Storms of Lazarus

1913…

In the dead of night, Ardis heard the necromancer singing. She braced herself at the edge of the ridge, kicking her boots deeper into the snow, and glanced backward. Wendel wasn’t more than a few paces behind her. He trudged with his head bowed, his ragged black hair shadowing his face, his breath milky in the moonlight.

“Stille Nacht,” Wendel sang, “heilige Nacht, alles schläft; einsam wacht.”

His honey-gravel voice lent itself well to the melody, even if he wasn’t entirely on key.

“Silent Night?” Ardis said, also in German. “Really?”

Wendel raised his head, his pale green eyes glittering with amusement.

“Of course,” he said. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Was it? Ardis had lost track of time, somewhere between fleeing Constantinople and hiding from an ancient society of assassins.

“You have a lovely singing voice,” Ardis said, “but—”

“Why, thank you.”

“But be quiet. We’re escaping.”

“Escaping.” Wendel grinned like he couldn’t help himself. “Exactly.”

Her sigh fogged the air, and she rubbed her mouth to hide her smile.

“How close are we to the border of Bulgaria?” Ardis said.

Wendel shrugged. “Who knows. We don’t have a map, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to snap at him.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Then I hope we aren’t lost.”

Wendel climbed the last few feet between them. He hooked his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against himself.

“Look,” he said.

Wendel pointed at distant lights glittering beyond the forest.

“We aren’t lost,” he said. “We can spend Christmas in that village.”

Ardis wanted to believe him, but she was afraid that they had come all this way for nothing. Because she hadn’t seen him this happy before, not in the time she had known him, and the necromancer seemed cursed by sadness.

She couldn’t tell him that, of course. She had to be strong for them both.

“I don’t suppose you have any of your inheritance left?” Ardis said.

Wendel snorted. “I’m dead broke.” He paused. “Though at least I’m not dead.”

She elbowed him. “I told you not to keep joking about that. It’s morbid. And you of all people should know that.”

He rubbed his ribs and backed away from her. “Thanks for the mortal wound.”

“Oh, you’re fine.”

Ardis rolled her eyes and kept walking. The truth was, the necromancer was fine. Even though she had watched him die.

She blinked away those memories and concentrated on her footsteps.

“Since we have no money,” she said, “we should look for a nice barn to sleep in.”

“Or a stable. That’s the Christmas spirit.”

Ardis glanced sideways at Wendel. He was trying not to grin, and failing.

“I hardly think I’m the Virgin Mary,” she said dryly.

“Not a fan of immaculate conception?”

A blush blazed across her cheeks. “Not a fan of babies.”

“Even the Baby Jesus?” He laughed. “Heretic!”

Down below the ridge, flashlights swept the forest. Ardis skidded to a halt and grabbed a tree branch to steady herself.

“Quiet,” she whispered.

Wendel crouched beside her and touched her elbow.

“What is it?” he said.

She pointed. “There.”

A flashlight beam swung across the trees and illuminated the bushes behind them. Ardis scooted deeper into the underbrush and flattened herself against the trunk of a pine. Wendel tensed but stayed where he was.

“Come closer,” Ardis hissed. “They’ll see you.”

Wendel shrugged, his eyes narrowed, and reached inside his coat. He stopped himself halfway. Ardis knew he was looking for Amarant, but of course he had lost the black dagger to the man who had killed him.

“There are only six of them,” Wendel said softly.

Ardis stared down the ridge. He was right. Half a dozen men carrying flashlights, all of them bundled in wool and furs.

“The Order?” Ardis said.

Wendel shook his head. “I don’t think so. They still think I’m dead.”

“Bulgarians, then?”

“Possibly.”

Wendel still stood against the snow, his black clothes and black hair a stark contrast. Such an obvious target. Gritting her teeth, Ardis lunged to her feet, grabbed his arm, and dragged him down to hide beneath the pine.

“Why would the Bulgarians be looking for us?” Ardis said.

Wendel paused. “We are both fugitives.”

The six strangers climbed the ridge, their flashlights growing brighter.

“But we never did anything illegal in Bulgaria,” Ardis said.

“Well…”

She shot a glance at Wendel. “Really?”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

Which meant the Order of the Asphodel had commanded him to kill.

