by Karen Kincy
The tattooed man stalked her. Blood soaked his shirt.
Where the hell was Wendel? The necromancer’s mummy shuffled like a geriatric man, too slow to be more than a distraction.
A wolf-whistle echoed under the high ceiling. They both looked toward the sound.
The black dagger whipped through the air and sank into the tattooed man’s eye. Wendel advanced, shadows clinging to his skin as they evaporated. He wrenched out the dagger and finished the man with a cut to the windpipe.
The mummy crumpled as the necromancer relinquished control.
Ardis dropped the glass shard. “Did you know Beaumont would be here?”
“Of course not.” He crouched by the dying man, wiping the gore from his dagger on the man’s sleeve. “God, what a mess.”
She stepped back as a pool of blood neared her slippers. “I don’t think anyone heard us.”
He hid the dagger in his suit jacket and took her wrists, gently, as if he expected wounds on her hands. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Wendel shook his head. “This wasn’t supposed to be a mission with combat. Beaumont…” He released her. “I need to find him.”
“And kill him?”
His mouth hardened. “He knows something is wrong. I wasn’t shot.”
“But you were.”
“Not yesterday.” He touched his chest, where she had seen a scar before. “If Beaumont discovers there are two of me…”
“What about our objective?” she said. “J. P. Morgan, Jr.?”
Wendel straightened his tie. “How do I look? Any bloodstains?”
“No, but there are two dead men in this room.”
Wendel glanced at the mummy. “Three.”
“That doesn’t improve the situation. We can’t just walk away.”
“Why not?” He touched Beaumont’s dead henchmen, resurrecting them as his minions. “When we leave this room, bar the door behind us.”
The dead men nodded. Blood dribbled from the tattooed man’s ruined eye.
“Ardis,” Wendel said, his voice rasping on her name, “leave the Arcanaeum.”
“Without you?” she said.
He locked gazes with her. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You aren’t even armed.”
She shook her head. “I can still finish the mission with you.”
“What do you plan to do? Keep fighting until you lose the baby?”
His words knocked the breath out of her. “You know I would never do that.”
“Then go.”
Ardis gritted her teeth. She wanted to scream at Wendel, to tell him what a bastard he was being, but he was right.
Her time as a mercenary was running out.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked fast. “Meet me at the hotel.”
She slipped from the room without waiting for his reply. Shaking, she hurried through the party. The crush of people felt suffocating. She bit the inside of her cheek, tempted to run, but she knew that would be too incriminating.
Outside the Arcanaeum, the cold welcomed her. Only then did she let herself breathe.
~
Ardis returned to Hotel Donovan alone.
Back in their room, she leaned over the sink and splashed water into her face. It hurt to breathe past the ache in her throat.
Why did Wendel have to be so cruel? He didn’t need to talk about losing the baby.
Guilt coiled in the pit of her stomach like a snake. Maybe she had been reckless. After all, Wendel was only trying to protect her in his own ruthless way. She wanted this to be simple, but nothing ever was with the necromancer.
Despite everything, or maybe because of it, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten anything at the brunch, not even an hors d’oeuvre. A smile touched her mouth at the memory of Tesla by the buffet. She twisted the ruby ring on her finger.
Was she truly engaged to marry? It still felt impossible.
At the hotel cafe, Ardis ordered an early dinner of roast squab chicken and potatoes parisienne. The waiter treated her with crisp formality, and she wondered if the silk dress made her look more like a lady than usual.
She finished her dinner and returned to their room. When she opened the door, she heard the shower running in the bathroom.
“Wendel?” she called.
“Nearly done.”
Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he had accomplished while she was eating dinner. When he walked from the bathroom, toweling his hair, she kicked off her slippers and stretched out on the bed.
“I had a talk with J. P. Morgan, Jr.,” Wendel said.
She stared at the ceiling. “How cordial of you.”
“The mission is complete.”
“Fantastic.”
Silence filled the gap between them. “Allow me to apologize,” he said.
“For?” she said, though she wanted him to be sorry for so many things.
Wendel tossed aside the towel and raked his fingers through his damp hair. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.”
“You were honest,” she said. “Unusually.”
Half of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m not good at being honest.”
“You’re good at being a bastard.”
“True.” His smile faded. “Will you forgive me?”
She let out her breath in a long sigh. “Maybe.”
“Ardis.” He walked to the bed in few long strides. “Run away with me.”
She pushed herself onto her elbows. “To where?”
“Switzerland.”
She laughed hollowly. “You remembered.” It had been a joke between them–one of these days, they would escape the war and find a cottage in Switzerland, by mountains and meadows where the cows wore bells.
“I’m serious.” He met her gaze. “I quit.”
“Quit what?”
“Nemesis.” He caught her hand, his grip hard, as if he would take her away this instant. “I’m done with them. We can go.”
