The Shadow War

by Lindsay Smith

  “Okay, okay, I only know a little bit—there’s this man helping him, this awful man, he looks like Death, all darkness and hatred—”

  Even though he’d known it was coming, it still struck Liam like a kidney punch. “Pitr Černik.” He closed his eyes and saw that dark face looming behind him in the mirror. Heard the awful screams.

  “Yes, that’s him. They’re manipulating—energy, I think they called it, imbuing soldiers with it. They were asking for volunteers—”

  “Imbuing?” Liam asked. “Imbuing, how?”

  “I don’t know! I didn’t sign up! Sounded like suicide to me.” The chair swayed as Klaus twisted against his bonds. “That’s all I know, I swear!”

  “You said it sounded like suicide.” At a nod from Liam, Daniel swiped his blade against the edge of the rope; just enough to slacken the tension as Klaus dropped further. They were nearly over the river ravine now. “How do you know that?”

  “My friend, he . . . he signed up for it. Said it was better pay, and it’s supposed to—do something, he said. They promised it would help him achieve his true Übermensch potential. But I didn’t see him for a week, didn’t know if he’d gotten deployed, or—” Klaus yelped as the rope frayed further. “Then I saw him again, in the bowels of the castle. But he wasn’t . . . himself. His movements were all wrong, his eyes were off, there was this horrible stench of decay to him—and his skin, God. It was like he’d been taxidermied, like there was something underneath that wasn’t him anymore . . .”

  Liam set his jaw in a hard line. Kreutzer still hadn’t perfected his technique, but he was getting close. If he stabilized the bridge, there was no telling how many more soldiers he could transform at a time, or how many of the shadowy monsters he could chain to his control. And if he’d rescued Pitr from the shadow world and was using him too . . .

  They reached the ravine.

  Daniel stood up to hit the emergency brake, and the chairlift shuddered to a halt. Klaus twisted and turned, yelling out in fear as he dangled and swung over the cleave in the earth, the jagged rocks far below that lined a rushing stream. Liam’s mouth was dry, but he forced himself to go on, despite the false bravado now apparent in his tone.

  “Long way down, Klaus. Time to tell us the rest about your friend.”

  “He—he grabbed my arm, looked at me with those awful, dead eyes, and then he—he wheezed something. I’m not sure what he said. But then there were aides upon him, wrangling him back into one of those basement laboratories. They said he had pneumonia, some bullshit like that. But I know what I saw.”

  “Good job, Klaus. You’re almost there,” Daniel called. “Now, about Wewelsburg. How do we get in undetected?”

  “You don’t.” Klaus laughed, bitterly. “You must have an identification badge. There’re multiple checkpoints. It’s locked up tighter than a Jungfrau’s thighs.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “There must be some way in.”

  “There is.” Daniel sawed at the rope once more, and it stretched further. “And he’s going to tell us.”

  “Scheiße, okay, you maniacs!” Klaus kicked his feet helplessly, fraying the rope further. “But you have to let me go after this. Swear it.”

  Daniel and Liam exchanged glances. “Fine. You’ve got a deal,” Liam said, though Daniel tensed with displeasure beside him.

  “Your best bet is through the garage. It’s how I got the Oberführer’s Benz out.”

  “Is it unguarded?” Daniel asked.

  Klaus grimaced. “No, but the guards are bored, easily bribed. I offered to bring back some pretty Edelweißes for them if they let me out for the night.”

  Liam blinked. “You bribed them with flowers?”

  “He means girls,” Daniel muttered. “Pure-blooded German girls.”

  Liam glared down at the guard. “Aren’t you a charmer, Klaus. Now, what about watch schedules?”

  “Men are posted along the battlements at all hours. Only a complete idiot would try to infiltrate it.”

  “This castle has battlements?” Liam asked Daniel.

  “The papers say that Himmler likes to fancy it his new Camelot,” Daniel explained. “And all his SS commanders are the knights of the Round Table. It’s vile.”

  “Is it?” Klaus asked. “His lieutenants already wield a power mightier than Merlin’s. Once they make more of those soldiers like my friend . . . They’ll be unstoppable. A thundering wave of destruction.”

