Chapter 12

Shadows evaporated from Wendel’s skin. He stared at her with a hard mouth, his eyes glittering. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she said.

“Let’s not be clever.” His voice sounded harsh. “You joined Nemesis?”

“To find you. You left me and Wendel I–”

“Wendel I.” He sneered. “He’s first in line to get himself killed.”

“If he dies, so do you.”

“Exactly.” He glanced back at the factory. “Where is he?”

She stared at him as rain slicked his hair. “Do you even know why we’re here?”

“To destroy the munitions factory. I overheard some of Nemesis’s schemes.” He pointed at her. “But you aren’t supposed to be helping them.”

“Manfred’s dead, isn’t he?” Realization dawned on her. “You revived him?”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s not be clever,” she repeated, with more venom. “What the hell do you want, Wendel? Tell me the truth.”

“To save you.”

The frightening part was, she believed him. “Why?”

“You shouldn’t be here. Wendel I isn’t even protecting you.”

“I beg to differ.” Wendel I stepped from the darkness. “Why are you out here, killing guards and Nemesis alike?”

Wendel II shrugged, his eyes hollow. “Both were in my way.”

Ardis shuddered. While she fought one man, he had been quietly eliminating the rest. “Did you kill them all?”

“Not yet.” Wendel II scanned the darkness. “Three Nemesis operatives remain.”

That meant he must have killed Manfred and only one of his men.

“What about the guards?” she said.

Wendel II shook his head. “I don’t know how many died. Besides the one you killed.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Wendel I said. “Ardis, while you went upstairs, I was watching Konstantin’s back. He should be done planting the bomb by now. We should leave before 100,000 pounds of TNT explode.”

She started walking toward the factory. “We need to warn Konstantin.”

“No.”

She wasn’t sure which Wendel had spoken, though one of them grabbed her arm, his grip too tight. “Let go of me.”

Wendel II looked at her with a fierce stare. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I was just in the factory.”

“Think of the baby. TNT is toxic.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Konstantin isn’t safe.”

“How selfless of you.” He dragged her away from the factory.

“You’re bruising me!”

“Quiet.” Wendel I sliced the air with his hand. “Both of you.”

Ardis glared at him. “Why don’t–?”

Wendel II cut her off with a hand over her mouth. Both of the Wendels stared into the darkness, watching, and waiting.

“I will send Manfred to warn Konstantin,” Wendel II whispered.

Wendel I frowned. “Won’t the archmage notice he’s, well, dead?”

“Irrelevant.”

She pried Wendel’s hand from her mouth. “I’m doing it myself.”

Before they could reply, Konstantin ran from the factory, clutching his suitcase. He skidded to a halt, staring at them both.

“My God,” he said. “You were right, Ardis. There are two of them.”

“Is the bomb ready?” she said.

He tore his gaze away from the twin Wendels. “Set for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” Her stomach plummeted.

Konstantin brushed away her comment. “According to my preliminary calculations, we should be fine if we leave now, at an average running pace.”

“Average running pace?” Wendel II said.

“Preliminary calculations?” Wendel I added.

Konstantin nodded. “Every time we double the distance between ourselves and the TNT, the shock wave will only be one fourth as powerful.”

“But it’s 100,000 pounds of TNT!” she said.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” one of the Wendels replied.

Who knew what the average running pace might be, and she wasn’t about to ask. She left the factory at a sprint. The men kept pace easily, their legs much longer than hers, though Konstantin’s suitcase banged against his knee.

Two long blocks away, a stitch cramped her side. Wincing, she slowed to a jog.

“Ardis,” Konstantin said. “Hurry.”

She rubbed her ribs. “You’re the one who set it to ten minutes!”

“Damn it.” Wendel II slung her over his shoulders. “Hold on.”

When he ran, every step jostled the air from her lungs. He carried her another long block before he struggled to breathe.

“Wendel!” she said. “Put me down.”

He let her slide to her feet. Gasping, he turned back to the factory. Konstantin and Wendel I stopped beside them.

“Are we far enough?” she said.

“I think so!” Konstantin said.

