As World War II dawns over the United States, the newly-formed Office of Strategic Services calls upon the Conjurus, people born with the ability to control various elements, to assist in the war effort. Among them is Jay Loalin, and his first mission hits close to home when he learns that an SS officer, now the head of a branch dedicated to the study of magical beings, witnessed his fatherâs magic in World War I and has dedicated his life to merging the delicate and dangerous magic of the Conjurus and witchcraft to create the ultimate superman.
Getting into Germany and stopping the operation codenamed âWhite Raven,â isnât going to be easy, and Jay and his OSS partner, Lester Halcomb, must first go to North Africa to rescue a defector from the heart of the Afrika Korps in order to find information on the primary facility used for research. Only with this information can they make the dangerous journey north through Italy and southern Germany to strike before White Raven tips the balance of the war in Germanyâs favor.
As World War II dawns over the United States, the newly-formed Office of Strategic Services calls upon the Conjurus, people born with the ability to control various elements, to assist in the war effort. Among them is Jay Loalin, and his first mission hits close to home when he learns that an SS officer, now the head of a branch dedicated to the study of magical beings, witnessed his fatherâs magic in World War I and has dedicated his life to merging the delicate and dangerous magic of the Conjurus and witchcraft to create the ultimate superman.
Getting into Germany and stopping the operation codenamed âWhite Raven,â isnât going to be easy, and Jay and his OSS partner, Lester Halcomb, must first go to North Africa to rescue a defector from the heart of the Afrika Korps in order to find information on the primary facility used for research. Only with this information can they make the dangerous journey north through Italy and southern Germany to strike before White Raven tips the balance of the war in Germanyâs favor.
September, 1955
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Over the last several weeks since returning from Washington, I watched my fellow New Yorkers walking around far below my window gradually put on more and more layers of clothing as the weather grew colder and colder. Their clothes seemed to change with the leaves. Gusts of wind from Central Park blew shades of red and yellow and orange and brown around the street. In the past, I associated this time of year with the approaching holiday season, baskets of apples, pumpkins, cornfields, and Motherâs Thanksgiving dinner. That changed thirteen years ago, when I was approached for a secretive mission over in Europe during World War II.
At the moment Iâm not allowed to publish or talk about anything I did during and after the war because itâs all still classified, but I can write as much as I want in the privacy of my home as long as I donât show anyone and I keep everything in a secure place. If it takes decades for the information to be declassified, I would like my memoirs written just in case Iâm no longer around to publish them. What I did was important but it was also a fascinating story, and everyone loves a good story.
Iâm not a prideful person. I try not to brag about anything, but it would be silly of me to say I didnât take part in anything extraordinary during the war. Then again, a lot of events were extraordinary, strange, or miraculous. Many people, Conjurus, Magicless, and witches can claim they were part of these events. Even though the Magicless see me as an extraordinary person, I donât like to think so. Iâm not extraordinary among my own people. In fact, Iâm a perfect example of what an average ice-variant Conjurus looks like. I donât even have any powers that are considered rare or extraordinary.
Life is composed of successes and failures. I experienced a failure I thought I wouldnât recover from before I took part in the war effort. It still haunts me, and I still miss the people I lost. I wish they could have seen my successes later on. Then again, if they had survived, would I have even had the chance to do what I did? Would history look a little different? There are times when I do wonder if certain things are simply meant to happen, even if the reason isnât always clear.
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August, 1942
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In New York City, it didnât take long for everything to change when war was declared after Pearl Harbor, but in some ways it was a good change. Places and businesses that had come to a standstill during the Depression suddenly became hubs of activity for scrap drives and mass production of every little thing a soldier needs on the battlefield. Everyone was active, even the Conjurus.
I was a worker at a refrigerator factory here in Manhattan. Electric refrigerators were still fairly new then and ice-variants were gradually turning to the field as we no longer needed big blocks of ice to store food. Itâs not particularly glamourous or exciting, especially when one considers that I used to be an explorer in Antarctica.
My uncle Redvar ran a stand he set up literally overnight to collect scrap metal and rubber as soon as war was declared. At the end of every day he drove everything to the shipyard. Redvar embraces both Conjurus and Magicless cultures, which is something Iâve also tried to do, especially since he raised me alongside my mother when my father died.
