Light Dragons 03 - Sparks Fly

being a tourist?” Imogen asked a few minutes later when she and Gretl had caught up on the most immediate of news. “Are you traveling around Austria, or staying here?”
    “A little of each. I’m using this break as kind of a working holiday,” I said, holding up my camera. “I’m trying to make a start in the photography world, so I’m poking around St. Andra looking for interesting locations. Luckily, there’s a lot to choose from here.”
    “There are many lovely sites in this region,” Imogen agreed.
    I eyed her. There was an air of fragility about her that intrigued me, and I wondered if there was any way I could capture that on film. She was certainly lovely enough to model, but a sense of tension seemed to wind around her, as if she was only just being kept from fracturing into a million pieces. It prompted me to ask, “Would you . . . This is going to sound awfully presumptuous, but would you be willing to let me take a few pictures of you? I can’t pay you, I’m afraid, but I’d be happy to give you copies of any of the prints you want.”
    Imogen looked startled for a moment before smiling. “How very sweet of you. It’s been . . . oh, so long I can’t even remember when someone has asked to take my photo. I would be delighted to, although we are only in St. Andra for four days before we move on to Salzburg.”
    “Well . . .” I glanced at the skyline. It was dusk, and a dark purple had started to creep across the sky from the inky black silhouette of the mountains. “I know you’re busy tonight with your pretty stone things-”
    “Rune stones,” she interrupted, touching with reverence a deep purple stone bearing an etched symbol on one side. “I have an affinity for them, although I do occasionally read palms as well.”
    “Ah. Rune stones. Interesting.”
    She flipped a long curl over her shoulder. “Right now Fran is doing palm reading because she and Benedikt are . . . er . . . helping. Benedikt is my brother,” she added, turning to Gretl. “Do you remember meeting him in Vienna that time we met in the 1990s?”
    Gretl’s round face lit up, a faint blush pinkening her cheeks. “Who could forget him? He was absolutely gorgeous. And he’s here?”
    “Yes, with Francesca. They were married a few months ago. You’ll like Fran-she’s very sweet, and she absolutely adores Benedikt, although she teases him mercilessly about the fact that women are prone to swooning over him.”
    “Wow. He must still be quite the looker,” I commented before steering the conversation back to where I wanted it. “I know you’re busy tonight, but perhaps I could shoot you tomorrow, if you are free.”
    “Benedikt is very handsome, yes,” Imogen answered, ignoring my attempts to steer her. “He resembles our father in that way.”
    The sense of tension in her increased, and I noticed she glanced over my shoulder, a flicker of pain passing across her face.
    “Your father must have been a very handsome man, then,” Gretl said with a dreamy look in her eyes that made me want to giggle. “I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned him before.”
    “He died when I was twenty-two,” Imogen said swiftly, her gaze now on the stones that she stroked with long, sensitive fingers. “He was killed by his two half brothers.”
    “Oh, how horrible!” both Gretl and I said.
    “It was very tragic. He inherited our family home, and they coveted that, so they lured him into a forest one summer night and destroyed him.” She stopped, obviously hesitant to go on. “It is why I am here, as a matter of fact. The anniversary of his . . . death . . . is two days from now. I try to make a pilgrimage to the location he died whenever I can.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said as Gretl murmured sympathetic platitudes. “I should never have mentioned your father.”
    She sniffed back a few unshed tears. “No, no, I don’t mind talking about him. Before that horrible night, he was a good man, an excellent father, and I loved him very dearly.”
    “You must miss him terribly. I assume they caught his killers?”
    “They disappeared before they could be tried, unfortunately.”
    “That’s terrible. But I’m sure that wherever your father is, he knows how much you loved him.”
    She looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. “Wherever he is?”
    I gestured toward the sky. “You know, looking down on you.” I had no idea what religion, if any, she subscribed to, so I didn’t