by Karen Kincy
“You don’t have to marry a man because you’re pregnant,” Jin Hua said.
“Of course.” This wasn’t something she disagreed with.
“Or because he’s mysterious and handsome.”
Ardis swallowed hard. “Wendel knew Thorsten.”
Her mother smoothed her skirt under her hands. “How?”
“Constantinople. The Order of the Asphodel.”
“The assassins?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Was Thorsten a target?”
Yes, he had always been Wendel’s primary target, but she needed to explain why. “Thorsten is the Grandmaster of the Order.”
The color faded from Jin Hua’s cheeks. “How do you know this?”
“He told me himself.” She looked her mother in the eye. “How did you meet Thorsten? How did you stay with him for two months?”
Jin Hua tilted her chin upward, as if unashamed. “How long have you known Wendel?”
“Wendel is nothing like Thorsten.” She sliced her hand through the air.
“Has it even been two months?”
Barely. But Ardis refused to admit this out loud. “Thorsten Magnusson is a cruel man.” Pain choked her throat.
Her mother stared out the dingy little window. “You don’t know him.”
“I know enough.”
“He came to me in the brothel.” Jin Hua’s gaze focused somewhere faraway. “I thought he wanted a girl, but he wanted to find a man.”
“To kill?”
Jin Hua’s laugh sounded dry, like dead leaves. “He wasn’t looking for a whore. Besides, we never catered to men seeking men.” Obviously. Ardis knew her mother’s brothel all too well. “He wanted to hunt this man down.”
“He told you?”
“Not that he was an assassin,” Jin Hua murmured, “but I saw it in his eyes.”
“You helped him?” Her stomach turned, dreading the answer.
“Of course not.” Jin Hua forced a laugh. “If I confessed the location of even one customer, I would lose them all.”
Ardis twisted her mouth. “I’m assuming Thorsten didn’t just walk away.”
“Your father tried to convince me. He said he was looking for a dangerous man, one who might hurt my courtesans.” Jin Hua’s hand fluttered as if brushing this away. “He was a terrible liar, but he respected my decision.”
“What happened then?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
A faint smile touched Jin Hua’s mouth. “We mixed business with pleasure.”
“God.”
“I’m not a nun.” She scoffed. “When I see a handsome man, I don’t let him walk away.”
Heat scorched Ardis’s cheeks. “Did you love him?”
“Does it matter?”
Ardis pushed herself from the armchair and paced around the room. Her skin prickled with anxiety. “It matters to me.”
“Do you love Wendel?”
She hesitated, which instantly brought out her guilt. “Yes.”
Jin Hua eyed her with careful consideration. “Listen to your gut.”
Ardis stopped pacing long enough to look at her. “Do you regret anything?”
Her mother crossed the room and clasped her shoulder. “Nothing.” She smiled. “Why would I regret a daughter like you?”
Ardis stepped back, embarrassed by her affection. “Mama.”
“Maybe I will have a granddaughter soon.”
“Mama!”
Jin Hua laughed. “Go. Rest.” She gave her a quick hug.
Ardis bent over her mother’s shoulder, since she was so much taller. She had inherited her height from Thorsten Magnusson.
She hoped that was all.
~
A hollow ache gnawed in her stomach as Ardis left her mother’s hotel. Icy wind stole her warmth and flung her air into her eyes. She tugged her jacket tighter and kept her head down, navigating the never-ending strangers.
Shivering, she waited at a crosswalk as traffic growled before her.
A black auto cut across the street and pulled over. The driver climbed out and opened the back door. “Miss Black.”
She didn’t recognize him, but she saw Detective Grimaldi sitting in the back.
This was supposed to be a vacation, not an interrogation. But fleeing from the police wouldn’t improve matters.
She put on a professional face–blank, obedient, waiting for orders–before she ducked into the black auto. Grimaldi acknowledged her with a nod, already smoking a cigarette. She held her breath so she wouldn’t cough.
“Detective,” she said.
He dragged on the cigarette. “Well.”
She waited for him to speak first. She wasn’t about to tell him any more than she had to. Silence was a mercenary’s best friend.
“What happened at Enderman’s?” Grimaldi said.
The black auto lurched into motion and merged with traffic. She looked him in the eye. “You told me to go there, so I did.”
“And?”
“I was too late.” No emotion reached her face. “Four men had been killed.”
“By?”
She shrugged rather than lie outright. “Not me.”
Grimaldi’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What did you see?”
“They had been stabbed to death. It must have been quick and quiet, since the barmaid outside didn’t know they were dead.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing.”
After dragging on the cigarette, Grimaldi exhaled smoke. “Christ Almighty.”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Not vigilante justice.” He rolled down the window and tapped ash outside. “These dead men make our job that much harder.”
“Do you know who did it?” she asked, her voice level.
Grimaldi met her gaze. “Do you?”
“No.” She didn’t blink. Wendel was in the hospital, and they didn’t know about another. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nemesis is the dry rot under the foundation of New York. The corruption goes deep.”
