Max eyed Ernst’s holster on the sofa, next to where his dagger once sat, but it would be impossible to wrestle Ernst for it in his weakened state. Broken.
There must be another option.
The agent at the Hotel Metropole made him swear never to tell anyone what happened during his time in the Nazis’ care or they would arrest the people he loved. Starting, Max feared, with Luzi.
He’d have to leave with Ernst, to protect Luzi’s life, but Ernst would have to take him to Dachau. No matter what they did to him, Max could never join the Wehrmacht.
He prayed that while they were gone, Luzi and her mother would run away.
Ernst waved his knife toward the front door, motioning Max to the stairs outside.
Max took a step back, but his eyes were still on Luzi. And he watched as she reached for Ernst’s holster, slipped out the gun. Ernst never saw her pull the trigger. When the gun blasted, his knife clattered to the floor, and Ernst collapsed beside it, hitting his head on an end table as he fell.
Stunned, Max stared at the man for a moment, at the blood that puddled around his arm.
Luzi lowered the gun, but clutched it in both of her hands. “They killed my father.”
“I saw him just a week ago....”
“There was an accident, the postcard said. Regrettably. They arrested him and then said they regretted his heart failing.” She turned to Max, her eyes cold. “He’s never had trouble with his heart.”
“I know.”
“They killed an innocent man. A doctor who lived to help others.”
His skin seared hot, boiling blood beneath the surface. “They hate anyone who dares to help a fellow Jew.”
He stepped over Ernst and took the gun from her hands, sliding it back into the holster.
“Where did you see him last?” she begged.
But he couldn’t bear to tell her what the Gestapo had done to her father and the other men in the arena, stealing their dignity before they took their lives. Sometimes, he supposed, the best way to protect someone you loved was to protect her from the truth.
“He was helping others when I saw him, and he—he wanted me to tell you that you must be strong as well, for Marta’s and your mother’s sake.” Max glanced down the hallway. “Where is your mother?”
“Resting.” Luzi didn’t move toward the hall, her gaze on the blackened fireplace before her now, a shell of the woman who’d once loved nothing more than to bring life to an instrument, grace the world with its beauty. Tonight Ernst had harmed her, and she needed her mother’s help to heal.
After she heard the gun blast... Frau Weiss must have been mad with worry. “Shall I see to her?”
Luzi shook her head. “There’s nothing left to see.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My mother is no longer with us.”
A sword seemed to pierce Max again, stabbing his heart and soul. “They killed her as well.”
“I suppose they did.”
“I don’t understand, Luzi.”
“Vati’s tablets were supposed to help her....” She looked at him, and he saw the glint in her eyes. “But it wasn’t the medicine, not really. The Nazis stole away her hope, and without hope, how can one really live?”
“Luzi, I’m—” He stopped. What was he?Sorryseemed much too tidy, much too shallow a sentiment to communicate the sorrow that burrowed into his soul.
“I tried to revive her, but her grief... I think it was too much.”
So much loss, and for what gain? “I’ll call for an undertaker.”
