CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DANIEL

“You’re always one to burn the ships,” his mother once said. She was reading—always, her evenings filled with stacks and stacks of books in three different languages that disappeared at alarming rates—and this time, she was drumming her fingers against a copy of Homer’s Odyssey.

Daniel frowned at her from behind the sheet music he was studying. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You force yourself to move forward by taking away your escape route. Burning the ships you arrived in so you can’t sail back to safety.”

Daniel twiddled his pencil, uncomfortable with his mother’s stare. Besides, she didn’t have it quite right. He didn’t sabotage things so he was forced to be brave. He just ruined whatever he touched.

The thing about playing viola was that not every great composer knew how to write for it. Sometimes you played Vivaldi, who teased beautiful harmonies out of every part, fitting them together like architecture, scaffolding. Bliss. Then other times you played Pachelbel. Wagner. Haydn, even. Those composers who didn’t know what else to do with you, so they slapped you on an ostinato line, sawing back and forth like the metronome for other, more important roles.

In a sense, then, it was Pachelbel’s fault that Daniel had time to stare off into space, to start memorizing the lines of the second violinist’s face. Daniel was fourteen, and he was overflowing with yearning, a fire in want of a wick.

Ernst—that was the second violinist’s name in the youth chamber orchestra. Like the flamboyant late leader of the Sturmabteilung—the stormtroopers—Ernst Röhm, the other chamber orchestra members would darkly joke. In the windowless practice hall, Ernst was sunlight, never serious, never satisfied, wearing his superiority and glibness like a suit of armor. (Daniel didn’t know, then, the difference between true light and a false, furiously stoked glow.)

He should have recognized the warnings. He should have done the calculations. The snarky utterings after their practice sessions as Ernst smoked and chatted with Liesl and Rudolf, the way they would cut their eyes toward Daniel and change their posture whenever he approached.

Sometimes Ernst was like all the rest, dropping hints that soon there’d be no place for Jews like Daniel in chamber orchestras or anywhere else. But not always. He could be funny—though usually when making fun of someone. He could be brilliant at the violin—but that, too, was often an effort to show up Liesl, to compete for her seat. Daniel didn’t care. He was smitten, and Ernst paid him attention from time to time, not all of it bad. Daniel had so much to learn.

And so he burned the ships, not even realizing the torch that was in his hands.

It was after a performance at the Youth Activities Hall, the sort of casual venue that people like Daniel weren’t yet barred from. Their quartet had woven flawlessly together into the flow of Chopin, sweat dripping from their noses as they played, their breathing aligning into a single lung, in and out. Daniel had never felt closer to his quartet mates—never felt closer to a greater power. If they could play this well at the championship, the prize was surely theirs.

He was confident. It made him reckless and foolish.

At the beer hall afterward, he drank three beers, four; Liesl’s cheeks burned bright red, and Ernst’s voice carried with a resonance Daniel felt in his bones. He leaned into Ernst’s words like they were a warm spring breeze. Liesl and Rudolf left to dance, and suddenly it was only Ernst and Daniel, facing each other, an unspoken vastness heavy and present between them.

“So,” Ernst said. A smile played at his lips.

Daniel took a step toward him.

The corner was dark, shielded from everyone. Ernst’s hand reached out, caught Daniel’s elbow. When their eyes locked, Daniel saw—later he would swear he saw—Ernst had been waiting for this, too.

When they first kissed, it was with an exhalation of air. Then another. Ernst moaned—Daniel was certain of it. Leaned back, inviting Daniel closer.

But then Ernst was shoving him away and shouting and cursing, calling him every filthy name he’d ever heard, for Jews, for homosexuals, for soft boys with too much music in their hearts to wield a butcher’s knife the way their fathers hoped. And of course Liesl and Rudolf manifested from out of nowhere at the commotion, they heard Ernst’s furious shouts as he described Daniel’s “attack,” and in that moment, that look, that moan, Daniel lost everything. His love, his quartet, his songs.

In the end it didn’t matter. They’d already taken his citizenship; next they forbade him from concert halls. The stormtroopers marched through the streets and shattered windows and dragged his neighbors away. The Eisenbergs abandoned their shop for Luxembourg. But because he hadn’t been careful with his trust, because he hadn’t fully grasped the world and all its dangers—he’d only made things worse.

It was his gift. More than music, more than murder. His gift was to destroy.

Liam was still holding his hand in the dark, cool silence of the chalet. He’d unraveled his story of Pitr’s betrayal and the rift opening to accept its first sacrifice. It should have terrified Daniel; it should have warned him away from this angry, hungry boy. Instead it made him fall harder.

“You found out how to control it better, though. Afterward.”

Liam hunched his shoulders. “I got better at opening rifts on my own—by digging my nails into my palm, mind you, not by any more sacrifices. I wasn’t about to look for him, though. I’d seen how twisted the creatures on the other side were—some dark, horrible, hateful version of our world. Always figured that if Pitr survived, he’d end up that way.”

“Hard to believe that’s even possible,” Daniel said grimly.

“They were . . . corrupted. Sicarelli stole their energy away, and it destroyed their civilizations. Left behind those hungry, ravenous monsters.”

“And now Pitr has learned how to control them. He’s working with Dr. Kreutzer to imbue soldiers with that energy. You’re certain?”

Liam nodded slowly, his thumb making slow circles over the back of Daniel’s hand.

“He was always obsessed with medieval mysticism, alchemy, all that nonsense. Convinced he was the greatest, that his breakthrough would make some kinda celebrity out of him. I’m sure he’d cozy up to all kinds of monsters to get the power he thinks he deserves—and that includes Kreutzer.”

“You think Kreutzer helped him find a way out of the shadow realm?”

