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

“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—?”