Page 34 of Skotos
Thomas elbowed me and then surprised us both by asking, “Not Idaho?”
Otto scoffed. “Too mountainous. I do not trust high ground. It is always looking down on you.”
By the time we reached the outskirts of the city, even Thomas was chuckling, our fatigue momentarily forgotten.
Then the car slowed.
“This . . . is not our hotel,” Thomas said, sitting upright.
All joviality vanished as we realized our friendly neighborhood driver had ignored our route request and taken us somewhere deep into the Swiss countryside. Mountains rose in every direction, blotting out lights from the distant city and casting everything around us in rural darkness.
We passed through iron gates that slammed closed behind the car as soon as we entered and circled in front of a sprawling mansion, the windows lit like a film set. I could barely make out the monstrous shape of the home, something familiar about it tickling my memory.
Otto turned in his seat, his earlier mirth gone, along with any hint of a smile. “Go inside. Your host is waiting.”
Thomas and I exchanged a look.
Laughter died in my throat.
And just like that, potatoes and shredded idioms were in the rearview mirror.
17
Thomas
Before we could speculate further, the heavy double doors at the top of the wide marble steps swung open and out stepped a vision of regal mischief swathed in blue silk and dripping in sapphires.
“My darling boys!” came the unmistakable voice of Baroness Isabella von Hohenberg, each syllable curling through the chilly air like a trail of French perfume.
She descended the steps, a ship at full sail, with the long train of her dress floating behind her and one hand lifting in greeting. Her other hand clutched a small, bejeweled cane she absolutely did not need. The Baroness’s smile was broad and devastating, as though we hadn’t just watched together as a head of state was assassinated in front of us a day ago.
“You’ve gotten handsomer since Paris,” she declared while wrapping Will in a hug and planting adouble-cheeked kiss on his face. “Even with that ridiculous American haircut. And you”—she turned to me, her eyes sweeping over my coat and scuffed shoes—“still scowl like a Scottish widower. Simply delicious. I could eat you both right here.”
She kissed my cheeks, her lips cold and scented with violet. I tried not to laugh, failed, and let her hold my face a second longer than would have been appropriate with any other friend . . . or family member . . . or possibly just anyone.
She pivoted gracefully, catching sight of Otto as he hefted our bags from the trunk. “Otto! Still dreaming of Idaho potatoes and American cowboy boots, are we?”
Otto beamed. “Of course, Baroness. I learned last week that in Texas, they fry the boots. I do not understand why. They would seem very . . . hard on the teeth, no?”
Will choked on a laugh, his eyes wide. “Did he sayfryboots?”
“I think so,” I muttered, trying not to lose it.
The Baroness waved a hand dramatically, unfazed by whatever fell from Otto’s lips. Then she leaned in, a gesture that magnetically pulled each of us toward her, and whispered, “Otto has been with me for years. He speaks four languages and murders all of them, but he’s loyal and knows every back road in Europe. Besides, I am rather fond of his slaughter of all things idiom. It keeps me young.”
She looked us over again, her sharp eyes gleaming. “So, tell me—did Otto treat you well? Or chat your ears off entirely?”
Will grinned. “He might’ve out-talked both of us combined.”
“I think he out-talked everyone in Switzerland, perhaps all of Europe,” Thomas added.
“I once threatened to sedate him on a drive through Bavaria. Too many questions about Kansas, of all places. What am I supposed to know of Kansas?” she said airily.
“Baroness, you know we love seeing you, but why are we here? We have important work to do and little time for social calls.” I pulled back slightly. Then another thought struck. “How did you even know we were in Bern? This was a last-minute decision—a decision made by Washington.”
“You know better that to ask such a thing, my dear Thomas.” Her eyes sparkled as she patted my cheek. “Besides, a ladyneverkisses and tells.”
“That’s not an answer,” I said.