“He must’ve. Though someone like Pitr . . . he probably likes that world better than our own. There, he gets to play God.” Liam shook his head. “There’s no telling how much his time in the shadow realm has twisted him. And if Kreutzer’s offering him the manuscript, a permanent way to link our two worlds . . .”

“You want the manuscript too, though.”

Liam’s thumb stopped. Shadows stretched along his face, and the air between them felt suddenly cold. “We need that energy. All of it. And if we’re gonna have it, then someone has to be in control of the gate between the two worlds. Better me than him.”

Daniel watched him for a moment. “Are you so certain it isn’t the corruption driving you?”

Liam blinked. “I—no. I can resist it. I have been resisting it, I promise.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “And once the bridge is open—”

“But what if instead you were to close it for good?” Daniel asked. “Seal the rifts, like you and Phillip talked about. So no one could access it. Not you, not them.”

Liam was quiet a minute too long. “That isn’t a choice for me.”

Something unfolded inside of Daniel, like a tightly clenched fist finally forced to relax. He knew what it was to have no choice. He’d been working his way through the SS with every chance he got, but now they stood on the precipice of an incredible discovery. Kreutzer was sure to be there. Heinrich Himmler wouldn’t want to miss such a momentous event. So many SS officers, ready and waiting . . .

His heart sank. It was a suicide mission, no matter what Liam thought. Especially if Pitr was there, ready to counter him. He couldn’t send Liam to his death—he couldn’t bear it.

This ambitious, mad, and maddening boy—he deserved to live. He didn’t have to wallow in the darkness any longer, desperately seeking control. But for Daniel, the darkness was the only possible ending to his path. The wrong Eisenbergs had paid with their lives; he had to repay that debt. His debt, and no one else’s.

“Don’t you see?” Liam asked him. “I can harness the shadows and keep them out of the Nazis’ grasp. I’m strong enough to do it. I can end the war.” He looked hard at Daniel. “You’ll be free.”

There was no freedom for Daniel. But he smiled, the pain of it sharp. Liam didn’t have to know what it would cost.

“Daniel,” Liam breathed. He swallowed, the sound so loud Daniel felt it like a blow. Liam’s lips were parted, and Daniel yearned to lean in . . .

“I’ll fight for you, Daniel.” His eyelashes fluttered as he glanced away. “I’ll fight to keep you here. I know I’m obsessive, disastrous—”

Daniel laughed, throaty, and climbed onto Liam’s lap. With a gasp, Liam’s arms fell open, inviting him closer. Daniel’s knees bracketed Liam’s hips as he settled onto his thighs.

“I’d rather fight along with you.”

Liam started to laugh, but Daniel quieted him with his mouth. The sound dissolved into the cool darkness of the chalet until they were only two boys, kissing like it could hold off the dawn. Liam’s lips were an embrace all their own; they were salt and sorrow and promises of something Daniel could never deserve. He kissed Liam tenderly, like he might fall apart if Daniel pushed too hard, but then Liam’s hands came to his hips and held him firm. An anchor. A bond.

It didn’t matter what darkness waited for him. He would have this, this moment of goodness and warmth, before farewell. He used to find release in music, then with a knife in his hand. Though the killing wasn’t over yet, he could experience this, too: a gorgeous, soft, brilliant boy beneath him and a desperate rhythm in his heart.

Liam’s lashes feathered across his cheek as he pulled back, looked up. “I want you,” he whispered. “I want whatever you’ll share with me. Your words. Your breath—”

Daniel slid his legs wider until their hips were flush and stifled a groan. Liam’s body was burning, it was so sturdy beneath him, and it did horrible, wonderful things to him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Daniel confessed. But he wanted Liam to absolve him. He wanted his forgiveness.

“Whatever you like,” Liam breathed.

Daniel’s fingertips skimmed Liam’s chest, the buttons of his shirt. Their mouths drew them together again as Daniel worked the buttons open, kissing and gasping for air, kissing and pausing to look into Liam’s eyes, a question at each step. And each time, Liam nodded, biting at his swollen lower lip and stoking that fire fiercer in Daniel’s gut.

Daniel kissed the pale skin of Liam’s chest, his muscles, the fine golden hairs. God, he was beautiful, lean and powerful where Daniel, in less dire times, had been gentle and soft. He’d been embarrassed by his body then and by the feral thing he’d become, but as Liam stripped Daniel’s shirt away, the sly grin on his face eased Daniel’s fears.

“Just gorgeous,” Liam murmured, then melted back as Daniel mouthed at his neck. Liam’s back arched and he bucked forward with a groan as Daniel’s hands teased lower, tugged and tugged until finally he worked Liam’s belt free.

“Show me,” Daniel gasped. “Show me everything.”

“You’re sure?” Liam’s voice had twisted with yearning, but he held himself very still. Waiting.

“Yes.” Daniel cupped Liam’s face in his hands, thumbs grazing those strong cheekbones. “Completely.”

Liam seized him by his hips and rocked forward, and—oh.

And slowly, fumbling, hands linked to steady each other, they found their way. They moved together, and Daniel quickly realized he’d had nothing to fear at all. Everything felt—right. Like he’d been wearing his shoes on the wrong feet until this moment, like before Liam, he’d never really known how to breathe. He’d fretted for nothing. It was the most natural thing in the world to love Liam Doyle, and the sensations Liam teased out of him, the things he whispered—

Daniel wanted more of this. He wanted it to never end.

Just for one night, he dared to believe in an after. Murmuring, kissing, caressing—Liam let him believe.

The fires would rage tomorrow. The dark depths of Wewelsburg Castle could wait. For tonight, at least, Daniel no longer felt the blade pressing into his back. He forgot, just for a moment, the sword dangling over his head. The world ablaze around them. He felt bliss, he felt this boy he was in love with beneath him, and the rest of the world fell away.