Aria in Ice Read Free Page A

one had bothered to
toss the dirt back inside. I closed my eyes, took as much of a
breath as I could stand in this desolate and decayed area, sat up
straight, opened my eyes again, and prepared to leave.
    I screamed. There was a wool-trousered butt
sticking up from the grave.
    A torso followed the distinctly male
derriére, then a neck appeared, and finally, I was reassured to
notice, a real human head. Alive. Jet-black hair, amazingly
well-coiffed for someone hip deep in dirt, hit just above
neck-line.
    I yelled with as much fury as my fright would
allow, “Dammit! You just scared the holy livin’ heart out of me!
Doesn’t anyone around here ever make a normal entrance?”
    The man straightened and whirled around with
such force I expected him to fall back inside. Golden brown eyes,
like a superior feline, stared at me. I stared back, prepared to
play “blink first” for as long as it took. Enough time passed for
me to see the straight nose, the Cupid-shaped lips and the lashes
that were triple mine (even with Volumized Billion Dramatic Double
Layered mascara). The lashes pissed me off so much I was able to
stay silent until the grave-popper spoke first.
    “I’m very sorry if I startled you, young
lady. I was engrossed in what I was doing and didn’t realize anyone
was above the crypt.” The man paused. “What do you mean—normal
entrance?”
    I started to explain, then gave up. “Never
mind. It was supposed to be funny theatrical reference but if
you’re not an actor, it’s probably not even remotely amusing.
Forget I said anything.”
    Johnny suddenly appeared next to me. “You
okay?”
    “Sure. Just startled by Mister Whomever here
literally popping up out of the ground.” I glared at the man. “So.
That’s a crypt, right, not an undone grave?”
    “Of course. What a strange question. Why do
you ask that?”
    “Well, sure. Silly me. The fact that there
isn’t a solid grave anywhere to be found was a just a tad
suspicious. What had you so captivated you didn’t hear either of us
above ground? What were you doing?”
    “Working.”
    Johnny looked at me. I looked back at him.,
then at the gorgeous man in the dirt.
    I smiled. “That sounds—excuse the
term—cryptic. What exactly were you working on? If you don’t mind
telling us.”
    He smiled. Instantly he looked ten years
younger and far less threatening. Neither thought reassured me.
“I’m a historian. And I am currently engaged in a research project
for the residents of Kouzlo Noc .”
    This sounded nice except that I’d just
noticed the man was holding a dagger. Looked antique. I could feel
my teeth grinding out of sheer nervousness.
    Johnny obviously felt the same. “Um. Do you
mind placing that knife on the ground or someplace where it’s not
in your hand? No offense.”
    He looked at the weapon as if he’d just
noticed it was there. “Sorry. I use this to chip away at some of
the century old encrusted dirt obscuring names and dates.”
    He laid it on top of a headstone above
ground.
    I began to breathe again. “Thank you. So. I’m
intrigued. What are we talking about here? Are you writing a book?
Dissertation? Or perhaps taking a leisurely stroll down genealogy
lane?”
    Again, the quick smile flashed. “That’s a
very good summary.”
    “In other words, you’re not going to tell
me.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    I groaned. “Enough. I’m about to meet the
owners of this castle and try to present a dignified—uh—presence
but I’m standing in the middle of a major horror show, so I’m not
up to games involving wresting info from an avowed academic.”
    Those cat’s eyes stared at me again from the
grave. Again, I broke first. “ Do you have a name?”
    He relaxed. “I do. Corbin Lerner. I teach at
a small eastern University.”
    He didn’t say east of what. Could be Prague,
could be Eden, could be Des Moines.
    “I do some sideline work for the Duskova
sisters. Those castle owners you’re about to meet.”
    “Oh.