Wendel raised his finger to his lips and flattened himself to the ground. He grabbed Ardis’s shoulder and pushed her down. She huddled against him, her heartbeat thudding, and held her breath so it wouldn’t cloud the air.

Boots crunched the snow. A man halted inches from Ardis’s hand.

All they had to do was look down. All they had to do was see the footprints in the snow.

The man shone his flashlight up the ridge, then twisted around and beckoned his comrades onward. He still stood close enough to Ardis that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted. Her lungs burned as she forced herself not to exhale. Finally, the man clomped away, kicking flecks of snow into her face.

Ardis let her breath escape in a puff of white.

Wendel stiffened, his shoulder pressing hard against hers. She glanced at him and saw him flare his nostrils, but she didn’t see why.

“Grok!”

The hoarse croak startled Ardis. Her head snapped toward the noise. A bough in the pine tree bounced, shedding a flurry of snow.

“Grok!”

A black bird landed with a thump on a fallen tree. It was too big to be a crow, with a wicked beak and glittering eyes. The raven cocked its head and stared at Wendel. Expectantly. Ardis knew what it wanted.

“Wendel,” she whispered. “Hide your necromancy.”

“What?” he whispered. “I am!”

Ardis jerked her head toward the raven, like Wendel wasn’t already staring. Wendel’s eyebrows angled into a frown. He looked like he wanted to incinerate the bird with his stare. The raven ruffled its feathers and hopped nearer.

This was bad. If the Bulgarians noticed—

A flashlight swung in their direction and spotlighted the raven. Glossy black feathers gleamed as the bird pumped its wings. The raven swooped low over the snow and landed on the lowest bough of the pine tree.

Right over the necromancer.

“Grok!”

The Bulgarians stared at the bird. One of the strangers pointed his flashlight into Ardis’s eyes. Blinded, she crawled backwards.

“Halt!” said the stranger.

In German or English?

Ardis froze with her hands flat on the snow. She could feel it melting beneath her palms.

“On your feet,” said the stranger.

That was definitely English.

Ardis climbed to her feet with her hands above her head. She squinted at the flashlight. The stranger was still a silhouette. Slowly, Wendel also stood, though he spread his hands at his sides in an appeasing gesture.

“Excuse me,” Wendel said. “Are you looking for us?”

The stranger shone his flashlight in Wendel’s face. “No German.”

Wendel sighed, as if he had a right to be peeved, and repeated himself in English.

“Are you looking for us?”

Make that flawless English. Ardis narrowed her eyes at Wendel for neglecting to mention his fluency earlier. He spoke with a subtle crispness that had to be the accent of a Prussian prince. Which, of course, he was.

The stranger breathed out in a puff of white. “Perhaps.”

“Who are you?” Ardis said.

“Officer Zlatkov of the Bulgarian border patrol.”

Wendel snapped his fingers. “I owe you, Ardis. This is Bulgaria.”

Ardis glared sideways at him.

Zlatkov lowered his flashlight, and Ardis glimpsed the nervous twitch of his mustache. He rattled off something in Bulgarian to his comrades. The smallest man among them stepped forward, his hood shadowing his face.

The arrogant confidence on Wendel’s face faltered. Ardis didn’t know why.

Nobody moved for a moment. Then somebody shoved the smallest man, stumbling, toward Wendel. His hood fell back from his face and revealed the truth—he wasn’t a man at all, but a woman. She had porcelain skin and cornsilk blonde hair, cobwebbed with white, though her face looked young and beautiful.

Wendel stared at the woman. He closed his mouth, then opened it again.

“You can’t be,” he said.

The woman edged closer to Wendel. When the light caught her eyes, they flashed like those of a wolf. Wendel’s lips parted with what could be fascination or repulsion. The woman stopped only inches from the necromancer. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, then lifted his hand as if he meant to stroke her cheek.

“Yes,” the woman said, the word a little sigh.

She closed her eyes, her face tight with longing, and leaned closer to Wendel.

It looked as if they might kiss.

Then two men jumped forward and grabbed the woman’s arms. They dragged her backward, yelling in Bulgarian, though she didn’t resist. Officer Zlatkov reached into his jacket, drew a pistol, and aimed between Wendel’s eyes.

