Otto turned in Amalgam’s direction. “Bring us one of the Ethereal Squadron.”
The city of Tsarskoye Selo swarmed with soldiers, both sorcerer and standard. Civilians crowded the streets, some holding red banners, everyone shouting and throwing their fists in the sky. The soldiers kept them away from the main road, but that was all they could muster. They were too outnumbered to corral an entire city.
The tsar had returned. Amalgam could feel his aura. And soon he would return to Alexander Palace.
Wrapped in the flesh of another, Amalgam pushed his way through the angry mobs. If one looked close enough, they would see his eyes didn’t move and never blinked. Pavel had simply scooped out the jellied orbs of the dead guard and squeezed them into Amalgam’s empty sockets. The sorcery kept them from melting off his face, but that didn’t make them functioning organs.
Dressed as an Imperial Guard, and without his gas mask, he breathed fresh air. He didn’t like it. Too crisp. Too thick with the scent of gunpowder and snow. It reminded him too much of his life before he became a monster. The gas mask kept all the memories and sensations away, like a wall between him and the world.
Amalgam preferred the barrier.
When he reached the fence of the palace ground, he threw a button over and willed himself to teleport to it. The distracted soldiers—too caught up in preventing the citizens from flooding into Alexander Palace—didn’t catch his entry, and when any glanced over, all they saw was an Imperial Guard, even with their golden eyes.
Amalgam continued his way into the palace, leaving a trail of buttons hidden in the snow. Escaping would be a quick and effortless affair. Although a headache plagued him, his warped body didn’t absorb magic like the rest. He didn’t need the Kaiser Guard’s training to keep his thoughts from dissolving into agony.
The place teemed with magic. Like streams of water, he sensed the flow and followed the pull of those familiar. He had interacted with the Ethereal Squadron enough to know when they were close.
Three were here.
The small one. The one with future sight. And… the researcher.
Amalgam didn’t care for Heinrich von Veltheim. His whole family was devoid of aura. The lack of sensation, both magical and mind, made Amalgam feel as blind as he actually was. The sorcery was useful, and the new magi-tech general—Heinrich’s uncle—had done extraordinary things with it, but it still irritated Amalgam.
He could at least sense the “hole” in his vision, however. He knew where Heinrich was. He knew how to avoid him. Although Otto was keen to get him back, that wasn’t what Amalgam was after.
While servants and governess’ rushed to prepare the house, Amalgam stepped around them and headed straight for the room with the Ethereal Squadron. No one bothered him or questioned his presence. They ran around, flustered and muttering in Russian.
When Amalgam approached the door, he tensed and placed his hand on his sidearm. Even if it came to a fight, he could teleport from the palace in the instant. He placed his hand on the doorknob and stopped for a brief second. He listened for the thoughts of the individuals in the room. What were their names? Battery and Victory.
“It will be nice to meet with the tsar,” the younger one, Battery, said. “Hopefully he’ll be as understanding as his daughter.”
The older one, Victory, had an odd sensation to his sorcery. His thoughts rang loud, as though urgent in his own head. … he’s already here … much faster than I envisioned … And then he said, “Battery, you should check up on Defiant and the grand duchess.”
“Right now?” Battery replied. And his thoughts, louder than before, mixed with the conversation. … Victory has been … strange lately …
“Yes. I get the feeling the grand duchess could use your help.”
“My help? As in, my sorcery? Do you, uh, think she would appreciate my presence? I mean, she has attendants, and I’m a foreign national, so maybe she wouldn’t want—”
“Trust me,” Victory said with a laugh—a laugh that sounded natural, even if his thoughts were panicked. “She’ll appreciate your company.”
“My company?” Battery inner musings shifted in an instant. … my goodness … I’ve never held the attention of …
“You two will have plenty to talk about. Besides, I’m your older brother. Would I lead you astray?”
“Blick would lead me astray.”
“I’m not Blick.”
