He nodded, his breaths shallow.
“Can… can you walk?”
“I will,” he said.
An odd answer, but Geist didn’t want to hear anything else. She held his tunic, her fingers twisted in the fabric, her chest so tight it felt as though it was collapsing inward. Hurting Victory, now Vergess? She couldn’t stand it.
“You need to keep going,” Vergess murmured. He stared at her, his blue eyes searching hers. “I can reach the others, but if there’s any hope of getting Victory… we need to do it now.”
“I can help. Let me stay with you.”
Vergess half laughed. “Isn’t that my line?” He shook his head. “Listen… I’m sorry. I’m always worried about you, my intended. But one of the Eyes of the Kaiser has died. The enemy doesn’t know what’s going on. You have the upper hand in this situation.”
“I… I know.”
Geist couldn’t deny any of his observations, and she knew she had to handle it. Although she wanted to protect him, like he wanted to protect her, the mission came first. She stood, helped Vergess to his good leg, and held him for a moment in a tight embrace.
“I’ll be back,” she said.
“You better.”
Geist opened her mouth, but stopped herself before she spoke. Now wasn’t the time for any more words. The basement corridor of the monastery crumbled bit by bit the longer she spoke with Vergess. Hesitation helped no one, but she did watch him hobble to the exit. His sorcery helped him—he could move despite his terrible injuries—and once she was satisfied he could make it, Geist turned to head deeper into the monastery.
I’ll handle this. There’re only two sorcerers I’m worried about, and one of them is a corpse in this hallway. I’ll be fine.
Twenty-Seven
Anti-Magic
Amalgam felt it in his bones.
Geist had arrived.
His bait had worked perfectly, and now he would have her.
He pushed aside the wooden tables, clearing a space in the basement lab. Geist wasn’t the type to give up without a fight. He liked that about her. She never just gave up. Amalgam smiled under his gas mask as he kicked a couple chairs into the wall. There would be nothing interfere with their confrontation.
“What’re you doing to my lab?” a decrepit voice asked, floating out from the doorway to look the room over.
Amalgam stopped his rearranging. “What’re you still doing here, Helmuth? I thought you left with Lieutenant Cavell and the others. Alexander Palace is soon to fall.”
Helmuth, the newest magi-tech general, hobbled into the room. Years ago, he had resembled his nephew, Heinrich—thin, tall, and with thick black hair. But his features weren’t right since his accident with the GH Gas.
Not right at all.
Helmuth walked with a limp, one foot twisted back around and elongated, like it had melted and then solidified into its grotesque, slug-like shape. His arms were longer than normal, his fingers reaching his knees. And he had four, an additional arm attached to his right shoulder, another attached to the left side of his ribs. Each limb was spindly—borderline skeletal.
His face, sunken in and wan, had the color of a dead fish. His asymmetrical appearance, combined with his beady eyes and intense gaze, gave him the feel of a monster from the horror stories of Germany’s ancient fairy tales. It wasn’t far from reality, either. Helmuth had consumed plenty of flesh since he embraced his transformation with the gas. Perhaps even from children.
“You’re displeased to see me,” Helmuth muttered.
“I asked what you were doing here,” Amalgam said.
“The lieutenant didn’t want my sorcery.” He dragged both of his right hands across the wooden table as he shambled into the lab. “And I didn’t want to leave our captives. What if they tried to escape?”
Amalgam didn’t care about any of that. The longer Helmuth lingered in the room, the more he risked messing up Amalgam’s plans. What if Helmuth tried to capture Geist for his experiments? His anti-magic sorcery could cripple sorcerers in the nearby area. Amalgam wasn’t about to let it happen. He would have his fight. He would win. And then he would leave this place.
Helmuth lifted his hand and stared at it for a moment.
Although Amalgam’s sight wasn’t like those of normal men, the arm radiated a twisted aura. Each finger, each bone—even the muscles—weren’t Helmuth’s. They were stitched together and fused to Helmuth with GH Gas, replacing the limb Helmuth lost when he melted his own arm away.
