Chapter 1
September, 1955
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 Mother’s 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 I’m not allowed to publish or talk about anything I did during and after the war because it’s all still classified, but I can write as much as I want in the privacy of my home as long as I don’t 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 I’m no longer around to publish them. What I did was important but it was also a fascinating story, and everyone loves a good story.
I’m not a prideful person. I try not to brag about anything, but it would be silly of me to say I didn’t 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 don’t like to think so. I’m not extraordinary among my own people. In fact, I’m a perfect example of what an average ice-variant Conjurus looks like. I don’t even have any powers that are considered rare or extraordinary.
Life is composed of successes and failures. I experienced a failure I thought I wouldn’t 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 isn’t always clear.
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August, 1942
In New York City, it didn’t 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. It’s 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 I’ve 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 wasn’t 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.
“Whatcha got today, Jay?” Redvar asked, a half-smoked cigar hanging from his teeth.
“Ah, not much,” I replied, taking a small cardboard box from the back of the motorcycle. “Some nails and bicycle gears. That’s it.”
“Better than nothing,” he said. “Just drop it by the counter.” He opened his makeshift cash register. “How much you want for it?”
“I’m family. No need to pay.”
“Aw, come on, even you need a little cash.”
I shook my head. “Keep it. You have Aunt Lucille to think about.”
Shrugging, Redvar closed the register. “Your choice, Jay.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “How was work?”
“Alright. Lost a bunch of workers to the draft. They’re gonna start hiring women to fill spots.” I probably shouldn’t have added what I said next, but I did. “Even most of our ice-variants left.”
Redvar gave me a sympathetic look and gestured for me to come closer so we could speak more privately. “I know how badly you want to put your name in for the draft, but the second they see your name—”
“They’ll tie me to my father. I know.”
“Yeah, plus, we’re not allowed. I know many of our people are going because they can pass as Magicless, and they don’t care what our representatives say. Look, there are other things you can do. Didn’t you mention your place is putting fridges on Navy ships?”
“Yes, but that’s not enough for me. I’m still young. I can pass the military’s physical. I can pass as a Magicless if I really want to.”
“That’s 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.”
“Dad tried saving the last of his unit. I think this is absurd.”
“German officers saw. I’m not saying he was wrong, but it made things at the signing of the Treaty of Versailles more complicated. The Germans thought—no, accused—the United States of using Conjurus as weapons.”
“I know the story. There was a private meeting with Conjurus leaders about changing our status for the draft. They agreed with the military that it’d 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.”
“They’re not cowardly. They have good reason for sticking with their decision because they know about what’s going on in Europe through refugees who came in months ago.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what’s going on?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I do.”
Redvar sat behind his counter, taking his cigar out of his mouth and tapping it over an ashtray. “Germany is not exactly doing well in Russia.”
“I’ve been seeing that in the newsreels.”
“Yeah. They’re going to find themselves on the defensive sooner or later and they’re desperate for a solution to get the Soviets out of their way. So, what’s the solution? Kidnapping ice-variant Conjurus. Nobody knows where they’re being taken or what’s being done to them, just that they’re disappearing.”
“The only thing coming to mind is that the Germans could be making a magical army,” I said. “Made up of people who can survive winter with minimal effort and wreak havoc on the Soviets.” I shook my head. “I can’t see the Germans being successful with making an army of Conjurus. Didn’t they deport most of their Conjurus several years ago?”
“They could still try, given how many countries they occupy. It might not be as large as their regular army, but it’s an army of beings with supernatural powers. That could be enough to scare the Soviets into surrender.”
“And it could convince Italy and Japan to do the same thing.”
“Yeah. That wouldn’t be a force anyone wants to face. Our representatives don’t want any of us being captured because of this. That’s why they’re not going to let us volunteer or be drafted. You do understand that, right?”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t want to go.”
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. “Jay, even if you could go... we’d all be worried about you. Trust me, I don’t want to hold you back, but it’s too big of a risk.”
“If there’s nothing you can do, don’t feel bad.” I turned to head back to my motorcycle, then looked over my shoulder. “Tell Aunt Lucy I said ‘hello.’”
“I will. Have a good night, Jay.”
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. I’ve only gotten my name in the papers once, and it wasn’t 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 didn’t have the slightest idea where these people were being taken.