Battery paused for a moment, his thoughts too blurred and fast—Amalgam didn’t bother to make sense of them. He tuned them out and focused on the tension he felt from Victory. Why hadn’t Victory mentioned anything? If he knew there was danger, why hadn’t he called for the guards?
“I’ll g-go right away,” Battery said.
“Good,” Victory replied. “Use the other door. It’s a faster route to the grand duchess.”
“Right. Thank you.”
A door opened and closed, and Amalgam sensed the aura of the smaller one disappearing deeper into the palace. An odd silence settled on the room. Victory didn’t leave. He didn’t even move.
Amalgam stepped into the sitting room and closed the door behind him.
“This isn’t going to work out like you want it to,” Victory said, his voice solemn.
Amalgam stepped around the couch and pushed a side table from his path. He wouldn’t be manipulated by the likes of some soft Ethereal Squadron support sorcerer. It didn’t matter what he said.
“Geist won’t be caught by these traps,” Victory added.
The statement gave Amalgam pause. Maybe the man did know what he wanted. But did it matter? He would say anything. Then again, he also should have seen this coming and prepared.
“You’re not fighting,” Amalgam whispered. “Why?”
“I’ve seen a million outcomes. If I went straight for the others, you would kill the grand duchess. If I fled the palace with Battery, you would find and kill Defiant. But in this scenario, I stay here—calm and collected—and no one will get injured.”
Victory reported as though it were a cold fact. Amalgam chuckled. The destiny sorcery had always been a thing of legend. Could this sorcerer really see what would happen in the future? Had Victory chosen to let the others leave, so that they wouldn’t get caught up in a fight they would ultimately lose?
“Seems an odd decision for a soldier,” Amalgam said. “Or do you see an eventual rescue? Is that it? Maybe I should defy all your future sight and simply leave you dead in this room. It would make our operation easier.”
“Then you wouldn’t have someone to lure Geist.” Victory stepped closer and slowly pulled his weapon. Then he tossed it on the nearby couch. “And if I allowed you to capture two of us, one would be drained of blood the moment we met your squad.”
Amalgam didn’t need magic to know the last statement was true.
Perhaps Victory did know everything.
But it didn’t matter. Victory wouldn’t help him capture Geist, so at a certain level, he couldn’t trust what the man had to say. Amalgam grabbed Victory’s injured arm and twisted it to the side.
Victory gritted his teeth and sharply inhaled.
“Just for fun,” Amalgam said, “why don’t you tell me the chances you’ll make it out of this alive?”
“You don’t have to do this. I can help you get out of the situation you’re in. You’ve seen only a fraction of my predictive abilities. I know there’s a way you can escape the life you lead.”
The phrase—you don’t have to do this—harkened back to when Amalgam and Geist had been locked in the research basement of the OHL together. She had said the same damn thing. Why couldn’t they see there was no going back? He was a monster. It couldn’t be undone. Now all he wanted was company. Someone who understood.
Amalgam let go of Victory’s arm. After a few calming breaths, Victory relaxed.
“Thank you. We should—”
Without warning, Amalgam punched Victory across the face, the blow powerful enough to break some of
Amalgam’s knuckles. Victory hit the floor unconscious, blood pouring from his ruptured nose.
“Didn’t see that coming,” Amalgam quipped.
Then he knelt down and placed his hand on the man’s back. His teleportation extended to people who couldn’t fight back—anyone sleeping or incapacitated. With Victory stunned, there would be no problem returning to Otto undetected.
Amalgam hesitated for a moment, right before using his sorcery.
Obviously, Victory’s powers weren’t absolute or else he would’ve known about the punch. But he had still been right about a great many things. Had he been trying to convince Amalgam to defect? Geist had. But she was different. She was always different. She was the only one Amalgam even wanted to hear from.
He shook the doubt away and left the palace with his prize.