She frowned. “I don’t know where to look next.”
Grimaldi flicked the cigarette butt out the window. Smoke lingered inside the auto. “Check out the Black Cat.”
“Where?”
“A shabby little whorehouse just over the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“Why?”
“We believe Nemesis is recruiting there.” Grimaldi pressed a scrap of paper into her hand. “Go introduce yourself.”
She unfolded the paper and glanced at the address. “Understood.”
“Good luck.” Grimaldi rapped on the glass between them and the driver.
They slowed to a halt. She let herself out, all her unspoken secrets burning in her throat. It was only a matter of time before they learned the truth about Wendel. Or before one of the Wendels discovered her betrayal.
~
Ardis penned a note in their room at Hotel Donovan:
Tired of eating alone. Going to the hospital for dinner.
She folded the paper twice and left it at the foot of the bed. After closing the door behind her, a weight lifted from her chest. She hurried downstairs, her footsteps quickening, and abandoned the lobby for the blue evening.
The subway ride to the hospital passed in a blur.
Outside a park, she spotted a bush of holly gleaming with berries. She twisted off a sprig, careful not to prick her fingers on the spiky leaves. A tentative smile lingered on her lips as she carried the small gift into the hospital.
Wendel wasn’t in bed. He stood by the window in silence, gazing at the street below.
“Still wearing the hospital-issued convalescence trousers?” she said.
He looked sideways at her with a smirk. “They are de rigueur.”
“Your French isn’t half bad.”
He pretended to shudder. “Quelle horreur.”
She lifted the sprig of holly. “I brought this for you.”
When he walked across the room, she could tell he was still a little stiff, but at least he wasn’t trembling. “What for?”
“I missed you.” Her cheeks warmed. “I wanted to eat dinner with you.”
He cocked his head. “You would suffer through their pitiful attempt at food?”
“It’s worth it.”
Wendel couldn’t stop a sly smile. “They will serve dinner shortly. You might change your mind and flee the premises.”
She rolled her eyes as she gave him the holly. “Better than dinner with my mother.”
He took a step back. “How long has she been in New York?”
“A few days.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I may have asked the Wendel from the future to be my pretend fiancé.”
Wendel’s eyebrows went skyward. “Convenient.”
“I haven’t told my mother you’re in the hospital. I needed him.” Her face burned at the memory of that night with his doppelgänger.
He twirled the holly between his fingers. “Let him charm your mother.”
“Charm isn’t the word I would use.” She rolled her shoulders, tension still tight in her muscles. “When we went out sightseeing–”
“How romantic.”
“–my mother fantasized about him freezing to death. Things didn’t improve when Nemesis attacked him in an alley.”
Wendel’s mouth hardened, his eyes glinting. “Were you hurt?”
“No, but he was. They cut his arm to the bone. My mother stitched him up.”
“God.” Wendel tossed the holly onto the bed. “Why the hell is he trying to kill them all?”
“You tell me.”
“I should have never joined Nemesis.” He curled his lip. “Alas, I needed the money, and necromancy is my only talent.”
She touched his arm. “It isn’t. What about your violin?”
He lifted his shoulders. “My sister was right.” He laughed. “My sad attempts at music sound like a tortured cat.”
She fought a smile. “You’re getting better.”
“Not while my violin languishes in the hotel and I languish in this hospital.” Wendel touched his hand to his heart.
“Languish?” She rolled her eyes. “Like a slave girl in a harem?”
He laughed before wincing, his fingertips faltering at the bandage across his chest. “Have mercy with your humor.”
“I take that back, you have two talents.”
“I do?”
“The second one is melodrama.”
“I doubt my future lies on Broadway.” The color drained from his cheeks.
“Sit down.” Ardis reached for him. “You look pale.”
He lowered himself onto the bed, his eyes sharp. “The painkillers are wearing off.”
“Should I get a nurse?”
“Please.”
She ducked out of the room and spotted the nearest nurse. “Excuse me, could you spare a moment? My fiancé needs help.”
The nurse nodded crisply, her heels clicking on the linoleum as she entered the room.
“Nurse.” Wendel managed a charming, albeit weak, smile. “More morphine, please?”
She flipped through his records. “You’re due for another dose in an hour.”
“A little early?” He pinched the air between his fingers.
“I’m afraid not. Due to your history, that would be too risky.”
Ardis arched her eyebrows as she glanced at Wendel. She hadn’t expected him to tell the nurses the truth–he struggled with opium.
He sighed. “I can wait.”
The nurse looked away from the paper. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Dinner? For two?”
The nurse glanced between him and Ardis. “Is she joining you?”
“I tried to warn her about the horrific cuisine, but she’s remarkably persistent.”
A smile touched the nurse’s mouth. “There isn’t a menu. I’ll have two servings brought around in just a moment.”
“Thank you.” Wendel tried to catch her eye, but the nurse rapped out of the room.
“You’re losing your touch,” Ardis said. “She was only slightly charmed.”
“I’m wounded. What can I say?”
