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

by Shami Stovall

  They entered a back room with lights. It didn’t bother Amalgam—he continued in and rummaged through the items in the room without hesitation. He tied her hands with coarse rope, and Geist half smiled to herself. The instant the anti-magic effects faded, she would slip the restraints. Even if she had surrendered to save Victory’s life, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t look for an opportunity to escape.

  “This isn’t how I imagined it going,” he whispered, his voice made sinister through the gas mask.

  Although Geist wanted to avoid confrontation, she couldn’t help but dwell on a myriad of questions. Amalgam didn’t make sense to her. Why? All of his actions, all of his dealings—since he became twisted by the gas, it was like he lost his motives as a soldier and adopted something perverse in their stead.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked.

  “I want you close.”

  He offered nothing else.

  “You’re going to use the gas, right?” Geist asked. “As revenge for what I did to you?”

  “I’ll use the gas. But not as revenge.”

  “Then why?”

  Geist didn’t understand. What other reason was there than revenge? What possible motive could there be to track her down through one of the largest nations in the world? To stalk and kidnap a special forces member of the Ethereal Squadron? Why so much effort?

  Amalgam pulled her close. “Once you’re like me, there’ll be no reason to return to Verdun. The Ethereal Squadron won’t take monsters. And then your calming aura… I won’t have to lose it.”

  Aura? Like a magic aura? He didn’t want to lose that? That was the motive for his insane dedication to finding her?

  “What’s so special about my sorcery?” she asked. “It can’t possibly be anything—”

  “It reminds me of what I used to be,” Amalgam growled. “You won’t understand until you feel the claws of the gas rearrange your flesh. Then you’ll know. Nothing feels right anymore. But you… Your presence removes that sick feeling of worthlessness. If I can keep you close, through circumstance or restraint, I will. I can’t live without it. Not anymore.”

  Geist didn’t understand. Her sorcery never did anything but help her kill people. Now Amalgam wanted her presence to feel himself? What a twisted life he’s led. But she couldn’t feel pity for him. He fought for the enemy.

  “I won’t stay with you,” she said. “And if you try to keep me, one of us will end up killing the other.”

  “What?” he asked, genuine disgust in his tone.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do to me. I’ll always return to Verdun.”

  Amalgam tightened his grip on her arm, his fingers leaving bruises. “I told you. They’ll never accept a monster. One I use the gas—”

  “I’m a member of the Ethereal Squadron,” Geist stated. “Even if I’m warped by fell gas, it’ll never change that. A soldier is a soldier, even if they lose their leg to the mines, or their fingers to the barbed wire, or their life to the enemy rifles—you might’ve lost your way, but don’t think we’re the same.”

  Geist had once doubted. She had thought that if her teammates discovered her identity as a woman, they would reject her. But they hadn’t. And each day that passed, each battle she fought alongside them, reinforced her loyalty to the cause. If she ever gave up, for any reason, she would be letting her squad down. Geist wouldn’t let that happen.

  “You’re a fool,” Amalgam said. “If you hobbled back to them, broken and bleeding, they’d treat you like the dog you are. They’d use you till there was nothing left. And somehow you feel pride for that?”

  Geist shook her head. “You’re wrong. I’ve seen them. They honor those who give themselves for the cause. That’s what all men of war do.”

  “That’s not what happened to me,” he shouted. He shook her by the collar of her tunic, his grip so tight Geist thought he would rip it straight off her uniform. “I returned to my commanders and they tied me down, performed experiments, and brought me back from the brink of death only to serve them as a monster! They don’t care if I die—they may even prefer it. Then they could have my blood. That’s the last thing that makes me valuable to them.”

  Geist stared up at the mirror-like glass of his mask, her reflection staring back, her eyebrows knit and her face bruised from her earlier fights. She remained silent, absorbing Amalgam’s anger-laced words.

  Amalgam growled, his teeth grinding in the process. “I’m nothing to them, and they’ve made it clear, time and time again. That’s what would happen to you, too. Your allies will see you as a broken tool, and they’ll treat you like one. At least—together—we could be monsters set apart.”