“Don’t move,” Zlatkov commanded.

Out here on the border, they couldn’t count on the Hex to negate gunpowder.

Ardis did as he said, her hand halfway to her sword, and glanced at Wendel. The necromancer seemed too shaken to react with his familiar bravado. He raised his hands and looked down the barrel of the pistol.

“You found me.” Wendel licked his lips. “Where did you find her?”

The woman stared at Wendel through the hair tumbling over her face. She looked as though she wanted to tell him, but didn’t dare.

Officer Zlatkov shook his head with a grim smile.

“You are under arrest,” Zlatkov said.

At least the Bulgarians didn’t want to kill them on the spot.

Ardis attempted to sound innocent. “Why?”

“You know why.”

Zlatkov’s men patted down Wendel, who clenched his jaw but let them do it. They handcuffed him without further ceremony, then turned to Ardis. Her hand jerked involuntarily toward her sword. Zlatkov trained the pistol on her head. Swallowing hard, Ardis forced herself not to fight. Another man unbuckled her scabbard from her belt and confiscated her sword, then cuffed her arms behind her back. He reached under her jacket and ran his hands along her waist, lingering longer than necessary.

Ardis’s face burned. She distracted herself by imagining revenge.

“Come with us,” Zlatkov said.

“It isn’t like we have a choice,” Wendel muttered.

He was rewarded for his sarcasm with a rough shove between the shoulders.

They hiked down the ridge toward the village. The raven flew from tree to tree overhead, never letting the necromancer out of its sight. Wendel kept glancing at the raven, a crease between his eyebrows, but Ardis was more worried by the woman with the wolfish eyes, who listed toward Wendel like she was lovesick.

Who or what was she, and why did the necromancer want to touch her?

Candlelight flickered behind frosted windows in the village. It would have been quaint if Ardis and Wendel weren’t being marched through its streets. They crossed a cobblestoned town square and entered a brick building under construction. The foyer was dark and dank, with a hallway that branched both left and right.

“Ardis,” Wendel said.

She craned her neck and saw the border patrol steering him to the right. They shoved her down the opposite hallway.

“Wendel!” Ardis said. “Don’t—”

A man shoved a hood of rough burlap over Ardis’s head. She had never been arrested before, and panic clawed inside her ribs like a rat trapped in a cage. She tried to force down the feeling, tried to count their steps.

A turn to the left. A turn to the right. A rusty screech of a door opening.

Someone shoved Ardis into what must have been a chair. The cold steel of the handcuffs bit into her wrists as they chained her to the chair. She held perfectly still, her breathing muffled, the moldy stink of the burlap in her mouth.

The door groaned shut. Footsteps retreated down the hallway.

Ardis was alone.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. As she sat there in the darkness, her heartbeat slowed to the steady drumming of dread.

Ardis yanked against the handcuffs. They were just a little looser than they should be. One size fits all, no doubt, and they likely hadn’t been designed with the smaller bones of a woman in mind. She flexed her fingers, then folded them together tight and strained against the handcuffs. The steel dug into her skin.

“Come on,” Ardis said through clenched teeth.

Damn it, this would be easier if she could see. Maybe she could—

The door screeched open. Footsteps clicked across the floor. They stopped in front of Ardis. She tensed, her shoulders rigid, and stopped trying to escape the handcuffs. The burlap sack was yanked from her head.

Officer Zlatkov stood holding a lantern that cast ghoulish light on his face. He set the lantern on a table, then dragged another chair closer and sat down. He crossed his legs, flicked a match on the table, and lit a cigarette.

Zlatkov blew smoke toward the ceiling. “Ardis.”

She swallowed and tried not to cough.

“What do you know about Yu Lan?” Zlatkov said.

Ardis’s heartbeat stumbled and came back galloping. Her name—her old name—sounded odd in his voice. In this dark room.

“Yu Lan killed a man in America,” Zlatkov said. “Didn’t she?”

Ardis said nothing. She didn’t see how speaking would help her.

Zlatkov dragged on his cigarette. The end glowed red. Ardis stared at it, thinking of how her sword smoldered with magic.