Helmuth was a Frankenstein’s monster of body parts, not just his four arms… For some reason, Helmuth didn’t just want blood, he wanted organs—pieces—to use for his ever-growing collection of sorcery.
Fucking gas, Amalgam thought.
He didn’t know how it was made or how it worked, but it somehow did things to flesh that should never happen. Although Helmuth had stolen fingers, he tapped his fingernails on the wood, testing out the control of his twisted hand. Although his anti-magic sorcery could shield him from the effects of the GH Gas, he allowed it to twist him for a small moment, long enough to attach a new limb or flesh. Before the gas could degrade his body into a puddle of fleshy ooze, Helmuth activated his sorcery and halted the change, resulting in a clean attachment of limbs and organs.
“What are you doing?” Helmuth asked, his German formal and harsh. “I thought you left with Otto and Pavel.”
“The Ethereal Squadron has arrived. I’m preparing.”
“They found us?”
“You should leave,” Amalgam said. “I’ll handle the situation.”
“By yourself?”
While the words were innocuous, his tone was thick with condescension. Amalgam rotated his shoulders, his attention glued to Geist’s ever-nearing location.
Helmuth continued, “The Ethereal Squadron has so many useful sorceries. We shouldn’t squander our opportunity to catch them. And your long history of failures doesn’t instill confidence.”
“I said I would handle it,” Amalgam growled, his hot breath trapped in his gas mask.
Even Helmuth—a monster himself—clearly thought him nothing more than a dog. It stung, but Amalgam pushed the thoughts from his mind. Geist’s presence, her aura of magic, soothed him. He enjoyed her proximity and wouldn’t allow Helmuth’s snide remarks to agitate his mood.
Besides, if Helmuth pushed his luck, Amalgam would just tear him apart, starting with his stolen liver. Although the man had acquired several schools of sorcery, he had yet to master any of them. Now would be the time to put him down, if it were ever going to happen.
Geist started her descent down the long staircase. Closer and closer she crept, at a steady pace, but cautious.
“Leave,” Amalgam said. “Or you’ll be a part of this.”
“Don’t fail us.”
Helmuth shuffled back toward the door, dragging his stump of a foot, the flesh dragging across the stone floor, creating a slithering sound. Not all the parts of his new body functioned like they should. Perhaps next time he would find a sorcerer with limbs the same length; then he wouldn’t have such an awkward gait.
Alone, and ready to face Geist, Amalgam’s blood raced through his veins. Each second that passed reinforced his desire for their reunion. Although they had fought throughout the Russian Empire, they hadn’t been alone. Hans, Otto, even Pavel—they had been in the way, threatening to destroy Amalgam’s plans.
Not now.
Geist came to the basement door and stopped. Her magic aura, different than most, had a song about it. Like giving melody to the sparkles of early morning light or the tranquil peace of a starry night. Abstract, yet comforting. And the closer she got, the clearer the song became.
Come on, Amalgam thought. What’re you waiting for? You know this is the only place you’ll find Victory.
She slipped into the room, ghosting through the door, silent as a corpse. Then she stopped, her whole body tense. For some reason, she had no boots.
“I’ve be
en waiting,” Amalgam said, wanting her to know he knew of her presence.
Geist didn’t move for a moment. Then she ended her sorcery and stood straight, her presence filling the room—and Amalgam’s mind. It consumed his thoughts, like a drug, and he waited for her to speak.
“Where is he?” Geist asked.
Who? was his first thought, but Amalgam shook his head, dispelling the confusion. She had come for Victory.
“He’s locked away,” Amalgam said.
“Alive?”
“Unharmed, as far as I know.”
“You…” She took a shaky breath. “Didn’t take his blood?”
Amalgam gritted his teeth. He didn’t care about Victory, and it wouldn’t matter soon regardless. On the other hand, he knew Victory’s safety meant the world to Geist. He couldn’t disregard it, or else she would panic.
“I didn’t want to risk his death,” he said. “He had to be alive or else you wouldn’t have come, would you? So don’t fret. He lives.”
