Vienna (34 page)

“I'm sorry. I must sound conceited.”

“You have to be, to be who you are. You're also one of the most thoughtful girls in the profession. Vienna could have done far worse as well.”

“At least until my career comes crashing down.”

“Don't hold your breath. Have you read about the boycott of Carrie Limited? Not a huge one, but enough to give them a headache for firing you. The nutbars on the right are vilifying you, but that's only adding to your cachet.”

“Which seems to be hawking computer cases.” She told Emily about the Hot Dragon offer.

“You're missing the point. The Jordan Farquars of the world are going extinct. Twitter and Instagram and YouTube are the new kings and they love you. There's a boutique in Seattle printing ‘How is it you sleep at night?' T-shirts. For an extra two bucks it comes with a rather suggestive picture of you. A few have been spotted in L.A. and New York. The Internet is coming of age, and even as a child its strength is unmatched by the old-school media. Why do you think Hargrave took you back? He's no fool.”

“I hope you're right.”

“Trust me. And enough derailing the subject.”

“Can I pretend to have forgotten what we were talking about?”

“No. Whatever you think Vienna might mean to your career, it's obvious you're in too deep to care.”

Justine closed her eyes. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

“I'm from a very conservative Rust Belt town. Of course I have.”

“The thought never occurred to me,” Justine said. “What did you think of the experience?”

“The problem with kissing a girl is that we kiss like girls.”

“Exactly. The right guy is all warm pressure and rabid desire.” Justine laughed. “Vienna kisses like a trembling violet.”

“There are people who take pleasure in such innocence.”

“But it's not an act with her. She really is a wet kitten in a dog pound.”

“So are you one of the people who likes kittens?”

Justine gave her a sharp glance. “You going to charge for this session?”

“I don't want the worry lines you're working on to ruin my brother's pictures.”

Justine leaned back into her chair, gazed over the green roof of the opera house. “She's done everything she can to encourage me. I wish I knew if she understood that.”

“You're asking for mutually exclusive things—for her to be aware of what she is doing while remaining innocent of it.”

“Which makes me think I should stop.”

“Why?”

“She'll do anything I suggest.”

Emily slid her chair further under the umbrella's protective arch. “Certain sexual behaviors—especially submissive ones—can point to any number of emotional issues, many of which Vienna has filled out in triplicate. But, as the textbooks never tire of reminding us, the overriding factor in mental health vis-à-vis sexual relations has always been found in the discrete causes of arousal.”

“No wonder people hate shrinks. In English?”

“If fear is part of Vienna's motivation then you have serious issues. Thing is, Vienna has no mechanism for emotional compartmentalization. If she were afraid of you, she would take one look at you and burst into quaking tears. The more realistic alternative is she enjoys playing student to your teacher. It allows her a wide array of sexual expression with minimal risk of exposing perceived defects, most of which have been internalized to a horrifyingly unhealthy degree.”

“That was English?”

“Vienna has found a stunningly beautiful lover who encourages her sexual advances. What shy soul would turn away from that? Sounds like paradise to me.”

“It's not her sexuality that concerns me.”

“The real issue at last.” Emily pointed at Justine. “Did you think your personal issues were any less pervasive than hers? You're in a back-stabbing career where success is defined by everyone except yourself. There are people out there who would tear you down out of jealousy or anger or just for the hell of it, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it. In the midst of this, you've discovered a place where sincerity will never be an issue. Why wouldn't you go to her? Why wouldn't she feel like joyous freedom?”

“Because it may not be right for her and there's no one but me to stop it.”

“Melodrama aside, your notion of free will is antiquated. Hurting Vienna is inconsistent with your internal programming. Something you can't change any more than she can.” Emily was silent for a moment. “Look, you're worried about the wrong thing. If Vienna was the type to turn cartwheels, she'd be dizzy by now. You want to lose sleep over something, you should consider all the people dying around her.”

“I know.”

