by Karen Kincy
“Sit,” Waldemar said.
It looked like a weight lifted from Wendel’s shoulders. He straightened and went to sit with his family, if only for a night.
TWENTY-FIVE
In the dawn of morning, Ardis heard the necromancer singing. She stood on the observation deck, wind blowing through the windows, and glanced sideways at him. Wendel leaned with his elbows on the railing.
“So, so wie ich dich liebe,” he sang quietly, “so, so liebe auch mich.”
“What are you singing now?” Ardis said.
A smile stole over his face. “A folk song.” He sang it again in English. “So, so, the way I love you, so, so love me too.”
“Sounds like a love song to me.”
“That, too.”
She stood by him, and he held her close with an arm around his shoulders.
“It’s New Year’s Eve tonight,” Wendel said. “I hope Tesla knows how to party.”
Ardis laughed. “Don’t get drunk on an airship. Again.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I tried to black that from my memory.”
Krampus hopped onto the railing. Wind ruffled the raven’s glossy feathers. He peered down at the deep blue Baltic Sea.
“Careful, Krampus,” Wendel said. “If you fly away, you might not make it to America.”
Krampus blinked. “Grok.”
“Only a few days,” Ardis said. “It’s hard to believe.”
Wendel narrowed his eyes against the sun. “I assume we will be traveling incognito. Since you are an outlaw in America.”
“Konstantin promised diplomatic immunity. Besides, we’re landing in New York.”
“Will we travel to San Francisco from there?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“San Francisco is your home.”
She smiled. “It’s a long way. America is big, Wendel.”
“I’ve never been.” He frowned pensively. “Will we meet your mother?”
“Do you want to?”
He looked sideways at her. “Should I?”
She laughed. “She can be a bit intimidating.”
“I’m game.”
Ardis looked out over the clouds, then leaned against Wendel. With him beside her, she was game for any number of adventures.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Storms of Lazarus wouldn’t be nearly as awesome without my even more awesome beta readers. You guys each deserve a custom Eisenkrieger, a bratty pet raven, or a clockwork dragon. Your choice. In alphabetical order:
Asa Hurst
Candace Robinson
Chelsea Campbell
Regina Barber DeGraaff
Talya Garman
Tiffany Halliday
Special thanks to these Kickstarter backers, who have characters named in their honor:
Breony Rogers
Carol Swindaman
Maili Weissman
Max Weissman
Steph Stidolph
SPECTERS OF NEMESIS
by Karen Kincy
Specters of Nemesis – copyright © 2018 – Karen Kincy
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or any other form), business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
1914
ONE
Walking around New York City without a sword felt like tempting Fate.
Ardis reached for her hip, fingers clenching and unclenching. She tried not to imagine a maid feather-dusting her blade back at the hotel.
Breathing deeply, she steered clear of rich ladies shopping for fripperies. Ostrich feathers bobbed from their hats, shading their bland faces. At least in Manhattan, nobody looked twice at her tawny hair and Chinese eyes. An electric streetcar barreled down the avenue, brakes squealing. Sparks rained from the trolley pole and fizzled on the wet asphalt. She shielded her eyes, though not one New Yorker flinched.
God, she was supposed to be enjoying herself.
She had survived assassins, an airship crash, and the invading Imperial Russian Army. This stupid feeling of vulnerability had to be the fault of pregnancy. Hadn’t the nausea been enough punishment? The whole zeppelin flight to America, she had paid homage to a toilet, though she felt less sick on solid ground.
Two months down, seven more to go. Maybe the war in Europe would end first.
Right.
Navigating the crowds, she walked a few blocks to Bryant Park. London plane trees waved their bare branches over the grass. Pigeons jumped, wings clapping, from the bright marble of the New York Public Library.
Where was Wendel?
He had promised to meet her for dinner, though promises weren’t his strong suit.
The perfume of roast chestnuts drifted on the breeze. Her stomach growled. She spotted an old man, probably Italian, and rummaged money from her pocket. With a tobacco-stained smile, the old man handed her a brown paper packet of chestnuts that heated her hands.
Ardis returned his smile. “Thanks,” she said, glad to be speaking English.
Her German was decent, but it was never precise enough for Germans.
She sat on a bench and cracked open the hot chestnuts. Their sweet taste reminded her of maple syrup. She rolled the last of the chestnuts between her fingers, rubbing her thumb over its glossy shell, and frowned at the street.
Still no sign of Wendel. Where the hell was the necromancer?
Like a scrap of burnt paper, a raven floated overhead and landed in a tree. “Krampus?” Ardis squinted at the bird.
Where Krampus was, Wendel was never far behind. Black feathers bristled at the raven’s throat when he croaked hoarsely. He flew from the tree and landed by her feet, pecking at her boots before yanking her shoestring.
“Krampus!” Ardis shooed away the raven. “Stop being a brat. Where’s…?”
The question died on her lips.
