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  The door opened and Archer stormed in, weapon in hand. He looked as if he’d been crying, with bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks.

  “I should kill you for this!” he roared.

  Raven returned to the journal. “Because I’m psychic and should have known your familiar was incompetent, right?”

  Archer pointed his pistol at her. “He was an amazing, educated man, a veteran of many wars including this one. Only a coward would have let him die in her place!”

  Raven raised her eyes. “I didn’t let him die, I’d already saved his life. As I told Serafino, I had no way of knowing there were men outside with machine guns, nor could I have known that Blake would just stand there and get himself shot.”

  She focused on the pistol aimed at her chest. “I think the question you should be asking is, how did they get the drop on him in the first place?”

  Archer’s aim faltered. “What do you mean?”

  “We were both in the store, no more than a dozen feet apart, yet somehow these vampires surprised him so he couldn’t even call you for help,” Raven said. “If it was my familiar she would have warned me in the same manner you sent a message to Karayan about me. But he didn’t say a word, either to you or to me. How does that happen, Archer?”

  Archer’s frown deepened and Raven saw her chance. Her hand snaked out and she ripped the slide from the top of the pistol a split-second before he could pull the trigger.

  Archer’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that?”

  “I watch a lot of Jackie Chan movies.”

  She tossed the slide onto the table and stood. “Look, Archer, I’m sorry Blake is dead, he seemed like a good guy. I did what I could to protect him and I killed the men responsible for his demise. I know losing him is terrible for you, but you can either try to kill me or help me find out who is behind all this. There is more going on here than a dead pawn dealer.”

  She pulled the ring from her pocket and held it up. It was silver, highly polished with a stylized skull and crossbones motif highlighted in black.

  Archer glared at her for another moment then nodded and placed the rest of his pistol on the table. “You’re right, apologies, Fürstin Storm. What do you know about the ring?”

  “It’s a symbol of the Totenkopf,” Storm said from the doorway. “Hitler’s Schutzstaffel, the real villains of the war.”

  Raven hurried to his side. He looked better and someone had given him a clean shirt, but he still looked tired. His skin was pale and his eyes were sunken with dark shadows beneath.

  “Are you alright?” Raven asked.

  Storm leaned on her and let her help him to a chair. “I’ll be fine, but I could use a cheeseburger.”

  “What do you know about this Schutzstaffel?” Archer asked.

  “Just what I read in the papers. They’re Hitler’s watchdogs, most often referred to as the SS. Most of Europe is terrified of them,” Storm said.

  “They did most of his dirty work,” Raven said. She caught Storm’s look and added, “Do, I mean. They do terrible things at his request and will do almost anything to protect him and his insanity.”

  Archer dropped into a chair. “Serafino, have the kitchen make two cheeseburgers and those fried potatoes humans like and bring a bottle of Claret.”

  To Raven he said, “That is good to know, but what are they doing here?”

  “I don’t know, and there is something else. These weren’t normal SS, they were vampires,” Raven said.

  “So my men told me. I had them search for remains or anything that might lead me to whoever is responsible. They found nothing but ash,” Archer said.

  Storm sat up. “If Hitler is using vampires, he knows about your kind. What else does he know?”

  “If I get the chance I’ll ask him,” Raven said. “We should get you back to the hotel.”

  Storm smiled. “Not yet, kid. Archer owes me a burger and you need to fill me in on what I missed while I was out.”

  Over burgers, Claret and Coca-Cola, Raven explained what had happened once more, finishing with the ring she’d found and the sales journal. Storm ate with a gusto that reminded Raven of Levac, complete with mustard on his chin and ketchup on his shirt. It was all she could do not to laugh when he cleaned up the ketchup with a fry, exactly like Levac had done a hundred times or more. Raven ate her sandwich in small bites between sentences. It wasn’t bad, considering it had been made by someone who didn’t eat cheeseburgers. The meat could have used seasoning, but it was a treat regardless. Most Americans were on a meat ration.