Where had they taken Chun Yi? She needed to find it.

“Answer the question,” Zlatkov said.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yu Lan killed a man in self-defense.”

“Self-defense?” Zlatkov had a gravelly laugh. “If she was innocent, why did she flee? Why did she hide as a fugitive here?”

Ardis stared at the space between his eyes. “She knew they wouldn’t believe her.”

Zlatkov scooted his chair closer and leaned into her face. He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette. It drifted into her lap.

“Is that the truth?” he said, almost smiling.

“Yes,” she said, looking anywhere but him.

“Then tell me the truth about the Russians,” Zlatkov said.

Ardis frowned. “The Russians?”

Zlatkov slapped her across the face, hard enough to knock a gasp out of her. The stinging was followed by heat in the shape of his hand.

“Isn’t Yu Lan innocent?” he said mockingly. “Isn’t Yu Lan honest?”

Ardis bared her teeth. “Yu Lan is dead.”

“Not yet,” Zlatkov said.

“I’m Ardis now.”

Zlatkov sucked on his cigarette and blew the smoke into her mouth. She coughed and squinted, unwilling to break eye contact.

“I know,” Zlatkov said. “I know that Yu Lan was a little whore, just like her mother.”

Ardis laughed bitterly. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Zlatkov shook his head and smiled. He waved his cigarette in her face as he talked, the smoke curling through the air.

“This little whore,” he said, “killed a man when she should have just done her job. Then she ran away and pretended to be a mercenary. But she did a piss poor job of that, too, didn’t she? She whored herself out again to the Russians when they paid more money than the archmages. Because she was a greedy little bitch.”

Blood rushed through Ardis’s ears so loud she could hardly think.

“I didn’t betray the archmages,” she said.

Zlatkov slapped Ardis again. Her eyes watered at the pain.

“What happened in Constantinople?” he said.

Ardis doubted he would believe the truth. But she had nothing else.

“The Grandmaster,” she said. “He betrayed the archmages. He sold their secrets to the Russians. We tried to stop him.”

Zlatkov stared at her like he couldn’t believe what a pathetic liar she was. He leaned close enough that his smoker’s breath fanned across her face. He grabbed her chin, his fingers bruising, and stared into her eyes.

“Liar,” he said.

Ardis sneered at him. “As if you could tell.”

Zlatkov didn’t slap her again. He bent her over, roughly, and unchained her from the chair. Then he dragged her upright. He groped her breast, his fingers bruising, then grabbed his belt and fumbled to unbuckle it. Acid rose in Ardis’s throat. She pretended to fall to her knees, forcing him to stumble away.

“Bitch,” Zlatkov panted.

Ardis felt the weight of the handcuffs at her wrists. She narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve heard it all before,” she said. “Can’t think of anything creative?”

Ardis wrenched against the handcuffs and twisted her left hand loose. She surged to her feet and punched Zlatkov in the jaw. His head snapped back. She kneed him in the groin and dropped him to the floor, then savagely kicked him in the stomach. He curled like a worm. Breathing hard, Ardis glanced at the door.

She could run away, or she could incapacitate him.

Obviously the second option was the superior one.

Ardis waited for Zlatkov to uncurl, then kicked him in the face. Her boot connected with his nose. His eyes rolled back. Blood trickled across his cheek. She stared at him until she was sure he was out cold, then crouched and searched his pockets for the key to her handcuffs. She freed herself and grabbed his pistol.

Only then did she realize she was shaking all over. From adrenaline. From memories.

Ardis leaned against the wall and forced herself to inhale. She had escaped what had happened in America. But she didn’t think she could ever escape the fear. A sour taste lingered on her tongue, and for a second she thought she might vomit. She coughed and pressed her hand to her mouth, then swallowed hard.

She had to get out of here. She had to find Wendel.

Ardis didn’t look at Zlatkov as she left the room. She unlatched the door and nudged it open with her toe, then peeked around the corner. No sign of anyone in the hallway. She retraced her steps to the foyer, then headed down the hallway where she had last seen Wendel. She followed several disorienting twists and turns, hoping she wouldn’t lose her way. Her breathing sounded too loud in the silence.