Wendel II sucked in air, his ribs heaving. “Quiet.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “You didn’t–”

The factory exploded in an orange fireball, chased by a shock wave that flung her off her feet. Windows shattered, glass spraying onto the street, and she shielded her face with her arm. She hit the sidewalk hard. Stunned, she stared skyward. Wendel II bent over her, his mouth moving without any sound.

She staggered upright, her head throbbing, her ears ringing.

“Wendel?” She couldn’t hear her own voice.

She glanced back and saw Konstantin on his knees, still clutching that ridiculous suitcase, and Wendel I dusting off his hands. In the distance, the factory vanished in an inferno of flames. Black smoke billowed skyward. As her hearing returned, she could hear the muffled rat-a-tat of small ammunition exploding in the fire.

Someone tugged on her hands, trying to drag her onward. Wendel II.

“No,” she said.

She read his lips. Ardis. Run.

Sirens cut through the ringing in her ears. Wendel II bolted into the night.

“Wendel!” she shouted.

Fingers closed around her wrist. Wendel I met her eyes and shook his head. Konstantin dropped his suitcase and lifted his hands into the air.

The sirens grew louder, until they filled her ears with a deafening sound.

~

“Ardis Black.” Detective Grimaldi threw a folder onto the table between them. “Didn’t learn from your mistakes, did you?”

Under the blank electric lights of the interrogation room, she stared at the manila.

“Open it,” he said.

She flipped open the folder. Her files. They knew everything about the life she left behind in San Francisco, including the man she had killed when he wouldn’t stop. Her eyes blurred, and the words swam like black goldfish in a white pond.

“Do you understand what a double agent does?” Grimaldi said.

His voice sounded conversational, but she recognized the dangerous glint in his eyes. It was the look of a man who found her useless.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Do you know what you should have done?”

“No, sir.”

Grimaldi’s fist slammed on the table. She jumped but kept her face blank.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said.

She said nothing, her eyes focused on the folder.

“A double agent would have talked to Nemesis about blowing up the munitions factory. Then the double agent would have come back and told us.” Spit punctuated his words. He jammed his face too close to her own. “Understand?”

“Yes.”

“How many tons of TNT did you destroy?”

“100,000 pounds.” She met his gaze. “Sir.”

“Jesus Christ.” Grimaldi turned from her like he couldn’t stand looking at her. He paced the length of the interrogation room.

“With all due respect,” she said, “it was a cock up.”

“Why the hell did Wendel von Preussen lie in the hospital, pretending to be shot? Did you bribe the doctors and nurses?”

“Konstantin healed him with temporal magic.”

Grimaldi’s eyebrows bristled in a frown. “That’s another thing I don’t understand. How did you convince an Archmage of Vienna to help?”

“Why don’t you ask him that?” She kept her voice level. “Interrogate him for a change?”

“Oh, we will.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Anything else?”

“You should stick to whoring.” He grimaced. “You make a miserable mercenary.”

“I haven’t whored a day in my life.”

“Lived in a whorehouse. Same difference.”

“Have you ever been to a whorehouse?”

Grimaldi’s face purpled. “You aren’t in a position to find this funny. How about we buy you a train ticket to San Francisco?”

She met his gaze. “I hear the weather’s nice there this time of year.”

“Christ.” His shook his head. “We’re done here.”

~

Ardis gripped the clammy iron bars of her cell. The aroma of the interrogation room clung to her clothes–sweat and stale coffee. Across the jail, in the far corner, Wendel and Konstantin slouched against opposite walls.

“Wendel,” she called.

He moved to the bars of his cell. “How did it go?”

“Not good.”

He glanced at his knuckles. “They wasted nearly an hour interrogating me.” He made it sound like a minor inconvenience.

Konstantin joined him at the bars. His face looked pale as paper. “Am I next?”

“Must be,” Wendel said.

“God.” Konstantin sank onto his concrete bunk. “We’re the only suspects, aren’t we? The rest are charred corpses.”

Wendel curled his lip. “Next time, set the timer for more than ten minutes.”

