by Karen Kincy
“Half-Chinese,” Ardis said. “And I’m not asking why you work out of a whorehouse.”
“Recruiting.” Salome hooked her finger into Konstantin’s necktie and tugged him closer. “Shame you’re here on business.”
He cleared his throat. “I would never frequent such an establishment.”
“Too shy?”
“Too interested in the company of men.”
Salome released him with a pout. “Oh.”
Ardis swallowed a laugh of surprise. She hadn’t expected Konstantin to be so forthright. Then again, what did he have to lose?
He took his pocket watch from his coat. “We’re running late.”
“Don’t go so soon.” Salome dragged on her cigarette and sighed out smoke. “I have a job that might suit your specific talents.”
“Tell us more,” Ardis said.
“There’s a munitions factory supplying arms to Russia.”
Konstantin frowned. “But the Hex–”
“The Hex won’t last forever.” Salome snuffed her cigarette. “If you want the job, go to the bar on Bowery and First at midnight. Ask for Manfred Hertz. He will tell you all the details. You should be done by morning.”
Konstantin’s frown deepened. “What happens at the munitions factory?”
“Use your imagination.”
~
Outside the Black Cat, dusk clung to the city like a silver mist. Wendel melted from the shadows and walked alongside them.
“What a horrid little brothel,” he said.
“Right?” Ardis said.
He sniffed the sleeve of his coat. “I still reek of artificial roses.”
Konstantin looked sideways at him. “We never saw you.”
“Wasn’t that the point?” Wendel flashed him an insincere smile.
“Where were you? Hiding in the curtains?”
“An assassin never reveals his secrets.”
Ardis rolled her eyes. “At least we have a plan. Go to the bar on Bowery and First. Get the details. Blow up the munitions factory.”
“Blow up?” Konstantin said delicately. “Salome didn’t use those words.”
“Use your imagination,” Wendel said.
Ardis ignored them both. “What time is it?”
Konstantin checked his pocket watch. In the darkness, the dial glowed a pale green, illuminated by technomancy. “Six o’clock.”
“Only?” Her sigh clouded the air. “Winter is too dark.”
But Konstantin wasn’t listening, his gaze on the rooftops. “Have you seen Himmel?”
“Behind you,” Wendel said.
Sure enough, the airship captain strode down the sidewalk. He shook his head. “Didn’t see any sign of the future Wendel.”
“Good?” Konstantin said.
“Bad,” Wendel said. “Who knows what he’s doing, or who he’s killing.”
“Not my problem,” Ardis said. “Our hands are tied until midnight.”
Himmel glanced at Konstantin. “We should return to the hotel. Rest and regroup.”
“Agreed,” she said.
They traveled in pairs, hailing two taxis back to Hotel Donovan.
As Ardis sat beside Wendel, he gazed out the window. “I’m glad to be out of the hospital. I hated sleeping alone at night.”
Heat scorched her face. Thanks to his doppelgänger, she hadn’t.
But he still wasn’t looking at her. “The nurses weren’t that attractive…”
“Wendel!” She swatted his shoulder. “Would it kill you to be nice?”
“It did before.”
“That is not the reason Thorsten Magnusson stabbed you and threw you out of a tower.”
He smirked. “Wasn’t it? I stopped being evil.”
“Sure you did.”
She couldn’t look at him now without feeling guilty. Hadn’t she betrayed him by sleeping with his twin from the future? She sighed, a shuddering sigh, like she had been crying. Sometimes she wished she could lock herself in a room and sob alone. That self-indulgent pity was a luxury she lost when she was a little girl.
Wendel looked her in the eye. “What is it?”
She shook her head, not trusting her voice. “Later.”
They arrived at Hotel Donovan. Before she went upstairs, Ardis asked the concierge to wake them at midnight. Wendel followed at her heels, but said nothing to her until they had returned to the privacy of their room.
“Ardis,” he said. “Talk to me.”
ELEVEN
She gripped the doorknob. “I didn’t sleep alone.”
Silence grew between them. “Could you elaborate?” His words were cool.
“The other Wendel. He…”
“What did he do?” The coolness in his voice dropped a few degrees.
“No, it wasn’t like that.” Guilt twisted her gut into knots. She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I wanted to sleep with him.”
“In the literal or figurative sense?”
“Both,” she whispered.
He closed the distance between them. “I don’t care.”
“You don’t?” She peered into his face.
“He’s my future.” His eyes glimmered. “Gives me something to look forward to.”
That startled a laugh from her. “Wendel II said the same thing.”
“Did he?” A wicked grin crept across his face. “Allow me to steal more moments with you and keep them all to myself.”
She gasped when his mouth met her own, the kiss fierce and sweet. His magic shivered over her skin, that familiar icy fire. He backed her against the door, his hips pressed against hers.
“Shouldn’t I feel guilty?” she said.
“I want you to feel nothing but pleasure.”
God, he was hard. She slipped her hand between them and stroked his taut outline. With a groan, he bucked against her.
“You have no idea what it was like,” he said.
“What?” She worked on unbuttoning his shirt.
“Dreaming of you. Night after night.” He flashed her a grin. “The filthiest dreams.”