Wendel crossed the street with his hand inside his coat. He staggered, his breath fogging the winter air, and coughed.
Ardis clenched the chestnut in her fist. “Wendel?”
He sank onto the bench, unsteady on his feet. Was he drunk? If she had to bet, her money would be on Enderman’s, that German beer hall. Wind ruffled his black hair. He combed it with his fingers, his white skin stained red.
“Blood?” Her voice sounded brittle. “Wendel!”
He looked sideways at her. Daylight glinted in his eyes, shifting them from green to gray. “I should have never left the Hex.”
Why would he care about a curse thousands of miles away? Unless…
She yanked aside the lapel of his coat. Under the black wool, blood crawled over his shirt, leaking from a gunshot wound.
Her breath stopped dead in her throat. “You got shot.”
“Evidently.” His smile was unconvincing, his hands trembling too hard.
“We have to get you to a hospital.”
“Not the hospital.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.” She grabbed his arm. “Who shot you?”
“No one.”
“This isn’t the time for sarcasm!”
He leaned heavily on her as they stood. “Ardis, I don’t think I can make it.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Wendel wasn’t lying. Only a block later, his knees hit the street, dragging her halfway down with him. He clutched his ribs, fighting to stay upright, before he slumped unconscious. Ardis grabbed his shoulders, trying to shake him awake, but his head lolled in the dirty slush. Strangers gathered to gawk down at them.
“Someone get a doctor.” Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “Now!”
~
The tiny hospital room stank of bleach and sickness. Outside the only window, rain streaked the evening with gloom. Wendel lay in bed with his fists clenched
over the sheets. Could he sense the dead and dying, even while sleeping? Ardis rubbed his knuckles, though his hands didn’t relax under her touch.
“Wendel,” she whispered.
He hadn’t woken since the ambulance brought him here. The doctors injected him with a sedative before they pulled a bullet from between his ribs and stitched him up. Blood dripped into his veins via a needle in his arm.
Dread wormed in her stomach. She hated seeing him so weak.
Ardis hunched in a chair by the bed, her elbows on her knees, and pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache throbbed behind her temples; her eyes felt gritty from her refusal to cry. The police would come knocking and ask questions she couldn’t answer. Maybe it would be better if Wendel didn’t wake so soon.
When the door opened, with the whine of rusty hinges, she didn’t look up right away.
“Ardis.” The voice, more gravel than honey, grabbed her by the throat.
Wendel?
He stood with his hand on the door, his black coat dotted with snow not yet melted. His face looked blank, even his eyes unreadable. There was something wrong with his hair; it wasn’t ragged, hacked short, but longer than his shoulders. When she stole a glance back at the bed, Wendel still lay sleeping. The other Wendel wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times she blinked like she could wake from a bad dream.
“I know who shot him,” Wendel said from the doorway.
The heat drained from her face and left her icy. “Who are you?” Her voice rasped on the words, and she swallowed hard.
“You know who I am.”
She held up her hand. “Do not tell me Wendel has an identical twin brother.”
His rough laugh shivered down her spine. “Not to my knowledge.” His gaze wandered to the bed, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
“Give me more of an explanation than that.”
Wendel crossed the room, snow drifting from his coat, and dragged a chair to the bed, where he sat opposite Ardis. He kept glancing at himself sleeping. “I remember this hospital. The moment I woke. And everything after it.”
“I’m asking one more time.” She leaned away; he was too close. “Who are you?”
He met her gaze, his eyes shadowed. “He is my past. I am his future.”
“You traveled through time?” When he nodded, she swallowed hard. “How?”
“The archmage’s temporal magic. The last thing he built before… before I came here.” Something in his hesitation wasn’t convincing.
“What happened to Konstantin?”
He smoothed his hair from his face. “He tinkered with technomancy he shouldn’t have.”
She studied his face with intense scrutiny, noting how a scar slashed his cheekbone, how the lines across his forehead had deepened. The clash of strange and familiar unnerved her. “How far have you traveled?”
“Too far.” His eyes darkened. “Too long.”
Cold scuttled through her stomach. “Why did you come back?”
“The war.”
Of course. She wanted to know what happened, which countries joined the fray, but she wasn’t sure he would tell her the truth.
“Ardis.” He reached for her hand before stopping himself. “We need to go.”
“Why?”
Wendel glanced at a clock on the wall. “We have three hours to find the man who shot me and kill him first.”
She pushed herself from the chair to pace. “Murder somebody?”
“Self-defense.” He shrugged. “Retroactively.”
She furrowed her brow. “Why three hours?”
“Because I’ve read the police records. That’s when the NYPD question him.”
“Won’t killing him make the future worse?”
“Better.” He tilted his head. “Hopefully. I can’t predict every possibility.”
“Then why time travel at all?”
“To try again.”
Shaking her head, she combed her fingers through her hair. “God, Wendel, who is he? Why did he shoot you in the first place?”
He swept his arm toward the door. “Let me show you.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t just leave him–you–there.” She waved at the bed.
