City of Lost Dreams: A Novel
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She’d had a postcard of Apollo from Renato and Thomas, who were spending the holidays together at a beach house on the Greek island of Symi.
Marie-Franz’s card said she had begun her book on Mesmer and was looking forward to the ball season getting into full swing. She did not plan to have fat injected into her soles in order to waltz all night: Strauss will keep me dancing on air, she wrote.
The grave of Elizabeth Weston remained empty, as it had been for four hundred years.
The von Hohenlohe brothers’ castle had been seized by the state as part of a criminal investigation into corporate espionage and afterward would be undergoing renovations. Archduke Ferdinand’s Kunstkammer was scheduled to open in the summer to the general public. The newly restored castle would no doubt be one of Innsbruck’s most fascinating attractions. Philippine Welser’s De re coquinaria had been moved to the Austrian National Library in Vienna, where scholars would have easy access to it. Gottfried von Hohenlohe had confessed to stealing Bettina Müller’s laptop on behalf of his brother, Heinrich. Heinrich’s company denied all knowledge of Heinrich’s activities. His role in the deaths of Nina Fischer, Gerhard Schmitt, and Felix Dorfmeister was under quiet investigation, but he had been jailed and publicly excoriated for setting fire to the stables of the Spanish Riding School. For saving the horses, Gottfried had been pardoned of all crimes. A recent Internet poll had named him “Austria’s Sexiest Man Alive.”
On an anonymous tip, the police had raided a house just outside of Kutná Hora and found a trove of stolen objects, most of them dusty old apothecaries’ jars that, having been returned to the museums whence they’d come, were once more interred on basement shelves. Since the museums’ curators hadn’t actually noticed they were missing, they also didn’t notice that some of them were not returned.
Moritz, gnawing on a bone under the table, had to move as Sarah’s and Max’s ankles entwined.
After dinner, Pollina played the overture of her new opera, The Golden Fleece. It was a story of ambition and compassion and heroism and sacrifice. Transgression and redemption. Wisdom and folly. And love. And death.
It was a story of life.
Acknowledgments
Magnus Flyte would like to acknowledge the many people who have aided and abetted him during this project: Eva-Maria Berger for her generosity, advice, and good company in Vienna; Charlotte Sommer and Bruce Walker, for ongoing ground support of every kind in Prague; Renato Marena for wonderful hosting and the finest samosas in all of London; Nina Viswanathan for being the best virtual dinner guest ever; Matteo, Berta, and Sabine Tamanini for joining Magnus for a mad dash through Schloss Ambras; Kathleen McCleary for being the first reader; John and Jennifer Brancato for fueling Magnus with moral support and mortadella; Betty Luceigh for unveiling the wonders of nanotechnology; Claudia Cross and Sally Brady for knowing when to send in either the cavalry or the caviar and champagne; Carolyn Carlson, Ramona Demme, and all of Team Penguin for taking a leap of faith (twice); Lindsay Prevette and Laura Abbott for putting Magnus up in style; man-in-the-field Brian Wilson for buoying all things Magnus; Nick Sherman and Adam Dannheisser for guerrilla-style video-making; Patrick Tully for five musical notes on a winter evening; and a special thank-you to all those gorgeous, brilliant, sexy people working at bookstores across the land. You know who you are.
Editor’s Note
Because Magnus Flyte can be quite elusive and shuns the public eye, we would like to thank Mr. Flyte’s representatives for their cooperation in the publication of this book:
Meg Howrey is the author of Blind Sight and The Cranes Dance.
Christina Lynch is a television writer and journalist.