“In the hospital?”
“Nothing else to do.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why am I surprised?”
“You shouldn’t be.”
Wendel caught her by the wrists and tugged her toward the bed. When he lay down, she straddled him. His hands followed the curve of her spine. He unbound her braid and combed his fingers through the waves of her hair.
“Strip,” he said.
“Make me.”
His eyes narrowed. He flipped her onto her back and held himself on his elbows, the lean length of his body over hers. She arched her hips to grind against him. He slid his hand under her shirt, cupping one of her breasts.
“I’m still dressed,” she teased.
He arched an eyebrow. “That isn’t stopping me.”
Single-handed, he undid his fly. She freed him and stroked him in her fist. A groan escaped his throat. He closed his eyes, his dark hair falling into his face, and she remembered how long it had been when they met.
“Will you grow out your hair?” she said.
“Perhaps.” He opened his eyes. “Are you thinking of the other Wendel?”
She wasn’t, but she wanted to antagonize him. “Perhaps.”
He growled. “He’s had you enough.”
“Jealous?”
His eyes stormy, he conquered the rest of her clothes, baring every inch of her to him. The fabric of his shirt, though it was fine, grazed her nipples–she gasped at the jolt of sensation. He was still only a few buttons away from being fully dressed. She felt vulnerable beneath him; she wanted him to possess her.
“You belong to me,” he said, in a voice like velvet.
“Then take me.”
“Gladly,” he said, and he did.
She relished the swift, hard stroke of him entering her. She hooked her ankles behind his legs, tilting herself closer to him.
“God, you’re wet,” he muttere
d.
She didn’t have a witty reply for that. “Take me,” she said again.
Wendel claimed her relentlessly. She tensed the muscles in her thighs, any hope of release still too far away. His magic overwhelmed her skin with icy fire, like the tingle of peppermint or the shivering of beautiful music.
“Your necromancy,” she said.
He froze. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She touched his cheekbone. “Does it always feel like this to you?”
“Only when I’m not in control.”
He was letting her see this side of him; he wasn’t denying that he was a necromancer. And she loved him even more for it.
“I want more,” she said.
He arched his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He kissed her in reply, then gave her what she asked for.
It was too much; it wasn’t enough. He halted, his breathing ragged, and met her gaze. His eyes looked dark, the pale green transformed to jade. Before she could open her mouth to speak, he dragged her to the edge of the bed.
Standing, he held her by the hips and drove in even deeper. “Better?” he rasped.
“God.” She gripped fistfuls of sheets. “Yes.”
With a wordless connection between them, she closed her eyes and relinquished control. He accepted her trust in him and brought her to the edge of ecstasy, kissing her until she fell. Bliss thrummed through her bones.
She licked the sweat below his ear. “Come,” she whispered.
He groaned at her command. When he surrendered to pleasure, he kissed her with fierce devotion. He was hers.
~
When Ardis woke, she blinked at the darkness. Curtains smothered the lights of the city. For a heartbeat, she thought the concierge had knocked on their door to wake them at midnight, but the clock read half past eleven.
Wendel sucked in a breath, his fists gripping the sheets, and jerked beside her.
Yet another nightmare.
She slipped out of bed and clutched a blanket to herself. He muttered in a language she didn’t understand, a grimace twisting his face. She swallowed, her mouth dryer than dust. It could be dangerous to wake him.
“Wendel?” she whispered. “Wendel!”
He lurched upright with a gasp, as if surfacing from deep underwater. He stared at her until his eyes focused. “I hurt you?”
“No.” She held the blanket closer. “Are you okay?”
He said nothing, which told her everything.
“Wendel.” She touched his arm.
He retreated. “I–I’m not myself.”
“It was just a dream.”
He swung out of bed and rubbed his hands over his face. Silently, he found his clothes in the darkness, his silhouette angled with tension. She didn’t know how to help him. Nightmares never stopped circling him like vultures.
“Where are you going?” she said.
“Out for some air.”
When he left, he took his violin with him.
Ardis slumped on the bed, staring at the cobwebs in the corners, until she tugged on her clothes and toed on her shoes. She peeked through the curtains at the fattening moon. Where would Wendel go? She trudged upstairs, pausing for breath. The baby drained her stamina more than expected. How did some industrious women manage being pregnant and giving birth a dozen times?
When she pushed through the door to the roof, a shock of icy wind stung her eyes. A violin’s wail cut the air like a knife.
Wendel stood at the edge of nothingness, with the glittering sweep of the city below his feet, a gust blowing his hair in a ragged streak of black. He played a song with passion verging on violence. She didn’t recognize the melody.
When a string broke, he cursed and cradled the wounded violin.
“Wendel!” Her words sounded thin in the wind. “Step away from the edge.”
He looked back, shadows hiding his face. “I’m nowhere near the edge. Have you forgotten how much I hate heights?”
“Then why did you climb to the roof?”
He stared out at the city that never slept. “I still can’t stop dreaming of falling.”
When she touched his elbow, he didn’t move. He might have been holding his breath.
“Constantinople is thousands of miles away,” she said.
