by Karen Kincy
Ardis shook her head. “Would temporal magic be wise?”
Wendel wrinkled his nose. “You sound like the nurses at the hospital. They called magic unsafe and unpredictable.”
“Before or after you were poisoned by a morphine overdose?”
“Morphine?” Konstantin raked his fingers through his curls. “They gave him the antidote, potassium permanganate?”
“They did.” Wendel squinted at him. “How do you know so much about poisons?”
“Merely an interest in chemistry. Not assassination.”
Wendel smirked. “You surprise me, archmage.”
“I said, I’m not an archmage.”
“You always will be to me,” Wendel said, in a false maudlin tone.
Konstantin glanced skyward with a sigh. “Temporal magic may be risky. It isn’t always clear how it interacts with poison.”
“I don’t care.” Wendel had a rigid set to his jaw.
“I do,” Ardis said. “I don’t want you to die.”
He shrugged. “Already did. Not much worse for the wear.”
She glared fiercely at him. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”
He had an unrelenting bastard’s smirk. “If a necromancer can’t laugh about death, who can?”
“You won’t be laughing when I’m done with you.”
Konstantin blew out his breath. “Show me the wound.” He waved his hand impatiently.
“You aren’t playing coy,” Wendel said.
“The faster I heal you, the faster I can avoid you, necromancer.”
Wendel tilted his head. “Fair point.”
Grimacing, he peeled the bandage from his wound, his jaw tightening when the bloody gauze clung to his skin. Ardis looked away from the jagged row of stitches. She didn’t trust her stomach these days, and she had already spent enough time vomiting.
“That’s better than I thought,” Konstantin said.
“You imagined worse?” Pain roughened Wendel’s voice.
“One of these days, you’re going to get yourself decapitated or dropped into a volcano.”
“What lurid fantasies, archmage.”
When Konstantin coughed, Ardis suspected he was trying not to laugh. “All the technomancy in the world wouldn’t heal you then.”
“Dying once was bad enough.” Wendel smiled through gritted teeth. “I don’t plan on an encore.”
“Nobody’s dying,” Ardis said.
“Wait here,” Konstantin said.
He swept from the room without waiting for a reply. Ardis took the opportunity to glare at Wendel, who spread his arms in a defensive gesture.
“What did I do?” he said.
“Don’t antagonize Konstantin. He’s helping you out of the goodness of his heart.”
Wendel snorted. “Goodness? What’s that?”
She glared harder. “You owe him.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” His gaze slid away from hers.
Panting, Konstantin returned to the room, lugging a pair of suitcases with unbalanced weights. He lowered them both to the carpet. The first suitcase contained his brass-and-leather archmage’s gauntlets; the second, a technomancy apparatus fashioned from polished steel, with enough dials and knobs for the cockpit of an airplane.
“Hopefully, this won’t kill you.” Konstantin buckled on his gauntlets.
Wendel tossed his coat over a chair. “How much?”
“At least two months.”
Which meant Wendel would feel two months of pain in an instant. Temporal magic accelerated the healing process of a wound. When Konstantin flicked a switch on the apparatus, a deep hum resonated in her bones. He squinted at a dial and adjusted a knob.
“Ready?” Ardis said.
Wendel swallowed hard before lying back on the bed. “Yes.”
“Ardis,” Konstantin said, “hold him down.”
Goosebumps prickled her skin. She glanced at Wendel, who nodded and held his arms above his head. While he stared at the ceiling, she grabbed his wrists–just hard enough to feel his pulse throbbing, and the icy fire of necromancy under his skin.
He kept any sign of fear from his face. “Get it over with, archmage.”
Wendel had endured the agony of this magic before, as the Order of the Asphodel’s prized assassin and only necromancer. Ardis doubted he had ever been given a choice. The Order used and abused him without a shred of remorse.