I tried to give him something each day since he opened that stand. Sometimes it wasnât much, but I always did my best to have something for him. He was organizing crates of metal pieces when I arrived at the stand, hardly waiting for my motorcycle to stop before getting off.
 âWhatcha got today, Jay?â Redvar asked, a half-smoked cigar hanging from his teeth.
âAh, not much,â I replied, taking a small cardboard box from the back of the motorcycle. âSome nails and bicycle gears. Thatâs it.â
âBetter than nothing,â he said. âJust drop it by the counter.â He opened his makeshift cash register. âHow much you want for it?â
âIâm family. No need to pay.â
âAw, come on, even you need a little cash.â
I shook my head. âKeep it. You have Aunt Lucille to think about.â
Shrugging, Redvar closed the register. âYour choice, Jay.â He wiped sweat from his forehead. âHow was work?â
âAlright. Lost a bunch of workers to the draft. Theyâre gonna start hiring women to fill spots.â I probably shouldnât have added what I said next, but I did. âEven most of our ice-variants left.â
Redvar gave me a sympathetic look and gestured for me to come closer so we could speak more privately. âI know how badly you want to put your name in for the draft, but the second they see your nameââ
âTheyâll tie me to my father. I know.â
âYeah, plus, weâre not allowed. I know many of our people are going because they can pass as Magicless, and they donât care what our representatives say. Look, there are other things you can do. Didnât you mention your place is putting fridges on Navy ships?â
âYes, but thatâs not enough for me. Iâm still young. I can pass the militaryâs physical. I can pass as a Magicless if I really want to.â
âThatâs not what our representatives are concerned about. There are thousands of Conjurus who are able to join the military and pass as Magicless, but because of what Morgan did, we could get in serious trouble if our representatives found out or if someone from an enemy country found out.â
âDad tried saving the last of his unit. I think this is absurd.â
âGerman officers saw. Iâm not saying he was wrong, but it made things at the signing of the Treaty of Versailles more complicated. The Germans thoughtâno, accusedâthe United States of using Conjurus as weapons.â
âI know the story. There was a private meeting with Conjurus leaders about changing our status for the draft. They agreed with the military that itâd be better for us so we avoid capture and abuse by an enemy power. I know. I still want to go. Even if our leaders are too cowardly to send some of us overseas.â
âTheyâre not cowardly. They have good reason for sticking with their decision because they know about whatâs going on in Europe through refugees who came in months ago.â
I raised an eyebrow. âAnd whatâs going on?â
âDo you really want to know?â
âI do.â
Redvar sat behind his counter, taking his cigar out of his mouth and tapping it over an ashtray. âGermany is not exactly doing well in Russia.â
âIâve been seeing that in the newsreels.â
âYeah. Theyâre going to find themselves on the defensive sooner or later and theyâre desperate for a solution to get the Soviets out of their way. So, whatâs the solution? Kidnapping ice-variant Conjurus. Nobody knows where theyâre being taken or whatâs being done to them, just that theyâre disappearing.â
âThe only thing coming to mind is that the Germans could be making a magical army,â I said. âMade up of people who can survive winter with minimal effort and wreak havoc on the Soviets.â I shook my head. âI canât see the Germans being successful with making an army of Conjurus. Didnât they deport most of their Conjurus several years ago?â
âThey could still try, given how many countries they occupy. It might not be as large as their regular army, but itâs an army of beings with supernatural powers. That could be enough to scare the Soviets into surrender.â
âAnd it could convince Italy and Japan to do the same thing.â
âYeah. That wouldnât be a force anyone wants to face. Our representatives donât want any of us being captured because of this. Thatâs why theyâre not going to let us volunteer or be drafted. You do understand that, right?â
âI do, but that doesnât mean I still donât want to go.â
A look of defeat crashed over my uncle. He looked up, as if trying to ask God for advice, then looked back down at his counter. âJay, even if you could go... weâd all be worried about you. Trust me, I donât want to hold you back, but itâs too big of a risk.â
âIf thereâs nothing you can do, donât feel bad.â I turned to head back to my motorcycle, then looked over my shoulder. âTell Aunt Lucy I said âhello.ââ
âI will. Have a good night, Jay.â
I found a pair of newspapers, one from a Magicless publisher and the other from a Conjurus one, on my doormat when I arrived at my apartment. I set them both on the kitchen counter as I entered, unsure of whether or not I was going to bother reading them. Iâve only gotten my name in the papers once, and it wasnât for a good reason, just like my father. Although my instance had far less severe consequences than his had.