What was strangest was that the Germans were taking everyone—men, women, children, young, old, sick, and injured. Redvar had suggested the kidnappings were to build an army that could withstand the elements, but this didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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. It’s 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 he’s always smiling in the pictures, like he’s thinking about something so delightful he can’t wait to share it. He was the one person anyone could count on. Selfless, loyal, and possibly the world’s 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. It’s hard living up to that, and it’s equally hard knowing I’m never going to speak to him.
Unlike him, I generally don’t smile. I do try sometimes, and Mother and Redvar claim it’s 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 hadn’t been able to accept.
My gaze remained on my father’s 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 “hello” 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. “Good morning, Jay.”
“Good morning, Laurel,” I replied, then gestured to one of the benches by the path. “May I?”
“Of course.” Laurel pitched another handful of crumbs and seeds before covering the pail and sitting next to me. “What brings you out here?”
“Just wanted some peace and quiet. Off work today,” I said, looking over at the pigeons strutting around the sidewalk. “Making new friends?”
Laurel smiled slightly. “Not particularly. This bread deflated in the oven last night and I didn’t feel like throwing it out.”
“Ah, so, you’re clearing your head today.”
“Yes.” Laurel tipped her head back and sighed. “I’ve never been so busy.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, but one weekend to myself would be nice.”
I grinned a little. “The Germans and the Japanese aren’t going to put their plans on hold for a weekend.”
Laurel smiled. “I’ll put someone else in my place, that way things still get done.” She looked up at the cold blue sky and then back at me. “Why don’t you come work with me? I think you’d be happier there.”
I shrugged. “I 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.”
Her smile widened. Laurel picked up my hand. “No, but the customers would surely love your flowers made of ice.”
“Now, how did I know you were going to mention those?” Laurel absolutely loves my ice roses. I’ve 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.
“Thank you,” she whispered, as though anything louder would shatter the rose.
“I will make bouquets for the diner, but that is all,” I said.
“They’ll be good for morale. I appreciate it.”
I offered her a slight grin. “No problem.”
There was silence for a few minutes until Laurel looked at me as the rose began melting. “Why don’t you go back to Antarctica? They’re still sending expeditions there. You’ve definitely changed for the better since that accident, but I can sense you’re... not as happy as you once were.”
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. “Well...” I sighed, then paused. Going back isn’t possible. I can’t be trusted with another crew of explorers. “No. I can’t.”
“Why? You learned from last time. I know you can prevent another tragedy.”
“The next group will know who I am, and then how am I supposed to convince them to trust me?” I squeezed my hands together. “It’s like my father all over again. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Loalin name is cursed.”
Laurel gave me a sympathetic look. “That doesn’t mean things can’t 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.”
Nodding, I relaxed my fists. “That’s true. It also means it could take years for things to change. I would rather wait until after the war, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do nothing now. I’d like to see other places.” 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. “How exactly are you going to do that? There’s nowhere to go that’s safe now.”
“That doesn’t matter. I don’t want to sit idly by. I’m sure the British aren’t having their Conjurus do nothing.”
“They’re in a completely different situation than we are. Jay-” Laurel gently took my shoulders, “I don’t think you’re understanding just how dangerous things are.”
“I completely understand, but no one ever stopped me from going to Antarctica, did they?”
“No, but-”
“The danger is just as great, but I would rather face soldiers than Antarctic weather. Soldiers can be outsmarted. Antarctic weather can’t.”
Laurel sighed. I could sense she felt defeated. There really was no talking me out of trying to go to Europe or Asia. “What if you’re captured? I’m sure you’ve been hearing about what the Germans are doing to their Conjurus.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I certainly don’t think I’m capable of effortlessly avoiding capture. Despite the powers we possess, anyone can catch a Conjurus if they’re intelligent. Magicless Germans have clearly been able to do it. “It’s a risk I would have to live with until coming home. I’m not denying your fears or Uncle Redvar’s or anyone else’s, but I’m tired of feeling held back. I want to see what my place is in the world, and I’m not convinced Antarctica is it anymore.”
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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 weren’t allowed to register for the draft or enlist and didn’t 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 he’s 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 explorer’s 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 “last survivor”. A “last survivor” 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. It’s our job to get the news back home about what happened.
I didn’t 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: I’m 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 it’s 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 didn’t know each other, but he did hear about the incident my father was involved in.
“It was impossible not to hear about. Every soldier, sailor, and Marine heard about it,” Duncan told me one morning as our ship was leaving a port in Cancun.
I nodded. “What exactly did you hear in terms of... the incident with my father?”
“A platoon was sent as backup for your father’s 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.”
“How did the Germans even find out about this if there were no survivors?”