  His yearning to connect with someone struck a chord. Geist had always felt separated from her teammates when she clung to her secrets and kept her identity hidden. Only Cross—another woman—had been a true friend. She suspected the others would have discarded her if they knew, like she didn’t matter. Again, Geist sensed a kinship with Amalgam that was difficult to articulate. Even conveying it to him seemed impossible.

  Geist took in a shaky breath. “Amalgam,” she whispered. “Being altered by the GH Gas doesn’t make you a monster. Your commanders—the men who use you like a tool—they’re monsters.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Grasping at straws, and thinking about what Victory would say, she continued, “Your commanders never should’ve abandoned you. A real leader will make you a better person.” She grimaced and shook her head. “No. I take that back. They don’t make you a better person—you do that yourself. Because a leader inspires you to be the best you can. If your generals and lieutenants tore you down to take your power for themselves, they’re the antithesis of what they stand for.”

  He took in a sharp breath, perhaps to speak, but Geist didn’t want to hear it.

  “Stop making excuses,” she said, her own anger coming back in full force. “Their actions can only explain away so much. A man isn’t defined by how others treat him. A man is defined by his own actions.”

  “It’s not that simple. They determined I would serve as a cog in their plans. I have no other options.”

  “You determine who you’ll be in this life. A soldier, a dog, a monster—don’t you dare say you can’t change course now, or else you’re less than a monster. You’re a coward.”

  For a long moment, they stood in the dark room, his breathing in the gas mask the only sound between them. Was he giving her words thought? Would he be enraged and lash out at her? Would it even matter? Maybe he was too far gone. Maybe they had messed with his brain and his insides. Maybe he couldn’t feel things like a normal soldier.

  Or maybe I’m wasting my breath, but if he doubts his loyalty to his cause, perhaps he’ll give up this wretched fight and leave the Russian Empire. After that…

  Amalgam loosened his grip. Geist widened her eyes, a faint sense of hope stilling her thoughts. Without speaking, he led her out of the dark room and down the hall, following the path of Victory and his captor. What was he doing? They went deeper into the monastery, far from the exit.

  “What’s going to happen?” she asked, struggling with her restraints. The suffocating presence of the anti-magic messed with her thoughts. “Where are you taking me?”

  Amalgam never acknowledged her. The next room they entered had lights strung along the walls and ceiling. The harshness of the bright bulbs stung Geist’s eyes, so she kept her gaze down. She still caught the contents of the room, however.

  GH Gas grenades. An operating table stained with blood. Individual air-lock chambers meant to keep people in with gases or deprive them of air. Devices of mutilation and torture.

  Goddammit! He’s too far gone!

  Victory stood with his back against the wall while the anti-magic sorcerer placed vials down on an operating table. The researcher held his gun in one hand, vaguely pointed in Victory’s direction, while the other three hands went to work organizing. With the bright light streaming down, Geist
couldn’t help but notice the many shades of skin his hand had. Each finger seemed different—darker, lighter, crooked, soft—she had a guess, but she didn’t want to voice it, not even in her thoughts.

  Heinous.

  “There you are,” the researcher said. “Took you long enough. Tie that sorcerer to one of the tables. We can make ourselves useful while the others deal with the tsar.”

  “This one is mine, Helmuth,” Amalgam said. He walked over, grabbed a bandolier of GH Gas, and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

  “No, you’re not.” The anti-magic researcher—Helmuth—gave Amalgam a puzzled glance, his mismatched eyes intense. “You’ll stay here and help me deal with these two. We need their blood.”

  Geist focused on the containers of gas, and she kept herself still to avoid drawing attention to herself. The tension in their conversation had escalated with each word. Did Helmuth intend to kill Victory? Right here, right now?

  Sorcery or no sorcery, she thought. I can’t allow that.

  Amalgam picked up a bottle of pink liquid and a syringe. “Don’t push me, old man.”