Around nine I left my study and went out into the kitchen to make a cup of tea before bed. My gaze fell on the newspapers on the counter as I waited for the water to boil. The Magicless paper contained more stories about the war. The Conjurus paper was largely the same, and the stories were mainly about the refugees coming in from Europe and their accounts of the German occupation of France and the Low Countries.
My uncle was right about the Germans rounding up ice-variants. That was one consistency I found in these stories. Those who were able to flee before they could be captured didnât have the slightest idea where these people were being taken.
What was strangest was that the Germans were taking everyoneâmen, women, children, young, old, sick, and injured. Redvar had suggested the kidnappings were to build an army that could withstand the elements, but this didnât look like they were searching for those who were fighting fit. Unless they were trying to get every ice-variant in one location to prevent escape of those who could or were threatening entire families to coerce the healthy men of fighting age into serving.
The articles continued with statements from Conjurus representatives. Most were claiming that now they would never let us put our names in for the draft if this was what was in store for us if we became prisoners-of-war. Others were considering sending in their own army, but that would require a vote, and I already knew a war declaration wouldnât pass. That and no one could be sure how the rest of the Allies would respond. An army purely made up of Conjurus would be far too small. Those who chose to go could be cast out from their families like my father was.
I closed the paper, tired of reading about the cowardice. Itâs no wonder many Conjurus have been choosing to live more closely to the Magicless and more like them. I glanced over at a photograph of my father hanging on the wall over my desk. I had been told by some of my relatives that I look almost exactly like him. The most noticeable difference is that heâs always smiling in the pictures, like heâs thinking about something so delightful he canât wait to share it. He was the one person anyone could count on. Selfless, loyal, and possibly the worldâs gentlest soul when he courted my mother. Redvar said it took two years before they were married.
I was only two when he died. I hardly have any memories of him, but I grew up thinking he was a hero, a legend, in a way. Redvar thinks so. My mother thinks so. Itâs hard living up to that, and itâs equally hard knowing Iâm never going to speak to him.
Unlike him, I generally donât smile. I do try sometimes, and Mother and Redvar claim itâs because I think more than I speak. Smiling for me became rarer when I returned from my last trip to Antarctica. What had happened was something I still hadnât been able to accept.
My gaze remained on my fatherâs photograph. I wished I could have one chance to talk to him, one chance to learn from him. He knew his place in the world. I had thought I found mine but in the end I turned out to be dead wrong.
It can be hard to find a quiet place to sit and think in Manhattan, aside from the libraries. I decided to walk to Central Park the day after talking to my uncle. The leaves were beginning to change colors. Some trees had already transformed into a bouquet of red, yellow, and orange. Others were still only tinged with color, but they would turn in time.
The sound of automobile horns mixed with the birdsong and wind rustling the increasingly dry leaves. An elderly man was raking the leaves that had fallen on the paths. He turned to say âhelloâ and tip his felt cap, and I responded in kind.
Up ahead I could hear the cooing of pigeons and I spotted a familiar young lady throwing seed and crumbs from a small pail. Laurel Wendaline. She was a fire-variant, and I had known her for a long time. We had met shortly after when I was taken up to the Adirondacks to hone and train my abilities, at a party celebrating the initiation of us and several other young Conjurus into our training. At the time I thought she was lovely, and we both had stories of our time away from civilization to train, although hers sounded much more fun; needing heat, her father had taken her to an isolated beach on Cuba sheltered by the jungle. She told me that she used to be a bit of a brat, and her experience gave her a chance to learn and better herself. Nowadays you would never suspect her behavior used to be so terrible, and she has grown into a much quieter, calmer, more patient young woman. I liked her for her patience, and it amazed me that we had remained friends after the Antarctic disaster when I became distant from everyone. She visited often and brought food, advice, and kind words. It took me a while to thank her for all she did, but when I did, I knew Laurel was someone I wanted to stay in my life.