Konstantin held his hands close together, not quite touching, and green lightning the color of glowworms crackled between his fingertips. He furrowed his brow, concentrating hard, and the lightning coalesced into a bright sphere of magic.
Ardis closed her eyes.
The magic sizzled as it hit skin. A groan escaped Wendel. He strained against her grip, the muscles in his arms taut, his back arching from the bed. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. She didn’t think she could listen any longer. It sounded like burning flesh. Sweat dotted her face, as if she were the one being tortured by the effects of temporal magic.
“Stop,” Wendel gasped.
“Not yet.” Konstantin’s voice sounded tight. “Another week…”
Wendel’s muscles trembled under her hands. She knew he was holding back, forcing himself not to fight her. Her eyes flickered open. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes glassy, his face a rigid mask of pain. She hated seeing him like this.
“Konstantin,” she said.
He switched off the technomancy apparatus, killing the low hum.
“Let go.” Wendel choked out the words.
She released him; he hunched on the edge of the bed, his elbows braced on his knees. His ribcage heaved as he struggled to breathe.
“Are you all right?” she said.
He coughed, his face bone white. “Never better.”
“Take it slow.” Konstantin focused on unbuckling his gauntlets. “Don’t pass out.”
Trembling, Wendel pushed himself to his feet and shuffled across the room. He bent over the chair and retrieved his coat.
“Where are you going?” Ardis said.
He slung the coat over his shoulders. “To find myself.”
“Wendel–”
“I don’t trust him, Ardis.”
“But he’s you!”
“Exactly.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have healed him,” Konstantin muttered.
“Thank you,” she said. “Even if Wendel is ungrateful.”
“Don’t I look grateful?” The necromancer headed for the door.
Ardis stepped in his path. “Wherever you’re going, stop. You won’t find the future Wendel meandering around Manhattan.”
“Won’t I?”
She exhaled. “He wants to kill Nemesis.”
He reached for the door, but she caught his arm. “Which is exactly the problem,” he said.
“We need to go to the Black Cat. A whorehouse in Brooklyn.”
He snorted. “Why?”
Her heartbeat picked up the pace. “A tip from the NYPD.”
“Why?” he repeated, slower this time.
She met his gaze. “You aren’t the only one who found work in New York City.”
Konstantin glanced between them both. “Ardis?”
“They recruited me,” she said, “to act as a double agent for Nemesis.”
Wendel’s eyebrows shot skyward. “You surprise me.” He cocked his head. “Have you ratted me out yet?”
“No.” She spat the word. “I’m a mercenary. I’ve had a lot of practice playing dumb.”
He attempted to look innocent. “I never doubted you. Now, if you will excuse me.”
“Stop.” She stared him down. “Let me go to the Black Cat and join Nemesis. It’s our best shot of finding the future you.”
“Ardis.” He grimaced. “No.”
“You seriously think I will let you go on any secret missions alone?”
“You’re in the family way.” He pr
etended the phrase was scandalous. “You can’t possibly believe Nemesis will hire you.”
Konstantin cleared his throat. “Pardon me?”
“See?” She waved at him. “Konstantin had no idea. I don’t even look pregnant.”
“Not at all.” He stared at her with eyes like saucers. “Congratulations?”
“Thanks.”
“Nemesis doesn’t have desk jobs.” Wendel shook his head as if she were stupid.
“I’m good with a sword,” she said. “Besides, I don’t have anything else to do.”
“If you’re bored,” he said, smirking, “I have some suggestions.”
Konstantin sidestepped toward the door. “Time for me to go…” he muttered.
“I have a suggestion for you,” she said, still focused on taking Wendel down a notch. “Help me by not being a bastard.”
Wendel let out a growling sigh. “I won’t win this argument, will I?”
“Not a chance.”
~
Gilded by the sunset, the brick building looked innocuous. It could have housed apartments or offices, but for the single window illuminated by a red lantern–the subtle advertisement of a place selling pleasure.
