by Karen Kincy
Her eyes gritty, she trudged upstairs and fumbled with the key to their room.
“Need help?”
Wendel stepped from the shadows, cobwebs of darkness clinging to his skin, the black dagger in his hand. Ardis jumped, reaching again for the sword that wasn’t at her side. He returned Amarant to a pocket inside his coat.
“Don’t try to scare me,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
“I wasn’t.” He leaned against the wall. “How did it go?”
“I didn’t tell the police anything.”
“Good.”
She jabbed the key into the lock and twisted. Wendel reached over her shoulder and pushed open the door. She sidestepped away from him–he wasn’t Wendel, not the one she knew, not even if he looked so familiar.
He followed her into the room. The door clicked shut with a finality that kicked her heartbeat into a higher gear. Wendel tossed his coat over the couch before sprawling there. She stared at him. “What are you doing?”
He peered at her through his lashes, his eyes glittering. “Making myself comfortable.”
“Here?” Her throat clenched on the word.
He let his head fall back and inspected the ceiling. “Unless you wish otherwise.”
She kicked off her boots. “You’re not wearing a ring.”
“Pardon?”
“Was there never a wedding?” She smoothed her hair back. “What happens to us?”
Wendel met her stare and held it without blinking. “That future isn’t inevitable.”
Damn it, why couldn’t she decipher the shadows in his eyes? “You’ve already changed so much by coming here.”
“It’s too late now.”
“What happens when we get to the day where you travel back in time?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Haven’t the slightest clue. Perhaps we should ignore paradoxes.”
When he stood, she resisted the urge to retreat. He stared at her with a sharp interest in his eyes, as if he wanted to dissect her emotions. Or her clothes. He wasn’t Wendel, but he was, and she couldn’t deny the heat simmering under her skin. Like she was tempted by adultery. Wouldn’t that make her unfaithful to the other Wendel?
That was a paradox worse than time travel.
He took a step in her direction, and another, cornering her by the bed. She wanted to touch him, to see if he felt real, but she dug her fingernails into her palms. “Ardis.” The way he whispered her name unleashed a cascade of shivers over her skin. She imagined his hand pressing hard into the small of her back.
Her body betraying her, she couldn’t help swaying toward him. “What do I call you?”
“Pardon?”
“You aren’t Wendel.”
“That’s still my name.” He stared into her eyes. “I still love you.”
“Don’t say that.” Her pulse throbbed in her throat. “What do you want?”
“You.”
His hand slipped behind her neck, his fingers rough with years of callouses, years she hadn’t yet experienced with him. The Wendel she knew didn’t feel this desperate, didn’t look at her with such raw lust in his eyes.
How had he changed? Why did she want to find out in all the wrong ways?
She touched her fingertips to his chest, holding him at bay. “This isn’t right.”
“You don’t trust me,” he whispered.
“I don’t know you.”
His eyes darkened. “Allow me to introduce myself.”
When he kissed her, she didn’t have time to retreat. His mouth met hers with a ferocity that knocked the air from her lungs.
“Wendel–” She tried to speak, but he kissed her again. “Wendel!”
He broke away. “Yes?”
Heat scorched her face; her heartbeat galloped like she had sprinted a mile. “What’s wrong with you?” Tempted to finish what he started, she swallowed hard and clenched her fists. “You didn’t travel through time to seduce me.”
“I don’t see why not,” he said, his voice husky.
“God!” She shoved him away. “You don’t care about yourself at all?”
He squinted. “At the risk of sounding conceited, I care very much about myself.”
“Your past self.”
“I’m giving him something to look forward to.”
Wendel reached for her hips, but she leaned back. “Are you sure that’s how this works?”
“Let’s find out.”
Three
When he kissed her again, the weight of his body on hers made her melt. Why couldn’t she pretend this didn’t matter?
“Wendel.” She braced her hand on his chest. “Wait.”
He did as she commanded, though he clenched his jaw. “You don’t want this?”
She scooted back on her elbows before swinging out of bed. She needed space to breathe. “I can’t. Not now.”
He withdrew, the heat of him fading from her skin. “We should sleep.”
“Not together.”
“I can keep my hands to myself.” He glanced at her sideways. “Can you?”
“Couch.” She pointed.
Sighing, he lingered by the bed. “Nemesis wants me to attend a brunch at the Arcanaeum early this afternoon.”
“Arcanaeum?”
“That enormous museum.”
This was an odd request. Ardis frowned at the dawn sky. “Shouldn’t we sleep?”
“For a few hours.” Wendel flashed her a smile, criminally handsome, though she found his charms less than irresistible. “Care to join me?”
“At the brunch?”
“Tesla will be there, along with J. P. Morgan, Jr.”
“Why?”
He arched his eyebrows. “Tesla may know more about the electrified crossbow. As for Morgan, he’s been financing Russia, and is considering the United Kingdom next. Nemesis would like him to consider other options.”
“I assume this consideration involves sharp implements.”
“You know me too well.”