It was nice to see her that morning. Her brown hair was almost shoulder-length and slightly curled at the ends, and her bright, twinkling eyes were just a few shades lighter in color. Her complexion and clothing always make her seem like the embodiment of autumn coziness. It took a moment for her to notice me walking toward her, but when she did she stood up straight and smiled. âGood morning, Jay.â
âGood morning, Laurel,â I replied, then gestured to one of the benches by the path. âMay I?â
âOf course.â Laurel pitched another handful of crumbs and seeds before covering the pail and sitting next to me. âWhat brings you out here?â
âJust wanted some peace and quiet. Off work today,â I said, looking over at the pigeons strutting around the sidewalk. âMaking new friends?â
Laurel smiled slightly. âNot particularly. This bread deflated in the oven last night and I didnât feel like throwing it out.â
âAh, so, youâre clearing your head today.â
âYes.â Laurel tipped her head back and sighed. âIâve never been so busy.â
âFeels good, doesnât it?â
âOh, yes, but one weekend to myself would be nice.â
I grinned a little. âThe Germans and the Japanese arenât going to put their plans on hold for a weekend.â
Laurel smiled. âIâll put someone else in my place, that way things still get done.â She looked up at the cold blue sky and then back at me. âWhy donât you come work with me? I think youâd be happier there.â
I shrugged. âI still have my place at the refrigerator factory. Besides, the most I could do is keep the freezer running. I could never stand in the heat of the kitchen for hours at a time.â
Her smile widened. Laurel picked up my hand. âNo, but the customers would surely love your flowers made of ice.â
âNow, how did I know you were going to mention those?â Laurel absolutely loves my ice roses. Iâve never been sure why, but I have a hypothesis, especially with the symbolism of roses. I held my hand out slightly, palm up, and with a slight effort, made a small cloud of white mist form around it. A slight cracking sound could be heard and a rose completely made of ice appeared. My ice roses are extremely fragile, and so detailed that no professional sculptor would be able to replicate them. Laurel is a fire-variant. To trust her with just holding the ice rose is a bit of a risk, but I trusted her regardless and carefully placed the rose in her palm.
âThank you,â she whispered, as though anything louder would shatter the rose.
âI will make bouquets for the diner, but that is all,â I said.
âTheyâll be good for morale. I appreciate it.â
I offered her a slight grin. âNo problem.â
There was silence for a few minutes until Laurel looked at me as the rose began melting. âWhy donât you go back to Antarctica? Theyâre still sending expeditions there. Youâve definitely changed for the better since that accident, but I can sense youâre... not as happy as you once were.â
I bit my tongue, my gaze turning downward to my boots and the sidewalk, my happiness from a second ago melting like the rose. Dead, dry leaves blew across, making scratching sounds as they bounced on the concrete. âWell...â I sighed, then paused. Going back isnât possible. I canât be trusted with another crew of explorers. âNo. I canât.â
âWhy? You learned from last time. I know you can prevent another tragedy.â
âThe next group will know who I am, and then how am I supposed to convince them to trust me?â I squeezed my hands together. âItâs like my father all over again. I wouldnât be surprised if the Loalin name is cursed.â
Laurel gave me a sympathetic look. âThat doesnât mean things canât change. Look at me. My parents thought I would never grow out of being a brat until the trip to Cuba. Looking back, I was quite an embarrassment to them. It was strange coming back and going to school and seeing people look at me differently. Change is part of life, even unexpected changes.â
Nodding, I relaxed my fists. âThatâs true. It also means it could take years for things to change. I would rather wait until after the war, but that doesnât mean Iâm going to do nothing now. Iâd like to see other places.â A sense of excitement began building in me again upon changing the topic. The wonder and thrill that came with travel. That wonder was tinged with soreness. It was traveling that gave me happiness, but it also had given me tragedy.