She stared at him, words drying in her mouth. “Now?”
“Yes, before–before it’s too late.” His eyes looked too dark, more black than green.
“Too late for what?”
“Escape,” he said. “Switzerland is a zeppelin flight away.”
“I can’t leave the other Wendel.”
His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching. “I’m not asking you to.”
“Really?”
“Ardis.” His voice rasped on her name. “We can live high in the mountains, where the sky is blue and clear as crystal.”
She blinked away the fantasy. “No.”
“We can live in a village where there is no bloodshed, no need for necromancy.”
“No,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Wendel, how can I go? You won’t even tell me what you’re running from.”
He challenged her with his stare. “I would do anything to keep you safe.”
She wanted some space to breathe. She retreated to the bathroom, but he followed at her heels.
He kissed the nape of her neck. “I’ve never stopped loving you.”
His words pierced her chest with sweet pain. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if not seeing him would make her stop feeling anything for him, this stranger she knew, this Wendel she didn’t know at all.
His hands followed the curves of her waist before lingering over her breasts.
She opened her eyes. “Wendel…”
“Tell me no,” he said, his voice gravelly in all the right ways, “and this ends.”
Her lips parted, though the word didn’t leave her mouth. His teeth nipped her shoulder. Shivering, she gripped the edge of the counter and stared at him in the mirror. His face was marked by scars she didn’t recognize, but his eyes glinted with the same keen intelligence and wicked humor she had fallen in love w
ith the first time.
When he tugged her against his naked body, she sucked in her breath. He was tantalizingly hard.
“No?” he murmured. “Or yes?”
The word left her in a gasp. “Yes.”
Five
His fingers hooked under the hem of the dress and tugged the silk over her head. He left the corset laced tight and dragged her underwear down. When she tried to turn around, he bent her over the counter. Her breath came in shallow pants as she watched him in the mirror. He held himself in his fist and thrust into her.
She let out an incoherent whimper. He filled her totally, the size of him almost too much.
He halted for a second. “Good?”
“Yes,” she said again.
Wendel slid out, leaving her aching and empty, before he thrust back where he belonged. His fingers threaded in her hair, clenching into a fist, holding her against the counter. He dragged pleasure from her until her legs trembled. When he bit the curve of her neck, just hard enough to make her groan, her knees buckled.
He caught her before she could fall. “Careful.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She wanted to grind against him, to urge him on.
“You want me to stop?”
“No.” Her stomach tightened at her confession. Why did this feel so right, when it was a hundred kinds of wrong?
When he met her gaze in the mirror, he had the eyes of a devil. “You want me to come?”
She shivered. “Yes.”
“First?”
She glared at his reflection. “Bastard.”
He bared his teeth in a grin. “My pleasure.” He slowed to a teasing pace, every stroke a delicious torture. Sweat glittered on his skin. “I’ve missed you.” He growled the words into her ear. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She held her breath. “Wendel…”
“Come for me.”
His command pushed her toward the edge, but she fought the feeling. He tilted back his head, breathing hard, and closed his eyes. She clawed at the counter, her fingers slipping. He pounded into her at a punishing tempo.
The tension inside tightened until it snapped. She cried out, her mind blanking with ecstasy. A groan escaped from deep in his throat; the sound satisfied her on a primal level. When he moved again, it was almost too much, but she relished it. She braced against him, letting him take his pleasure from her, letting him take control.
With a grunt, he came inside her, pulsing out every drop of his seed.
Panting, they sagged against the counter. Sweat cooled the space between their skin.
“Bed?” he said, hoarse.
When she nodded, he slid out, leaving her shaking. He hooked his arm under her legs and swept her against his chest. He carried her to the bed in a few long strides, then kissed her with intense devotion. She melted beneath him.
He smiled against her lips. “Even better than I remembered.”
Regret twisted her stomach into a knot. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
“Why?” He lay alongside her and curved his hand over her hip, tugging her against him. She secretly loved the possessive feeling.
“I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Who?”
“The other Wendel, alone, in the hospital.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure he’s sleeping well tonight. All that morphine.”
She rested her head in the crook of his arm. “You don’t think this was wrong?”
“Of course not.” He laughed, but it was quiet. “Neither does he.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Trust me.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m an expert.”
She let out the air from her lungs. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“If only we could be like this forever,” he whispered, his stubble rough on her neck. “There must be magic to stop time.”
“You would want that?”
“More than anything.” As she slipped out of bed, he caught her hand. “Stay with me.”
“I can’t.”
Shadows haunted his stare. “One night?”
She couldn’t tell him yes, but how could she say no? Silently, she returned to the bathroom, where she failed to wash away her guilt.
