Chapter 13

Ardis woke with her cheek pressed against cool leather. Blinking her gritty eyes, she pushed herself upright. She was in the back of a limousine. Morning light pierced the windows, though Wendel sat in shadow.

A scar cut across his cheekbone. Wendel II.

“Good,” he said, “you’re awake.”

“What happened?” she rasped, her throat sore.

“You had a little too much to drink.”

“What?”

He tipped his head at the partition separating them from the driver. “Luckily, we won’t be too late to catch our zeppelin flight.”

She stared at him, trying to puzzle together her fragmented memories. “Flight?”

“For our honeymoon.”

She glanced down. The ruby ring glinted on her other hand. Either she had drunk so much champagne she couldn’t even remember their own wedding, or Wendel II had concocted a cover story while breaking her from jail.

Pretending to smile, she leaned against his shoulder. “Tell me the truth,” she whispered.

“I rescued you,” he whispered back.

“Were you the man in the gas mask?”

“Yes.”

“And the smoke?”

“I liberated knockout gas from the police station. They use it to rescue hostages.”

Her throat tightened. “Will it hurt the baby?”

“No.” He spoke in a murmur. “Lower your voice.”

The driver parked the limousine outside a skyscraper before opening the door. Wendel hopped out and offered her a hand. She clung to his arm, faking a laugh, pretending to be tipsy. Wendel kissed her cheek, his stubble rough. They had to act like newlyweds, even if she was tempted to become a widow by murdering him.

“Haught Tower,” he said. “The second tallest skyscraper in New York.”

“Do we have time for sightseeing?”

“No.” He paid the limousine driver, who tipped his hat. “Look.”

She followed his gaze to the top of Haught Tower. Beyond all that glass and chrome, at the pinnacle, a spire pierced the sky.

“A mooring mast,” Wendel said.

Her gaze darted to him. “For a zeppelin?”

“Precisely.”

As the limousine pulled away from the curb, she rested her hand in the crook of Wendel’s elbow. He escorted her into Haught Tower. The lobby looked impossibly grand. Water burbled in an indoor fountain, scattering light across floors of white marble. Once again, Ardis felt small and out of place in her well-worn clothes.

At the elevator, the operator touched the brim of his hat. “Which floor, sir?”

“The roof.” Wendel glanced at Ardis. “We’re catching a flight for our honeymoon.”

“Where to?”

“London.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Wendel wanted to put the Atlantic between them and Nemesis.

“Good choice, sir.” The operator hit a button.

With a jolt, the elevator ascended. She watched the floor number rise until it hit 50. The doors slid open with a clunk. They stepped into a waiting area with vast windows, not unlike a train station dropped onto the top of a skyscraper. They weren’t the only ones here–about a dozen other passengers waited for the zeppelin.

“Thank you,” Wendel said, handing the operator a dollar.

The moment the elevator descended, Ardis turned on him. “Where are the others?”

He strode to a window, staring at the clouds. “I could only carry you.”

“Wendel, we have to tell them.”

He paused. “Do you trust me?”

“Not completely,” she said, a quiet admission of guilt.

“We need to go.” His shoulders stiffened. “New York City holds nothing but death.”

“That seems to be true no matter where we travel.”

When he looked back, his eyes were dark and glittering. “Not this time.”

A businessman cleared his throat and straightened his newspaper with a snap. How long had he been eavesdropping? She paced toward the elevator, wondering how fast the police would arrest her if she walked out of here.

“Ardis.” Wendel’s fingertips touched her wrist.

She glanced at him, but only for a second. Beyond the windows, the silver body of a zeppelin navigated between skyscrapers.

“The Gannet,” he said.

With delicate grace, the crew of the Gannet docked her nose with the mooring mast on Haught Tower. The zeppelin’s engines held her steady while a conductor opened a door to a gangway. Wind whistled between the gaps.

Wendel brought Ardis to the front of the line. He offered two tickets to the conductor.

“Thank you, sir.” The conductor glanced at his face, blinked, then back at the tickets. “London is your final destination?”

“Indeed.”

