Schutzstaffel?”
What a nauseating suggestion. The very idea made me ill again, though I knew better than to deny it outright. But Klaus had a point: by participating in their escape, I was guilty of treason against the Crown. Or perhaps treachery, depending on whether time travelers counted as British subjects under the law.
Necessary evils, I reminded myself … I let the Queen of Evasions cover that question.
Gretel said, “He’s an ally. We can trust him.” She twisted in her seat to look at him. “Trust me. Please. This is important.” The “please” was a particularly nice touch. And it had the intended effect. Klaus piped down. He was, after all, still devoted to her in this stage of his life. Foolish bastard.
She settled back in her seat. I tensed as Gretel leaned closer, adopting a conspiratorial pose. “He worries about me. But he means well.”
“He wants to see my country ground into dust beneath SS jackboots.”
“Well, yes. What do you expect? But he means well for me. ”
“Very touching. I’ll surely weep.”
“It is touching. Also frustrating.” She whispered, “We’ll have nearly the same argument again tomorrow morning.” She sighed, tossed a braid over her shoulder.
I drove our stolen car past the Walworth house. It was dark and shuttered, a hole in the night. Pangs of jealousy clawed at me, alternating with tremors of anger; I wondered where Liv had gone. Had she gone to one of her other lovers? The aftershave men?
Had she been doing this all along? Cuckolding me as far back as 1940?
But then I realized, with no small amount of shame, that the darkness arose from blackout curtains, not from vacancy. Liv’s affairs hadn’t begun until much later. After my anger and shame had pushed her away. After I failed to be there for her, after I became somebody other than the man she loved and needed. More than ever, I hated myself at that moment. Hated myself for being so unfair to Liv, then and now.
Of course Liv was home. Caring for their daughter while she waited patiently for her husband. As she’d always done. But her thrice-damned husband, the lucky sod, wouldn’t be home for a while. The aftermath of Gretel’s escape would see him and Stephenson scrambling to get a handhold on the situation. It wasn’t a fond memory.
But it meant Liv was alone. Even now I struggled with the temptation to go to her. If only she knew I was home. If only she know badly I needed her warmth, her affection, her approval.
I took the car around the corner, parked on the pavement, killed the engine. The spot gave me a line on the garden gate, past the curve of the Anderson shelter to the kitchen door. I didn’t need light to see these things. I knew the layout like I knew my own name.
“Why have we stopped?” said Klaus. Still to Gretel, still in German. Nobody answered his question.
We were in for a long wait. And I reckoned this was the only chance I’d have to try to suss out Gretel’s angle in this new time line. I watched her. A distant expression had settled over her face, part rapture, part concentration. The moonlight was too faint for me to read the gauge on her battery.
I said, “Do you—”
“Yes.” She didn’t open her eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
She said, “I was trying to save you effort.”
“I want you to know that I’m not doing this for you. I couldn’t care less if the Eidolons get you. Or me, for that matter.”
Exasperation in the backseat: “What the hell is an Eidolon?”
I continued, “You deserve to die screaming.”
“Hey!” The click of wires entering a battery. A ghostly fist emerged from my chest. Warning me. I froze. I didn’t dare breathe.
“Klaus.” Gretel raised one hand, sharply. A pause. He withdrew. Another click.
She turned. Moonlight glinted on the whites of her eyes, and just for a moment I thought I could see something else lurking in those depths. But the shadows of her madness didn’t unnerve me. Not I, who had been
What a nauseating suggestion. The very idea made me ill again, though I knew better than to deny it outright. But Klaus had a point: by participating in their escape, I was guilty of treason against the Crown. Or perhaps treachery, depending on whether time travelers counted as British subjects under the law.
Necessary evils, I reminded myself … I let the Queen of Evasions cover that question.
Gretel said, “He’s an ally. We can trust him.” She twisted in her seat to look at him. “Trust me. Please. This is important.” The “please” was a particularly nice touch. And it had the intended effect. Klaus piped down. He was, after all, still devoted to her in this stage of his life. Foolish bastard.
She settled back in her seat. I tensed as Gretel leaned closer, adopting a conspiratorial pose. “He worries about me. But he means well.”
“He wants to see my country ground into dust beneath SS jackboots.”
“Well, yes. What do you expect? But he means well for me. ”
“Very touching. I’ll surely weep.”
“It is touching. Also frustrating.” She whispered, “We’ll have nearly the same argument again tomorrow morning.” She sighed, tossed a braid over her shoulder.
I drove our stolen car past the Walworth house. It was dark and shuttered, a hole in the night. Pangs of jealousy clawed at me, alternating with tremors of anger; I wondered where Liv had gone. Had she gone to one of her other lovers? The aftershave men?
Had she been doing this all along? Cuckolding me as far back as 1940?
But then I realized, with no small amount of shame, that the darkness arose from blackout curtains, not from vacancy. Liv’s affairs hadn’t begun until much later. After my anger and shame had pushed her away. After I failed to be there for her, after I became somebody other than the man she loved and needed. More than ever, I hated myself at that moment. Hated myself for being so unfair to Liv, then and now.
Of course Liv was home. Caring for their daughter while she waited patiently for her husband. As she’d always done. But her thrice-damned husband, the lucky sod, wouldn’t be home for a while. The aftermath of Gretel’s escape would see him and Stephenson scrambling to get a handhold on the situation. It wasn’t a fond memory.
But it meant Liv was alone. Even now I struggled with the temptation to go to her. If only she knew I was home. If only she know badly I needed her warmth, her affection, her approval.
I took the car around the corner, parked on the pavement, killed the engine. The spot gave me a line on the garden gate, past the curve of the Anderson shelter to the kitchen door. I didn’t need light to see these things. I knew the layout like I knew my own name.
“Why have we stopped?” said Klaus. Still to Gretel, still in German. Nobody answered his question.
We were in for a long wait. And I reckoned this was the only chance I’d have to try to suss out Gretel’s angle in this new time line. I watched her. A distant expression had settled over her face, part rapture, part concentration. The moonlight was too faint for me to read the gauge on her battery.
I said, “Do you—”
“Yes.” She didn’t open her eyes.
“Don’t do that.”
She said, “I was trying to save you effort.”
“I want you to know that I’m not doing this for you. I couldn’t care less if the Eidolons get you. Or me, for that matter.”
Exasperation in the backseat: “What the hell is an Eidolon?”
I continued, “You deserve to die screaming.”
“Hey!” The click of wires entering a battery. A ghostly fist emerged from my chest. Warning me. I froze. I didn’t dare breathe.
“Klaus.” Gretel raised one hand, sharply. A pause. He withdrew. Another click.
She turned. Moonlight glinted on the whites of her eyes, and just for a moment I thought I could see something else lurking in those depths. But the shadows of her madness didn’t unnerve me. Not I, who had been
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