Twenty-One
Tsar Nicholas
Geist, Vergess, Dreamer, and Blick arrived on the edge of Tsarskoye Selo and were placed in a queue of other vehicles. Armed guards inspected each automobile, cart, and carriage from top to bottom. At the same time take, they shouted at the protesting citizens, trying to keep them at bay. Geist watched the proceedings with a keen eye, worried someone might put their hands in the wrong place on her body when searching. Fortunately, the soldiers seemed the most interested in belts and boots—and the physical compartments of the vehicles—rather than any areas Geist would be worried about. The golden-eyed sorcerers did sweeps of the passengers, but they didn’t linger on her long, not when they had to turn their attention to the protesting Russians.
Once the soldiers were satisfied with their search of the carriage, it proceeded to Alexander Palace. The protestors threw snow and rotten food, but most aimed toward military vehicles. The carriages didn’t feel the brunt of the attacks.
“These guards don’t look happy to be fighting the citizens,” Blick muttered. He closed the curtains on the carriage windows and turned back to the group. “I don’t blame them.”
“It’s more than that,” Dreamer said.
“How so?”
“You can’t taste the murder in the air? Russian blood running in the streets of the capital city will ignite anger as quickly as a bonfire will burn a dry forest. We’re just seeing the beginning. This won’t end soon.”
Geist scooted to the edge of her seat. “You make it sound like we’re in immediate danger.”
“We are.”
“But we didn’t attack the Russians. We’re not part of this.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re on the same side as the tsar, headed to his palace. People will see us as his allies, not the Russian Empire’s.”
Vergess leaned back and huffed. “I’m sure the tsar will quell this. I’ve heard multiple reports of the tsar firing on his own soldiers—and it already happened in the capital over a decade ago. A bunch of peaceful demonstrators were gunned down. I’d say this tsar is either brutal or incompetent, but either way, he answers these problems with violence.”
Blick chuckled. “No wonder Varnish wasn’t pro-tsar.”
The mounting pressure to leave the Russian Empire weighed heavily on Geist’s thoughts. The Royal Houses tended to have a firm grasp of their nations and wouldn’t tolerate upstarts. How did the situation become so unstable? What had led it to becoming so rotten?
“Dreamer,” Geist said. “How long do you think we have before the violence gets out of hand?”
“A few hours,” he replied.
“Even though Vergess said the tsar quells revolution with violence?”
“The world isn’t what it used to be. Even in my homeland of Saudi Arabia, there is revolt against the Ottomans. The old ways are dying, and people no longer want to be kept in the dark. The more this violence spreads, the more the citizens will believe they have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I think the tsar is sowing his own problems in blood and mayhem.”
Geist rubbed at her arms, her stomach twisting in a knot. She knew the world wouldn’t be the same after the war, but she had imagined some things would always be constant—the world of magic and sorcerers wouldn’t change. It couldn’t. It was secret and different from anything else. Sorcerers had vast powers the mundane could never imagine.
Yet now sorcerers had created magi-tech. And they were stealing schools of magic from the blood of others. And modern weapons wielded by normal soldiers could kill in an instant.
Nothing would be the same after this war.
Would being a member of a Royal House even matter? What if their sorceries were stolen and given out to everyone? What if—
Geist turned to Vergess. “Do you think…?”
“What is it?” he asked.
Can the blood of sorcerers be given to anyone? Could it make non-sorcerers… sorcerers?
Geist hadn’t even considered it before, but what if the GH Gas could warp a person so thoroughly it gave them access to magic when they previously had none?
“Never mind,” Geist muttered. She didn’t want to focus on the hypothetical when she had real problems staring her in the face.
The carriage stopped in front of Alexander Palace, but there was a commotion at the front doors. The Imperial Guard pushed people back—servants and diplomats alike—refusing anyone entrance. Geist and the others exited the carriage only to be greeted by rifles.
“I need to speak to Captain Uthof,” she said. “Captain Uthof.”