Laurel raised an eyebrow. âHow exactly are you going to do that? Thereâs nowhere to go thatâs safe now.â
âThat doesnât matter. I donât want to sit idly by. Iâm sure the British arenât having their Conjurus do nothing.â
âTheyâre in a completely different situation than we are. Jay-â Laurel gently took my shoulders, âI donât think youâre understanding just how dangerous things are.â
âI completely understand, but no one ever stopped me from going to Antarctica, did they?â
âNo, but-â
âThe danger is just as great, but I would rather face soldiers than Antarctic weather. Soldiers can be outsmarted. Antarctic weather canât.â
Laurel sighed. I could sense she felt defeated. There really was no talking me out of trying to go to Europe or Asia. âWhat if youâre captured? Iâm sure youâve been hearing about what the Germans are doing to their Conjurus.â
I wasnât sure how to answer that. I certainly donât think Iâm capable of effortlessly avoiding capture. Despite the powers we possess, anyone can catch a Conjurus if theyâre intelligent. Magicless Germans have clearly been able to do it. âItâs a risk I would have to live with until coming home. Iâm not denying your fears or Uncle Redvarâs or anyone elseâs, but Iâm tired of feeling held back. I want to see what my place is in the world, and Iâm not convinced Antarctica is it anymore.â
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I returned to my apartment feeling like all I had been doing that day was alienating everyone I knew. Every other Conjurus at work had accepted the fact that they werenât allowed to register for the draft or enlist and didnât feel like discussing it with me. Even when I mentioned the fact that there were already Conjurus secretly enlisting, I was told to stop daydreaming and keep working. We were doing our part for the war effort by building and maintaining refrigerators.
It was times like this where I felt like I needed someone to talk to. The only person I could think of was my father, even though heâs dead. I needed someone who was just as adventurous as myself.
My thoughts turned to my old team in Antarctica. They were all just as daring. After preparing a hot drink, I went into my study and dug around my cluttered desk for photographs from my time as an explorerâs assistant. On top of them is a framed one from my last team. I had been commissioned to be both a survival guide and a âlast survivorâ. A âlast survivorâ is exactly what it sounds like. An ice-variant has a higher chance of surviving in Antarctica than a Magicless, so we head back to where the expedition started if the rest of the group dies. Itâs our job to get the news back home about what happened.
I didnât think I would ever have to take on that role. I always made sure the team returned home safely. Frostbite was an issue, but I never had anyone die on my watch. I never let it happen.
I looked through those photos when I returned from the park, thinking hard about what Laurel said. Everything she said was true: Iâm a good explorer, I did love my job, and I tried harder than anyone could imagine. I had grown familiar with certain locations in Antarctica, including places I suggested landing. The problem with Antarctica is that itâs unpredictable. A perfectly suitable harbor can become treacherous in a matter of hours. I constantly revised maps and guides and it was tedious up until Duncan Barlow, one of the men I worked with for several years, suggested using the maps and guides to study patterns in the Antarctic ice and weather. After that I never felt more crucial to anything. I was the only member of the team who could stand out in the cold for hours to gather whatever information we needed.
I only saw Duncan a few times out of the year. He lived in Maine, but we kept in touch through telegrams and letters. When an expedition was planned, we met up in Washington and boarded a ship for South America. The weeks just spent on traveling were some of the best I experienced. Duncan was much older than I am. Like my father, he was a soldier in World War I. They didnât know each other, but he did hear about the incident my father was involved in.
âIt was impossible not to hear about. Every soldier, sailor, and Marine heard about it,â Duncan told me one morning as our ship was leaving a port in Cancun.
I nodded. âWhat exactly did you hear in terms of... the incident with my father?â
âA platoon was sent as backup for your fatherâs when they learned about the German ambush. When they arrived, there was a field of ice stretching for nearly a mile. Your father had been shot dead, and the ice started right in front of him. Not too far off, every German soldier had been frozen solid. They were said to look like sculptures. They either died from shock, hypothermia, or icicles driven through their bodies. No one had ever seen anything like it.â
âHow did the Germans even find out about this if there were no survivors?â
âThere was one. A sergeant. I think his name was Wahler, according to what I read. I donât know how he escaped, but he managed to tell his commanding officer and, well, you know the results of that.â
âThe Germans thought we were being used as weapons.â
âThe men who found your father were every bit as shocked as the Germans.â Duncan took a sip of his coffee. âThat was an interesting day. Word spread quickly about what happened, and they told everyone not to tell our families when the Conjurus representatives heard about the German accusations. They didnât want a big fuss about it.â
âDid you?â
âI wasnât married at the time. Didnât meet Margaret for another two years. I did tell her when I knew I could trust her. Turns out she already heard from her brother, and he knew your father during the war. He had been seriously wounded during the battleâsurvived, but had his right leg removedâand heâs forever grateful that Morgan did what he did.â
âIt sounds like something heâd do. Mother always said he was extremely selfless.â
âAnd what he did was one of the most selfless things a man can do.â
âHe wasnât given a heroâs funeral, though.â I bit my tongue as I thought, remembering what my mother told me about one of the representatives coming to the door a few days after my fatherâs body was brought back to the States. âWe were told not to talk about it outside of family.â
âThat had to be difficult. I can tell you many of us thought he deserved better, but when all mention of him disappeared once he was returned to his people, no one brought it up again.â Duncan smiled at me. âIâm very pleased to have his son on my team.â
For the longest time, I was certain I could be the man I knew my father would want me to be, and every expedition to Antarctica proved it until four years ago. After that, it wasnât just him I let down, but Duncan too. Everyone in that expedition.
