Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2) (22 page)

Her dream. Where she was…

Ardis worked the soap into a lather. She washed herself, trying to scrub away the fear clinging to her skin. Her breasts felt tender to her touch. She froze, her fingers cupping herself, and sucked in a shuddering breath.

Was her dream an omen? Was she pregnant?

The heat of the water went cold. Ardis shivered and tucked her knees against her chest. She had to talk to Wendel.

Not that she had any idea how.

A rap on the door startled Ardis. “Yes?” she called.

“When you have a minute,” Ursula said, “I would like a word.”

“Coming!”

Ardis stepped from the tub, dried hastily, and wrapped the towel around herself. When she opened the door a crack, the doctor looked her over with complete disinterest. Doubtless she had seen worse than a little nudity.

“Sorry to intrude,” Ursula said, “but I’m worried about Wendel.”

“Why?” Ardis said.

There were a lot of things to be worried about, but she wanted to know which one.

Ursula nudged her glasses up her nose. “Laudanum. He asked me for a prescription, and became angry when I declined.”

Another cramp panged through Ardis, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

“That sounds like Wendel,” she said.

“Laudanum can be addictive if abused,” Ursula said.

Ardis nodded. It wasn’t like nobody knew this.

“Does Wendel drink?” Ursula said.

“Obviously.”

The doctor’s eyebrows descended, so Ardis explained quickly.

“Wendel isn’t a drunk,” she said. “A glass of absinthe now and then.”

Ardis rubbed her belly. She wasn’t sure why she was cramping.

“Is something the matter?” Ursula said.

Ardis averted her gaze. “Can we talk in private?”

“Of course.”

Ursula stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Ardis gulped a deep breath and went straight for the jugular.

“Doctor,” she said. “I’m afraid I might be pregnant.”

Ursula blinked. “When was your last—?”

“November, which means it’s late.”

“That’s not unusual. Stress can delay menstruation.”

Ardis’s face burned. “By five days?”

“Yes.”

“But doctor, it’s been like clockwork before.”

Ursula clucked her tongue. “Are you aware of preventives?”

Now Ardis was sure her face was crimson. She clutched her towel closer.

“It’s not like we didn’t,” she said. “But they aren’t perfect.”

Ursula sighed. “You shouldn’t be particularly paranoid. Even if you were pregnant, it’s still too early to tell.”

“When—” Ardis swallowed hard. “—would I know?”

“Wait another week for menstruation. If not, come back to me.”

Ardis hoped nobody outside the bathroom overhead them. It wasn’t like
menstruation
was a word for polite company.

“In the meantime,” Ursula said, “you may want to find Wendel.”

Ardis almost choked on her own spit. “Why?”

“The laudanum.” Ursula arched an eyebrow. “He left the castle.”

“He did?”

“To find something superior to laudanum. His words, not mine.”

“Jesus Christ.” Ardis blew out her breath. “Doctor, you won’t tell him about this?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Ursula reached for the doorknob, then glanced over her shoulder.

“And Ardis?” she said. “Good luck.”

Ardis gave her more of a grimace than a smile. “Thanks.”

With that, the doctor left.

Ardis dragged her gown over her damp skin. She cursed the delicate silk and hoped it wouldn’t be utterly ruined after tonight. She wished she had something more practical to wear, but she needed to hunt down Wendel.

And figure out just how angry she should be at him.

~

The streets of Königsberg looked sparse at this time of night. But Ardis still attracted the attention of passersby. She wished, once again, that she weren’t wearing a tangerine silk gown, and muttered curses under her breath.

Admittedly, the sword tucked under her arm didn’t help.

“Blackbird Lane,” she said. “Where the hell is Blackbird Lane?”

That’s where Wendel had gone, or at least what he had told Konstantin. The archmage hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, although Ardis had neglected to mention the laudanum. Or anything superior to laudanum.

If Wendel didn’t get himself killed, she would kill him herself.