Across the street, Ardis hid in an alley with Wendel and Konstantin.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Konstantin said, a breeze ruffling his curls.
“I’m sure it isn’t,” Wendel said, “but you didn’t have to come, archmage.”
“Not an archmage.” Konstantin let out a resigned sigh. “And I came to America to help.”
Wendel touched his hand to his chest. “I’m flattered.”
“Focus.” Ardis peered around the corner, the brick wall rough under her fingertips. “Nemesis thinks you quit, Wendel, and have been killing their men in the streets. At the moment, that makes you one of their worst enemies.”
“Hurray,” he said.
“You can’t waltz in there, at least not by daylight.”
He slipped Amarant from his jacket. “I’m partial to the shadows.”
“Konstantin,” she said, “you’re with me. The Archmages of Vienna may have let you go, but that doesn’t mean you want to let your talents go to waste. Nemesis should find your technomancy invaluable to its cause.”
Konstantin let out a nervous laugh. “Hopefully this won’t end like it did in Russia.”
Wendel cocked his head like a curious raven. “How?”
“With a ghost possessing the widow who killed him.”
“Damn.” Wendel whistled low under his breath. “Never met a ghost. They exist?”
“Well,” Konstantin said, chewing his lip, “there may have been temporal magic involved, and psychothaumaturgy.”
“Pardon?”
“The magic of enslaving souls. Like the clockwork dragon.”
Ardis cleared her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but there isn’t time for a technomancy lecture.” She waved at the dying light.
“Right.” Konstantin squinted at the Black Cat. “Will they believe us?”
“You’re a disgraced archmage. Why wouldn’t you want to help Nemesis on the sly?”
He grimaced. “Do they need to know why I was disgraced?”
“They know I’m disinherited.” Wendel polished his dagger on his sleeve.
“Being disinherited isn’t a crime. Not like…”
“Buggery?”
Konstantin’s ears flushed. “Preaching to the choir, I assume,” he said icily.
Wendel laughed. “Do I look like a choirboy?”
“Where is Himmel?” Ardis said.
“Fantasizing about Falkenrath?” Wendel said, an unrepentant bastard.
Konstantin ignored him. “Keeping watch, I assume.”
“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t see him.”
Squinting against the sunset, Ardis peered at the brick buildings. Himmel had agreed to patrol the rooftops; he was accustomed to aerial surveillance. She hoped one of the rickety fire escapes hadn’t fallen to bits under his feet. Best case, he would alert them if he saw Wendel II. Worst case, Wendel II would spot him first.
“There,” Konstantin said.
A mirror flashed from a rooftop–Himmel, signaling them.
“Don’t wave back,” Wendel hissed. “Did they teach you nothing of stealth?”
Konstantin sniffed. “We didn’t all learn assassination in kindergarten.”
Ardis pushed herself upright. “Sometimes, walking through the front door works.”
“Sometimes,” Wendel said, “you die.”
“That’s why you’re watching our backs,” she said, giving him a grim smile.
By way of answer, Wendel drew Amarant from his coat. Shadows crawled over his skin, transforming him into a silhouette. It wasn’t dark enough outside for him to be invisible, but soon they would enter the Black Cat.
Konstantin pursed his lips. “If only we had an Eisenkrieger…”
Ardis shook her head. “Sadly, we can’t walk into a brothel wearing mechanical armor.” She touched the pommel of Chun Yi, wondering if she should have even brought the sword. America was the land of guns.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said.
Leaving the alley behind, she squared her shoulders and put on the face of a perfect mercenary: attentive yet impartial. Konstantin strode alongside her, fiddling with the knot in his necktie, a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“Breathe,” she muttered. “Pretend this is just a trip to the Academy of Technomancy.”
He let out a nervous laugh. “This feels like a final exam.”
They tried the door to the building; it opened without protest, the hinges well-oiled. Clearly, this business preferred not to announce its customers. Within, the warm glow of kerosene lamps illuminated a hallway of doors.
