by Shami Stovall
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GENRE: Fantasy
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BLURB:
The year is 1917, and the
Russian Empire is on verge of collapse.
Florence Cavell—codename Geist—takes her special
forces team of sorcerers into allied territory in an effort to hunt down spies
and keep the Russian royals alive. If the Russian Empire falls, the Germans and
Austro-Hungarians will turn their full attention to France and Britain. That
can't be allowed to happen.
Unfortunately for Geist, the enemy has sent the
Eyes of the Kaiser, specialists who hunt and destroy sorcerers. And they came
prepared to eliminate not only the Russian royalty, but the Ethereal Squadron
as well.
Praise for Ethereal Squadron:
"In tense, precise prose that skillfully conveys
detailed descriptions, Stovall delivers this engrossing story of fantasy
adventure with utmost precision. The Ethereal Squadron's riveting fantasy world
will fuel readers' imaginations and leave them crave for the next book in the
sequel."
- The Prairies Book Review
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT
1917
Geist made an art of stealth.
She slipped through the moonlight shadows around the Watson
Manor House, keeping to the grass to stifle the sounds of her steps. Cloaked in
invisibility, she made her way across the vast front yard. Her sorcery—specter
sorcery—gave her all the power and versatility of a ghost.
Geist. German for ghost. The magics in her blood had defined
her codename.
Once she reached the west wall of the manor, Geist peered in
through the nearest window. No lamps. No electric lights. And the crescent moon
didn’t help with visibility. Despite those limitations, Geist took in a deep
breath and calmed herself. Specter sorcery gave her the portfolio of a ghost,
but apex sorcery gave her all the superhuman abilities of a peerless predator.
Like any jungle cat, she saw through the dim lighting, her vision perfect and
unobscured by darkness.
The Watson Manor House, built in 1837, had all the posh and
luxury of a grand palace. The ceilings were carved into twisting, vine-like
designs, the marble tiles were arranged to create smoke patterns, and massive
paintings adorned every wall. Most notable were the bronze, iron, and steel
statues of people long since dead. A statue for every corner of the room.
Although it was midnight, someone should’ve been awake and
walking the manor—house staff who tended to the fireplaces or groundskeepers
going about their duties while the lord slept.
Instead, the chimneys were cold and the estate as quiet as a
graveyard.
With enough focus, Geist stepped through the manor wall, her
body, Springfield rifle, and uniform incorporeal until she reached the other
side. A shiver ran down her spine as she released the magic. A twisted scar on
her wrist burned afterward—a souvenir she had acquired in the German trenches.
Unlike a knife or bullet scar, the waxy sheen on her wrist represented damage
on a magical level. She pulled her sleeve down to hide it and suppressed the
terrible memories associated with the event.
Only fools trip on what’s behind them, Geist thought as she
examined the dusty dining table and china cabinets. No one had used either in
some time.
Geist snuck across the room and into the nearby hallway.
The Watsons were sorcerers with an unusual sorcery—they
could shape metal as if it were malleable clay, and while most Watsons used it
for artistry, as evidenced by their many ornate statues, some used the magic
for crafting weapons. They had provided specialty equipment for the Allies,
outfitting soldier sorcerers in the Ethereal Squadron.
But no one had heard from them in weeks. No letters. No
shipments. Not even the nearby town of St. Peter Port had any information. The
Watsons allowed their servants to live on their property, and the deliverymen
couldn’t get past the gate. Their sudden seclusion baffled everyone.
Which was why Geist had been sent. She needed to investigate
their disappearance and report back to the Ethereal Squadron in Verdun.
Please let me find someone here, Geist thought. Anyone.
The wood floor threatened to creak if Geist became careless.
She took her time and tiptoed through the dark atmosphere of the Watson Manor
House. The shadows of the copper statues created human silhouettes on walls,
and while a civilian might feel terror for the unknown, Geist had been through
hell and back.
She chuckled to herself. I’m the thing lurking in the
darkness that men fear.
After slinking through the foyer and making her way
upstairs, Geist slowed and crouched close to the ground, hoping to find signs
of a struggle. Sure enough, when she came to the bedrooms, she found the
hallway carpets disturbed and upturned at the edges. Instead of opening the
doors and potentially alerting someone to her presence, Geist ghosted through
the wood, maintaining her invisibility and becoming incorporeal.
A child’s bedroom.
It took Geist a few moments to take in all the details.
Stuffed animals. Dolls. Blocks stacked into a house-like shape. She caught her
breath when she examined the bed.
Pink sheets and a white comforter were twisted around the
pale corpse of an eight year old. Geist walked over, her teeth gritted. Apex
sorcery heightened all her senses. When she strained her ears, she couldn’t
hear shallow breaths, or even a heartbeat.