At the street corner, Ardis hurried toward a gentleman in a top hat.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Where can I find Blackbird Lane?”

The gentleman stared at her as if she had escaped from a mental asylum. Ardis frowned and started to rephrase her question, but he ducked his head and hurried across the street. She glared at the back of his hat.

“
Grok
!”

Thank heavens. Ardis had never been so happy to see that abominable raven.

Krampus flew from a rooftop and landed on a lamppost. The light glimmered off his inky feathers. He cocked his head.

“Krampus!” Ardis called in a singsong voice. “Here, Krampus!”

Now everyone on the street stared at her like she had escaped from an asylum.

“
Grok
?”

Ardis didn’t speak raven, but that sounded like a question.

“Krampus,” she said, “I lost Wendel. Help me find him.”

The raven pumped his wings and flew from the lamppost. Ardis gathered up her gown and ran after the bird. He led her away from the castle, into the western outskirts of the city. Moonlight gleamed on the lagoon as it lapped at the earth. The buildings on the water looked medieval, rickety and swaybacked.

A burly man blocked the sidewalk. His urine splattered the wall.

Ardis tightened her grip around her sword and crossed to the other side of the street. The man turned and whistled at her, then grabbed himself in a rude gesture. She gritted her teeth and convinced herself not to emasculate him.

That would definitely ruin her gown. And she was already sick of blood tonight.

Krampus landed above a door and croaked. Ardis approached him and spotted a wooden sign painted with a black bird.

“Thank you, Krampus,” she said.

The raven blinked.

Ardis opened the door and stepped into a gloomy room. Candles guttered in the wind. She shut the door, then blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A woman in a yellow dressing gown climbed from an armchair.

“Good evening, madam,” said the woman.

A whiff of sweet smoke curled out from beneath a door. Ardis breathed in the aroma, and her stomach tightened into a knot.

It wasn’t a smell you could forget.

Opium.

The woman eyed Ardis with wary politeness. “May I help you?”

“I would love to smoke,” Ardis lied. “I’m having a bad night.”

The woman’s smile bared snaggleteeth. She shuffled to the door that led deeper inside. Ardis followed her into the opium den.

Lanterns hung overhead like overripe fruits. Their golden light glowed through fever dreams of swirling smoke. Ardis covered her mouth, but the perfume of burnt poppies still invaded her lungs. She crossed Turkish rugs and stepped around smokers who reclined with pipe in hand, many of them lost to the world.

“A pipe, madam?” said the woman who had brought her here.

“No,” Ardis whispered, because she saw him.

Wendel sprawled across the pillows on a couch. His hand hung over the edge, his fingers loosely curled around an ivory opium pipe. His face had the innocence of sleep, his eyelashes black crescents on his cheeks.

Ardis touched his hair, still damp from the bath. “Wendel?”

He stirred but didn’t wake. She shook his shoulder, and his fingers tightened on the pipe. He blinked open his eyes.

“Ardis,” Wendel said, smoke roughening his voice.

“You can’t do this,” she said.

A frown disturbed the tranquility of his face. He lifted himself on his elbow and dragged a lacquered tray closer to the couch. He reached for a bowl of raw black opium, skewered a lump on a needle, and heated it over a lamp.

“Can’t I?” Wendel said.

Ardis dug her fingernails into her palms. “This isn’t your first time.”

Wendel scraped the opium into the pipe, then offered it to her.

“Is it yours?” he said.

She swallowed past the anger choking her throat. “Yes.”

“Please,” he said. “Join me.”

Wendel’s words sounded languid, his eyes glassy with pleasure. She took the pipe from him and cradled the warm ivory. She had seen opium dens before, in San Francisco, and she had seen people lose themselves to the poppy. Their lives shriveled as their faces grew gaunt and their money faded away like smoke.

“No,” Ardis whispered.

Wendel swung his legs over the edge of the couch. He slung his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer.