“You should fold up shop and get your girl out of here.”

“Now who's being melodramatic?”

“Justine, you can't pretend the danger isn't real.”

“You tell me where we can go that Sunglasses won't find us, and I'll listen.”

Emily swept the question away with a wave of her hand. “Fine. So what was on the paper Julian showed Vienna?”

“She never told me. I suspect it was the weights of four metal cylinders and four gold slugs. They came from inside the Clay to Flesh manikins in Prague, Paris, Budapest, and Rome.”

“What does it mean?”

An eight-ton capacity loader.
“It means I need your help.”

“Yes?”

The vision returned. Vienna's empty eyes.
Something to save her.
Something to create confusion. A few seconds might make the difference, somehow. Give her a chance to escape.

“A jewelry box, watch-sized. A rock inside and the lid glued shut. It has to look very old—late nineteenth century. Is that possible?”

“I'm used to odd shopping lists. You would be depressed to discover what trinkets photographers think they need to accent the perfect picture.”

It won't be enough.
A shard of glass … “And one of those two-pronged landscaping stakes from that tent you use for wardrobe. I need it by tomorrow.”

“Deal, as long as my brother gets to shoot you and Vienna for an independent project. He gets first rights. You get to pick the clothing, the content, and the setting.”

“What on earth for?”

“I told you already. Your banter with Sir Davy back in London was caught on an iPhone. Several million hits on YouTube last I saw. If the project makes no money that's my issue.”

“Who am I not to make the same mistake Vienna did? I'm trusting you to be kind.”

“I get the idea from my undercover detective that Vienna has major connections. Even if I didn't care for her, I wouldn't risk upsetting the powers that be.”

“Wise girl.”

Emily hugged herself. “It's getting cold.”

“The forecast is for snow by the end of the week.”

“So, you got any particular badass vampire in mind for the tent stake?”

“Anson Davy.”

“Dear God, Justine, I was joking.”

Justine forced a weak smile. “So was I.”

“Right. So now I'm more scared for you than her,” Emily whispered.

 

26

Contour lines rippled across the map, flowing in uneven waves. Vienna's mind struggled to force them parallel, but they invariably narrowed or wavered apart. A series of Reimann sums dissecting undefined curves. Impossible calculus. Vienna tried to ignore them, searching the map's edge for latitude and longitude.

She'd found a hiking shop on Kamptner Strasse and managed to convey to the clerk that she wished to see topographic maps.
I don't even speak the language of my homeland.

Justine was off with Emily and George Holt, setting up for the last Clay to Flesh shoot. They were working without the statue, the owner refusing to release it until she got to meet Justine. So Justine was posing solo on the grass tiers of the Belvedere.

 … built in the
eighteenth century for Prince Eugene of Savoy. The Belvedere was coveted by the Habsburgs, who in …

No time for Eugene or the Habsburgs.

Vienna's gaze slid down and then across the map, connecting latitude with longitude. N48º 14'079; E 16° 15'031. Near the edge of the Wienerwald. The Place of Righteous Murder. The numbers that killed Justine's boyfriend.

David Andries must have thought the coordinates had some power to protect him, or that they could be traded for money. He hid them in that sailboat picture on Justine's BlackBerry.
How could Justine have ever thought forty-eight degrees north was in the tropics?
But it didn't matter because it all went wrong. Andries had forgotten the numbers. That wasn't very smart, because it chained him to Justine's phone, and the one time he really needed it, it was gone. So someone shot him straight in the face.

The topographical map showed a structure at the coordinates. The last thing Prince Rudolph and von Vetsera ever saw. Vienna slid the map back into its oversized drawer. She bought a compass with money she had taken from Justine's wallet.

Out into the crowd, the Star of Memphis spinning through her thoughts. A giant gemstone with a thousand shimmering facets. Hidden in the forest all these years. But where? She knew the place of Righteous Murder, but what was she supposed to do from there?

“Miss Vienna.”