Ardis forced herself to smile like a newlywed. Why was the conductor staring at her? Had the NYPD already made wanted posters?

The conductor punched their tickets. “Welcome aboard.”

Her smile wavered with relief. She followed Wendel across the gangway, her eyes watering from the cold. Crewmen in smart blue uniforms nodded as they boarded. Silk the color of cream wallpapered the corridor. They descended into the underbelly of the zeppelin, where doors led to passenger cabins.

“The honeymoon suite,” Wendel said.

She glanced sideways at him. “Really?”

He held open the door. “I spared no expense.” On their cover story, anyway.

She stepped past him. More silk adorned the walls, painted with images of exotic birds. Rather than the double bunks common to zeppelins, this luxury suite had a queen-sized berth. A porthole window overlooked a dizzying view. Fifty stories down, automobiles looked like ants. She gripped the back of a wicker chair.

“Are you all right?” He shut the door to their cabin.

“Yes,” she said, though her head still throbbed from the munitions factory. Not to mention the bruise along her hip, or the inconstant ache below her stomach. Damn it, that was a complete lie. She gave up and sat down.

“You look pale.” Wendel knelt beside the chair.

“Stop,” she said. “Just give me some space.”

“Ardis.”

“We aren’t on our honeymoon. You don’t have to keep pretending that you care.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”

“Right.” Her stomachache was getting worse. She tried to rub it surreptitiously. “You wouldn’t have joined Nemesis, gone back in time, or gassed a police station otherwise. Maybe you should stop caring.”

“You have no idea,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

She stood. “Excuse me.”

“Where are you going?”

“To powder my nose,” she deadpanned.

He wouldn’t follow her there. She left the honeymoon suite and found a bathroom down a short flight of stairs. She locked the door and splashed cool water into her face. The wave of nausea passed, but her stomach still hurt.

On the toilet, she found blood spotting her underwear.

Her breath snagged in her throat. Shaking, she scrubbed the cloth with a wet tissue, but the stain lingered, as if mocking her.

How bad was this? Why had she never asked her mother?

Because she had never imagined being pregnant.

Ardis washed her hands with a tiny bar of soap. With a jolt, the Gannet cast off from the mooring mast, engines humming. Everything felt like a dream. Like she didn’t belong here. Like none of this was happening.

She returned to their cabin, without a word, and sat on the berth.

Wendel tried to catch her eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She refused to look at him. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me.”

“A little blood,” she whispered, already humiliated, and she glanced at him.

Understanding sharpened his eyes. “Lie down.”

She obeyed, since his face invited no argument. He tucked her in with military precision, pinning her under the sheets.

After he dropped into the chair, he kneaded his temples. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m thirsty,” she admitted.

He poured her a glass of water before helping her sit up. “Here.”

She took a sip. The cool water trickled down her throat and settled in her stomach.

“Sleep,” he said.

She wanted to argue with him, to prove he was wrong, but she found it hard to look at him. Though he had mastered the assassin’s face, an icy mask, his eyes glimmered with concern. She looked away, unwilling to match his vulnerability.

If only she could stop loving Wendel. Both of them.

~

When Ardis woke, the lead light of morning had been transmuted to golden afternoon. Pain felt like more of a distant memory. She slipped her hands under the sheets and touched her belly, trying not to seem too concerned.

Everything seemed to be fine, though she couldn’t be sure.

Wendel sat in the wicker chair, reading today’s newspaper. “You missed lunch.”

“You didn’t wake me?” Her hands moved to the edge of the sheets.

“I’m not that much of a bastard.”

With a shadow of a smile, he lifted the cover from a serving tray on a little folding table. One plate held roast beef and asparagus in hollandaise sauce; another, a piece of coffee cake layered with what looked like raspberry jam.

He brought the tray to her. “You must be famished.”

“Thank you.”

The clink of silverware on porcelain sounded too loud in the silence. Though the beef and asparagus had gone cold, they still tasted good. She kept her gaze on her plate, trying to ignore the way Wendel lingered so close. While he pretended to be interested in the newspaper, he kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

“A flight to London takes two days,” she said.

“And?”

She carved a slice of beef. “Plenty of time for you to tell me the truth.”

