Chapter 11

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 muttered.

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.

Silence was paramount, or the guards would raise the alarm.

Konstantin glanced at Ardis, his hands white-knuckled on the suitcase. “Ready?”

“Ready,” she said, though fear coiled like a snake about to strike.

The lock clicked under Manfred’s hands. “Go. Quickly.”

Gripping the hilt of her sword, Ardis entered the munitions factory. She could hear Konstantin breathing close behind her. Inside, the iron giants of machinery towered in the gloom. Crates labeled for bullets loomed toward the ceiling. Empty sea mines lay like hollow black fruits, waiting to be filled with explosives.

Konstantin glanced sideways at her and mouthed, Where?

She didn’t know, but she pretended she did and braved ahead. Along the far wall, stairs spiraled up to a row of elevated offices. Windows overlooked the factory floor so supervisors could watch their underlings from on high.

Maybe she could see the TNT from that vantage point or find a plan of the factory.

“Wait here,” Ardis whispered.

Konstantin nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his brow.

She climbed upstairs, her hand on her sword, careful to test each step with her boot before putting her full weight down. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. At the top, a hallway stretched ahead, electric lamps unlit on the wood-paneled walls. She wondered if they wanted the manual laborers to feel humbled when they ascended to their superiors. She scanned the doors, inspecting the nameplates.

“You!”

Ardis whirled at the shout. A guard stepped from a doorway, reaching for his gun–

She rushed him, flames igniting down the length of Chun Yi, and stabbed him in the shoulder before he could fire. The gun clattered on the floor. With a grunt, the man recovered his balance and grabbed a knife from his boot.

She wrenched her sword free and blocked with the flat of the blade. Twisting into the parry, she lunged onto her toes and angled Chun Yi toward his neck. He ducked, stumbling back, before he turned to run down the hallway.

No. She had to stop him before he sounded the alarm.

She glanced at the gun. Too loud. Gritting her teeth, she broke into a sprint. The man had almost made it to the end of the hallway.

Ardis pushed herself to run harder, her calves aching, but the man was faster than her.

He wrenched open a door, slowing down for a second, and burst into another stairwell. His footsteps rattled the steel steps. She chased him down, spiraling, before she had enough of this and vaulted over the railing.

Her boots clanged as she landed in front of the guard.

Bleeding, breathing hard, he faced her with his knife. “Who are you?” he gasped.

“Nemesis,” she said.

Now she had to kill him. Leave no witnesses.

Ardis lunged and sank her sword between his ribs. Chun Yi’s flames shimmered in the darkness as the blade savored blood. The guard stared into her eyes, gurgling, before he dropped to his knees and tumbled down a flight of stairs.

He landed, motionless, at the bottom. Chun Yi’s fire burned the blade clean.

“Ardis!” A voice echoed down the stairwell.

“Wendel?” She ran back upstairs to the floor of offices, but she could see no sign of him. “Where are you?”

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. “There’s been a change of plans.”

The legs in her muscles tensed. “What happened?”

By the light of Chun Yi, his shadowy form wavered along the wall. “Put away your sword.”

She had to trust him–or to test him. Slowly, she sheathed her sword. His fingers closed on her wrist. Darkness crawled from his skin to hers, but she still couldn’t see his face. Wendel led her along the hallway, down the stairwell where the dead man lay, through a back door into the night. Rain hissed onto the city.

“We have to go,” Wendel said, urgency in his quiet voice.

“What about Konstantin?”

A pause. “Konstantin can take care of himself.”

He pulled her onward, along this side of the factory. A man’s body lay in the dirt, rain pattering in a growing pool of blood.

Was it one of the guards? Or one of the men from Nemesis?

“Who did this?” she said.

“I don’t know.” Darkness swirled over Wendel’s face.

Ardis gripped his hand tighter, her nails biting his skin. “Show yourself.”

He didn’t let go. “We have to stay hidden.”

As they rounded the corner, she found Manfred. The man stared at her with round eyes. Blood trickled from his mouth.

“What happened?” she said.

Manfred spoke slowly, as if around a thick tongue. “Attacked.”

Wendel’s breath escaped him in a hiss. He dragged Ardis away from Manfred, heading for the street beyond the factory lot. When the light from a lamp reached them, he looked away, but not before she saw his face.

Ardis wrenched free from his grip. “You aren’t the Wendel that came here with me.”