Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (my reading book .txt) 📕

Beck gave a grunt and pointed across the lot. They were headed toward a squat brick building surrounded by a barbed fence as tall as the two-story building.

A tug in his chest of something that might have been grief or maybe pity as he thought of the youth behind him. He thought about looking for an opportunity to take the young man aside and get him to come to his senses, but the scheme died barely formed.

Milo remembered what his own reaction had been, and that was someone he had reason to listen to. Milo interfering could only end worse.

The guards at the fence gate asked their perfunctory questions, but Beck saw things sorted out quickly. It seemed the sergeant major had a reputation that opened doors.

At the guard’s advice, they headed around the exterior of the building toward the rear. The Nicht-KAT station was in the back under a series of canvas tents so they could carry out their business without interference or eavesdropping from the various officers, enlisted, and civilian support staff that passed through the main command hub.

“Best to keep clear of the Black Kats, eh?” The guard gave a chuckle that vanished as Milo straightened to give him an arch look. To complete the display, Ambrose gave a sub-audible growl in his chest as they strode past the paling guard.

“Black Kats?” Milo muttered as they rounded the corner of the building, pitching his voice so only Ambrose could hear.

“Fits, I suppose.” Ambrose shrugged. “Hate to tell you this, Magus, but you haven’t exactly been a good luck charm.”

“It’s not like you…” Milo paused, realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his claim would have been wholly untrue.

The entrance to the tent had two more guards stationed outside it. Without invitation, Beck stepped forward to make their introductions.

“Exactly.” Ambrose grunted softly as Beck spoke to the guards. “Three times in nearly a hundred and twenty years, then inside a month of meeting you, I’m up to four, and not without a few close calls.”

Milo spluttered and then watched as one guard stepped inside to get clearance for their entry.

“What’s going on?” Imrah hissed as she slid up next to both men. “What is taking so long?”

“When we met with your father, we had to wait to be introduced,” Milo said as both men looked over their shoulders at her. “Hardly seems worth getting jumpy about.”

“My father,” Imrah sniffed, “is the most powerful ghul in the entire Underworld. Your commanding officer is part of an organization named after a creature little better than the vermin it eats.”

“KAT doesn’t—” Ambrose began before Milo cut him off.

“You’re just bent out of shape because of all the humans,” he grumbled. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

Imrah choked back a snarl and leaned forward so she was practically whispering in their ears.

“If they had even an inkling of what I am, they’d be piling on logs for the fire,” she hissed. “I think I have every right to be nervous.”

“Whereas in Ifreedahm, they kept trying to eat us,” Ambrose remarked with a dry chuckle. “Right?”

“Hard to argue with,” Milo agreed with a nod.

Imrah made to argue but snapped her mouth shut with a click and took a step back to sulk properly. Ambrose turned back to the tent, but Milo watched her for a moment longer. With her chin outthrust and her nose in the air, she was a haughty figure, but he couldn’t pretend that with the sun shining on her olive skin, she wasn’t rather fetching.

Fetching in her stolen skin, he reminded himself with a shake of his head. Whatever she looks like now, remember her beauty is literally only skin-deep.

Milo turned back to watch for the tent guard’s return. Ambrose was muttering to himself.

“Probably not very tactful to be needling my instructor like that.”

Ambrose gave him a wry grin as the tent entrance flapped open.

“Bah, builds the relationship,” the bodyguard said as the guard beckoned them forward.

“Let’s hope,” Milo said out the side of his mouth as they moved into the tent. “If I get extra homework, you're pitching in.”

Inside the tent, several collapsible desks had been arranged into a miniature typing pool where two men and three women in uniform hammered away without looking up. Beyond them, four square tables had been arranged into an even larger square, and a map had been spread out. At the farthest corner of this table, another typewriter sat alongside piled accordion files and a bottle of schnapps. Looming over the table was Captain Lokkemand, his cheeks stubbled with the beginnings of a fiery beard.

He looked up as the tent flap closed behind the trio, motioning impatiently for them to join him at the map table. They acquiesced, moving around the intent typists to stand across the table from the brooding officer. The map showed both Afghanistan and neighboring Pakistan. There were many markers around Bamyan, with a few trailing north and west. They might have been troop dispositions, but it wasn’t clear, and the little paper notes under each marker were of no help, having been written in scribbled shorthand.

“Captain?” Milo said tentatively after they had waited for several minutes.

“What are you doing here?” Lokkemand drawled, not looking up from the map he was glowering at. “You were supposed to be in training. You can’t possibly be done already?”

“The situation has changed,” Milo began carefully. “I was sent here by my instructors.”

Lokkemand looked up fleetingly, his eyes cutting sharply across the three of them before returning to the map.

“Don’t tell me you failed already,” Lokkemand said, heaving a heavy sigh. “It would win my bet with the colonel, but it would create a good deal more work than the bottle of aquavit I am going to get.”

“No, sir,” Milo said, fighting to keep his tone level after the revelation of the bet. “My studies were progressing exceptionally.”

Imrah made a sound in the back of her throat, but Milo ignored her.

“The change occurred when zeppelins began flying over a certain