  “I’ve tolerated your insubordination for far too long. When I speak to the lieutenant, I’ll have him carve subservience into your hide.”

  “Is that right? I doubt it’ll work. Haven’t you heard?” Amalgam chuckled. “I’m unstable.”

  He spoke with perfect articulation, which added an air of psychopath to the I’m unstable statement. Geist didn’t know if he was joking or serious. And it didn’t look like Helmuth knew, either.

  “You’re a dog,” Helmuth muttered. Then he turned back his work. “A simpleton like you couldn’t help me anyway. Leave us.”

  Despite the insult, Amalgam headed for the door, not a word offered to anyone. Geist fought against his grip, her breathing shallow and panicked. Leaving Victory was as good as killing him. There would be no escape from the monastery if he was left in the basement.

  “You said you’d let one of us go,” Geist said, digging her bare heels into the cement. “Release Victory. He has family waiting for him. He doesn’t deserve this.”

  Amalgam didn’t reply. Neither did Helmuth.

  “A man would never go back on his word,” she growled.

  Although Geist couldn’t see his face or know his expression, his slow step into a stop told her she hit a nerve. He waited for a moment—and she thought he might attack her with the syringe he held in his other hand, but he didn’t move.

  Helmuth glared. “What is this? You’re goaded into action by enemy sorcerers? You’re a disgrace.”

  “Mind your own business,” Amalgam growled.

  “Lieutenant Cavell will be informed of your behavior.”

  Lieutenant Cavell? Geist closed her eyes, her father’s face as clear as day in her mind’s eye. He’s here? Of all the people—why does my past continue to haunt me? She opened her eyes again, determined to escape the monastery before her father reached them.

  For a moment, no one said a word. Then Amalgam faced Helmuth. The two stared, the researcher becoming increasingly unsettled—fidgeting with the handgun and taking a step back, his stumpy leg almost catching underneath him.

  “Amalgam?” he said. “Stand down, you cretin.”

  In a showy display of insubordination, Amalgam let go of Geist, drew his Luger, and shot Helmuth. The bullet hit the creepy old man right in the chest, and the bang echoed in the room with enough thunder to batter Geist’s ears. She grimaced and stumbled back into the wall, wracked by a state of disbelief.

  Helmuth hit the floor with a cry, his own weapon tumbling from his weak grip.

  Amalgam tucked his handgun away. “Now I’ve held up our end of the bargain,” he said. “Victory is free to go.”

  When Victory met her gaze, Geist replied with a curt shake. Victory couldn’t handle Amalgam, especially as the anti-magic aura over the basement began to lift. It was best for Victory to leave while he still could. Once he was safe, she could attempt an escape without fear for his life.

  Twenty-Nine

  Lieutenant Cavell

  Amalgam jabbed the needle of the syringe into the bottle of sedative. The pink liquid had been created by Helmuth himself. Perfect for subduing sorcerers. The moment he had enough, Amalgam turned to Geist. She had her attention on Victory—the two speaking in glances—and he used her moment of distraction to grab her arm.

  She turned to him just as he stabbed the syringe into her bicep.

  “What’s that?” she asked with a slight gasp.

  “A sedative,” he replied.

  He couldn’t risk her getting away. Not now. Not after everything he had done. Shooting Helmuth was the final act of treason. He wasn’t on anybody’s side.

  Amalgam tossed the used syringe to the floor and tucked the liquid away. Geist ghosted through the ropes holding her wrists, but she couldn’t ghost through his anti-magic gauntlets. He maintained his grip on her arm, refusing to let go under any circumstance.

  “Don’t run now,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or I will resort to drastic measures.” He motioned to Victory, still standing by the far wall.

  “What does this sedative do?” she asked, a slight panic in her words.

  “It’ll take a hold in less than two minutes. You’ll lose feeling in your body and eventually fall unconscious.”

  Then he would be able to teleport with her to any of his many button locations. That was all he really needed. He could escape everyone, including the Russian Empire, so long as he could take Geist along his short-distance teleportation route.