A door stood slightly ajar. Muffled voices leaked through the crack. Ardis couldn’t identify the words, but she could identify Wendel’s voice anywhere. She sucked in a breath, cocked her pistol, and kicked the door open.

A man stood with his back to Ardis. He whirled around and reached into his jacket.

Ardis squeezed the trigger. She shot him in the shoulder, and the bullet staggered him. But he was still reaching for a weapon. Without thinking, she aimed for his head and shot him between the eyes. He hit the floor.

Shaking, Ardis lowered her gun. She glanced at the man as he lay dying at her feet.

“Ardis,” Wendel said.

He sat chained to a chair, bruises on his cheekbones, bleeding from his lip. Otherwise he didn’t look worse for the wear.

Wendel smiled, then winced and licked his split lip. “My savior.”

Ardis shook her head and crouched over the man she had shot. His limp hand lay near his jacket. She searched his pockets until she found a hunter’s knife. She still had the key to her handcuffs, and she used it to free Wendel.

“Take this.” Ardis held out the knife. “But remember, they have guns in Bulgaria.”

“I noticed.”

Wendel climbed to his feet and took the knife from her. He glanced at her face, then touched her on the shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“I’m okay.” Ardis shrugged off his hand. “You?”

He nodded. “Let’s end this chat before our friends join the conversation.”

Ardis left the room first, since she was the one with the gun. The hallway was still empty, though she knew they had only eliminated two of the six men who had brought them here. And certainly not the entire border patrol.

“This way,” Ardis said, trying to sound confident.

Wendel held the knife ready and followed her lead. They skulked down the hallway. Ardis peeked around the corner.

“Ardis,” Wendel hissed. “Stop.”

She glanced back at him. “The coast is clear.”

He shook his head, his face pale beneath the blood and the bruises. She didn’t like the look in his eyes. That gleam awfully like fear.

“What is it?” she said.

Wendel gripped her arm and dragged her into a run. They swung around the corner and rushed down the hallway. Ardis didn’t know why he was running, but the sooner they got out of this godforsaken place, the better.

Wendel skidded to a stop. “Ah, damn.”

A pair of gaunt figures lingered at the end of the hallway. They shuffled nearer, as if hesitant, their faces shadowed. One was the woman with wolfish eyes. The other was a man with the same strange eyes and deathly skin.

Ardis stared down her pistol’s sights. “Don’t move.”

When they ignored her, she shot the man square in the kneecap. He barely stumbled, then turned on her and bared his teeth.

No, make that fangs.

Ardis swore under her breath. “Vampires?” she said. “Really?”

Wendel made a face. “Not my fault!”

“But you knew—”

Ardis never finished her sentence.

The vampire she had kneecapped sprinted at her with a snarl. She had never fought vampires before, had never even seen one, though she knew most had been hunted down and beheaded over the past century.

Beheading sounded good. Ardis reached for her sword that wasn’t there.

“Christ,” she said.

Ardis decided to improvise. When the vampire closed in, she pistol whipped him. Hopefully hard enough to knock out some of his teeth. The vampire’s head jerked sideways as he staggered against the wall.

Bleeding from his mouth, the vampire retreated from Ardis.

Wendel treated the vampires with considerable wariness. He circled the woman, his knife raised, nearly within her reach. His eyes glittered with intensity. When the vampire tried to touch Wendel, he lunged and grabbed her by the throat. Her fingers flew to meet his. The woman let out a strangled gasp but didn’t fight him.

“Stop,” Wendel murmured.

Ardis stared at him. “Are you actually trying to—?”

Movement in her peripheral vision. The wounded vampire charged and flung Ardis against the wall. She fired the pistol point blank between his ribs, but a bullet did nothing against a heart that had already stopped.

The vampire’s hand closed around her shoulder. He knotted his fingers in her hair.

Fear flooded Ardis’s blood. She pushed against the wall, trying to find some leverage, but the vampire was taller and stronger than her. He pressed against her with a growling sigh and yanked back her head. Baring her neck.

She sucked in air to scream, but the vampire clamped his hand over her mouth.

Ardis bit him first. Her teeth sank into his fingers. He grunted but didn’t let go, and she wondered if he even felt pain.

