The Milkweed Triptych 01 - Bitter Seeds Read Online Free PDF Page B

barrage, much closer than the last, shook the building. The saucer danced across the table. Gretel, still absorbed in the works of the modernist poets, reached out with one arm and absently caught it just before it tipped over the edge.
    When she moved, the frayed insulation on her wires snagged the collar of her dress.
    “Are you in pain? If the batteries are uncomfortable, you could talk to . . . The doctor is here. . . .”
    She ignored him. Gretel had become increasingly distant in the years since her ability had manifested itself with visions of the future. He left her to her poetry.
    Rudolf watched the exchange from the doorway, cloaked in a quivering rage. The news of Reinhardt’s promotion had gone down poorly. He shoulder-checked Klaus as he stomped to Gretel’s seat.
    “Is this how you spend your time? Reading?”
    Turning a page, she yawned.
    “Is this all you do while we’re out there”—he jabbed a finger at the window—“facing bullets and bombs?”
    From his vantage in the doorway, Klaus saw one corner of Gretel’s mouth twitch up in the hint of a smile. He frowned.
    Rudolf continued, “Years of work to harness your willpower, and to what end? So that you can study poetry? I can’t imagine why the doctor keeps you alive. Even the imbecile Kammler is more useful than you. And your brother, at least he overcame that mongrel blood in your veins.”
    “Hey!” Klaus made to intercept Rudolf’s tirade, but Reinhardt caught his arm. He liked a good fight.
    Rudolf’s feet left the floor. Hovering next to her table, he said, “Look! He made us great.” He spread his arms and pirouetted above the floor. “He made us gods!” He landed. “But then there’s
you
. A disgusting waste.”
    Gretel noted the place in her book, set it on the table, then downed the rest of her tea. She scooted her chair back and stretched. Her back popped.
    “What,” Reinhardt muttered, “is your sister doing?”
    Klaus shook his head. But then Gretel dropped to all fours, and his unease became full-blown dread. Klaus fumbled for his wire. He plugged it into the battery on his waist and clicked the latch.
    Gretel crawled under the table.
    The scent of singed pine curled up from the floorboards beneath Reinhardt’s boots as he invoked his
Willenskräfte,
his willpower.
    Rudolf laughed. “That’s right! Crawl away, mongrel, crawl away to your dog house.”
    Gretel curled up, knees to chest, and clamped her hands over her ears.
    The taste of copper flooded Klaus’s mouth as he accepted the surge of electricity into his brain. The Götterelektron energized his Willenskräfte, turning him insubstantial at the same moment Reinhardt armored himself in a searing blue nimbus.
    Rudolf saw them and frowned. “What—?”
    WHUMP
!
    The explosion sent shrapnel winging harmlessly through Klaus’s ghost-body. Debris from the errant mortar shell vaporized in Reinhardt’s corona. He defended himself with a burst of heat that ignited the wooden floorboards.
    The smoke drifted through the hole where the window and part of the roof had been. Klaus’s ears rang.
    He rematerialized. Then he realized it wasn’t ringing he heard, but screaming from throughout the farmhouse. A figure lay on the floor, streaked in blood and clothed in burnt tatters, hands clasping its face.
    “Gretel!”
    She clambered out of her makeshift bomb shelter and dusted herself off. Klaus exhaled with relief.
    The room fell silent but for the crackle of flames, and screams that trailed off into sobs. Rudolf shuddered.
    Gretel kneeled next to him and took his hands. Shrapnel had reduced his face to so much meat. His breath came in explosive gasps.
    She leaned close. Like a lover, she caressed his ruined face, kissed his cheek, whispered in his ear. A single word passed her blood-smeared lips:
    “Incoming.”
    She stood. The hem of her dress draped across Rudolf’s face as she stepped over him. Then she sauntered out of the burning room, trailing the flying