Aria in Ice Read Online Free PDF

finished with a particularly fat little
treat made with apple filling, sat back, thanked God for great
cooks, then politely dabbed at my mouth with the linen napkin.
Madam Veronika Duskova knew a satisfied customer when she saw
one.
    It was time for negotiations to begin.
    “So, Mees Fouchet…”
    “Abby. Please call me Abby, Madam
Duskova.”
    She nodded but did not return the favor of
casual address. Madam D she was and Madam D she would remain—at
least to her face.
    “Ab-bee. How much iss film company weeling to
pay for use of Kouzlo Noc ?”
    I named a price. It was a nice price. I’m a
good performer, trying also to be a good location manager, but I’m
a lousy bargainer. I knew Shay would adore this castle. The
distance from Prague was right. The turrets and stairs and moat had
a great fantasy look that was needed for outside shots. The
ballroom was tailor-made for the inside musical numbers. The
harpsichord alone would be worth renting the whole castle, even if
a single note never sounded. The marble coffin was a bonus. In a
word—perfect. I wasn’t going to quibble over price. For all her “go
with cheap, Abby, Bambi is so poor,” grumblings, Shay was well
aware that Ms. Bohacek had some very wealthy backers lined up for
this project. Headlights Productions could afford to pay the
Duskova family a tidy sum for the privilege of invading their
castle for a few months.
    But before I signed over any of the company’s
funds, part of my job was detailing precisely what we were
buying.
    “Ladies. Kouzlo Noc seems to be just
what we’re looking for, but I need to ask whether we’d be allowed
access to any of the rooms upstairs. We don’t want to toss anyone
from a bedroom, but we very much could use several turrets, uh,
towers. We also could use a small room for some of the more
intimate moments in the movie. Not every scene will be a big song
and dance number in the ballroom. And we’ll also want some shots of
the door areas with the dragons and everything. And probably the
cemetery as well. I mean the newer one.”
    Veronika bit her lip, then turned and began a
rapid-fire discussion in Czech with her sisters. I say ‘discussion’
but it was really a monologue. Marta and Trina stayed silent. After
much head shaking and nods and waving about of teacups (fortunately
empty) all three ladies turned and stared at me. Trina and Marta
picked up some embroidery work from bags nestled close to the
window seat, then calmly began to sew. Veronika stood.
    “Ve haf decided that you may use the south
wing. There iss much rooms there along with stairs to turret. Good
scene of outside too. Come. I show you.”
    I plopped my napkin and cup on the tray next
to the rooster, then sped after her. I was nearly out the door when
I stopped and turned. Trina was crooning into her embroidery. It
sounded like Eric Clapton’s Layla . She looked up at me and
the sound stopped. She smiled. I blinked. And could have sworn she
was singing this to me—and me only—as she was being carried out,
God help me and her—in a black body bag.
    Crap. A Dumas vision zinging into to my brain
from wherever those damn premonition visions come from. I quickly
thrust that image from my mind. Veronika motioned for me to follow
her up the huge staircase at the back of the ballroom. We took a
left at the top of the stairs under a chandelier worthy of a set
for any version of Phantom of the Opera . I got lost soon
after we took a right, then another left before heading up the
dizzying, narrow, staircase that would have sent anyone with
claustorphobic leaning to imagine the walls were closing in at a
rapid pace.
    We finally made it up the last flight and
entered a landing, bookmarked at either end by solid doors standing
at least eight feet tall. Veronika opened the door to our left with
an oversized key from a metal key ring.
    It was a simple guest room. A wedding-ringed
patterned quilt, colored in soft shades of ivory and sage, lay on a
bed that must