“One breath,” he said. “One breath, and you forget it all for one glorious moment.”

“Like you forgot me?” Ardis said.

Wendel looked sideways at her, and a pinprick of pain sharpened his eyes.

“I told the archmage to tell you,” he said.

“You didn’t tell him where,” she said. “You didn’t tell him about the opium.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wendel tilted his head and kissed her on the cheek. His clumsy lips met her mouth. She tasted the bittersweet opium on him.

“No.” Ardis shoved him away. “Get up. Now.”

Wendel let himself fall against the couch. He scowled at her as if it were her fault.

“And go where?” he said.

“Anywhere but here,” Ardis said.

She still held the opium pipe. Wendel strained to reach it, but she tossed it away like garbage. The woman in the yellow dressing gown scrambled for the pipe, crouching to pick the sticky fallen opium off the carpet.

“Madam!” said the woman. “I must ask you to leave.”

“He’s coming with me,” Ardis said.

She seized Wendel by the wrist and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled and almost knocked over the lamp on the tray.

“Ardis!” Wendel said.

But he didn’t fight her as she towed him from the opium den. The winter night hit her face like a splash of ice water. She coughed, the sickly opium smoke still lingering in her lungs. Wendel twisted his wrist free.

“Let me go back,” he said.

She stared him down. “Absolutely not.”

“But I haven’t paid them.”

She laughed harshly. “You don’t have any money, remember?”

Wendel frowned, but a moment later, his face smoothed into a placid look. He leaned back his head and stared at the sky.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” he said.

Ardis narrowed her eyes. “When did you start smoking opium?”

“Years ago.” He looked down to the cobblestones. “Never often.”

That didn’t reassure her.

“Promise me,” she said, “that you will never smoke opium again.”

Wendel met her gaze. His eyes looked distant and dark.

“I dream only with opium,” he said. “Without it, I only have nightmares.”

Ardis blinked away sudden tears. “Opium dreams aren’t real. You know that.”

“I want to dream again.”

“And you will. But not like this.”

His gaze wandered back to the stars. “What’s wrong with me, Ardis?”

She bit her lip. “You died,” she said, “for starters.”

“And I can’t use that as an excuse?” he said.

“Hell no.”

He let out his breath in a long sigh. “You won’t let me go without promising, will you?”

“Not a chance.”

When he met her eyes, his mouth looked soft and vulnerable.

“If I do,” he said, “will you help me?”

Ardis’s throat tightened with an exquisite ache. She had to catch her breath.

“I promise,” she said.

“And I promise no more opium.” He glanced away. “Though I will miss it.”

Ardis squeezed his hand tight. She didn’t know how to help him, or how to tell him this, and it scared her half to death.

But she would be damned if she didn’t try.

The glow of a golden morning crept through the curtains. Sighing, Ardis rolled over in bed and reached for Wendel.

He wasn’t there.

Ardis sat upright and squinted through her hair. There, on the couch, was Wendel. She didn’t remember him falling asleep there. Quietly, she kicked aside the sheets and slid out of bed. She didn’t want to wake him.

“Good morning.” Wendel had a rasp in his voice. “Did you sleep well?”

He held her gaze for a second too long, and she knew he was worried about last night.

“I did,” she said. “Did you?”

Wendel rubbed the bridge of his nose. “More or less.”

Ardis sat by him on the couch and touched the back of his hand.

“You don’t have to sleep alone,” she said.

His eyes looked luminous in this light. “Are you sure?”

She knew he was asking her to forgive him. For last night. For his nightmares.

“Yes,” she said.

A smile stole over Wendel’s face, and in that moment, he looked beautiful in the sun.

“Shall we head down to breakfast?” he said. “I’m starving.”

Ardis couldn’t help but return his smile. “Me, too.”

They dressed and went downstairs. The restaurant hummed with chatter and the clink of silverware. Their hotel overlooked the icy river and the cathedral of Königsberg. Seagulls squabbled over a fish in the street.