She looked up into the weathered eyes of James Hargrave.

“I didn't know you were here,” she blurted. “I can tell you where Justine is.”

“She is at the Belvedere, Miss Vienna.” He sighed. That was all wrong. Vienna tried to think of him as Justine would. He wasn't the sort of man who would sigh. “This is complex,” he continued. “Would you share lunch? Give me a chance to explain?”

“You don't like me.”

“That's not true.” He held his arm up in a crook; a motion Vienna had seen other men make. She put her hand on his arm.
Is this what I am supposed to do?
Justine would be happy if they were friends. She looked under his coat to see if he had one of those old-fashioned six-shooters in a leather holster. Nothing but a phone clipped to his belt.

“I'll buy lunch. You name the place.”

“The place?”

“A good restaurant.”

“I don't know any.”

“Then we'll walk along with the tourist herd and read menus.”

“Okay.” He smelled faintly of steely cologne.

Several blocks north of Vienna's chosen route home, they stopped at a street-side café that served pasta. Vienna ordered olive oil and garlic over linguini.
Aglio e olio is the one classic dish all fanciers of Italian cuisine should prepare at least once.…

“Not much of a lunch. You sure you don't want something better?”

Vienna shook her head.

Hargrave had chosen to sit outside despite the breeze. He spoke of his growing realization that he'd misunderstood his client's personal needs and how unfair that had been to Vienna. But the tablecloth was all starbursts of crisscrossed lines and they were pointing everywhere and—

“Vienna, please listen. I'm trying to do the right thing.”

She closed her eyes. “Why aren't you telling this to Justine?”

“I've been hovering over her since that foolishness with the manikin in Prague. She's sick of it and I don't blame her. Better if she thinks I'm in New York. But I'm still worried, especially after Iceland. I've grown rather fond of her over the last few years. So here I am, close enough to come running, but far enough away not to crowd her. Useless as far as I can tell, but I want to help if I can.”

Vienna squinted at the tablecloth. She imagined that one of the lines pointed at Justine.

Hargrave leaned forward and put his hand around her wrist. Not tight, but Vienna flinched away. Hargrave held on a second longer before letting go. “Did you see anything that might give us a clue as to what's happening? We have to protect Justine.”

“No.” How had he found her out of all the people in the city?

“I spoke to Justine over the phone. She said something about cylinders of metal.” He wasn't looking at her anymore. He was watching people walk by. Who was he looking for?

“Nine grams of gold and fifty-seven grams of tin,” Vienna said.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“No.”

He glanced at his watch. “I hate logic puzzles. Maybe the numbers themselves are important?”

Vienna blinked. “Nine times fifty-seven is 513. Eight cubed plus one cubed.” No reason to cube one, but the equation fit better that way.

He shook his head. “It's probably nothing.”

Hargrave spent the remainder of lunch telling stories that made him seem foolish. He laughed as he wound through them. Vienna thought she should be laughing as well but she still didn't like him. He ate quickly and then flagged a waiter down for the check, placing cash on the bill before the waiter could leave for another table. That made the gratuity way too large, but that was an American thing, too. “I don't know what the hell I'm doing.” He smiled and Vienna hated that, too. “But the trip was worth it, to let you know how sorry I am for the things I did.”

“How did you find me?”

“I was on my way to your hotel when I spotted you.”

“Okay.”

“Can I take you back to the Sacher?”

“No thank you.”

“Then this is good-bye for now, Miss Vienna.”

“Okay.”

Hargrave stood and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Vanished down a set of stairs for the U-Bahn. Why had he been in such a hurry? Not that it mattered.
I'm glad he's gone.

Vienna sighed at the day, looked at the crumbs left on the table. Which was a mistake because the lines on the tablecloth began to spread, extending into a dense web. Right off the table, like ice crystals covering water. She backed away too fast and caught her feet under the chair, tumbling to the sidewalk. She rose, careful not to look at the table, or at all the people she knew were staring at her.