Ardis swallowed hard. She didn’t want to get involved with Nemesis, but how dangerous could a brunch be? There would be at least one friendly face–a week ago, Tesla had given them a ride to America on his airship, the USS Jupiter.
“What time is the brunch?” she said.
“One o’clock.”
She sat on the bed and kicked off her boots. “Don’t wake me up until noon.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wendel began unbuttoning his shirt.
She turned her back on him, since he always slept naked. As if she would lose control at the sight of him. No man was that handsome.
“Ardis?”
She looked sideways at him. Of course he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Her gaze dropped before she dragged it upward. He met her stare, smirking, and she refused to blink. “What do you want?” she said.
“Sweet dreams.”
She shot him a nasty look before climbing into bed. “I hope the couch is lumpy.”
“No,” he said, “it’s quite comfortable.”
“Liar.”
“There’s room for two.”
She closed her eyes. “Good night.”
“Good morning?”
“Shut up, Wendel.”
He laughed, but she refused to dignify him with a reply.
~
Ardis woke with a headache. Where the hell had Wendel gone?
She didn’t know why he would leave her behind. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know his devious plans.
She dressed mechanically, her skull aching. Maybe some coffee would help her feel human. On the way to the café, she passed the hotel’s front desk. The concierge flagged her down. “Ma’am, a telegram for you.”
“From who?”
“Mrs. Jin Hua?” He completely mispronounced the Chinese name.
Jesus Christ. How could she have forgotten sending her mother a telegram a day ago? She had kep
t it simple:
in NYC on leave not sure if time for SF how are you?
Conveniently, she omitted the part about being pregnant. The flutter in her belly had to be nerves. The baby couldn’t be big enough to kick, could it? She wanted to ask her mother, but she didn’t know how to tell her.
About anything whatsoever.
She stared at the telegram. It took her a few tries to read it, her eyes blurry.
have ticket for next airship to NYC see you soon love your mother
Ardis forced herself not to crumple the paper in her first. She caught the concierge’s eye. “When did you receive this?”
“Last night, ma’am.”
A cross-country airship took about two days. That meant Jin Hua would be here tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest.
“Christ,” Ardis muttered.
The concierge raised his eyebrows. “Would you like to telegraph your reply?”
“No!” That sounded rude. “Sorry, I don’t have the time.”
Definitely not enough to entertain her mother while dodging endless questions.
Damn, she couldn’t bring her mother to meet Wendel in the hospital. How could she explain away the bullet hole in his chest?
Unless…
It was a bad idea, but the best one she had. She would have to ask the Wendel from the future to act as her fiancé. Never mind Nemesis, or whatever horrible secrets he was hiding. Maybe that would satisfy her mother.
Maybe not.
Coffee. She needed coffee. Better to fortify herself with caffeine.
“Excuse me.” A man touched her elbow. She stepped aside to let him pass before she recognized him–Detective Grimaldi.
Her stomach tightened. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
Grimaldi’s smile didn’t look convincing. “Indeed, it’s not. We need to speak in private. Come with me to the station?”
It sounded like a question, though she knew it couldn’t be one. “If there’s coffee.”
The detective’s smile drooped into a frown, as if this joke were inappropriate, and her ears burned. What did they want from her?
She followed him into the cold; the wind cut like a knife through her jacket. Grimaldi waved her toward a car idling on the street, one emblazoned with the shield of the NYPD. She ducked inside and hugged herself.
Grimaldi settled beside her and signaled for the driver to go. The car lurched into motion. He glanced sideways at her. “Ardis Black.”
She met his gaze. “Yes?”
“That’s your name?”
“Yes.” She tensed, her shoulders stiff.
“How about Yu Lan?”
Her fingernails bit into her palms. “Yu Lan is dead.”
“Is she now?” A corner of the detective’s mouth twitched.
The car took a corner too fast, and Grimaldi slid against Ardis, his leg heavy along hers. The smell of him–tobacco and cologne–filled her nose.
She swallowed down nausea. “What do you want from me?”
“Yu Lan killed a man in San Francisco, before she fled the country.”
Her skin felt numb, even faraway. “I heard it was self-defense.”
“Why did she come back?”
She challenged him with her stare. “Why do you care what happened in San Francisco?”
Grimaldi fished in his pocket before finding a pack of cigarettes. “It’s true, that murder doesn’t fall under our jurisdiction. What happened in San Francisco will stay in San Francisco, unless you decide not to cooperate.”
“Diplomatic immunity,” she said, remembering. “The Archmages of Vienna said–”
“Are you a diplomat?” Grimaldi laughed.
Damn it, Konstantin must have promised something he couldn’t deliver.
“Tell me what you want.” She clenched her hands to hide their shaking. “You might not even have to threaten me.”
Grimaldi flashed his teeth in a fleeting grin. “To take down Nemesis.”
“And you want me?” She glanced out the window. Had they been driving in circles?
“We know your friend, Wendel von Preussen, has been involved with their activities. Sabotage, subterfuge, a smorgasbord of crimes.”