The door to the jail swung open with the rusty squeal of hinges. Himmel strode inside, escorted by a guard. He glanced at Ardis with an expression to rival any thunderstorm, then strode straight over to Konstantin’s cell.

“Falkenrath,” he said.

“Himmel!” Konstantin leapt to his feet. “Have you come to bail me out?”

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“You’re being held without bail.”

The hope on Konstantin’s face crumpled. “I see.”

Himmel’s spine stiffened. “For heaven’s sake, you blew up a munitions factory. You brought this on yourself.”

“Why are you here?” Konstantin said.

“To check on you.”

Leaning against the wall, Wendel rolled his eyes. “How touching.”

“Oh, shut up.” Konstantin gave him a venomous glare. “We never would have joined Nemesis if it weren’t for you.”

“Me?” Wendel spread his hands wide. “I didn’t hold a knife to your throat.”

“That’s enough,” Himmel said, in a low voice.

“Admit it,” Wendel continued, “you leapt at the chance to blow something sky high. Bored after the Archmages of Vienna?”

“Enough!” Himmel gripped the bars as if he wanted to throttle him personally.

Still leaning against the wall, Wendel smirked. “Don’t do anything reckless. You might end up on the wrong side of the bars.”

A growl rumbled from Himmel’s throat. “I could care less what happens to you.”

“Really? I recall saving your life on at least one occasion.”

Himmel squeezed his eyes shut with a pained expression. “You tax my patience.”

“Gentlemen,” Ardis said, “could we stop arguing and come up with an escape plan?”

Wendel let out a bleak laugh. “My apologies, but my resume doesn’t include jailbreaks. We may have to wait for justice.”

“Or extradition,” Himmel said. “I’m in contact with embassy of Austria-Hungary.”

“Thank you.” Konstantin’s voice sounded a little hoarse.

“How about the embassy of the German Empire, while you’re at it?” Wendel said. “Repay me for saving your life?”

Himmel stared at him for a long moment. “I’m not sure what they will do with you.”

“Let’s find out.”

Ardis cleared her throat. “I’m hoping they won’t send me to San Francisco.”

Frowning, Himmel looked over his shoulder. “Why?”

“I’m wanted for murder there. Self-defense, though I’m not sure it matters.”

His frown darkened. “I’m not sure I can help you.”

“Thanks anyway.”

“Though I can try.” Himmel strode out of the jail without any goodbyes.

Konstantin slumped onto the bunk. He scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Russia was more hospitable than this.”

“Amazing,” Wendel said.

Silence fell over the jail again, broken only by one of the drunks snoring. Ardis stretched out on the concrete slab of her bunk. She couldn’t help feeling like a corpse on an autopsy table. Her head still ached from the explosion.

Where had Wendel II gone? Why had he abandoned her?

Why the hell was he here?

She stared at the ceiling; she couldn’t stop focusing on the snores. Wendel began pacing in his cell, kicking the bars with every lap.

“Stop!” Konstantin said. “Good God, how are you this annoying?”

“Years of practice,” Wendel said. “It’s a secret tactic taught to assassins.”

Konstantin began to a laugh, the sound verging on hysterical. He hunched in the corner, bracing himself with a hand on the wall.

“Archmage,” Wendel said, “don’t lose your mind.”

“Too late, I’m afraid.”

Ardis plugged her ears with her fingers. Her nerves buzzed with fatigue, and she fought lingering adrenaline. She focused on her breathing, forcing herself to calm down, and closed her eyes. The door to the jail screeched.

“Jesus Christ!” she said. “Who is it this time?”

“Your mother.”

Ardis leapt out of her bunk. “Mama?”

Jin Hua stared into the cell with simmering eyes. “I never thought,” she murmured in Chinese, “I would see my daughter behind bars.”

Ardis recognized the look of barely restrained anger–it meant serious consequences.

Heat scorched her face. “I’m sorry,” she replied in Chinese, wanting to spare herself the shame of others understanding.

“Sorry isn’t good enough.” Jin Hua’s earrings quivered. “Aren’t you smarter than this?”

She lowered her gaze. “I thought I was.”