She couldn’t see Wendel. She could only see the vampire’s dead eyes.

Then the vampire closed his eyes and bent over her neck.

His teeth pierced her skin with blinding pain. The intensity of the agony increased until it shattered into pleasure. It shocked Ardis to realize how sweet it felt. Shivering, she clung to him as the strength melted from her muscles. Pinpricks danced over her skin, and her heartbeat whooshed gently in her ears like the sea.

The vampire’s bite ended, but the sensation lingered.

He released her and let her slump against the wall. She slid down to the floor, her eyesight blurry, and struggled to focus. She heard voices. They sounded underwater. A tall man with fair hair faced the vampire. When the tall man lifted his hands, flames crackled at his fingertips. He hurled fire at the vampire.

Ardis squeezed her eyes shut. The burning hurt to look at.

Distantly, she was aware of the cold concrete beneath her cheek. She ran the palm of her hand flat against the floor. She felt something warm, and looked at her fingers. Red. Blood. Frowning, she touched her neck.

Why did nothing hurt?

“Ardis. Damn it, Ardis, look at me!”

She blinked and turned her head until she found Wendel. He was kneeling over her and shaking her shoulder. He didn’t have to be so rough. The shaking jarred her out of the sweet euphoria of the vampire’s bite.

“Wendel,” Ardis muttered. “Quit that.”

The tall man bent over Ardis, squinting, his eyes as blue as the sky. Frozen breath frosted the scarf over his mouth. He unwound the scarf clumsily, his hands armored in intricate mage’s gauntlets, the steel clicking like insects.

“Konstantin.” Ardis smiled. “What a surprise.”

Konstantin’s eyebrows gathered in a frown. “Help her stand.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Wendel said.

“It’s just the vampire’s venom,” Konstantin said.

“Just? Just?”

“She needs to walk it off.”

Wendel spoke through clenched teeth. “If you turn out to be wrong about this, so help me God, I will kill you myself.”

Konstantin blanched and raised his hands.

“The venom has a half-life of only two hours,” he said.

“This isn’t one of your textbooks,” Wendel said icily.

Wendel hooked his hand behind Ardis’s neck and lifted her head. He looked into her eyes. His own were so serious.

“Ardis,” Wendel said, “I need you to hold on. I will try not to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said.

That didn’t seem to reassure Wendel.

Ardis laced her fingers behind Wendel’s neck, and he lifted her into his arms. She rested her head against his chest. His heartbeat thumped in her ear. Blood stained his shirt, and she realized her neck was still bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why?” Wendel said.

Ardis laughed softly. “I’m bleeding on your shirt.”

“Wendel.” Konstantin cleared his throat. “You should put her down.”

Wendel muttered some profanity, then lowered Ardis to her feet. Her legs wobbled. She held onto Wendel so she wouldn’t fall. Konstantin caught her other elbow. The metal of his gauntlets felt hot against her skin.

“Try to walk,” Konstantin said. “Physical activity should help counteract the venom.”

Ardis nodded. The movement made her head spin. She managed a step forward, but her next step turned into a stumble. Wendel caught her before she could fall. He lifted her back into his arms and started walking.

“I have a better plan,” Wendel said.

Konstantin followed alongside. “Which is?”

“We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Ardis winced as the bite on her neck started to throb. Wendel glanced at her face.

“Why is she still bleeding?” he said.

Konstantin raised his finger as he walked. “Vampire venom acts as an anticoagulant. That, and a rather powerful anesthetic.”

“And?” Wendel said. “How do we fix it?”

“I could cauterize the wound.”

Wendel grimaced. “Ardis?”

She squinted at him. Everything still looked blurry, though less of a pleasant blur.

“That sounds smart,” she said.

Konstantin held open a door, and they stepped into the night. Cold rushed over them, and Ardis’s teeth started to chatter. Konstantin held out his hand, flames rippling at his fingertips, his gauntlets glowing yellow with magic.

“Try not to move,” Konstantin said.

Ardis stiffened in Wendel’s arms. Konstantin pressed his fingertips to her neck. Magic seared her skin and burned the vampire’s bite. She gasped at the pain and forced herself to hold still as he stopped the bleeding with fire.

