She holds up a finger. “Shh.” Then points that finger up. “You can actually see some stars tonight.”
That snaps me out of it, and I look up and see the sky is overcast, not like that night, the one I saw then, when she was right and there were a dozen stars in the sky, good for a region like this, where the sky is choked by light pollution. That night I marveled at how vast and beautiful the night sky was, but really it was because she was standing underneath it.
When I look back down Mena is gone.
She was never really there.
A home movie playing in my broken brain.
I fold myself to sitting, the gravel scraping the skin of my legs that the dress doesn’t cover. I sit there like that for a little while. And even though I still feel like my heart is full of broken glass, the sharp edges have dulled, like beach glass. They take up space and they push, but they don’t cut.
It’s just an ache now, and I can live with an ache.
My vision goes white, like the end of a spark.
Reg looks away from me, steels his voice. “January, if you cannot get with this, we are going to have your things removed. We don’t think it’s safe for you to be here anymore. They thought it was. But look at what’s happening.”
White again. I can smell my brain, like burning ozone.
“Look, I know this isn’t pleasant to hear, but after this, I think it’s time for you to retire,” Allyn says. “You got your ten. You got more than that. It’s time.”
The next blast sends me to my knees.
“What you need is some kind of professional help,” Cameo says. “And I get it, you’re a badass, you don’t need nobody, but the fact remains, the wound is infected. It’s not going to get better if you stay here.”
I come out of it, sprawled on the carpet, my face pressed into the fibers.
This carpet. This stupid blue carpet. I hate it. I hate it so much.
“January?” Ruby asks.
What the fuck did I ever do to you, brain?
I go to the door and punch in the code, push open the handle, and step into the closet. Reach up to the shelf and pull it toward me. It doesn’t budge. Bolted to the wall. I get a good grip, put one foot on the wall, kicking through a pile of towels, and heave. Something snaps. The shelf groans toward me. I pull my knife out of my pocket, snap out the blade, and jam it into the open spot of wall I created.
It doesn’t go very far, just creates a divot that spits out a plume of sheetrock dust. I jab it again. And again. I realize I am yelling, like the wall is an enemy and I am trying to kill it, and Ruby is talking, but I really and truly do not care what it has to say, and then there are a pair of hands around me, pulling me away. I swing back with the knife, hear a yelp.
Find Brandon standing against the wall, holding his arm, blood seeping between his fingers.
He looks at his arm.
Then he looks at me.
“Your nose is bleeding,” he says, like his own wound is an afterthought.
And then someone turns out the lights.
All of them.
SPECIAL RELATIVITY
We catch our breath in the shadows of a building carved to ruin by aerial bombings. Searchlights sweep through the sky and I feel like one of them is going to land directly on me. I knew it was a risk, coming along. The collar badge on my itchy gray uniform marks me as the equivalent of a private, a rank low enough that most officers, their eyes will glide right off me. I’m cannon fodder.
Still, the Wehrmacht is not a safe place for a woman. Even with my chest bound, and my hair stuffed under my cap, slightly big so I can tip it down over my eyes. Allyn wanted to bring Scott Houser, whose blond hair and blue eyes give him Aryan vibes, even though he’s a touch sweeter than a baby kitten. But I insisted. Give up this chance? C’mon. My only regret is, after we stop this White Power lunatic from trying to warn Hitler that tomorrow his ticket gets punched, I can’t turn around and go kick der Führer in the nuts.
Who else in all of history would be able to say they did that? I asked Allyn a dozen times if we could make an exception. If the asshole will be dead tomorrow, what’s the harm? He’ll just die with a slightly sore set of balls. Or, ball, if you believe the urban legends.
But Allyn is right. Look, don’t touch.
That’s the whole point of being here.
Allyn is sporting the insignia of the Nazi version of a major general. He’s way more Germanic than I am, and we’re hoping the higher rank will give him some leeway. The problem is, we know the guy we’re chasing—Richard Sommers—has a huge stash of Nazi memorabilia, and is considered one of the “thought” leaders in the modern fascism movement. Not only does he speak fluent German, he speaks their language.
Which is why we’re both out of breath, doing everything we can to avoid crossing paths with anyone. Taking wide, circuitous routes around the soldiers marching through the streets of Berlin, flexing a military might they don’t even know is on the verge of crumbling.
According to my watch, we don’t have much longer before we have to be back at the rendezvous so we can get home. Miss that, and we live here, and this is not the kind of place I planned on settling down. No air-conditioning. That’s some bullshit.
“What’s the plan, boss?” I ask.
Allyn looks down at the small tablet he is reluctant to take out too much, since the sight of it will set off alarm bells with the locals. He swipes at the screen a few times before slipping it back into the depths of his uniform. When he does that, the way he moves his arm shows off the red Nazi armband strapped around his biceps, the sight of which gives me chills.
The chills get worse when I remember I’m wearing one too.
Allyn catches me staring. “And they say undercover work is supposed to be fun.”
“Who is ‘they’?” I ask.
He shrugs. “He’s got something on him. Maybe his cellphone. Whatever it is, it’s nonperiod tech so I’m able to get a rough location. He’s about a half mile due east of here.” Allyn cranes his neck to look, through a tangle of bombed-out buildings. “Which is good for us. As long as we can find a pathway through this mess we can stay off the streets.”
In the distance there’s a shout, and what sounds like a gunshot.
Then another sound. This one closer.
Footsteps.
Allyn grabs my arm and pulls me further into the shadows, and we both remain as still and silent as we can.
“Guten Abend.”