Shadows of Asphodel Box Set: The Complete Trilogy

by Karen Kincy

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.

  THIRTEEN

  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.

&
nbsp; “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 t
o 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.”