Geist touched the skin of the corpse and recoiled. The icy
chill of death unnerved her more than the thought of battlefields and combat.
The child had died long ago.
She unrolled the body from the sheets. Her hands shook as
she pulled back the collar of the child’s dress. Deep puncture wounds over the
jugulars told a terrible story of a slow death, and the bruises on the arms
screamed struggle and terror. But there wasn’t any blood. None on the dress.
None on the sheets.
None left to coagulate in the body.
Geist didn’t look at the corpse’s face. Instead, she covered
the body once she had concluded her examination, determined to give the little
girl dignity, even if she wasn’t alive to appreciate it.
After a brief moment to steady her breathing, Geist made her
way to the next bedroom. A little boy, two years younger than the girl, sat
atop his bed in a similar fashion. Cold to the touch and drained of all blood.
Nothing but a husk of his former self and shriveled from decay.
The next room was the same. A small child, barely able to
walk. The master bedroom, on the other hand, had two corpses, but the room
itself had been twisted with bits of metal—even the iron bars over the windows
and copper bedframe were warped. Had a fight broken out? Geist took note of the
destruction, especially the shattered vase and bullet holes in the wall. One of
the corpses held a gun.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Geist made her way
back downstairs. War took its toll on everyone, but nothing stung more than
seeing defenseless children wrapped up in the violence. She entered the
servants’ quarters and gagged on the strong copper scent that wafted out.
Ten men and women lay in the corner of the room, their necks
slashed, their clothes and beds black with dried blood. The whole room screamed
massacre. If there had been a struggle, Geist couldn’t detect it, which meant
fiends had slipped into the sleeping quarters, cut their throats without any of
the other servants waking, and then stacked them in the corner.
Sorcerers were far stronger than the average man, and the
trained soldiers who fought in the war were far scarier than anything else. The
servants never stood a chance, even if they had been awake.
Geist exited the room and searched the rest of the house,
her frustration turning to poison in her system without an outlet. Someone
should pay for this. A man of honor would never have participated in such a
slaughter.
Her findings were what she had feared—every Watson sorcerer
had been drained of blood while every civilian in their employ had been
murdered.
Geist exited the house, her concentration wavering. With
each disturbing thought, her invisibility slipped. She walked down the main
road of the house, confident the murderers had left the manor days prior.
Two members of the Ethereal Squadron awaited her at the
gates. Even without her apex sorcery to see through the shroud of darkness,
Geist knew them by mannerisms alone. One fidgeted with his belt and backpack
while the other stood perfectly still, coiled to strike like only trained
killers could.
“Geist?” the fidgety one called out. “Thank goodness you
came back.”
“What did I tell you?” the other growled. “Of course she
would return.”
“She was gone for over ten minutes. That’s longer than her
average whenever she goes to investigate.”
“I’m fine,” Geist said with a single chuckle. “You fuss too
much, Battery.”
Battery stepped out into the moonlight, his khaki British
uniform a sight for sore eyes. He stood the same height as Geist, shorter than
most in the Allied forces, but not by much. His youthful facial features and
lack of definition hinted at his age. Despite his lack of stature, he stood
straight and offered her a smile.
“I’m sorry I doubted,” he said. “But I couldn’t imagine this
war without you. Who would lead our team?”
The second soldier scoffed. “She can handle herself. And if
anything had gone wrong, I would’ve stepped in to kill it.”
He stepped out to stand next to Battery, a cold glare set on
his face as though it were tattoo—permanent and stark. Even if he had an
unwelcoming demeanor, Geist still smiled upon seeming him.
Vergess. A German defector to the United States, and one of
her most trusted teammates. He wore the drab olive uniform of the American
soldiers, complete with a 48-star American flag. While the United States hadn’t
officially joined the war efforts, sorcerers weren’t bound by the same
restrictions as the average man. Many volunteered for the Ethereal Squadron and
were accepted into the ranks after agreeing to follow the instructions of
British and French commanders.
“Wie geht es dir?” Vergess asked, his German smooth and
natural.
“I’m fine,” Geist replied and with an exhale. “But the
Watsons aren’t as lucky.”
Battery shot Vergess a sidelong glance. “I knew it. You were
worried about her.” Then he turned back to Geist. “Well, I came prepared. If
the Watsons are dead, we should use the camera to record the evidence. It’ll
take me a few minutes to set up, but I understand how to use it.”
“Didn’t you set a camera on fire back at the base?” Vergess
asked with a chuckle.
“Th-that’s not accurate! Tinker played a trick on me!”
Battery straightened the straps of his backpack. “Besides, I read the
instruction manual and trained with the cameramen of the 87th regiment. I’m a
professional now.”
