with the sorcerers of the Royal House and return in a moment.” He didn’t wait for acknowledgement. He continued down the gigantic entrance hall, his dress boots clicking on the polished tile floor.
“Are you okay?” Vergess asked. “Victory said he can’t see anything with his future sight. Were you harmed?”
“I—”
Vergess gripped her shoulder, his gaze intense, as if absorbing every tiny detail about her. It took Geist by surprise. Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to even remember what she had been talking about.
“Stop sending me away,” he whispered, the intensity of voice a little more than Geist had been prepared for. “It almost killed me to hear Battery say you had run off by yourself to chase the Eyes of the Kaiser.”
“It… couldn’t be helped…” she muttered.
His concerns weren’t those of a fellow soldier, but those of a loved one. Geist knew it, and she feared it would interfere with Vergess’s sense of duty, but she didn’t know how to correct the problem.
“I’m okay,” she said. “You can stop worrying.”
Vergess’s grip tightened. “You’re my intended. I’ll never stop worrying.”
My intended. He had said it with such passion and sincerity. Geist lost her words and just stared up at him. What could she say? How she felt in that moment couldn’t be described in words.
Battery jogged to their side, and Geist turned away, well aware of her flushed cheeks and fast heart rate. At least Vergess is the only one who will detect such things, she reasoned.
“Geist,” Battery said with a quick sigh. “I figured you would come here, but… we also considered the possibility that you had been dominated.” Then Battery turned to Vergess. “This isn’t the fleshcrafter?”
“No,” he said.
Although Geist knew he was correct, the statement took her by surprise. “How do you know?” she asked. “You didn’t catch Varnish.”
“I wasn’t as … intimate… with Varnish,” Vergess said as his face grew red.
Perfect, she thought. I guess that means Vergess needs to get “intimate” with everyone on the team. That way we can prevent this in the future. The thought almost caused her to laugh aloud.
Battery stared at her for a long moment. He narrowed his eyes into a glower. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re bloody thinking.”
“I don’t think it’ll go over well,” Geist said. “What we need are tests. I know my code word didn’t work before, but we need to stay on our toes. Anything and everything to keep the enemy from using another member of the Ethereal Squadron.”
“I agree,” Battery said. “Absolutely. We should join the others, though.”
Vergess, Geist, and Battery walked over to the group. Geist glanced between them. Victory was still injured, and Blick leaned against the pillar with a vacant expression, lost in thought.
“Where is Dreamer?” she asked.
Battery pointed to the corner of the great entrance, one of the few places shrouded in a bit of darkness. Dreamer stood with his back against the wall, his head down—his illusions completely gone. He wore a British uniform, but he carried a large assortment of weapons tied to his body. A scimitar—the curved blade from Saudi Arabia—was strapped to the side of his leg. Several janbiyas—short, curved daggers—had been tucked between his belt and his body.
“What happened?” Geist asked.
“His head hurts too much when he tries to use his sorcery,” Battery said. “He had to let the illusions drop.”
Dreamer kept his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his gaze glued to his feet. His darker complexion wasn’t common in the snowy north of the Russian Empire, and twice the Imperial Guards at the doors snuck glances in his direction.
“Everyone acted all surprised when it happened,” Blick interjected.
Geist was surprised he had even paid attention to the conversation.
Blick continued, “But that’s how he looks to me every time I use my all-seeing sorcery. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Victory said. “Dreamer has a mastery of his sorcery and yet this magical blight has prevented him from focusing enough to use it. It’s deeply concerning.”
“Er, well, that’s not—”
Geist turned to Dreamer. “You’re not ashamed of your appearance, are you?”
He always took the look of a British soldier—to avoid detection, she had always suspected, since he was a spy for the Ethereal Squadron—but there was no reason in her mind he would be upset with his true appearance.
“God made me as I am,” Dreamer stated. “In his image. I’m never ashamed of his gifts.” He pushed away from the wall and walked over to the group. “I am, however, disappointed that I can’t maintain my sorcery. Without it, what am I? It’s the only sorcery I’ve learned—and I’m the master of it. I feel like a world class athlete stripped of all physical prowess and bound to a wheelchair.”
Geist half-smiled. It makes sense now. Dreamer had pride in magic, and he wasn’t keen on having it stripped away.
A large double door swung open, and silence descended over the entrance hall. All the imperial guards snapped to attention, their gazes hard set.
In walked Captain Uthof and four women. One woman—no older than sixteen—stood out among the rest. She wore a necklace of pearls, a fine white lace dress, and held her head high. Her str
awberry blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and although she wore a fine layer of makeup, it couldn’t hide the dark bags under her blue eyes.
“Introducing Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov of the Russia Empire,” Captain Uthof proclaimed.
Victory bowed deep. Geist, unsure of the etiquette of the situation, followed suit. The others eventually caught on and did the same.
The grand duchess stepped forward and smiled. “I can hardly believe it!” she said in proper British English. “Members of the Ethereal Squadron have come to Alexander Palace? I never thought I would see the day.” She ended her statement with a squirrel-like giggle.
The three other women, dressed in fine dresses of silk and ivory, stood back, their brows furrowed, but they said nothing. Two were attendants, and the last was a governess, though it mattered little. Geist didn’t have time to speak with the youngest daughter of the tsar.
She stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m here on urgent business, however. I must speak with Tsar Nicholas at once.”
“You’ve come to meet with Papa?” Grand Duchess Anastasia held a hand up to her collarbone. “I’m dreadfully sorry. He has gone to the front lines and hasn’t returned home in over month. He isn’t here.”
The news hit hard. “When will he return?” Geist asked, trying hard to keep the despair from her voice.
“I can send him a summons, but Papa is busy with important war efforts.”
“My news is as urgent as it is dire. Please, if there’s any way to contact him, I need to know. He may be in danger.”
Although Geist didn’t know that—she had no reason to believe the enemy was after the tsar’s sorcery—it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. He could be targeted at any moment, and with fiends like the Eyes of Kaiser, it was better to be safe than sorry. Tsar Nicolas needed to be informed of the threat.
Grand Duchess Anastasia turned to the three women behind her. “Maria, Emmeline, Lenah. Quickly. Send word to Papa. Tell me how long it’ll take him to return home.”
A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2) Page 13