Konstantin lifted his fingers. “Done.”

Shivering, Ardis felt a lot more awake. She gripped Wendel’s shoulder.

“It hurts now,” she said.

“Good,” Konstantin said.

Wendel glared at the archmage.

“I think the venom is starting to wear off.” Ardis blew out her breath. “Damn.”

Ardis lifted her head to look around. Her neck throbbed with sickening pain. Konstantin hovered nearby with obvious worry. Behind him, the windows of the brick building stared at them like the empty eyes of skulls.

Wendel nodded at Konstantin. “Archmage.”

He said it the same way he did every time, his flippant disdain at odds with the begrudging respect in his eyes.

“You’re welcome?” Konstantin said.

“Now is when we say goodbye,” Wendel said.

Without waiting for a reply, Wendel started to walk across the cobblestones. Ardis held on and tried to breathe evenly.

“I was looking for you,” Konstantin said.

Wendel stopped with his back to the archmage. He waited for a moment.

“Why?” he said.

“They said you were dead, but they never found a body.”

Slowly, Wendel turned around. He kept his tone perfectly bland when he spoke.

“You contacted the Order of the Asphodel?” he said.

“I had to.” A hint of desperation sharpened Konstantin’s voice. “I need you.”

“For nostalgia’s sake?” Wendel said.

Konstantin dragged his fingers through his windblown tangle of blond hair. “For Project Lazarus. That’s why I sent the Bulgarian border patrol to fetch you.”

“Fetch?” Wendel bared his teeth. “You had us arrested, archmage.”

Konstantin bit his lip and averted his gaze. “I’m afraid things went terribly wrong. I’m lucky that I came when I did.”

“Very lucky,” Wendel said sardonically. “We almost escaped without you.”

“How did you find us?” Ardis said.

A little smile curled Konstantin’s mouth. “Vampires,” he said. “The best bloodhounds to hunt down a necromancer. They crave the taste of a man who can control the dead.”

Wendel stiffened. Ardis flinched at his fingernails digging into her back.

“Put me down,” she said.

Wendel let Ardis slide to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but she managed to hide it. She hugged herself and rubbed her arms.

“What do you want from us?” Ardis said.

Konstantin’s jaw hardened. “You owe a debt to the archmages.”

They did—Ardis couldn’t deny it. Not only had Wendel sabotaged Konstantin’s Eisenkriegers, but Konstantin had let Ardis run away to Constantinople to save the necromancer. She knew they should repay Konstantin.

And in all fairness, Wendel deserved some sort of punishment.

“Follow me,” Konstantin said, “and I will answer all of your questions on the way.”

Wendel stared at him. No doubt calculating the odds of the situation.

“This is our best option,” Ardis said.

Mostly because they didn’t have another one.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Ardis took a step toward Konstantin, which was a mistake. The world tipped around her like a chessboard losing all its pieces. She stumbled onto one knee and caught herself with her hand splayed on the cobblestones.

Wendel clutched her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be walking.”

“Can I lie down?” Ardis said.

He squinted. “Of course not.”

Ardis staggered to her feet and sucked in a long breath. Stars danced in the corners of her eyes. Her neck ached almost as sharply as the instant the vampire’s fangs had pierced her skin. Wind chilled her sweaty face.

“Wendel,” Konstantin said. “For once, don’t be an idiot. You can’t keep running, carrying Ardis through the snow, praying the assassins don’t realize you’re alive. Come with me and you can have a real shot at survival.”

Dizziness rippled over Ardis, and she blinked fast.

“Very well,” Wendel said. “You win.”

Judging by the ice in his voice, he hated saying every word.

“This way,” Konstantin said.

Wendel helped Ardis stagger across the town square. They reached a sleigh hitched to a matched pair of black draft horses. The great beasts snorted and pawed at the snow, heat from their nostrils fogging the air. Konstantin hopped into the sleigh and held out his hand. Ardis shied away from the steel of his gauntlets. She remembered the fire he had summoned from his fingertips to incinerate the vampire.

“Let me help you,” Wendel said.