“There was one. A sergeant. I think his name was Wahler, according to what I read. I don’t know how he escaped, but he managed to tell his commanding officer and, well, you know the results of that.”
“The Germans thought we were being used as weapons.”
“The men who found your father were every bit as shocked as the Germans.” Duncan took a sip of his coffee. “That 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 didn’t want a big fuss about it.”
“Did you?”
“I wasn’t married at the time. Didn’t 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 battle—survived, but had his right leg removed—and he’s forever grateful that Morgan did what he did.”
“It sounds like something he’d do. Mother always said he was extremely selfless.”
“And what he did was one of the most selfless things a man can do.”
“He wasn’t given a hero’s funeral, though.” 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 father’s body was brought back to the States. “We were told not to talk about it outside of family.”
“That 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.” Duncan smiled at me. “I’m very pleased to have his son on my team.”
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 wasn’t just him I let down, but Duncan too. Everyone in that expedition.
I closed and locked the drawer after putting the photographs back. I couldn’t 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. “Who is it?”
A man’s voice replied, “Lester Halcomb. I wish to speak with a Mr. Jay Loalin.”
I didn’t 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. “You must be Mr. Loalin.”
“I am,” I said. “And... who exactly are you?”
Halcomb gestured into my apartment. “I will explain in private.”
I closed the door after he walked inside, and watched him study the room before I said, “Have a seat. Would you... like anything to drink?”
He shook his head. “Not at the moment, thank you.”
I sat across from him, holding my mug. “Alright, then, what is this private business you came here for?”
Halcomb set his folder on the coffee table. “You are an ice-variant Conjurus, correct?”
I nodded.
“Son of Morgan Loalin?”
Another nod. “Please, don’t tell me you’re here to talk about him.”
“No, but his name did lead me to you. You were a team member for expeditions in the Antarctic, right?”
“Yes. I... don’t want to talk about that, either.”
“I can understand, but I also hope you understand why I chose to approach you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your point?”
“You’ve heard of the OSS?”
I nodded. “Recently formed, right?”
“Yes. We’re 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.” Halcomb looked at the folder. “With 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 Poland—” He opened the folder, pointing to a photograph of a plain-looking building in the middle of nowhere, “and inside, they found a dozen cells, all holding ice-variants.” He turned to another photograph and his face paled. “They also found a cadaver. It looks like the Nazis are conducting experiments, or studying them like you would a rat in a lab.”
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. “It looks like they’re trying to find the source of our powers.”
“We’re 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.”
I turned over the photograph before I could be sick. “This is different. Very different. Did your spy find anything else? What exactly do the Nazis want to accomplish with this?”
Halcomb shook his head. “All we found is the facility, and the man in charge.” He turned to another page in the folder. The next photograph was of a very thin, uniformed man with sharp facial features. “SS Standartenführer Fritz Wahler.” Halcomb looked me in the eye. “The same soldier who fled your father’s last stand.”
Now I felt sicker. If this really was the same man, was he doing this because of what he witnessed? “My uncle had heard rumors that the Germans were going to use captured ice-variants as soldiers. This... doesn’t look like it. This... is sick and twisted.”
“It is, and we can’t figure out what their goal is. Making their army less susceptible to the cold, creating ice-based weapons, no one knows, but this isn’t going to continue.”
My thoughts came to a screeching halt. “Are you trying to get me to go?”
“To put it bluntly, yes.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I’m in.”
Halcomb grinned, but he also looked puzzled. “That was easier than I thought it’d be.”
“Pardon?”
“No one I’ve ever recruited said ‘yes’ immediately. Most took some time to think about it. This is incredibly dangerous work. Are you really sure about this?”
“Positive.”
“I do mean more dangerous than Antarctica.”
“I’m aware. Train me and send me. I’m ready.”
Halcomb frowned. “You’re not exactly going alone, Mr. Loalin. Once you complete your training, someone will be accompanying you to Europe.”
My heart was sinking. I’d be a lot happier going on this mission alone. That way, there’s no risk of anyone other than me getting hurt. That way, I don’t disappoint anyone. I couldn’t 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 can’t do nothing anymore, especially now that I know what’s going on.
“I’ll arrange for you to fly down to Washington.” Halcomb stood, closing the folder. “Any questions?”
“What do I tell my family?”
“Make something up.”
“I can’t lie to them.”
“I’m sorry. You can say nothing, but I prefer something, even a lie, to them thinking you’ve disappeared without a trace.”