  “The Nazis were looking for something at the shop. Some kind of box or chest they assumed I had,” she said around another bite.

  Storm licked mustard from his thumb. “You said a box was missing from the display case. Think that could have been it?”

  Raven shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. I don’t think so, whatever was taken wasn’t much bigger than a sheet of paper and was already stolen.”

  “You assume stolen, Fürstin Storm. We don’t know that,” Archer said. His eyes were looking more normal and less ‘teen slasher film’.

  “I’m thinking stolen. Lash had the key, there was no reason for him to break his own display. Was anything found with his corpse?” Raven asked.

  Archer shook his head. “Nothing of that nature. Everything should be waiting for you at the hotel in the morning.”

  “A box or chest isn’t much to go on,” Storm said. “Could be anything from mail to shoes.”

  Raven picked up the journal and thumbed through it again. “Lash sold a wooden chest to a man named Randolph Poole for almost five hundred dollars. It’s the only thing of any real value. The only other item is a purchase he made for two thousand dollars about a month ago.”

  Storm whistled through his teeth. “That’s a big chunk of change, does it say what it was?”

  “Just says Gartside and Outcast. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  “I’m not familiar with the name,” Storm said. “It sounds like our next step is to track down this Poole and find out what he bought. It might give us some insight into what the Nazis were looking for and where we should start looking.”

  “If he isn’t dead already.”

  Raven finished the last of her sandwich and chased it with a swallow of cola. When she lowered the bottle she noticed Storm was staring at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  Storm smiled. “I have just never seen a woman so at peace with herself. You eat what you want, act like you want…it’s different.”

  “Refreshing, I would say,” Archer said.

  He looked at Storm. “This is your case, Wulf. I will have Mr. Holt arrange it with your captain. Report to me until it is solved.”

  Storm’s face darkened. “I don’t take orders from you, Archer. I knew Karayan was a fake, he didn’t have the power or the sand to rule the city. I never guessed it was you, now I know who has the poppet.”

  Archer leaned forward. “All the more reason for you to do as you are told!”

  Raven’s hand tightened on the blade in her boot. If Archer even breathed wrong she was going to turn him into half a pound of charcoal.

  “Archer, I gave you my word, my father and I will complete the investigation. Threats are unnecessary and unwise.”

  Storm spun, eyes angry. “You gave your word? Are you stupid? This man is a treacherous, blood-thirsty snake! You can’t trust him!”

  Archer flashed his smile. “You’re only saying that because it’s true. She agreed for you, Wulf. I have no doubt this child of yours could have blown my head off and made herself Princess of the city in the blink of an eye. She chose to save you, you might consider being a little kinder with your words.”

  Storm turned his glare on Archer. “Don’t tell me how to be a parent, you killed all your
progeny.”

  “They would have betrayed me eventually, it runs in the bloodline. Where your daughter seems to genuinely care for your wellbeing, though you couldn’t care less about hers. Interesting,” Archer said.

  He sat back and refilled his glass from a pitcher of blood beside him. “It is none of my concern, of course. The deal is done, I will let you and your childe live. If you are finished, leave. The sun will be coming up soon and I’ve grieving to do.”

  Storm stood and leaned on Archer’s chair so they were face to face. “I am going to kill you, Archer. It’s a matter of time.”

  “You will try, old friend. I will give Grendel your regards if you do.”

  The Stevens, Michigan Avenue, Chicago, 1943

  The sun rose and shone through the curtains just enough to wake Raven, who’d had a fitful night. Her dreams were filled with nightmares about being chased by a tiny Hitler carrying a chainsaw. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes then checked the clock. It was almost eleven, she’d gotten four hours’ of sleep.

  There was a knock on the door. “Hey, kid, you decent?”

  Raven slipped out of the bed and pulled on her robe. “Sure, what’s up?”

