Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3), Aaron Schneider [top 50 books to read .txt] 📗

Milo and Ambrose exchanged looks and instantly relaxed. Milo lowered his fetish cane’s point to the pavement, and Ambrose straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. If these children were planning to intimidate vulnerable civilians, they were sorely mistaken.

“Can’t see how that is any of your business,” Ambrose said, only the slightest of rumbles in his cavernous chest.

“If you weren’t doing anything unsavory, you wouldn’t mind telling us, now would you?” the lanky youth snarled, and his pack gave growls and barks of agreement. They arrayed themselves across the pavement as they closed the distance, instinctively moving in lockstep.

“Unsavory?” Milo asked, and he and Ambrose exchanged looks again before bursting into laughter.

Between guffaws, Milo could tell the little posse didn’t take kindly to the levity, faces hardening as hands clenched.

“Berlin is for true Germans,” the leader roared. “It’s bad enough we have Poles and Jews slinking about. We don’t need perverts and deviants fouling our streets too.”

“I think you’re doing enough fouling on your own.” Ambrose chuckled, a dangerous edge coming into his voice. “I mean, what gutter did you boys muck out for that sludge in your hair? Your mothers aren’t going to be happy about that come bath time.”

Several of the young men slung their heads forward as they hissed curses between clenched teeth and shook fists Ambrose’s way.

“Oh, you might get a spanking for using such naughty words, but that might be the point, I suppose,” Milo crowed between snorts of laughter before trying to force a conciliatory face. “Sorry, sorry. We’re teasing. Settle down.”

The wizard leaned on his cane to catch his breath and fought to keep a straight face before the red-faced gallery.

“Now, what is this about? Were you afraid you were being left out?”

Curses, sharp and snarled, drowned out Milo’s ensuing laughter. Along with obscenities came several rude gestures and a fair amount of launched spittle. A small voice in the wizard’s head told him that this was hardly de-escalating the situation, but for the most part, he didn’t care. It was fun taunting the little hellions, and the longing for a fight hadn’t left him.

“Oh, don’t be like that now, boys,” Ambrose called, patting his hands at them in exaggerated placation. “Nothing says you strapping fellows can’t take care of each other. After all, what are friends for?”

Ambrose barely made it through the last words before he descended into a fit of laughter. Milo had settled enough to wipe his eyes, and he noticed the clenched fists of several of the young men now glinted with metal or shone with lengths of polished wood. It was a motley collection of coshes, knives, and pipes, but the hateful creatures outnumbered them five to one.

Milo straightened slightly at the same moment Ambrose noticed the escalation, and the laughter died on his lips.

“You boys best think twice,” he warned even as he wrestled with deploying a little magic to scare the urban brigands. “You went looking for trouble, and your hot heads are going to get you into hotter water.”

The warning had the opposite effect of what Milo had hoped for as predatory grins slid across flushed faces and they edged forward. They’d taken the words as evidence of fear rather than concern for not killing them. The magus suddenly realized he was stupid to envy the immoderation of the common youth.

It was about to get someone killed.

“Does bigotry lead to blindness?” Ambrose asked with a sideways look at the wizard. “Or have these boys' eyes not adjusted from the nursery nightlights?”

Milo seamlessly clueing in on Ambrose’s strategy, they both took a step forward and closer to the lamplight. Upon seeing the men’s uniforms, a ripple went through the pack. As one, they tilted sideways glances at their alpha. The young firebrand’s jaw tightened for a second, but before another heartbeat could pass, he leveled an accusing finger at them, voice raised in a theatrical cry.

“You're not worthy of those uniforms!” he screamed, his voice shaking with fury. “You dishonor the Fatherland and its people with your public depravity.”

His fellows all snapped back on pointe, teeth bared as they inched forward, weapons in hand. Things were quickly approaching the point of no return. Milo realized he would soon have to decide if he’d reveal himself or if he was willing to risk being beaten to death to keep his secret safe.

He raised his voice over the growing babble of angry curses and slurs, trying to sound reasonable. As his voice rang out, he had a revelation that the secret of his magic wasn’t his but the general staff’s as well.

Things had gotten damned complicated quickly.

“Not that it is any of your business,” Milo said, squaring his shoulders and trying to exude officerial authority. “We are two soldiers who were sharing old stories. If you're going to go around defending the Fatherland’s honor, try enlisting or at least picking a fight over something that actually happened.”

The pack advanced two steps, the lamplight shifting behind their hunched backs. One look at the shadowed faces and the feverish glares burning in those sockets told Milo it was too late. Things were in motion and wouldn’t be stopped.

“No fireworks,” Ambrose whispered out the corner of his mouth, coming to the same conclusion as Milo.

A stocky young boy with a crooked nose broke away from the group, brandishing a short length of pipe atop which sat a large blocky bolt.

“If we can avoid killing them and exposing me,” he breathed, sliding the cane into both hands, “that would be preferable.”

“I’m going to smash your lying face in,” growled the mace-wielding youth as he leveled a finger at Milo. “Then I’ll bring that coat back for my commission.”

Ambrose cracked a smile as the boy charged at Milo.

“Don’t think it works that way, kid.”

The rush was wild and sloppy, but the wizard wasn’t taking any chances. He wouldn’t throw fire and ice or conjure terrifying shades—certainly not for some time—but that wasn’t the only