  After that, he could give her words more thought. What did it really mean to be a man? Or a coward? The words rattled in his skull until they had lost meaning. He didn’t care to dwell on it, not when he was so close to his goal. Her words wouldn’t shake him. He refused.

  A terrible realization hit him a second later.

  While Helmuth had his anti-magic active, Amalgam hadn’t sensed anyone beyond the walls of the room he had been in. Now that he had his “sight” back, one of his worst fears had come to fruition. His heart pounded against his ribs, and his gas mask felt constraining.

  Lieutenant Cavell had returned to the monastery.

  No doubt he had found the bodies of Otto and Pavel. He would demand to know what happened, and the moment he found out his daughter had murdered them, it would be all over. Lieutenant Cavell wanted to kill her, after all, so he could offer her blood to the prince. He would take her from him.

  “Geist,” Victory said as he crossed the room with a slight hobble. “Something terrible has happened.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Your father. He’s here and… has taken the blood of from one of the Eyes of the Kaiser.”

  There were no words after that statement. Amalgam had been right. He must’ve stumbled on the body in the basement. Then he stopped to get himself enough to fuse into his body. What a bastard.

  “We need to leave,” Geist said, her voice shaky.

  Victory pointed to a far door. “There are other sorcerers here. We should release them.”

  “They’re sedated,” Amalgam said. “No use bothering with them.”

  “We could remove the restraints. The sedatives will wear off, and then they can flee.”

  Amalgam didn’t care. The POWs and science experiments couldn’t help him fight Lieutenant Cavell, and he was the only thing preventing Amalgam from rushing out the front door.

  Not waiting for further discussion, Victory went straight to help the others. Amalgam didn’t stop him. Instead, he tensed in preparation. If he didn’t fight Lieutenant Cavell—if he didn’t kill Lieutenant Cavell—he would take Geist. It was unacceptable and he had to have a plan of attack.

  Surprise, he thought.

  Geist slumped a bit, her legs trembling. The sedative must’ve taken hold. That’s fine, I can use her.

  Amalgam nodded to himself. If he “presented” Lieutenant Cavell with a disabled Geist, there would
be no question of his loyalty. And when the lieutenant went to take his daughter, Amalgam could strike. If he could kill Cavell in one blow, he wouldn’t have to deal with a master of specter and apex sorcery. Then he could escape with Geist with no one chasing him.

  I just have to make sure my one strike counts.

  Helmuth writhed on the floor, his whole body mimicking the motions of a slug with salt on its skin. He hadn’t died. No. That would be too simple. His freakish body, filled with parts of others, would need a little more repair, but the man would be back up on his feet within a matter of days. Amalgam could shoot him a few more times and finish it, but he didn’t want the gunshots echoing throughout the basement.

  “We’re going to meet your father,” Amalgam said. He yanked Geist through the door and into the long corridor. “But I won’t let him hurt you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I thought I made myself clear. I don’t care about my nation, my comrades, or my old duties—my only goal is to keep you by my side.”

  Geist forced half a smirk. “Not that. Why would my father hurt me?”

  “Ah. To take your blood and give it to Prince Leopold. As an apology for you running away from your marriage proposal and attacking him during the attack on Paris.” He pulled her close. “Come.”

  Geist radiated warmth, the exact opposite of the GH Gas. The gas sucked life away and destroyed it, and her aura reminded him of a pleasant spring morning. Amalgam tried not to dwell on the sensation. He could get lost in the euphoric feeling, which would give Lieutenant Cavell the upper hand.

  Together they hustled down the basement hall. The destruction continued throughout the building; each brick and cement slab was infected with powerful ruina sorcery. Soon it would all collapse. Yet another pressing reason to escape before it was too late.

  Lieutenant Cavell headed in Amalgam’s direction. There was only one route up and down, after all. They would cross paths no matter what happened.

  “Is my brother here?” Geist muttered.

  “He’s at Alexander Palace.”