~
After a night of restless sleep, Ardis woke to the first pale rays of winter sun. She reached for Wendel, but his side of the bed was empty. She dragged herself out of bed, groggy, and shuffled into the bathroom. Wendel stood by the mirror, combing his hair with his fingers. He had dressed but not shaved, his jaw darkened by stubble.
She couldn’t help remembering the rasp of it on her skin. She shivered.
“I have to go.” His voice sounded quiet, strangely so.
“Where?”
When he walked from the bathroom, she followed him. “To take care of things,” he said.
“Kill men?”
He shrugged on his coat. “More or less.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know.”
She gritted her teeth. “Try not to make the future worse.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Before she could reply, he strode out of the hotel room, the door clicking shut behind him.
She would be alone for at least an hour. After dressing in a hurry, she caught a taxi.
Traffic clogged the streets of New York. Staring out the window, she bounced her leg. Walking had to be faster than this. Finally, the taxi passed the obstruction, an overturned wagon of potatoes, and sped to her destination.
“Enderman’s,” she muttered, reading the Gothic-lettered sign out loud.
The beer hall looked like it housed wenches serving bratwurst and steins of lager, not a conspiracy of spies. The building strained skyward as if it had lofty ambitions, German flags fluttering over its half-timbered façade.
She shouldn’t be here, avoiding the hospital, avoiding the other Wendel, but she didn’t want to keep thinking about her debt to the NYPD. The obligation rotted in the pit of her stomach. Her breath escaped in a cloud of white.
“This isn’t going to work,” she muttered.
She was a terrible liar, though perhaps some permutation of the truth would work. After hesitating on the sidewalk, she planted her hand on the door and shoved it open. Smoky air rushed out to meet her, thick with the smells of malt and sausages. Despite everything, her mouth watered. Maybe espionage included breakfast.
Within the gloom, patrons hunched over steins while barmaids delivered beer, wurst, and sauerkraut. It looked grimly German, like a tarnished reflection of Deutschland, only dimly remembered by those who had left it behind.
She sat at the corner of a long table, trying to look like she belonged. When she rested her elbows on the wood, a stout barmaid drifted over.
“What will it be?” said the barmaid. She spoke English with a New York accent.
Ardis bit the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t she asked Wendel what to do?
Like he would tell her.
“Ma’am?” The barmaid shifted her weight from foot to foot, her hip jutting out.
“I’m looking for something,” Ardis said.
The barmaid narrowed her eyes. “Honey, we’re not hiring.”
“No.” Ardis lowered her voice. “Nemesis.”
“Nemesis?” Surprise flashed across the barmaid’s face. “That’s none of my business.”
“I need to talk to them.”
“Why?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that none of your business?”
The barmaid thinned her lips. “Go into the back room, through the red door.”
“Thank you.”
Ardis pushed her chair from the table and headed behind the bar. She ducked through a doorway marked Employees Only and stepped into a poorly-lit hallway. Dingy travel posters advertised Transatlantic voyages to the German Empire. The red door stood at the end of the hall, a sliver of light creepi
ng underneath.
Her stomach tightened into a knot. After taking a deep breath, she knocked once. She heard nothing but the muffled noise of the beer hall behind her. When she knocked again, harder, the red door swung open under her knuckles.
“Christ,” she whispered.
She was too late.
Four men slumped around a table, playing cards scattered across the surface, blood seeping into the paper. Two of the men stared at the ceiling with dead eyes, their throats ripped wide; another had been stabbed in the back, more than once; the last slumped in his chair, a switchblade embedded in his heart.
A wave of nausea washed over Ardis. She gripped the edge of a chair, then realized she was leaving fingerprints. Her hands shaking, she used her sleeve to wipe the wood. The pat pat pat of dripping liquid punctuated the silence–blood, still warm, falling from the table to the floor. Wendel had killed them all. No one else would be this quick and silent. Not even the barmaids in the other room knew about this.
She needed to get out. Now. Before anyone caught her by the bodies.
Ardis stepped from the room and shut the red door, wishing she could lock it behind her, then ran from the scene of the crime.
~
Ardis navigated the crowd and ducked into the nearest subway station. Underground, the press of people became claustrophobic. The air stank of urine. She leaned against a column while the train screeched to a halt, then climbed aboard. Electric lights reflected her face inside the windows. Had she always looked so pale?
She needed to tell Wendel the truth. The one from her time, the one she had abandoned.
By the time she departed the subway, adrenaline still hadn’t left her blood. Trembling, she stepped into the hospital, her skin numb and faraway. A nurse asked if she needed help, but Ardis shook her head and kept walking.
Wendel was reading a newspaper in bed. Fatigue shadowed his face. When he saw her in the doorway, the life returned to his eyes.
“You haven’t abandoned me yet?” he said.
It must have been a joke, but it cut her like a knife.
