At long last, the door cracked open, and a pale woman’s face appeared through the seam. “Curfew. Showing’s canceled for tonight,” she said in German, and started to shut the door once more.

“Wait.” Simone blocked the door open with her shoulder and continued in French. “J’ai besoin d’emprunter un parapluie.”

Uncle Al had drilled Phillip on these phrases, but his accent was so bad he barely recognized them in Simone’s flawless French. Something about borrowing an umbrella. He burrowed down into his coat.

The woman exhaled, like she was just as tired of this game as they were. “Rouge ou noir?”

“Je préfère vraiment le bleu.”

The woman yanked open the door. She was broad, with a jaw made for chewing rocks and, as the full view of her revealed, was missing her left arm below the elbow. A neat knot in her olive coveralls concealed the truncated limb. She ushered them inside, eyes narrowing at each successive person who limped through her door.

“Sorry,” Simone said, switching to English. “We picked up a few strays.”

“I did not know the circus was in town,” the woman muttered, though her accent seemed to feed the words through a cheese grater.

“We found them fleeing Siegen, or what’s left of it.” Simone gave Phillip a pointed look. “We’re supposed to help everyone on our side, or so I’ve been reminded.”

Phillip ignored her. “Is there a doctor or someone we could summon? He’s been shot.”

“Not by me,” Simone added. “Yet.”

The woman shook her head. “We’re on curfew tonight because of an ‘incident’ at Siegen. That’s what the loudspeaker trucks said, anyway.”

Phillip steeled himself. “Guess I’ll have to do it, then.”

“You’ll want to hole up in the projection room. It’s a mess, but the sort of mess with good hiding places. There’s a false panel behind the cabinets. Oh, but the projection equipment—be careful with it. You’ll see I’ve added an extra switch to the side. Under no circumstances should you touch it, ja? Only in emergencies.”

The woman introduced herself as Helene as she limped her way through the foyer of the church, under Gothic ribbed ceilings painted with strange, brightly hued images. Phillip was too used to Tulsa’s clean lines, sharp Art Deco, forceful façades. This church, for all the drab white and slate of its exterior, was an untidy mess of primary colors creeping out of black and white. He kind of loved it.

“There’s the staircase. The projection room’s in the old choir balcony. If you need something to eat, the kitchen’s in the rectory.” Helene swung her right hand toward a doorway and twisting staircase beyond. “I’m supposed to host an officer matinee of The Great Love tomorrow, so I suggest you make yourselves scarce by then.”

“And the radios?” Simone asked anxiously.