I closed and locked the drawer after putting the photographs back. I couldnât look Duncan in the eye, even in a picture. A sudden swelling of pain had formed in my chest and tears started running down my face. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to the state of mind I found myself in for several months after coming home from Antarctica.
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The apartment was silent that night. I kept the lights dim except for the one by the radio and sat with a cup of cocoa, pulling back the curtains to peer at the city. Brightly lit spires and towers stood against the dark, bluish-violet sky, and the half-moon shone above them. As tired as I was from revisiting old memories, I wanted to finish my drink before I went to bed.
A jolt passed through me when I heard three knocks on the door. The surprise was followed by confusion. Who could it possibly be at this hour? Standing, I set my mug on the counter before going to the door. âWho is it?â
A manâs voice replied, âLester Halcomb. I wish to speak with a Mr. Jay Loalin.â
I didnât know any Lester Halcomb. Suppressing my nerves, I opened the door to see a man in casual clothing. He was short, skinny, had unusually prominent cheekbones, and his thick, black hair was tucked under a gray hat. He had a manila folder in his hand and I noticed the gold chain of a pocket watch wrapped around his index finger. He smiled and held out his free hand. âYou must be Mr. Loalin.â
âI am,â I said. âAnd... who exactly are you?â
Halcomb gestured into my apartment. âI will explain in private.â
I closed the door after he walked inside, and watched him study the room before I said, âHave a seat. Would you... like anything to drink?â
He shook his head. âNot at the moment, thank you.â
I sat across from him, holding my mug. âAlright, then, what is this private business you came here for?â
Halcomb set his folder on the coffee table. âYou are an ice-variant Conjurus, correct?â
I nodded.
âSon of Morgan Loalin?â
Another nod. âPlease, donât tell me youâre here to talk about him.â
âNo, but his name did lead me to you. You were a team member for expeditions in the Antarctic, right?â
âYes. I... donât want to talk about that, either.â
âI can understand, but I also hope you understand why I chose to approach you.â
I raised an eyebrow. âYour point?â
âYouâve heard of the OSS?â
I nodded. âRecently formed, right?â
âYes. Weâre looking to recruit Conjurus agents for specialized tasks in Europe and the Pacific. I was in the process of putting papers together when this intelligence came across my desk.â Halcomb looked at the folder. âWith the Soviets pushing back as hard as they can, the Germans have been struggling, to say the least, and their logistics have rendered them unprepared for to fight a drawn-out defensive war. Not that long ago, one of our spies found this facility in Polandââ He opened the folder, pointing to a photograph of a plain-looking building in the middle of nowhere, âand inside, they found a dozen cells, all holding ice-variants.â He turned to another photograph and his face paled. âThey also found a cadaver. It looks like the Nazis are conducting experiments, or studying them like you would a rat in a lab.â
I found it hard to look at the picture. My stomach was starting to turn in on itself. The man on the table was naked, and his torso had been opened from the base of his neck all the way down to his genitals. His hands had been flayed. The skin on his palms and fingers were pulled away neatly. âIt looks like theyâre trying to find the source of our powers.â
âWeâre still missing some pieces of the puzzle, but everything we do have points to them doing what they suspected the Allies of doing back in the First World War.â
I turned over the photograph before I could be sick. âThis is different. Very different. Did your spy find anything else? What exactly do the Nazis want to accomplish with this?â
Halcomb shook his head. âAll we found is the facility, and the man in charge.â He turned to another page in the folder. The next photograph was of a very thin, uniformed man with sharp facial features. âSS StandartenfĂźhrer Fritz Wahler.â Halcomb looked me in the eye. âThe same soldier who fled your fatherâs last stand.â
Now I felt sicker. If this really was the same man, was he doing this because of what he witnessed? âMy uncle had heard rumors that the Germans were going to use captured ice-variants as soldiers. This... doesnât look like it. This... is sick and twisted.â