Geist took a hesitant step farther into the room, still tense. She reached for her sidearm, but her hand landed on an empty holster.
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you care so much about me? Is it because you want revenge for me throwing you in the GH Gas? You want me to suffer the same fate?”
Amalgam didn’t answer. Revenge would be logical. She had been the one to push him into the gas-filled trench. But it wasn’t that. He just wanted her company. Her calming aura. Her.
“I should’ve killed you on the operating table,” Geist said, her tone icy. “When you were helpless. But I didn’t. I thought we were alike. You had lost your brothers-in-arms, and so had I. And now you’re targeting Victory, my teammate, just to get to me? I thought you would know better than anybody. I won’t allow you to do this ever again.”
“You’re going to kill me?” Amalgam asked with a smile.
“Monsters deserve no better.”
Her thoughts, tangled and confused, flitted into his mind.
… he’s left me no other options … it must end tonight …
Amalgam gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers. “Come at me then.”
This was it. He would subdue her and create another monster—one with her aura—and they would be intertwined by circumstance.
Geist wrapped herself in specter sorcery and lunged forward. When she neared, Amalgam lifted his arm and flooded the basement room with sickly green fire. Instead of just aiming for her, he cast it in all directions, catching some of the tables. The magical fire wouldn’t pierce his magi-tech armor, but it would catch Geist, even if she was incorporeal. She wasn’t immune to temperature, after all. Better to surround himself with it and drain her of stamina.
She darted around him. Quiet—fast—with the grace of a cat. Her apex sorcery had developed in leaps and bounds. When she went to attack him from behind, Amalgam teleported. He shifted his location to a button he had tossed in the corner. Hundreds of buttons littered the monastery, just in case.
Geist wouldn’t escape.
He used his stolen ignis sorcery again, throwing another wave of flame into the room. Geist leapt to the wall, kicked off, and landed beside him, her acrobatics beyond impressive.
She snatched his Luger pistol from its holster and fired, all within a blinding second. The bullet clipped Amalgam’s gas mask, cracking the mirror-like glass over his left “eye.” His sorcery might not save him if she fired straight into his skill.
Amalgam staggered back and unleashed a furious eruption of fire.
Geist jumped away, and she hit the wall, not ghosting through. Flames washed over her. She cried out as she dashed away.
The sound she made—one of agony—it hurt him more than the sting of bullets or the cutting of barbed wire. Amalgam didn’t want to kill her. Far from it. But he had to win. I need to be careful. I can’t lose control.
Geist fired again. And then again. Amalgam turned away, the bullets hitting his arm and chest. His corpus sorcery knit flesh back into place and pushed out any lead lodged in his body. It couldn’t last forever, though. Blood that spilled out wouldn’t make it back in.
Amalgam teleported to another button, in the opposite corner as Geist. She caught her breath, and that was his opening. He rushed forward and slammed his fist into the side of her head. His magi-tech gauntlet prevented her from ghosting through his attack.
Geist spit blood, but she rolled with the hit and then ghosted through the nearby wall. Amalgam took a step back, tense. He could follow her movement, even if she was two stories above him. But she didn’t move. She waited in the other room.
Why?
The answer hit him quick—she wanted time to recover. He had wanted to knock her out, and perhaps he got close, but now she could take all the time she wanted in catching her breath. If Amalgam tried to enter the hall and walk around to the other room, it would take too long. Fortunately, he knew she wasn’t leaving. She had made it clear—she wanted him dead and that his continued attacks on her squad couldn’t be tolerated any longer.
After a few seconds, Geist dove back into the basement lab, her movements just as fast as before, perhaps more so. Amalgam was ready. When she fired, he teleported again. Soon she wouldn’t have any bullets.
But then a terrible feeling blanketed the room. It clung to Amalgam like tar across his body, slicking in his throat and choking him. His breaths came strained and his chest twisted in agony.
Anti-magic. Powerful and deadly. It silenced the thoughts of others and nearly blinded Amalgam. He grabbed at his head.
