by Karen Kincy
“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.
Six
Three years. Had it been that long since she had seen her mother?
Ardis waited in the hotel lobby with a dry mouth and fluttering heartbeat. She wore the silk dress with the brocade dragons, and she kept smoothing it with her hands. At her neck, her brass locket held tintype photographs of her mother, Jin Hua, and her father, Thorsten Magnusson. She hadn’t worn it for weeks.
To his credit, Wendel looked every inch the gentleman in an evening jacket and tie, his face elegant with its sharp angles. He cast a cool gaze around the lobby, absently toying with his cuff-links. God, if only he had a gentleman’s past.
“She’s late,” Wendel said.
They had agreed to meet at six o’clock in the evening. Outside the windows, a steady snowfall drifted through the dusk.
Ardis gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “The weather took a turn for the worse.”
Glacial air gusted into the lobby when the doorman held the door for a petite woman. She smiled graciously and slipped him an even more gracious tip. Snow flecked the gray wool of her traveling gown, and the ostrich feather curling from her hat looked bedraggled. More silver streaked her dark hair than Ardis remembered.
“Mama?” She tried to call out, but it escaped as a whisper.
Across the room, their gazes met. “Yu Lan!”
Ardis winced at the name, one she had abandoned fleeing America as a fugitive. Her mother sailed across the room, her arms outstretched, and swept her into a hug. Jin Hua kissed her once on each cheek, something she did because she thought the French were fashionable. Ardis blinked to fight the tears prickling her eyes.
Jin Hua drew back and looked over Wendel. “Who’s this?” She spoke English well, though she had never lost her accent.
Ardis sucked in a deep, deep breath. “My fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” Jin Hua’s nostrils flared. “Yu Lan! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We just got engaged.”
“Wendel von Preussen.” With his most charming smile, he took her hand and kissed the air above it. “Pleased to meet you.”
Jin Hua matched his smile. “Von Preussen? The name sounds familiar.”
His eyes hardened, ever so slightly. “I’m from Prussia.”
“One of the royal family?” she asked, with undisguised greed about his pedigree.
“Not quite.” His smile began to look forced.
“I see.” Jin Hua inspected Wendel like a collector might eye a butterfly, a pin in hand.
Ardis coughed into her hand, trying to avoid talking about his history. “Dinner?”
“Yes, of course.” Her mother patted her wrist. “I had a long flight.”
Ardis neglected to point out the fact that her mother bought the zeppelin ticket uninvited. “How does Chinatown sound?”
Jin Hua smiled. “Hěn hào chī.”
Wendel arched an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“Delicious,” Ardis translated, though she was anything but hungry.
They caught a taxi to the Chinatown in Manhattan.
She kept glancing at her mother, her chest tight with all the secrets she wouldn’t–couldn’t–set free. Jin Hua returned her gaze with a faint smile, her hands clasped in her lap, and she looked almost demure. An illusion.
If she wanted to, she could rip into someone with words like tiger claws.
Now, however, she spoke sweetly. “I’ve missed you, Yu Lan.”
“Ardis,” she corrected.
“You don’t need a fake name. How long has it been? Three years?”
“I still go by Ardis.”
“Yu Lan.” Her mother clucked her tongue. “They have forgotten.”
Ardis grimaced and glanced at the taxi driver. She knew they meant the police, and of course they had already threatened her.
Wendel cleared his throat, as if hesitant to join the fray. “Why not go by Magnolia?”
She stared at him. “You remembered.” Yu Lan meant Jade Orchid, the Chinese word for the tree with blossoms like snow.
“How could I forget?” A smile shadowed his mouth. “Maggie.”
Ardis shook her head. “No. Just–no.”
Jin Hua laughed. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“Are you serious?”
“Magnolia.” She repeated the name, testing the sound. “Put it on your passport. Easier for Americans to pronounce.”
Wendel grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the gloom. “And you?”