âIt is, and we canât figure out what their goal is. Making their army less susceptible to the cold, creating ice-based weapons, no one knows, but this isnât going to continue.â
My thoughts came to a screeching halt. âAre you trying to get me to go?â
âTo put it bluntly, yes.â
I couldnât believe what I was hearing. âIâm in.â
Halcomb grinned, but he also looked puzzled. âThat was easier than I thought itâd be.â
âPardon?â
âNo one Iâve ever recruited said âyesâ immediately. Most took some time to think about it. This is incredibly dangerous work. Are you really sure about this?â
âPositive.â
âI do mean more dangerous than Antarctica.â
âIâm aware. Train me and send me. Iâm ready.â
Halcomb frowned. âYouâre not exactly going alone, Mr. Loalin. Once you complete your training, someone will be accompanying you to Europe.â
My heart was sinking. Iâd be a lot happier going on this mission alone. That way, thereâs no risk of anyone other than me getting hurt. That way, I donât disappoint anyone. I couldnât say that to Halcomb, though. Of course, I still had the option of not going, but going would be better than staying here and doing nothing. I just canât do nothing anymore, especially now that I know whatâs going on.
âIâll arrange for you to fly down to Washington.â Halcomb stood, closing the folder. âAny questions?â
âWhat do I tell my family?â
âMake something up.â
âI canât lie to them.â
âIâm sorry. You can say nothing, but I prefer something, even a lie, to them thinking youâve disappeared without a trace.â
White Raven is a brilliant re-imagining of what it might have been like if World War II, one of the most impactful and horrifying events in human history, had been influenced by magic. Jay Loalin is a Conjurus â a magic user who can manipulate a particular natural element such as ice. Desperate to both use his powers for good and live up to his famed fatherâs legacy, Jay longs to make an impact in the war effort. Both the government and many in the Conjurus community had decided, however, until involving the Conjurus overseas was too dangerous and unpredictable. When he is approached by Lester Halcomb, a member of the newly formed OSS, and asked to help eliminate one of the Third Reichâs most ruthless, vile officers and stop an ongoing project targeting ice-variants like Jay, himself, Jay cannot agree to help fast enough. Soon enough, he is leaving his family and friends in New York behind to go on a dangerous journey through the deserts of North Africa, the hills and forests of Italy, and all the way to an old vampiric castle in Germany. Along the way, he and Halcomb will have to learn how to trust not only each other, but new friends and strangers. In order to successfully complete their mission and return to Washington alive they will have to form previously unthinkable bonds, witness unimaginable cruelty and not get lost in their own desires for vengeance against the Nazis.
White Raven was fascinating. Right away, Jay was a narrator that was very easy to get attached to.  Catherine Douglas created a poignant, emphatic protagonist that is impossible not to root for. He and Halcomb made a great duo. In many ways they were opposites yet still complimented each other. One a Conjurus, one Magicless. One quick to trust, and one quick to suspect. Both bring different messages to the story. Through Jay, we learn it is okay to want to live up to a heroic parentâs legacy, as long as we do it for the right reasons and not just the thrill. Through Halcomb, we see a man who is forced to recognize that a person should not be demonized simply because he wears a certain uniform or calls a certain country home. In fact, those we have trained ourselves to distrust on sight might actually turn out to be our greatest allies.
White Raven is a spell-binding novel that brings home the idea that having power can be a dangerous thing. Power is blinding. It can make us insatiable and cloud our judgment. Without compassion and honor to support it, having too much power can very quickly turn a person to cruelty. In a world where we are constantly bombarded with stories in the news about struggles for economic, political, social and religious power, Douglas has provided the literary world with a prime example of how little power it actually takes to do good in the world. Whether you are a wielder of magical abilities or just an ordinary human being, it is how you choose to impact those around you that reflects the true power of humanity.