“Surrender,” Helmuth said from the far door. He punctuated his command with the loading of a handgun. “Or I kill this one.”
It took all of Amalgam’s concentration to “see” Victory was also in the room.
Damn him.
Helmuth wanted to interfere with his plan? Even when he told him not to? I’ll kill him, Amalgam thought. I was supposed to fight without this interference.
Geist moved a few inches closer, but Helmuth pressed the barrel of the weapon against Victory’s skull.
“I’ll shoot,” Helmuth said. “And then our monster, Amalgam, will rip you apart. But if you surrender, there’s a chance at least one of you will live to bring a message to the Ethereal Squadron in Verdun.”
Helmuth was no doubt making up nonsense, but the proposition seemed to give Geist pause. Was she considering it?
Amalgam hit the floor on one knee, his mind a blur of thoughts and darkness. The anti-magic took everything from him. He wasn’t a monster, just a corpse that didn’t know it was dead.
Geist is right here… She’s the only person who matters. I can’t let anyone of these bastards touch her—especially not Helmuth.
Twenty-Eight
Coward
Geist struggled to breathe.
Defiant warned me his uncle was here! she scolded herself. I should’ve taken it into consideration. Without my sorcery, what can I even do?
Victory had seen better days. His uniform was torn, his identification tag was missing, his hair matted with blood—and although he could stand, he shook, as if cold or weak from hunger. Had they fed him? Were they planning to torture him to death through starvation?
Defiant’s uncle, a man well into his fifties, didn’t look right. He had two different-colored eyes, and his skin looked patchwork at best. He wore long sleeves over his four awkward arms, and his collar high, so Geist couldn’t make out more detail about his flesh. His one foot, melted and long, trailing behind him, reminded her of a slug. Despite all that, he resembled Defiant enough to mark them as relatives, even if the sorcery wasn’t a dead giveaway.
Looking at him for longer than a few seconds got Geist’s stomach churning. He was a walking charnel house.
The anti-magic researcher slid his finger over the trigger of the handgun.
“Wait,” Geist choked out.
Victory met her gaze. He had the hard look of someone unafraid to die.
She knew what he w
ould say—not to give into the enemy demands—but Geist still felt the sting of her earlier failures. She had let him down on multiple occasions. He had been injured and thrown into danger. She had attacked him. And Cross would be devastated if Victory died. As a soldier and a leader, Geist understood that sometimes not everyone could escape a fight, but that didn’t mean she could use it as an excuse to save her own life.
Geist steeled herself to her ultimate desires. If she could save her teammates, there would be no price she wasn’t willing to pay. No matter what, she would make sure Victory made it free.
“I surrender,” Geist said. She threw down the Luger.
“Geist,” Victory snapped. “What’re you doing? They’ll kill us both!”
Defiant’s uncle chortled. “Well?” he barked at Amalgam. Then he pointed at Geist. “Restrain him. Put him with the others.”
Amalgam pushed himself up to his feet, picked up his stolen Luger, and then placed a heavy hand on Geist’s shoulder. She didn’t resist when he torqued her arms behind her back. Without her apex or specter sorcery, without her rifle or handgun, what did she have? And the enemy still had a gun to Victory’s head.
The anti-magic sorcerer pushed Victory down the hall, his bizarre hands gripping Victory’s torn clothes.
“Don’t struggle,” he muttered. “You’ll follow me.”
Geist closed her eyes and allowed Amalgam to manhandle her deeper into the basement. The lights remained dim, but the smell of blood hung thick in the stagnant air. Her imagination filled in all the blanks. It reminded her of the OHL. The monastery was where the enemy was experimenting—they used underground facilities to prevent things like the GH Gas getting out too quickly, or from being discovered by spies and biplanes.
Geist knew it all too well.
When Victory and Defiant’s uncle went in another direction, she almost struggled to go with them, but she bit back the urge and continued forward. Now wasn’t the time to fight.
A Company of Monsters (The Sorcerers of Verdun Book 2) Page 23