Battery’s huge backpack carried a giant box made of mahogany
wood and steel hinges. He kept the tripod strapped to the outside. The entire
getup appeared cumbersome, and the straps of the backpack dug deep into
Battery’s shoulders.
Geist didn’t understand cameras. All the reporters said this
would be the first war truly captured in detail, yet they never explained how.
Their boxes of lights and pictures confused everyone. It wasn’t magic—Geist
could understand magic—yet their photographs took still images of reality and
made them permanent.
“There are corpses in all the bedrooms,” Geist whispered.
“And the servants are dead in their quarters. If you want photographs, make it
quick. All the sorcerers were drained of their blood.”
Both Vergess and Battery tensed, their eyes going wide.
“You think Abomination Soldiers targeted them?” Vergess
asked.
“Yes.”
They all knew why.
Before the Great War, sorcerers could only develop magic
that was in their bloodline. But after the war started—once the Germans and the
Austro-Hungarians began fiddling with technologies never thought of—they
developed Grave-Maker Gas. It melted flesh together at a baser level, creating
deformed monsters of multiple people or animals. They used the gas to melt
blood into their bodies in order to steal the magics from other sorcerers.
And now they were collecting rare samples.
Geist’s mouth tasted of cotton.
“Major Reese needs to know about this,” Battery said. He
hustled past Geist and headed toward the Watson Manor House. “I’ll be done
soon.”
Vergess shook his head. “I can’t believe they’re acting this
fast. Especially after we destroyed their stores of gas during the assault on
Paris. Do they really have more?”
“Maybe they’re just collecting blood for once they have it,”
Geist muttered. “Either way, we need to stay on guard. If they catch any of us,
they’ll drain us dry.”
Even muttering the phrase they’ll drain us dry sent a shiver
down her spine. She knew the enemy wouldn’t hesitate, considering her father
and ex-fiancé were top military officers. They had both tried to kill her in
the past, and she didn’t see why they would stop now that they had a way to
steal her specter and apex sorcery.
Geist glanced back at Battery. He came from a long line of
sorcerers with rare magic. And not just one magic, but untold numbers. Would he
be a target? The thought lingered in her mind for a prolonged moment.
“Stay with him,” Geist commanded, “while he takes his
photos. I’ll go to the port and make sure our ship is ready to take us back to
Le Havre.”
Vergess replied with a curt nod.
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links:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Shami
Stovall grew up in California’s central valley with a single mother and little
brother. Despite no one in her family earning a degree higher than a GED, she
put herself through college (earning a BA in History), and then continued on to
law school where she obtained her Juris Doctorate.
As
a child, Stovall’s favorite novel was Island of the Blue Dolphins by
Scott O’Dell. The adventure on a deserted island opened her mind to ideas and
realities she had never given thought before—and it was at that moment Stovall
realized story telling (specifically fiction) became her passion. Anything that
told a story, be it a movie, book, video game or comic, she had to experience.
Now, as a professor and author, Stovall wants to add her voice to the myriad of
stories in the world and she hopes you enjoy.
You
can contact her at the following addresses.
Twitter:
@GameOverStation
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My review:
3.75 out of 5 stars
A Company of Monsters by Shami Stovall is the second book
in the ‘Ethereal Squadron/The Sorcerers of Verdun’ series that features a group
of sorcerers, led by the intrepid person with the codename and abilities of
Geist (a ghost), who comprise a special forces team fighting during World War
I. Their journey across Russia to warn the great houses of sorcery that they
are being hunted by the enemy is fraught with danger and potential betrayal.
This historical urban fantasy provides an alternate view of
a dark period of history. Definitely not for the faint of heart, the adventures
of this very unusual group test their control of their abilities as well as
their loyalty. Not only are some of the villains horrendous in appearance and
actions, but their abilities facilitate carnage and destruction.
It was fascinating to see historical events through the
prism of magic that is a significant factor in many of the battles, and I think
the author did a good job of bringing the struggles to life. I was a bit lost
because I wasn’t familiar with this series, so it was a bit overwhelming to
absorb so much information about these folks and their abilities as well as the
arcane abilities of their foes. I had a hard time relating to the members of the
strike force at first, but their struggles and interactions drew me into the
story as tensions continued to rise. I do find it a little farfetched that they
would be operating in a country where none of them speak the language without
having found a way to communicate that did not depend on one person, and I’m still
a little puzzled about the powers displayed by some of the villains, but some
of the revelations were intriguing.
Those who enjoy historical battles and alternate history will
probably enjoy the twists and turns of this imaginative story. Be advised that
this is an ongoing series, so expect several dangling threads!
A copy of this title was provided for review