“Thorsten Magnusson knows I’m not dead.” His voice rasped, more gravel than honey. “He continues to profit from killing for the highest bidder. While I–” Pain sharpened his eyes. “While I follow in his footsteps.”
“There’s a reason you didn’t kill him.”
The vaguest of smiles touched his face. “You believe me to be the better man?”
“I know it.”
“Necromancy is my one and only talent. Nemesis is my kind of honest work.”
Grimaldi’s words rang in her ears. If you do this for us, you can forget about your past. If you don’t, you can forget about your future.
“But you quit Nemesis,” she said.
“The other Wendel did.” He raked his hair with his fingers. “Do you believe I’m doomed to repeat his mistakes?”
“I don’t think quitting was a mistake.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“I have hope.”
“Hope?” Wendel looked away, but not before she saw the darkness in his eyes.
She glanced over the edge, then regretted it, dizzy with vertigo. “Come back inside.”
“Are you certain you want me to?” He kept his voice lighthearted, but his smirk faltered. “I’m plagued by nightmares.”
“Who else will keep me warm?”
He laughed as he shook his head. “That’s my duty? I won’t disappoint.” He sobered. “Though it must be nearly midnight.”
“I know,” she said. “We have one last mission.”
~
Manfred Hertz was a squirrel-faced man who never stopped talking about his accomplishments. Ever since they met him at the bar on Bowery and First, he had regaled them with tales of his time in the German Navy. Like many sailors, he lamented the loss of his ship, trapped in the harbor. All German vessels had been ordered to leave or face internment, despite America’s official status remaining neutral.
They followed him through industrial Brooklyn, the air brisk with seawater.
“Now, of course,” Manfred said, “they have those marvelous U-boats.”
Konstantin perked up. “Unterseeboote?”
“Yes!” Manfred’s grin bared his crooked teeth. “The German Empire will be without equal above and below the waves.”
“Undoubtedly,” Konstantin said.
Ardis kept her mouth shut, since she wasn’t good at feigning imperialistic enthusiasm. Her hand on her sword, she glanced over her shoulder. At one o’clock in the night, the street looked deserted, factories looming like sleeping giants. Somewhere in the darkness, Wendel followed them. Possibly both of the Wendels.
Konstantin switched his suitcase to his other hand. “How much farther?”
“A few blocks.” Manfred glanced at him. “Please, let me carry that for you.”
“No, thank you, it’s rather fragile technomancy equipment.”
“Of course, of course.” Manfred tipped his hat to the former archmage.
From the gloom, the wind carried a whisper to her ear. “What an obsequious little man.”
Her fingers clenched on her sword. How long had Wendel been strolling alongside them, hidden by the magic of Amarant?
What if it was the other Wendel? Would she even know?
Ardis dropped to one knee and pretended to tie her bootlaces. Konstantin and Manfred kept walking, their conversation turning to zeppelins. Her face downcast, she glanced left and right, but saw only darkness.
The muscles between her shoulder blades tightened. She hated feeling this blind.
“Wendel,” she muttered. “Stop lurking.”
“Aren’t I meant to be lurking?”
“Not breathing
down my neck.”
He strolled from the shadows, cobwebs of darkness fading from his skin. Moonlight gleamed in his pale green eyes.
“Have you seen Wendel II?” she said.
He shook his head. “He has another Amarant. I’m not sure I can.”
That hadn’t occurred to her. “Damn.”
“Hopefully, he shows himself before we hit the blowing up part.”
Nemesis intended to destroy the munitions factory, and make it look like an accident, courtesy of Konstantin’s technomancy.
She clenched her jaw. “Hide before the others see you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He strolled onward, the black dagger cloaking him once more.
Only a block ahead, Konstantin set down his suitcase. “Ardis?” His voice echoed off the blank walls of the factories.
She ran to catch up. “Had to tie my boot.”
Manfred glanced between their faces, stroking his scanty attempt at a beard. “Time is of the essence, my friends.”
Ardis wasn’t his friend, but she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
They followed him past a sardine cannery, then into an alley where four men waited. They had the clean-shaved, short-haired look of sailors. When Manfred whistled to them, they followed him without question.
Weston Manufacturing looked, in a word, unremarkable. The brick building loomed over the waterfront, flying a tattered American flag from the roof. Moonlight glittered in its windows, hiding whatever secrets might lie within.
“And so it starts,” Manfred said grandiosely. “The Americans will suspect nothing.”
Somewhere, Wendel had to be rolling his eyes.
Once inside the factory, Konstantin and Ardis would locate a room storing 100,000 pounds of TNT and plant a clockwork device powered by technomancy. In essence, it was a bomb, though one that was untraceable–the magic acted on the air itself, heating it until the TNT would seem to spontaneously combust.
While Konstantin had agreed to detonate the munitions, Ardis had been silent.
The pit of her stomach felt heavy. Was destruction the same as protection? Though the Hex was useless against TNT.
The doors to the factory were dingy, soot-streaked, only the brass handles polished bright from years of hands. While Manfred worked on picking the lock, Ardis watched his men circle the factory to intercept any guards on patrol.
