Shadows of Asphodel Read Online Free Page A

what bothers me.”
    Before he could reply, she climbed to her feet and left him leaning against the wall. She busied herself by scanning out the window, though she was only pretending to pay attention to how close they were to their destination.
    It didn’t matter how many miles away they were. The necromancer was with her now.

By the time the zeppelin landed in Petroseni, the sky had darkened to plum purple. Ardis’s boots clomped on the landing ramp as she exited the zeppelin and looked around the Transylvanian town. Half-timbered medieval townhouses clustered around the cobblestoned town square. The most modern building here was a train station of soot-blackened red brick, where plumes of smoke muddled the clouds.
    “Ready?” Ardis asked Wendel.
    The necromancer nodded. He still looked pale, but at least he was steady on his feet. He hadn’t spoken since he had touched her.
    “We should be able to catch the eight o’clock train,” she said, “if we hurry.”
    He nodded again.
    She strode through the town at a brisk pace. He kept up with her, but she noticed he was still breathing much too shallowly.
    He had coughed up blood earlier. That was never good.
    The eight o’clock train idled on the track. Its sleek chrome sides gleamed in the last of the evening light, and the sharp aroma of diesel punctuated the air. Ardis found the ticket booth, nodded at the elderly man inside, and fetched her wallet.
    “How much for two sleeper tickets to Vienna?” she said.
    “Coach or first class, ma’am?” the ticket-seller said.
    “Coach.”
    But then Wendel was at her side, a bundle of koronas in his hand. “First class.”
    The ticket-seller raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Are the two of you together?”
    “Yes.” Wendel peeled off a few bills. “A hundred and fifty koronas should cover it?”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    Ardis looked sideways at Wendel. She never travelled first class, since it drew too much attention. None of the other passengers ever looked at her like she belonged there, with her American accent and her Chinese eyes.
    Wendel took the tickets, then walked to the first class cars on the train.
    “Coming?” he called back to Ardis.
    She hurried to his side as he handed the tickets to the conductor, who glanced between them with obvious curiosity on his face.
    “Your cabin is number seven,” the conductor said, “down the hallway on the right.”
    Cabin? Singular?
    Wendel offered his arm to help Ardis up, playing the part of gentleman, but she shook her head and climbed on without him.
    First class was indeed luxurious, with wood paneling on the walls and elaborate cut-glass shades on the lamps. Ardis found their cabin and slid open the door. Two bench seats in paisley velveteen faced each other. She fiddled with one until it folded out into a berth. At least they would be sleeping opposite each other.
    If she could even manage to fall asleep tonight.
    Her jaw taut, she folded the berth back into a seat once more and glared at it. Then she sank onto the seat and rubbed her face as if she could erase her fatigue. Her dirty boots looked out of place on the plush carpet.
    Wendel stood in the doorway of the cabin. His face was unreadable.
    “Nice little stunt back there,” she said.
    “Stunt?” he said.
    “If you want to lie low, first class isn’t the way to do it.”
    “I always travel first class.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “How lucky of you.”
    “If I suddenly travelled coach,” he said, “it would look suspicious.”
    “Suspicious to who?”
    Wendel walked into the cabin, and slid the door shut behind himself. He sidestepped past her and drew the curtains on the window. He was standing awfully close to her. It made her want to leave the room, but she kept a poker face. Wincing, he sat on the seat opposite her and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
    With a whistle, the train jolted into motion and chugged from the station.
    “Suspicious to who?” Ardis repeated.
    Wendel