Perhaps some of the soldiers recognized her, because they grabbed Geist by the shoulder and pushed her through the line of soldiers. Vergess and Blick argued with the Russian soldiers, speaking in different languages and gesturing to the palace, but Dreamer stayed back, an air of British politeness about him, even when being manhandled by the Imperial Guard.
The guards didn’t take Geist through the front doors. Instead, they took her to the security tower just beyond the marble pillars. It was separated from the building, but clearly the heart of the Imperial Guard operations. Captain Uthof stood amongst a group of shouting guards. One guard threw down his rifle and stormed from the building. Another pointed his rifle at the deserter, but Captain Uthof shoved the barrel to the floor.
Geist jumped in, her teeth gritted. “What’s going on here, Captain?”
“Geist,” Captain Uthof said as he snapped his attention to her. “You should take your men and return to Petrograd. At once.”
“Half my men are still in the palace.” She glanced around. The tense soldiers turned her curious gaze with harsh glares. “What’s happening here? I thought the Imperial Guard was—”
“I’m ordering you and your men to leave the palace grounds,” Captain Uthof interjected.
Geist caught her breath. Although soldiers tended to pay respects to higher-ranking officers in foreign armies, it wasn’t standard practice to follow their orders unless they were in a direct chain of command. However, the Ethereal Squadron was different. Sorcerer soldiers and sorcerer officers in allied situations tended to form their own secret hierarchy.
But Captain Uthof wasn’t in the Ethereal Squadron. He was a sorcerer of higher military rank. He didn’t have the authority to order her to do anything, especially not when she was on special assignment by Major Reese.
Geist didn’t want to cause a diplomatic scene, so she replied with a quick bow of her head. “I’ll get my men and leave.”
Get her men included the ones in the palace.
I won’t leave them, she told herself as she stormed out of the security tower. Especially not when the chance of riot is so high.
Geist ran back to Blick, Vergess, and Dreamer. They turned to her, hard looks as though they understood they needed to act with urgency. They couldn’t force their way into the palace. Geist could sneak in—and with Battery, could attempt to sneak the others out of the palace—but she didn’t want to separate any more than they already had. Especially given the circumstances.
She motioned to the edge of the palace estate, and her three teammates followed her away from the commotion.
/> Once they were out of sight of the Imperial Guard and the protesters, Dreamer disguised them as members of Russian military. Geist ghosted through a wall, into a grand study, and crept to the window, and opened it from the inside. Blick, Vergess, and Dreamer climbed inside.
They moved as a group of four into the main hall of the palace and blended into the gathering that congregated near the entrance. Geist feared someone might call them out—the Imperial Guard was close-knit—but no one had eyes on them. Everyone kept their attention on a single man giving a speech to the palace.
Tsar Nicholas Romanov II.
Although Geist had never met him personally, she recognized the medals on his bright blue coat. One fact amused her—outside of the decoration on his chest, he had no prominent features. He grew a beard and mustache, like most Russians. His hair line receded in a U fashion, like any older man. He wasn’t even notably tall. He had plain features, a slow drawl to his voice, and a weaker posture.
Blick turned to her with a lifted eyebrow. With his telepathy, he asked, “Do you want me to use my eyes on him?”
She responded with a curt nod.
Using his golden eyes, Blick stared over the crowd and gave the tsar his full attention. A second later, he turned away, his eyebrows knit. He shook his head.
“It’s not him. A disguise. Like Dreamer’s sorcery.”
Geist exhaled. She wanted to speak with the tsar, but at the same time, she didn’t want to be anywhere near the tsar. The situation was too tumultuous. Too uncertain. And much too close to actual violence.
“Is he here?” Geist asked.
“Yes,” Vergess stated.
She turned to him. “How do you know?”
“It’s the smell.”
“You know what he smells like? Have you met him before?”
“I know what his daughter smells like. And their blood is unique. He’s here. His stink is in the room, even if someone has taken the role of duplicate for him.”
A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2) Page 18