The newspaper crinkled as his hands clenched. “I have been.”

“No, you haven’t. Not everything.”

“What would like to know?” he said. “My favorite color?”

“No.”

“Green.” Smirking, he glanced back at the newspaper. “Kaiser Wilhelm wasn’t bluffing about invading Belgium.”

“Germany invaded Belgium?”

“The Kaiser has been tiptoeing around the word invasion, which is blatant nonsense. Why else bring the Archmages of Vienna along for the ride? Once the Hex stretches over Belgian skies, Belgian bullets will be useless.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But why Belgium?”

“Because Belgium stands in the way of France, one of Russia’s allies. The bastards.”

Damn, this was a distraction. “Stop hiding behind that newspaper and tell me why you traveled from the future.”

His face shuttered. “Ardis, no.”

“It will only be worse when I find out myself.”

He tossed aside the newspaper, pushed himself to his feet, and raked his fingers through his hair. “My future won’t happen again.”

“What?” She tried not to shout. “What happened to you?”

“Not me.” He wouldn’t look at her now, suddenly fascinated by the shadows. “You.”

Ice slid into her bloodstream. “Talk.” She set aside the tray, her food half-eaten.

“No.”

“Talk or leave. Find your own cabin. I’m not interested in sleeping with a liar.”

His laugh was harsh. “I beg to differ.”

“I’m not even going to waste energy being offended.” Ardis glared at him. “But if you won’t tell me the truth, just get the hell out.”

Wendel let out a breath. “I don’t want to live in a world without you.”

“Is that supposed to sound romantic?”

“No.” He glanced at her with narrowed eyes.

“Because you should try harder,” she said, sardonically.

“This isn’t a laughing matter.” He paced the cabin like a caged panther, stopped at the window, shook his head. “You have no future.”

She ignored her pounding heartbeat. “Keep talking.”

When he met her gaze, his green eyes looked pale enough to be silver. “When it happened, there was nothing I could do. It was too late. That’s why I came here, to a time before, when I could try to avoid that fate.”

“Tell me.”

“Ardis.” His voice rasped with raw pain. “You died.”

Acid burned her throat; she swallowed back a cough. “How?”

“No.” He gripped her shoulders. “It will never happen.”

“But it did, in your future–”

“I didn’t come here to relive my mistakes. I’m here to save you.” His hands clenched, almost painful on her shoulders.

“Tell. Me. I’m a mercenary. Death is in my job description.”

He faked a laugh as he let her go. “Morbid.”

“What did you expect from me?”

“I expect you not to think about your death every night, every day you are alone, until you can’t even remember how to breathe.”

“I deserve to know.”

Wendel looked everywhere but her, as if it were easier to pretend she wasn’t here, as if he couldn’t think of losing her again. “Please.”

“How did I die?”

“I wasn’t there,” he whispered.

It was impossible not to imagine dying alone. A blade to the heart, a bullet to the brain. Out of all the questions, she asked, “Why?”

“After a week in the hospital, they released me.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “You promised to meet me that morning. When you didn’t arrive, I returned to the hotel alone. You had been killed the night before.”

“Killed?” She kept her voice level. “By…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you–ask me?” Surely, he must have touched her and brought her back for a moment.

Wendel stared somewhere distant, perhaps nowhere at all. “You never saw his face. He kept to the shadows. Must have known I was a necromancer.” His shoulders stiffened. “The man said one thing. ‘Nemesis never forgets.’”

Her skin felt numb, like nothing could touch her. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Her hand lingered over her belly. “Wendel, the baby…?”

A stupid question. She knew she didn’t want to know the answer.

He shook his head. She hunched on the berth, her eyes burning, fighting the pain that gripped her throat like claws. Thinking of her own death–that was something she could look in the eye–but thinking of her baby…

“Ardis.” He drew her into a crushing hug. “I’ve said too much.”

She struggled to breathe, her face buried in his coat, the metal tang of blood in her nose. He held her tight until tears leaked from her eyes. He kept stroking her hair under his hand, whispering her name again and again.

The heartbreak in his voice was almost too much to hear.