  “I’ll bet we can stop them just fine,” Liam said, but with a certainty he didn’t feel. With Pitr helping them, lying in wait to strike the moment Liam dipped into the shadow realm . . .

  “Then come and find me if you do. Perhaps we shall have a drink and a laugh, ja, meine Freunde?”

  Daniel flicked out his blade once more and held it to the rope. “I’d rather not.”

  Klaus screeched as the rope pulled taut, the fibers splitting one by one under Daniel’s knife. “You bastard! You promised me—”

  “And your friends in charge of Łódź promised we’d be safe,” Daniel said.

  Darkness lurked in his gaze, gleaming like volcano glass in the night. Liam’s breath caught at the sight—at the fury radiating off of him, the barely controlled rage that guided his every movement. He was a thunderstorm shaped like a man, and Liam wanted the storm to break over him. Drown everything else.

  “I have nothing to do with the camps—I simply do my part—I promise I—”

  “Perhaps you should ask my parents, my brother, how much your promises are worth.”

  Daniel gripped the rope in one hand and sawed the remaining threads through.

  The cut rope slipped easily from his hold. Their chair rocked forward, then pitched back, bobbing furiously on the stopped cable. Klaus’s scream twisted around them as he fell, torquing at Liam’s nerves, and then stopped abruptly in a wet slurp several dozen meters below.

  Liam looked toward Daniel, but he was staring straight ahead, into the looming trees, the moonless night.

  “Should we check . . . ?” Liam asked, after a long minute that stretched out like eternity. It felt like the moment between the frequency waves, when the universe itself began to fray, worlds and worlds caught in a held breath as they waited to see what new realities would spin forth.

  “No.” Daniel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. It was pale, exposed. Liam felt the urge to press his fingers to it, feel Daniel’s frantic pulse. “If he’s not dead yet, he will be soon enough.”

  They were both silent a moment longer, then without a word, Daniel reached for the override switch and the chairlift lurched back to life.

  After they got back to the top of the lift, they drove to a ski chalet around the backside of the hill, the small cluster of wooden huts like gravestones in the silent night. None of the cabins were lit; the heavy stillness of an early fall night tucked around them like wet wool. They worked together quietly, side by side, to scavenge food and bedding, then decided to risk lighting a small fire in the fireplace as the night turned sharp and cool.

  “You want something to eat?” Liam asked, holding out the can he’d turned up. He frowned at the illustration of jellied eels on the label. “Well, maybe not this specifically, but—”

  Daniel smiled softly at him. “I’ve got some potatoes from Helene’s we can boil. I’m ready to break my fast, anyhow.”

  “Never thought I’d go wild for boiled potatoes, but you’ve got me there,” Liam said.

  They found a pot in the kitchen and made their way back to the living room to cook. “So, according to Klaus back there, sounds like the garage is our best way in. Like Siegen.” Liam chattered, anxious, as he gathered bedding and pillows while Daniel busied himself at the fireplace, heating a coffee kettle. “We can find Kreutzer’s office, nab the book, and get the hell out.”

  “But Kreutzer knows your face. Pitr too.”

/>   “I have ways around that,” Liam said.

  “I thought it was too dangerous for you to use the shadows now. Won’t they alert Pitr, or something?”

  He hesitated. Pitr’s voice, echoing in the woods. “This is too important not to take the risk.”

  Daniel headed toward him with a mug of coffee. The smile on his face, both shy and hopeful, set a fire in Liam’s gut.

  “You’re a goddamn angel,” Liam said, as he took a sip.

  Daniel closed his hand around Liam’s on the mug’s handle, then let his lithe fingers trace down Liam’s wrist, along the divot of his elbow. Liam held his breath, afraid to startle him away. Daniel’s fingers fluttered hesitantly at Liam’s side before dropping.

  “Kreutzer doesn’t know my face,” Daniel said. “At least, not as well.”

  The coffee turned cold in Liam’s mouth. “No. Hell no. We do this together. It’s safer this way.”