She laughed and picked the holly off the bed. “This is the worst vacation I’ve ever had.”
“When I was still a prince, we had yachts and trips to summer palaces.”
“Yachts and palaces?” She whistled low. “Too rich for my blood.”
Wendel ruffled his hair under his hand. “Wendel, Prince of Prussia.” He heaved a sigh. “A life of luxury, lost forever.”
“What a tragedy.”
“I would have married a princess,” he said. “A duchess, at the bare minimum.”
She twisted the ruby ring on her finger. “If that’s true, I’m glad you were disinherited. Otherwise, I would have never met you.”
He smirked. “If you had, I’m sure you would have hated me.”
“Why?” She raised her eyebrows. “Would you have tried to seduce me?”
“Definitely.” He caught her hand and tugged her onto his lap.
She held herself at bay, trying not to lean on his injury. “Wendel!”
He stole a kiss just as the door opened. She leapt back and cleared her throat. An orderly wheeled in a cart with a tray of food.
“Bon appetit,” Wendel said, taking the tray from him.
The orderly rolled his eyes as he left. Wendel lifted the cover from the tray, revealing two plates. On each, a sad cutlet of some indeterminate meat kept a soggy mess of potatoes company, garnished with canned peas.
“Good God,” Ardis said. “That’s impressively unappetizing.”
“I warned you.”
She nudged the armchair closer. He handed her one of the plates and a fork. They both made a first brave attack on dinner.
“Jesus.” She gnawed on a bite of meat. “What is this?”
“Clearly, filet mignon.”
She swallowed back a laugh. “And the potatoes?”
He squinted. “I give up.”
This time she did laugh. When she looked at him, it felt like her heart wasn’t big enough to hold all the feelings inside.
“I love you,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why now?”
“You’re supposed to return the sentiment.”
He smiled. “I do.”
Together, they ate a dinner that was both abysmal and wonderful.
Wendel stifled a yawn as he put down his fork. “My apologies.”
“You must be tired,” she said.
He dipped his head. “I haven’t slept well without you.”
The food turned to lead in her stomach, but she faked a smile. “How about I stay with you? Until you fall asleep tonight?”
He met her gaze, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Thank you.”
She held his elbow to help him into bed, aware of the weakness in his muscles. He dropped onto the pillow with a sigh.
“Should I tuck you in?” she teased.
He laughed. “Or tell me a bedtime story?”
She dragged the chair closer before sitting. “Once upon a time, there was a necromancer who had been a prince long ago.”
“He didn’t like it much,” he muttered.
“Which? The necromancy or the being a prince part?”
“Both,” he said quietly. “But he was happier now, because he had met his true love.”
“I didn’t peg you for a romantic.”
He smiled, his eyes closing. “He admired her sarcasm and wit most of all.” His voice faded. “They married in the spring.”
She waited for him to continue, but his breathing deepened. “The end,” she whispered.
Watching him sleep made her tired. She propped her cheek on her hand and let her eyelids rest for a
moment.
When she woke, the room was dark.
Disoriented, she glanced around, remembering where she was. The hospital. In the shadows, she saw a nurse by Wendel’s bedside, holding a bottle. Morphine, most likely. The nurse filled a syringe and injected his arm.
He grimaced in his sleep, but didn’t wake.
Ardis blinked the sleep from her eyes, her vision acclimating to the darkness. Why wasn’t the nurse in uniform? Hadn’t they promised to give him another dose an hour after he asked? It had to be the middle of the night now.
Fear seeped into her veins like ice water.
“Excuse me,” Ardis said.
The nurse’s head jerked in her direction. Without a word, she dodged around the bed and bolted from the room. Ardis lunged from the chair and sprinted after her. With a burst of speed, she grabbed the woman’s sleeve–the impostor wrenched free. The bottle tumbled from her pocket and shattered on the floor.
“Stop!” Ardis shouted, breathless.
The woman whirled around a corner and crashed through a pair of double doors. Ardis struggled to keep pace, but she lost her. Gasping, she bent double, her hands on her knees. Her legs burned as she backtracked to the shattered bottle. It leaked clear liquid. Shaking, she retrieved the bottle and read the label.
MORPHINE.
“No,” she whispered.
With a desperate burst of energy, she ran back to Wendel’s room. She shook him by the shoulders, but his head fell sideways.
“Wendel.” She shook him harder. He wouldn’t wake. “Wendel!”
She fumbled to feel a pulse in his neck–it was slowing by the second.
“Help!” she screamed. “Please, help!”
A nurse darted inside–this one in uniform. “What happened?”
“Morphine.” Her throat constricted, choking the words. “He overdosed.”
Nine
Within moments, chaos filled the room as doctors and nurses rushed to stabilize Wendel. When he vomited, they rolled him on his side to keep him from choking. His lips looked bluish. They injected him with potassium permanganate to counteract the morphine, but he remained unconscious and struggled to breathe on his own.
“Ma’am.” A doctor clasped her shoulder. “All we can do now is wait.”
