Page 78 of Desperate Victory
“You’ve performed here before,” I reminded her. Or had I misunderstood?
“I have,” she said, stripping off her hat once we were inside and out of the wind. I followed suit. “But… every venue has a different vibe. Almost… a personality of its own. Sometimes that personality changes because of alterations they’ve made.”
She followed a long hallway past several closed doors that had empty nameplates on them. Dressing rooms? Probably.
We had a blueprint for the whole place. I needed to study it more. Her boots clicked along the hall until we reached a wider area where the backstage area bowled outwards to the wings.
The curtains were pulled all the way back and all the lights were on. It was a lovely venue with red velvet chairs and some classic baroque architecture and design. Still, it seemed wrong to see all of it and the stage in such stark relief from the too bright lights.
“Other times,” Em continued. “I’m the one who has changed. The first time I performed here… I was eleven.”
She gave me a tight smile.
“It used to feel a lot bigger. A lot scarier.”
“Now?” I studied the seating and then the stage itself. With all the lights on it was easy to see the catwalks and battens where her silks would be suspended.
“Nowhere near as big or scary.” The brief moment of wonder in her voice pulled all my attention. Instead of staring at the theater, she looked off to the side where Bodhi and Freddie were speaking. “Lots of things that used to be scary just aren’t anymore. I used to think it was because I’d seen worse.”
“You survived worse,” I reminded her. “But you also have security now.” Something she’d never had in all the years I’d known her.
“I do,” Emersyn murmured, then refocused on me and her smile grew. “My life is almost perfect.”
Before I could respond though, the squeak of the doors on the far side opening echoed through the wide space. Two men strode inside, letting the doors bang closed behind them.
The man on the right was Valentin Zhukovsky. The owner of the theater, and a huge Em fan. He was a big man, a paunch in the front, but a cheerful smile on his ruddy face.
“Emersyn! Myšácek!” He spread his arms wide as he strode toward us on swift legs. His companion didn’t lag by much, but the tall man with the silver hair that brushed his shoulders and an expensively tailored suit that seemed out of place in the tired old theater.
Too much new money against the declining grace of the old world. Still, I tracked both men as Em crossed the stage to meet Zhukovsky. Bodhi and Freddie moved out onto the stage, staying close.
Zhukovsky was up the three steep steps to the stage and then his huge hands were engulfing Emersyn’s. “You look wonderful.”
He bussed the air next to each of her cheeks with kisses that never connected.
“It’s good to see you too, Valentin. Thank you so much for the invitation.”
“You have an open invitation. We sold out the day we announced you were coming. Then when you added two more nights, well…” He kissed his fingers as though he were a chef. “Perfection. I will be right up there in my box. I love to watch you.”
The choice of words was a bit unfortunate, even if the man seemed genuinely jovial. His companion hadn’t approached, instead he studied me.
Before I could comment, however, Em was turning to me. “Valentin, this is my chaperone, Elaine. She’s more company than anything else, but it’s her first time in Prague. I want to take her to see some sights and maybe catch them myself this time?”
Elaine. Ugh.
“You need a chaperone?” Zhukovsky frowned, then he shook it off. “We will make arrangements. I would love to show you my city. You were never here long enough before.”
“I know, an oversight, and one I’d like to correct while I’m here.”
“Done.” The man pivoted with more grace than I expected. “Valentin Zhukovsky,” he introduced himself and held out a hand to me.
“Elaine,” I said, hating my full name. “Hardigan.”
Em’s eyes widened. But I wasn’t taking any chances. The speculation in Zhukovsky’s eyes was enough to make me wary. The fact his friend hadn’t joined us and continued to stare added to my unease.
Maybe they would recognize me. Maybe not. I’d take my chances there. But avoiding Benedict was probably smarter.
“It is good to meet you, Miss Hardigan. Emersyn is one of my favorites. I want her stay and by extension yours to be as smooth as possible. If you have any questions or concerns, bring them straight to me. I will take care of everything.” The lightly accented English seemed to add to his emphasis.