“You thought you could destroy a factory and just walk away? Did you think, for one second, of your unborn child?”

Ardis sucked in a deep breath. “I joined Nemesis to try to find Wendel.”

“Are you blind?” Jin Hua waved her arm. “He’s in the cell over there.”

“There are two of them.”

“Twins?”

“One of them returned from the future.”

Jin Hua’s nostrils flared. “Did the explosion knock the brains from your head?”

“I’m telling the truth.” She pointed at the cell. “That’s Wendel I, from our time. His twin from the future, Wendel II, fled the police.”

Her mother glanced at Wendel, then back at her. “Has a doctor looked at you?”

“Mama, I’m fine. Just a headache–”

“You did hit your head?”

Ardis decided not to answer that. “If you don’t believe me, ask Konstantin. He worked for the Archmages of Vienna.”

Jin Hua glanced at Konstantin, who waved tentatively. “No,” she said.

“No?”

“I don’t have time for that. I need to get you out of here.”

“But Mama–”

Jin Hua silenced her with a raised hand. “My old friends in New York City might be able to pull some strings for you.”

“Who? The police?”

Jin Hua sniffed. “The Tongs.”

Should this have surprised Ardis? The Tongs organized more than crime in Chinatowns across America. When they weren’t busy counterfeiting, gambling, smuggling opium, or running brothels of their own, they provided food and information to needy Chinese immigrants. They didn’t have the clean reputation of the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association, but she remembered when one of her mother’s courtesans had died after battling pneumonia, and the local Tong paid to ship her body home for burial.

Ardis looked her mother in the eye. “Thank you.”

The Tongs knew how to get things done. When all else failed, contacting a secret society produced results. Bloody, deadly results.

“Sleep while you have a chance.” Jin Hua dipped her head before tilting her chin higher. “Good luck, Yu Lan.”

She had the feeling she would need it. With a rustle of skirts, Jin Hua swept from the jail.

Wendel cleared his throat. “Would you care to translate?”

“Not now.” Ardis glanced at the door between them and the guards.

“Understood.”

Konstantin reached for his pocket watch, forgetting it had been confiscated. “Why haven’t they come yet?”

“Who?” Wendel said.

“The police.” He tapped his foot. “To interrogate me.”

“Why the hell are you looking forward to interrogation?”

“I’m not!” Konstantin kneaded his forehead. “Waiting is intolerable.”

Wendel grimaced. “For once, I agree.”

Ardis yanked the scratchy wool blanket from her bunk and shook it out. She folded it and tucked in the corners, as if that would make it any less uncomfortable, before she lumped her jacket into an impromptu pillow.

Sleep proved impossible. Around three o’clock, the guards incarcerated a gaggle of drunks who decided to have a loud, sloppy conversation. One of the drunks staggered to his feet, opened his fly, and started pissing on the floor. With morbid fascination, Ardis watched urine splatter on concrete before she rolled away.

A spider dropped from a ceiling vent, dangling from a web, before reeling itself in. She watched it scuttle overhead. It had a bulging black abdomen marked with a red hourglass. Christ, she wouldn’t be able to close her eyes until she had killed the black widow. She slid to the floor and grabbed one of her boots.

The spider crept closer. Then she saw why it had fled from the vent.

A tendril of smoke curled between the steel slats. It drifted to the floor, heavier than air, with a chemical aroma that stung her nose.

Holding her breath, she pressed her jacket over her mouth. More smoke, acrid and foul, billowed throughout the jail. Konstantin lay silently on his bunk, as if sleeping, but Wendel had fallen onto the concrete floor of his cell.

Poison gas.

Fear ratcheted higher inside her chest. She had heard rumors of chemicals that blinded you or blistered your skin. When she sucked in another breath, the smoke burned her lungs. Ripples distorted the edges of her eyesight. She clung to the bars, the strength fading from her muscles, until she slumped on the floor.

Wreathed by smoke, a man in a gas mask strode down the length of the jail.

Was this what Death looked like?

She tried to lift her head from the concrete, to see who had come for her, but her skull was too heavy. Darkness overtook her.