“Golden Flower.” Jin Hua shrugged. “No translation to one word in English. Thought about naming my business that.”
“Your… business?”
She arched her eyebrows. “Playing coy?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My daughter must have told you.” Jin Hua smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “How many details, I’m not sure.”
“Mama!” Ardis stared at her in horror. “Stop.”
Jin Hua kept smirking. “Your fiancé should know. Tell him before you tie the knot.”
“I did.”
“Well, then, what’s the matter?”
“This isn’t the time or place to talk about brothels,” she hissed under her breath.
“Did I use that word?” Jin Hua glanced at Wendel.
“You didn’t,” he said, with the face of an angel.
Ardis clapped her hands over her eyes, her cheeks burning. “I’m done. With you both.”
“You won’t escape that easily.” Her mother laughed.
The taxi slowed to a halt. “Hier sind wir,” Wendel said.
Ardis lowered her hands. “We’re here,” she translated.
“What’s wrong with speaking German?” He shrugged. “America is the land of the free.”
And officially neutral, though that didn’t mean everyone supported the German Empire. Luckily, their driver didn’t care. He parked the cab, cracked the window, and lit a cigarette. Wendel counted out coins for their fare.
“Thanks.” The driver flicked ash from his cigarette before driving away.
“Welcome to Chinatown,” Jin Hua said.
Paper lanterns hung alongside the stars-and-stripes. Some men wore changshan, traditional long shirts, while others had suits and bowlers. Many women walked past in qipao, gowns of brightly-patterned cotton or shimmering silk.
Ardis inhaled the scent of chicken, peppers, and sesame oil. “Smells like home.”
“Are all Chinatowns the same?” Wendel said.
Jin Hua snorted at his dry remark. “Maybe to you.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Manhattan confuses me.”
/> “Why do you say that?”
“They call part of the city Kleindeutschland a few blocks from our hotel.”
“What,” Ardis said, “is Little Germany too close to Chinatown?”
Wendel smirked. “Should we stay in our respective immigrant neighborhoods?”
“Only if you want to.”
Jin Hua thinned her lips. “You shouldn’t joke about that. Be thankful it’s not illegal for you two to get married in New York.”
Heat crept over Ardis’s cheeks. “Right.”
“When is the wedding?” her mother asked with a lighthearted air.
Ardis swallowed hard. Wendel glanced into her eyes, just for a second, but that was enough for her to see the weight of secrets.
“Soon,” he said. “I can hardly contain my impatience.”
Jin Hua swatted his arm. “I’m waiting for my invitation.”
She would be waiting for a long time.
~
They stepped into a crowded restaurant like a Victorian housewife’s fantasy of the Orient. Chandeliers hung alongside glowing lanterns. Lacquered tables and palm trees shadowed the red-and-gold brocade carpet.
Wendel glanced around with obvious curiosity. “I’ve never eaten Chinese food.”
“Never?” Jin Hua arched her eyebrows. “Yu Lan, you have failed your fiancé.”
“Thanks,” Ardis muttered.
A Chinese waiter in a crisp suit dipped his head at them. “Table for three?”
“Shì de,” Jin Hua said. “Xiè xiè.”
The waiter led them to a corner table and slid three menus across. “Tea?”
Ardis blushed and stuck to English, too tongue-tied to speak Mandarin in front of Wendel. “What do you have?”
“Green, black, jasmine.”
“Jasmine?” She glanced around the table.
Jin Hua nodded. “Jasmine.”
Wendel slouched in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. One of his boots knocked against Ardis’s shin. “Pardon me.”
She opened the menu. “Lucky for you, it’s in English. Typewritten, even.”
“Any recommendations?” he said.
“Chop suey or chow mein, though they’re never the same between restaurants.”
“Anything moderately adventurous?”
Jin Hua smiled over her menu. “Bird’s nest soup.”
“No, bird’s nests are disgusting,” Ardis said.