His lips bent in a smile. “I’ll live.”
“Of course,” she muttered. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Rest assured, I won’t wake until the morning, thanks to the morphine.”
“How do you–?”
“I remember.”
She held his stare. “What happens if I don’t help you?”
His smile vanished. “Far too many will suffer. This time, we do things right.”
~
Rats rustled along the street in the shipyard, fleeing from Wendel’s footsteps. Ardis touched the Chinese jian at her hip–Chun Yi hummed with sleeping magic. The enchanted blade had an insatiable thirst for blood.
Wendel halted her in an alleyway. “You didn’t need to bring that sword.”
“I’m not about to walk into a fight unarmed.”
He twisted his mouth. “A burning sword isn’t what I would call stealthy.”
“Fine.” She peeled her sweaty hand from the sword’s pommel. “I won’t draw Chun Yi until we blow our cover.”
“What makes you think we will blow our cover?”
“Wendel.” She looked at him for a long moment. “We always do.”
“Speak for yourself.” From a pocket in his coat, he drew a dagger of black Damascus steel, inlaid with silver flowers.
“Amarant,” she said, her stomach tightening.
Wendel cocked an eyebrow. “Shall we?”
He took her hand and she shivered. Shadows rushed from the dagger, spinning cobwebs of darkness over their skin. When the magic crawled over her face, she held her breath while fighting the feeling of claustrophobia.
“Much better,” Wendel murmured.
Nearly invisible in the night, they walked toward the water. Transatlantic liners and cargo vessels lurked off the coast. Black waves sucked at the docks with a glopping noise. The air stank of creosote, saltwater, and dead fish.
“Who are we looking for?” she whispered.
“The man who shot me.”
She sighed. “Describe him.”
“Short, balding, smug.”
“Smug,” she repeated. In the shadows, Wendel’s face faded in and out, impossible to read. Was he being sarcastic?
“He shouldn’t be too hard to kill. We have the element of surprise.”
“Can I ask why he shot you?”
He cleared his throat. “All this talk of American neutrality is a lie.”
“I don’t follow.”
“See that freighter? The Reliant.” He pointed at a hulking silhouette. “Loaded with weapons, made in America. Bombs, firearms, and ammunition. All of them bound for Russia.”
They had fought the Tsar’s men there, on battlefields dirty with blood-soaked snow. They had narrowly escaped death at the claws of the Russian’s clockwork dragon. But she expected him to abandon the war across the water.
“Why get involved?” she said, frowning. “Wasn’t Königsberg enough?”
“Money,” he said.
Her frown deepened. “You lied to me. Told me you were looking for honest work.”
“Did I?” He managed a smidgen of innocence. “It’s hard to recall.”
“Who’s paying?”
“Nemesis.” His eyes cold, he stared at the Reliant.
“Whose nemesis?”
“No, the Greek goddess.”
“Of revenge?”
“Of justice.” His mouth thinned. “The name appealed to a group of saboteurs and spies with loyalty to the German Empire.”
“I didn’t expect loyalty from you,” she muttered.
He ignored her comment. “Nemesis first approached me in America. Recruited me at Enderman’s. They found my talents as an assassin and necromancer irresistible, not to men
tion my fluency in both English and German.”
She snorted. “You haven’t gotten any humbler.”
“Not even I can stop a bullet.” He rubbed his chest as if remembering the gunshot. “But I can stop the police from arresting me.”
“By killing the man who tried to kill you?”
“Precisely.”
“You still haven’t said why he shot you.”
“I boarded the Reliant to steal the ship’s manifest.”
She arched her eyebrows. “In broad daylight?”
“Dockworkers change shifts at four o’clock. That commotion provided me with cover. I boarded without incident, but the guard caught me in the captain’s quarters. In my infinite wisdom, I brought a dagger to a gunfight.”
“God, Wendel. Your arrogance will be the death of you.”
“Though the bastard won’t expect me to return for an encore performance.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “So we kill the guard and get the manifest.”
“Without anyone seeing us.” Wendel’s low voice raised goosebumps on her skin. “You distract him; I attack from behind.”
“Quick and dirty?”
“Exactly.”
They halted behind a warehouse and peered around the corner. Light from a street lamp gnawed at the shadows cloaking Wendel; he couldn’t go any farther without being seen. A stocky guard hunched on the boardwalk, the end of a cigarette glowing red between his knuckles. He took a drag and flicked ash into the water.
“After you,” Wendel whispered.
Ardis hesitated. “Hold this.” She unbuckled her sword from her belt.
“Why–?”
“I need a cover story.”
She untied her braid, raking her fingers through her hair, then tugged down her neckline. Wendel frowned. Unarmed, she stepped from the darkness. The guard’s shoulders tensed, his head low like a bull ready to charge.
“Excuse me,” she said, “are you in charge here?”
“What’s it matter to you?” His hand gripped the edge of his coat. He had a gun inside, she was sure of it.