  Storm entered carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast foods and a carafe of coffee that smelled like the nectar of the gods.

  “I ordered breakfast, but didn’t know what you would like so…”

  He shrugged and set the tray on the bed. “Dig in.”

  Raven sat on the bed while he pulled up a chair and filled a plate with eggs and bacon.

  “You’ve been eating a lot,” she observed.

  Storm shrugged. “I always do. You drink blood, I have the appetite of a human humming bird. I have about six meals a day just to keep from losing my edge.”

  Raven watched Storm eat while she nibbled on the end of a piece of bacon. She noticed he chewed each bite with care, and each forkful contained only one item. He never mixed his eggs and bacon. One bite eggs, next bacon, back and forth in a rhythm that reminded her of paddling a kayak.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked in the uncomfortable silence.

  Storm swallowed a bite of eggs. “The evidence is waiting downstairs, I had the manager lock it in his office. We’ll go see Marie then I’ll come back and finish what you started.”

  Raven looked at him over her bacon. “This is my case, I don’t need you to finish it for me.”

  “Look, kid, I like you and I’m looking forward to meeting you when I’m supposed to, but the longer you’re here the more damage you can cause. I already know more than I’m supposed to. How am I supposed to not tell you about this?” Storm asked.

  “I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it out!” Raven snapped.

  Storm stopped eating, fork halfway to his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Raven snatched up another piece of bacon and began pacing. “Look, time is supposed to be constant, right? Unchanged? So if I’m here doing things then in your timeline, it already happened in mine. My dad in 2016 already went through this.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Storm said. “Usually we try to avoid disrupting history, paradoxes can be deadly.”

  Raven almost choked on her bacon. She coughed so hard her eyes watered. “What do you mean ‘usually’?”

  Storm shook his head and took a big bite of food. “Forget it, we’re going to see Marie and get you home before you get hurt.”

  “God, you remind me of Rupert.”

  “Who is Rupert? I thought you were married to a woman or something.”

  Raven set her bacon aside and washed her mouth out with coffee. It no longer tasted quite as good. She set the cup aside and looked at Storm. “Engaged, actually. Rupert is my partner, he watches my back. He is also my familiar, though I rarely feed on him.”

  Storm grunted and kept eating. Raven waited for him to say something else, when he didn’t she took a seat opposite.

  “Okay, what if Marie can’t get me home?” she asked.

  Storm didn’t look up. “Then you go the long way around and likely die before your fiancée is ever born.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Covenant Garden, Chicago, IL 1943

  It was well after noon before they arrived at Covenant Garden and the city had come to life, which meant more than it did in present day. Music echoed from storefronts and buildings, propeller driven aircraft cruised low over the city and the clatter of trains echoed past at regular intervals. The city had a more organic feel to it, as well. People were in the streets and sidewalks talking, laughing and, of course, selling rather than staring at their tiny electronic addictions.

  Marie’s looked almost the same, a glass storefront with a single wood-framed door and gold lettering. Gone though, was Marie’s Curiosities. The sign in the window read, “Mysterious Marie’s. Palms Read, Fortunes Told.”

  “She’s a fortune teller?” Raven asked.

  “She’s vaudun, which in this charged climate means she could be locked up at any moment as a Nazi because people are stupid. So, she reads palms, plays with tea leaves, keeps her head down and fleeces the sheep when she can,” Storm said.

  He opened the door and held it for her. Raven ducked under his arm and stepped inside, not altogether surprised that the familiar shelves laden with occult paraphernalia were gone. Instead there was a large round table colored in burgundy velvet. In the center was a large crystal ball and a card box that no doubt held the Tarot.

  “Good morning, mah,” Marie said, entering through the curtain that separated them from the back room. “How can I…”

  She trailed off when she saw Storm. She was clearly the Marie LaVeau that Raven knew. Same face, same husky voice, same midnight skin and chestnut hair, but she was younger and far thinner than she was as Raven knew her. Her long hair was pulled into dreadlocks that hung to her waist and she wore a colorful dress of some silken material.