Smorgasbord wasn’t German, but she didn’t correct him. “Wendel got shot, remember?”
“A man like Herr von Preussen has too much blood on his hands. He won’t stay out of trouble for too long.”
She sure as hell wasn’t going to admit he was right. “He’s still in the hospital.”
“We don’t need him.” Grimaldi met her gaze, his eyes steady. “We need you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Infiltrate Nemesis and work as a double agent.”
“How?”
“You’re a mercenary. Be creative.”
“And?”
He knocked a cigarette from the pack. “If you do this for us, you can forget about your past. If you don’t, you can forget about your future.”
She swallowed back her choking anxiety. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“You’ve heard of Enderman’s?”
She nodded. “The beer hall.” Wendel had spent an awful lot of time there.
“Go there. Get recruited.”
“How long do you need me?”
“Until you prove useful.” Grimaldi tapped the window between them and the driver. The car slid to a halt, slush hissing from the tires. He hopped out and held the door. “This conversation never happened.”
“Understood.”
Ardis stepped out, the cold shock of winter a relief. She waited for Grimaldi’s car to disappear in traffic, and only then did she walk away.
~
Ardis retreated to Hotel Donovan’s café. She swigged some coffee, her hands shaking, and it wasn’t all from the caffeine.
“There you are.”
She jumped at the sound of Wendel’s voice. “Where were you?”
He lifted a paper bag. “Shopping.”
“For what?”
“Clothes.” He waved at himself. “While stunningly handsome, I’m not in formal attire. The brunch starts in an hour.”
She wasn’t in the mood for his sense of humor. “Fantastic.”
“Is something wrong?”
She sure as hell couldn’t tell him about the NYPD. “Remember that telegram I sent?”
“Which?”
“To San Francisco.”
“Christ. I forgot.” Wendel’s eyebrows pinched in a stricken look. “Your mother.”
“When does her airship land?”
He hesitated. “I can’t say.”
“You don’t remember?”
“These events might not echo my memories.”
Ardis groaned. “I’m not ready for this. Not with one of you in the hospital, and one of you hellbent on rewriting history.”
His cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Can I help?”
“Damn it, I don’t want to ask this, but I need you to be my fiancé. For my mother.”
“For your mother,” he repeated. “Of course.”
She detected a wicked glint in his eye. “No.” She jabbed him in the chest. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Fantasize.”
He smirked. “My imagination has been chaste and innocent.”
“My mother doesn’t even know we’re engaged.”
“What a pleasant surprise.” He arched one of his eyebrows.
“She also doesn’t know you’re a necromancer, or a disinherited prince, or an assassin.”
“Ex-assassin.”
“Really?” She stared at him. “Aren’t you killing people for Nemesis?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Perfect.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell my mother that.”
“I have a better idea. Why not tell her I’m a prince with a vast fortune and absolutely no necromancy w
hatsoever?”
“Because she will interrogate you.”
He waved away her comment. “A little interrogation never hurt.”
Ardis crossed the lobby without waiting for him to follow. Of course he did. There was no getting rid of him. As they climbed upstairs, he hummed to himself, a tune with a Turkish lilt. He must have picked it up in Constantinople.
Sometimes she wanted to strangle the necromancer.
She scowled at him. “Can’t you book your own room?”
“And have them notice two Wendel von Preussens?”
“I’ll tell them I kicked you out,” she deadpanned, unlocking the door.
He followed her into the room. “What would your mother say?”
Damn, she didn’t have a good comeback for that. “Do you mind? I need a bath.”
“So do I,” he said, pokerfaced.
“Fine, you can bathe after me.”
Wendel smiled sweetly. “Ladies first.”
She locked herself in the bathroom and undressed. Running away sounded good, but she had already abandoned San Francisco. Home didn’t even feel like home anymore. To be fair, it hadn’t been cozy living next door to her mother’s brothel in Chinatown. Expensive courtesans dressed in silk didn’t exactly inspire nostalgia.
When Ardis turned on the water, a cramp tightened her stomach. Wincing, she rubbed it. Only two months pregnant, she knew it wasn’t uncommon for an early loss, a sadness that most women kept secret. An ache choked her throat.
She wanted this baby.
The thought branded itself into her mind with fierce clarity. It didn’t matter how much she had to sacrifice to keep her baby safe. She stepped into the bath. Cradled in the warmth, she closed her eyes and let herself drift in a moment of calm.
Wendel rapped on the door. “Ardis?”
The moment was over. “Coming.” She climbed from the tub and grabbed a towel.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes!”
Why did he have to be so annoyingly attentive? She twisted the towel around her hair, then wrapped another around her body. When she opened the door to the bathroom, she found Wendel leaning against the wall.
He looked her over. “I’ll be quick.”
Ignoring the devilish glint in his eyes, she walked past him. She traveled light, never bringing more than a few changes of clothes, but she wished she had brought at least one traditional Chinese dress for her mother.