With his hands at her waist, Wendel boosted Ardis into the sleigh. She clambered in gracelessly and slumped in the corner. Wendel settled next to her with a thud. He leaned back and stretched out his legs.

Ardis touched her fingers to her forehead. “Where are we going?”

“Not to our deaths, apparently,” Wendel said.

Konstantin shook his head. “Logic escapes you, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t trust you,” Wendel said, with more than a little insolence. “Do I need to explain the concept of revenge to you, archmage?”

Konstantin leaned across the gap between them. His eyes looked frosty.

“You are more useful to me alive,” he said. “Necromancer.”

Wendel looked smug, as if he had known he was invaluable all along.

At Konstantin’s command, the driver urged the horses into a trot. The sleigh lurched into motion and scraped over the snowy road. Blearily, Ardis gazed at the sky. Snow like powdered sugar drifted onto her face.

“Where are we going?” she said again.

“Phillipopolis,” Konstantin said.

That sounded vaguely familiar to Ardis, so she nodded.

Darkness swallowed the village. Only lanterns hanging from the sleigh lit their way. The horses plodded through a forest of pines, their harnesses creaking. The slicing of sleigh runners across snow underscored the silence.

Ardis tilted back her head and watched the boughs of trees pass overhead.

“Grok!”

“Oh, damn,” Wendel said.

Wingbeats whooshed between the trees. The raven fanned its tail and banked over the sleigh, then settled on a low-hanging branch. Wendel pantomimed throwing something at the bird to scare it away. The raven chattered in a bratty way, glided down to the sleigh, and landed behind the oblivious driver’s back.

Konstantin stiffened. “Get rid of your minion.”

“My what?” Wendel retorted.

“That crow.”

“The raven isn’t undead, archmage. I can’t control him.”

Konstantin arched his eyebrows. “Then why—?”

“He’s clever, that’s why.” Wendel smiled. “In his greedy little head, a necromancer is nothing more than a glorified sous chef for scavengers. If he follows me long enough, he might find his dinner. Something nice and dead.”

Konstantin eyed the raven with considerable disgust and a hint of fascination.

“Don’t tell me you have undead nearby,” Konstantin said.

“All right,” Wendel said flippantly, “I won’t.”

Konstantin spoke in a dangerous murmur. “I am absolutely serious.”

The raven clambered nearer to Wendel, its claws clicking on the lacquered wood of the sleigh, and Wendel gazed at it rather fondly. Ardis suspected the necromancer liked the bird only because the archmage didn’t.

She smiled. The lingering venom in her blood weighed down her eyelids. They had barely slept a night since Constantinople. A hard bench in a sleigh was a luxury after huddling together in a cave in the wilderness.

Ardis rested her head against Wendel’s shoulder.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they were alone. They were safe. And she let this delusion lull her to sleep.

~

San Francisco never slept through the night. Red lanterns hung like garlands of glowing fruit over the streets of Chinatown. Ardis ran over the cobblestones, dodging the crowds, ducking into alleys wherever she could. She loved the feeling of cutting her own way through the city, of finding things she had never seen.

Outside an herbalist’s shop, a man sat on the sidewalk and played a haunting melody on a two-stringed erhu from China. The song reminded Ardis of romantic maidens in flowing robes. She lingered until the man pointed with his bow at the box of coins by his feet. Then she shook her head and kept running.

Ardis passed a restaurant, which smelled of sizzling and simmering, and an opium den, which smelled of burnt poppies. The odd, sweet aroma always provoked a shiver down her spine, though she had never been tempted.

Ardis ducked her head and ran faster. She would be late. Again.

Her mother’s brothel looked almost respectable from the outside, with bright red paint and a bit of gilding around the doorways. Inside, the smoke of incense perfumed the air and twisted serpentine between lamplight. A courtesan lounged on a divan, chatting with a man who wrung his hat in his hands. A new customer, clearly, one who hadn’t been seduced yet. Ardis raised her eyebrows, and the courtesan smiled.

Her mother’s office was at the back of the brothel, down a long hallway.

“Yu Lan,” her mother called. “Hurry.”

Ardis brushed aside a velvet curtain and crossed the threshold.

“Yu Lan!”

“I’m coming,” Ardis said.

When she stepped into the office, there were only shadows.