  “You’re right.” Daniel worried his lower lip with his teeth. “I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “And I don’t want you to get hurt. So I guess we’re even.”

  Liam tipped Daniel’s chin up with his fingertips. He wanted to burn everything about Daniel into his mind—the flinty dart of his eyes, the plushness of his lower lip, the dark curl that lingered over his brow no matter how many times he shoved it back. No matter what became of Liam, he wanted to remember this, and how giddy it made him feel.

  “Daniel . . .” Liam murmured, throat tight. Please don’t be afraid for me, he wanted to say. I can still control this darkness. My days of being powerless are gone. But he wasn’t willing to tell Daniel any more lies.

  They sank down to the couch, and Liam tossed back the rest of the coffee. Daniel’s hand found his once more, its weight a comfort, something solid he could hold tight. Daniel shifted, drew in a breath to speak.

  “I need to see this through.” In his lilting accent, it sounded so grave, so official.

  Liam turned to face him. “Daniel,” he murmured. His fingers slid into Daniel’s hair, cupped the shell of his ear. How had everything felt like a struggle with Pitr, and with Daniel, it came so naturally? “Daniel, I want—”

  Daniel captured his hand and dragged it to his mouth. Chapped lips brushed along the ridgeline of his knuckles. The faintest nudge of a tongue along the seams between his fingers. Something in Liam’s chest caved: an avalanche he had no chance of holding off.

  Time worked differently in these cursed woods. He’d spent months and months with Pitr, but never shed the feeling he was taking a stressful exam; three days with Daniel, and already they’d built a lifetime of trust and familiarity. Liam already wanted another lifetime of it more.

  Daniel’s mouth rounded on the tip of Liam’s finger, and Liam whimpered.

  “Shit.” Liam forced himself to sit up straight. “Wait. I’m sorry. I need to tell you something. Before we . . .” Liam cleared his throat, very much hating his conscience. “I feel like you deserve to know what we’re facing . . . and why.”

  Daniel’s grip loosened on his hand. “Pitr, you mean.”

  Liam nodded slowly. He squeezed Daniel’s hand once, trailed his index finger down the center of Daniel’s lips, then forced himself to pull his hand back.

  “He and you . . . you were . . . lovers.”

  If only that had been true. The words had danced on Liam’s lips plenty of times, but he’d been too scared to voice them. His earlier admission to Daniel had been the closest he’d ever come to saying it out loud. “Something like it, anyway.”

  Slowly, Daniel unwound at Liam’s side. Liam turned to stare at him. He’d never imagined he could fall for someone again, not after Pitr’s casual cruelty that later turned to viciousness. Liam couldn’t put his heart out there on a string for someone to use like a leash. He needed to maintain control—not just of the shadows, but of himself.

  In Daniel’s eyes, he found softness. Not judgment. “Whatever you have to say, it doesn’t change who you are right now. I see you.”

  “Jesus Christ, I wish I could bottle you up and drink you for liquid courage.” Liam shook with a frantic laugh. Daniel’s whole face went red, and Liam couldn’t stop himself—he kissed that infuriating curl. The thrill it sent down his own arm, straight to his heart, would have to be enough to give him strength.

  “Let me start from the beginning.”

  Liam explained about his father and the rages that threatened to shred their apartment, rages that Liam was too small and weak to stop. How the first time he grabbed his father’s fist on its path to his mother’s face, and the beating that followed, should have warned him off. But Liam had never been any good at taking a hint.

  Even after Liam’s mother had kicked his father out, it didn’t help. Liam would never be able to save her.

  He told Daniel about how the last two years passed like a knee pressing into his back. All the doctor’s appointments he could barely afford, and the three jobs he juggled just to manage that. The late, late nights deep in the stacks to keep on top of his classwork and hang on to his scholarships. The mocking jeers of his supposed peers, who regarded him like a sideshow attraction: the little boy who thought he was a man. His voice cracked well into his second semester at Princeton; he wasn’t gangly, or short, but he never seemed to fill out his suits properly all the same. He spoke of his papers that mysteriously went missing, the books he needed that always seemed to be checked out, and the thousand little taunts and slights that added up until they were a morass, threatening to pull him under.

