Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (best color ereader .TXT) 📗

to be relatively uninvolved and un-harassed for nearly a decade. Part of the reason was that German forces intent on fighting battles elsewhere were granted unmolested passage through the mountainous lands. So long as major military movements did not harass or come near major cities, the peace was kept, though Milo had been here long enough to know that not everyone was as sanguine about the arrangement as the Federation let on.

“Are they some sort of German militia?” Milo asked, wondering at the play being made by a bunch of ideologue warmongers.

“That is what I thought at first,” Jorge said, tapping his cigarette ash into the glass. “But the information I have tells me no. With that information also came whispers about the man leading them. Whispers of monstrous sway he holds over his followers. The descriptions of his powers are inhuman.”

Milo’s pulse quickened.

“You think he’s a Questor,” Milo said, leaning forward eagerly. “Posing as a human militia leader.”

“That or he is human, with help from our Guardian friends,” Jorge said, looking down at his nearly spent cigarette. “Either way, he is no good for Georgia, and, I assume, no good for the status quo in Germany. The huge, liver-spotted hands of the General Staff might clench down on Nicht-KAT as they capsize, dragging you to a sterile basement lab in Berlin and me to a firing squad.”

Milo once again recalled Lokkemand’s terrified and guilt-wracked face.

“That or we all get co-opted by the Ewiges Reich.” A low snarl tore across the room that set the hair on the back of Milo’s neck on end. The effect was even more pronounced when he realized the angry, bestial noise had emerged from Jorge’s thin chest.

“I will see Europe made a wasteland and Germany’s name wiped from the record of history,” he growled, remembered battle-lust springing up in his worn face. “All that and more to keep such secrets from such men.”

Milo stopped himself from pointing out that if the Reich had connections with the Guardians, such secrets as Nicht-KAT had might already be theirs. Jorge didn’t seem to be in a debating mood, and Milo didn’t want to find out that Jorge had deeper and darker secrets than the world’s first wizard.

“Well, then it is not a question,” Milo said, stepping away from the table and walking toward Jorge, one hand inside his coat. “You know what you have to do with me.”

“Yes?” Jorge asked, giving Milo a long glance out the corner of his eye.

Milo forced his hand to be steady as he reached out and took a cigarette from the open case. Jorge didn’t stop him

“Set De Zauber-Schwartz loose,” Milo said, lighting his cigarette with a snap of azure flame as it hung from his lip. “Stop having me waste my time with faulty baubles and let me do what I do best.”

Another crooked smile crept onto Jorge’s features.

“Which is?”

Milo sent a plume of smoke over the top of his burning thumb, setting the smoke alight with a trivial amount of focus. The smoke writhed and burned like coiling cerulean vapors from a dragon’s maw before coalescing into leering death’s head that blackened and vanished with a sweep of the magus’ hand.

“Fight fire with fire.” He laughed, a rich dark sound at odds with his scarred young face.

Jorge nodded, the light of fury replaced by brooding glee.

“Will there be anything you need from me?” he asked, depositing his cigarette in the glass.

Milo considered the point for a moment, though he knew it was all theatrics. It was the thing he’d wanted and hoped for since leaving Afghanistan.

“There’s a certain fey aristocrat we have in common,” Milo said, allowing himself a smile. “I believe she could be vital to the success of the operation.”

“I think I might be able to help with that,” the colonel said, beginning the laboriously slow climb to his feet. “Assuming she is available, I don’t doubt she would be thrilled to work alongside you again. She seemed quite intrigued by you last time we spoke. A new operation would give her another opportunity to indulge her curiosity.”

Milo was thankful the cloud of tobacco smoke helped conceal the flush that had come to his cheeks.

“It’s not a new operation,” he said, his voice rough and throaty. “Just a continuation of what began in Afghanistan, sir.”

Now standing, Jorge looked into Milo’s face with a strangely paternal glow in his gaze. Wary of such a look, Milo nearly flinched away when the colonel’s hand reached out and rested gently against his shoulder.

“Have it your way, son.” Jorge beamed as Milo tried not to squirm. “Just remember what I said.”

“Which part?” Milo laughed stiffly.

“All of it.” Jorge chuckled as he gave Milo’s shoulder a squeeze and turned to leave.

Milo sat at his desk, smiling broadly as he went through the contents of the pockets of his coat. He hadn't had a chance to sort through the various ingredients he’d collected on his last late-night escapade, and it was just as well because it seemed his stimulant-soaked brain hadn’t been picky.

The ash and soot from the fire of a loving home had many useful properties, but the splinters he’d shaved from nearly half a dozen thresholds were embarrassingly impotent. He also found a sack of petrified pig droppings in the extra-dimensional pocket, which as far as he knew had no use except for being refined into sulfur, which he had plenty of.

There seemed to be even more, including a purse whose contents felt uncomfortably soft in his hands. Given the aura and smell emanating from the container, he wasn’t sure he’d ever open that one.

Despite this befuddling chore of discovery, he was still smiling when Ambrose finally ambled into the room.

“I assume you heard all that?” Milo muttered without looking up.

Ambrose grunted an affirmative before shuffling over to the couch against the far wall. He settled onto the seat with a low groan matched by the protest of the furniture beneath him.

“Why lurk outside in the hall for so