“Which one?” Konstantin whispered.
Ardis spotted a painting of a night-black cat lounging on a green velvet couch the color of its eyes. For some reason, the cat reminded her of Wendel. She wondered if he had infiltrated the building yet. “Second door on the left.”
Konstantin straightened the knot in his necktie. “What do I say? Do I ask for a menu?”
“A menu for what?”
His ears reddened. “Services.”
Ardis turned her laugh into a cough. “Where have you seen a menu for whores?”
“In penny dreadfuls.”
“God.” She opened the door to the brothel and held it open. “Go.”
When Konstantin stepped into the Black Cat, she followed at his heels. She kept her hand on her belt, near her sword, as she scanned the room. Cheap rose perfume saturated the air. Red velvet curtained the windows and cushioned the lounges scattered about the room. Behind a counter, a bespectacled woman ran her finger down the pages of a ledger. She looked like a librarian with a dangerously low neckline.
“Is she a clerk?” Konstantin whispered. “Do they have clerks in whorehouses?”
Ardis swallowed a laugh. “Madam,” she whispered back.
“Of course.”
He approached the counter. “Excuse me, I’m looking for someone.”
The madam looked him up and down. “What tickles your fancy?” She jerked her chin at Ardis. “A threeway?”
Ardis looked her in the eye. “I’m his bodyguard.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
Ardis chose not to dignify that with a reply.
Leaning in, Konstantin lowered his voice. “I’m looking for Nemesis.”
“Why?” The madam didn’t miss a beat.
“I was once an Archmage of Vienna.”
The madam drummed her fingers on the counter. “Wait here.”
Konstantin settled on the corner of a burgundy ottoman, tugging the knees of his trousers. Ardis stood by him, her face blank, playing the part of emotionless bodyguard. The Black Cat wasn’t the worst brothel she had ever seen, though it wasn’t the best. Her mother’s pla
ce catered to men seeking Oriental fantasies, with expensive incense and decor imported from China. Pride flickered through her, chased by a bolt of shame.
A minute later, the madam returned. “This way.”
They followed her down a hallway hung with paintings of nudes, none of them famous. Through the closed doors, the muffled sounds of pleasure escaped. Konstantin walked straight ahead with tension in his shoulders. Ardis wasn’t so easily flustered. Besides, half the noises sounded like the whores here were bad actors.
The madam opened the door to a room. “Have fun.”
When Ardis followed Konstantin inside, she wondered if there had been a mistake. A woman in a sheer gown stood by a window, her chestnut hair tumbling past her shoulders. Smoke curled from her silver cigarette holder.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, with a thick German accent.
“We want to speak with Nemesis,” Konstantin said.
The woman had a husky laugh. “You are.” She tapped ash from her cigarette. “My name’s Salome. Pleasure to meet you.”
Ardis snorted. She wondered if the woman kept seven veils as props.
“Konstantin Falkenrath. Formerly, one of the Archmages of Vienna.”
“Formerly?” She dragged on the cigarette.
“Conflict of interest.” His jaw hardened. “But I won’t sit idly on the sidelines. My technomancy can help Nemesis.”
“And her?” Salome glanced at Ardis. “What’s a Chinese girl want with Nemesis?”
“Half-Chinese,” Ardis said. “And I’m not asking why you work out of a whorehouse.”
“Recruiting.” Salome hooked her finger into Konstantin’s necktie and tugged him closer. “Shame you’re here on business.”
He cleared his throat. “I would never frequent such an establishment.”
“Too shy?”
“Too interested in the company of men.”
Salome released him with a pout. “Oh.”
Ardis swallowed a laugh of surprise. She hadn’t expected Konstantin to be so forthright. Then again, what did he have to lose?
He took his pocket watch from his coat. “We’re running late.”
“Don’t go so soon.” Salome dragged on her cigarette and sighed out smoke. “I have a job that might suit your specific talents.”