  Why shouldn’t he have seen Pitr as a life preserver tossed out to a drowning man? Secrecy was just the price he paid to have one good thing, one moment of solace in this world.

  But after that night in Pitr’s room, the world grew darker, more hateful, more afraid—and Pitr with it. Liam had craved control—true control—for as long as he could remember. He craved it so much that he couldn’t see how badly Pitr wanted it, too, until it was too late.

  Pitr thought the realm they sought demanded sacrifice. Not himself, of course—Pitr was too vain for that—but he theorized, correctly as it turned out, that the frequencies Liam’s oscillators generated weren’t enough. The shadows required blood. They demanded pain. A rift between the universes exacted a heavy toll, and Pitr was clearly ready to pay it, whereas Liam was not.

  Into winter and the cold comfort of the new year, Pitr haunted Liam like a specter, desperate to persuade him it was worth the cost. “We can forge an opening to the shadow world,” Pitr said one night, catching him in the bathroom where they’d first embraced. “All we need is a sacrifice.”

  “No. I won’t do it.”

  “But, Liam.” Pitr paused. “Not everyone deserves to live.”

  Still, his voice was a low rumble that brought Liam’s nerve endings to life. And because he knew Liam too well, because Liam had given him everything while Pitr had parceled out only the slimmest glimpses of himself, he knew just the toehold to seize in Liam’s thoughts.

  “Some people aren’t deserving of life, Liam. Do you think your father is?”

  Liam swallowed back a growl. His father was not up for discussion. “Why? Why do you want this so badly?”

  Pitr laughed. It was his same laugh as always, but only now did Liam hear how cruel it had always been, how superior he thought himself. “Because it’s there. I have the knowledge, the power to take it. The power Sicarelli tried to claim before the creatures on the other side beat him back for his weakness. I am not weak. And I will not be beaten.”

  Footsteps in the hallway. They both dove into separate bathroom stalls as someone else entered.

  Liam’s mind whirred over Pitr’s words as the intruder went into the third stall. No—he couldn’t do it. He wanted to access the shadow realm and the control it offered because he wanted to stop people from being hurt, not because he wanted to h
urt them. Even monsters like his father, who was toiling away at the docks under a new name, last he’d heard; his German-American Bund pals had bailed him out after a scant few months in Riker’s. Liam had done everything needed to keep his mother safe. He kept the curtains pulled tight around their new life in New Jersey. As much as he hated the man, not even Kieran Doyle deserved to pay the price Pitr was suggesting.

  So Liam tried to tell himself.

  The toilet in the third stall flushed; the intruder moved toward the sink and turned the faucet on.

  “Think about it,” Pitr whispered from the next stall.

  Liam flew out of the bathroom and didn’t look back.

  He’d thought the matter was settled, and for a few months, at least, it was. As he carefully avoided Pitr, the spring of 1942 broke over Princeton like a storm, flooding the campus with pollen, grim news from the African and European fronts, and panic as finals approached. Army recruiters set up camp outside every lecture hall, touting the fast track to officer candidate school a college boy was guaranteed—and wasn’t that better than waiting for the draft? Liam considered it, but he was set to graduate with his bachelor’s and start his master’s work immediately after. He wanted that, he was certain, yet he couldn’t muster the requisite enthusiasm or relief his classmates seemed to feel. Pitr’s unsettling presence throughout the winter had now become a heavy absence, a black hole.

  Liam spent his nights in the laboratory when he couldn’t pick up extra hours at the library. He tinkered endlessly with his stupid oscillators, those two curved metal columns that came up to his chest to generate the harmonic frequencies he sought. They should be working, if his calculations were correct. He was sure he’d unearthed the correct frequency. He’d mathematically proved the other universe’s existence, living and breathing beside him like a stranger standing too close at the bus station. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bridge that gap. Couldn’t find a way to cross over. And he was growing increasingly worried about exactly what might happen if Pitr gained access first.