  “Mack Mason, as I live an’ breathe.”

  She stepped forward and kissed his cheek then looked at Raven. “Who dis?”

  Before Raven could answer, Marie had taken her chin in her fist and was looking at her closely. “Mack Mason, when did you mate with a Tempeste?”

  “I haven’t,” Storm said dryly. “At least, not yet.”

  “What do ya mean, not yet? She’s standin’ right here, mah,” Marie said. She let go of Raven and stepped back. “What be your name, child?”

  “My birth name is Ravenel Tempeste. It is good to see you, Marie,” Raven said.

  Marie frowned. “There be some joke Marie not gettin’.”

  “No joke, Marie. Raven is my daughter, just…not yet,” Storm said.

  Marie settled into a chair. “I don’t understand.”

  Raven sat opposite. “I haven’t been born yet. I won’t be born for another forty years or so.”

  Marie looked at Storm. “How did she get here, then?”

  Storm fished out a cigarette. “Fell through a magik mirror, near as I can figure.”

  “No, you are making fun with Marie,” Marie said.

  “I wish we were, Marie. Truly. I was hunting a serial killer, someone Dad called the Harlequin. He dragged me into the mirror realm where we fought and I fell through another mirror. When it was over, I was here and it was 1943,” Raven said.

  Marie took the cigarette from Storm’s hand and sucked on it until her eyes darkened before handing it back. She exhaled a cloud of deep grey smoke and stared at Raven through it. “Give me your hand, child.”

  Raven extended her hand. “Why?”

  Marie turned her hand palm up and examined it with care. “Because Marie not sure if this one of Mason’s jokes or some trick of the Loa.”

  Marie ran a long nail over the lines in Raven’s hand, tracing and connecting them in some pattern Raven couldn’t follow. Aft
er several minutes she let go.

  “And?” Storm asked.

  “I believe you, Mack Mason. This be your daughter and she’s lost, without time. Why you bring her to me?” Marie asked.

  Storm considered the end of his cigarette. “I was hoping you would know a way to get her back.”

  Marie rubbed her face. “I knew dat was the reason. Mack Mason, der be little magik that will send someone through space and time. You should know.”

  “Marie, there has to be something,” Raven said. “I don’t belong here. I have a wife, friends and a family in danger. You know who my mother is, back there she is sick.”

  “I know of your mother, childe, though we are not friendly. Her Master sees to that. Lucky for you, that time is not moving. That time is this time, though that isn’t quite right. It hasn’t happened yet so it isn’t happening now. Your mother may be sick, she may not.”

  “You’re making my head hurt. Are you saying that being here changed things?” Raven asked.

  Marie sighed and began shuffling her tarot. “Not quite, childe. Time is fluid, like water flowin’ in a river. Each time you look at it, tis different. You can try to look at de same water, but as soon as you look away, it gone. Tha’s why tis hard to magik you home, like tryin’ to hit a baseball from seventy years in the past.”

  Storm stubbed out his cigarette. “There has to be something, she doesn’t belong here. What about the mirror that got her here?”

  Marie began dealing the cards in the shape of a capital H. “I don’ know of any mirror that can do dat. Do you still have it?”

  Raven shook her head. “No, it was destroyed after I arrived, shattered into a million pieces. Marie, please, my whole life is back there, I have to get home!”

  “Patience, Ravenel Tempeste.”

  Marie began to chant, a quiet monotone that grew as she spoke. Raven could feel the magik pouring from her, a swirl of electricity that made the hair on the back of her arms stand up and her skin crawl. Marie, her face a mask, reached out and turned over the first cards.

  “There is a struggle coming, Childe of the Raven. A battle between good and the darkest of evils. The tide will be turned by a woman with hair of flame. You, Ravenel.”