Chapter 5

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 creeping 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.

“Wendel,” she said. “Something terrible has happened.”

He frowned at her over the newspaper. “Which terrible thing, in particular?”

She dragged a chair to his bedside, but stood behind it, her hands gripping the wood. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

“You lied to me?” The newspaper dropped to the bed. “That’s unexpected.”

“I’m serious.”

“Enlighten me.” How could his voice be so light, but his eyes so shadowy?

Her fingernails dug into the chair. “Wendel, there are two of you.”

“No, there aren’t.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Unless you’re drunk.”

“One of you returned from the future.”

He didn’t blink. “What–?”

“He told me it was Konstantin’s temporal magic.” She held up her hand to silence him. “I know it sounds insane, but listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he said, in a level voice.

“It happened the night you went to the hospital. While you were sleeping, he walked right into the room. He told me we had to kill the man who shot you, before the police could question him, and so we went to the docks.”

Wendel arched his eyebrows. “Did you kill the bastard?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“That isn’t the point.” She clenched her jaw. “Wendel–the other Wendel–wants to rewrite history. This morning, he’s already been to Enderman’s and killed four men from Nemesis. I don’t think he’s going to stop.”

“Madness.” Wendel sounded horrified yet admiring. “Exactly what I would do.”

“You would?”

“He’s me, isn’t he?”

“But he barely tells me anything. I don’t even know what he wants.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then frowned and touched his bandage. “Where is this future Wendel now?”

“Killing more men?”

“He must have good intentions.”

She forced a laugh. “He’s definitely headed down the road to hell.”

Bracing himself with his hand on the bed, Wendel tested his weight on his feet. The muscles in his legs trembled. “Christ, I feel like I’m one hundred and fifty.”

“You look like you’re going to fall over.” She caught his elbow. “Lie down.”

Trembling, he shook his head. “While my doppelgänger has all the fun?”

“You almost died.”

“I have died.” His face looked alarmingly pale, but he stayed vertical. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Wendel reached for his coat, draped over the chair. He shrugged it over his shoulders, though he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath, only a bandage across his chest. When he started buttoning the coat, Ardis held his hands.

“Stop,” she said. “Don’t go out there in pajamas.”

“I beg your pardon, these are hospital-issued convalescence trousers.”

“Wendel, listen to me. The other Wendel–he isn’t right.”

He tilted his head. “I highly doubt I’m going to kill myself.”

“You can’t go.” She cast about for another argument. “Time might unravel.”

“Pardon?”

“Before Konstantin sent the other Wendel back, he warned him about meeting himself.”

Wincing, Wendel sat back down on the bed. “Do you expect me to believe that? Time can fray like some old sweater?”

She held out her arms. “Konstantin’s words, not mine.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m suggesting this, but we should telegraph the archmage. Falkenrath will know more.”

“Agreed.”

He mimicked Konstantin. “The Hex has a ninety-nine-point-five percent probability of stopping bullets. If you had stayed within the borders of the German Empire.”

Trying not to laugh, she touched his shoulder. “Promise to rest?”

He stared into her eyes. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not a chance.”

A growling sigh escaped his throat. He unbuttoned his coat and tossed it back over the chair. “I plan to heal faster out of spite.”

She bit back a smile. “I’m counting on it.”

Before she could turn away, Wendel caught her by the wrist and tugged her into a kiss. A rush of relief washed over Ardis, leaving her skin tingling in its wake. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him for a moment.

When they broke apart, she swallowed hard. “Please wait here for me.”

“I promise,” he said.

She wished she could trust him.

~

Ardis left the hospital and tried to ignore the weight of dread. Mist shrouded the city, erasing the height of skyscrapers and sticking like wet cotton in her throat. Back at Hotel Donovan, she sent a short telegram to Konstantin:

urgent need help in NYC with time magic.

It could have been vaguer, but the concierge didn’t blink. The clock in the lobby read two in the afternoon; she hadn’t eaten since last night. Guilt soured her stomach. Between Nemesis and the NYPD, she barely had thought of her unborn baby, but she would be damned if they didn’t survive this all together.

In the cafe, she ate a ham sandwich, crumbs sticking in her dry mouth. By the time she had finished, the concierge waved her over.

Konstantin had replied:

back from Russia; long story; travel to NYC?

She telegraphed back a single word:

Yes.

Her breath left her in a hiss, though this could be the calm before the storm. She went upstairs and unlocked the door to their room.

Wendel waited by the window, his hands in his pockets, staring at a New York lost in fog.

“Ardis.” He didn’t look at her.

She froze, her hand still on the doorknob. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”

She could tell him everything. The police, the dead men, the confession to his past self. But how could she trust him?

“Where have you been?” she said.

“Busy.”

When he turned around, he took his hands from his pockets. His skin looked chapped, as if he had scrubbed it raw.

Her stomach twisted into a knot. He hated touching the dead.

“How many did you kill?” she said, in a conversational tone.

“Four.” His voice sounded hollow. “I hope it’s enough.”

“For what?”

Wendel’s jaw tightened, a muscle flexing. “Stopping Nemesis.”

“Why?”

“They threatened me when I quit. Called me a traitor.”

“Aren’t you fulfilling their prophecy?”

He sneered. “I don’t believe in prophecies.”

She took a step toward him, but stopped, not sure she wanted to touch him, not sure he wanted to be touched. “Wendel.”

“Ardis.” Silence stretched between his words. “I would do anything for you.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing the temptation to feel for him. “Anything?”

“Yes.”

“What if I asked you to never kill another man?”

His eyebrows arrowed in a frown. “Everything I have done is a necessary evil.”

“Why?”

He stroked her cheek, his fingers calloused. “We can write our own destiny.”

She retreated from his reach. He made her feel off-kilter, and it wasn’t just the cold fire of necromancy lurking under his skin. It was the way he looked at her, like he was long past caring about anything else.

“Killing is our only destiny?” she said.

He looked at her with a keen stare. “If someone threatened our baby, you would end them in a heartbeat.” It wasn’t a question.

“That’s not the same thing as murdering men in a beer hall.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glittering. “You went to Enderman’s?”

Her ears burned. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was looking for you.”

“You missed me by minutes.” His thin smile had no humor in it whatsoever. “Luckily.”

“Please,” she said, “just tell me the truth.” She looked him in the eye. “Why did you come back? What happens in the future?”

“Actually, I can tell you one thing.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “You can?”

“Your mother will be here in a few minutes.”

“What?” She stared at him.

“Her zeppelin docked. She called the hotel already.”

“Jesus Christ.” She sagged on the couch, propping her face in her hands.

The cushion bent under his weight. “Aren’t you thrilled?”

“Do I look thrilled?”

“You have the privilege of introducing your mother to your wonderful fiancé.”

She glared at him. “I won’t have a fiancé if I strangle him first.”

“I meant to tell you sooner.” He shrugged, though he didn’t look regretful. “Sorry for distracting you with dead bodies.”

“Sometimes, I think you’re soulless.”

“Sometimes, I agree.”

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.