Midnight in Berlin by JL Merrow

Author:JL Merrow
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2012-02-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The receptionist was the first hurdle. Her over-made-up face froze on the “o” of “Guten Morgen,” and she stared at Christoph for a long moment, scarlet lips wide.

“Frau Müller,” Christoph said, formal as all hell. It seemed to snap her out of it.

“Herr Schäfer! I didn’t expect you in today.” Her eyes were locked on to his scars like a missile sight. I guess in normal circumstances, she’d have been wondering why he’d come to the office dressed like a bum, but with his face looking like a car crash, the clothes probably didn’t even register.

“I won’t be staying,” Christoph told her curtly as he strode past her desk to push open a door. Figuring the last thing I wanted was to hang around and field her questions, I followed him, catching the door just before it swung shut.

The office was modern and quietly bustling. Most of the drones had their heads down, so our entrance didn’t cause a stir. I guess I’d been subconsciously expecting something a little more old-fashioned, with antique furniture and clerks scratching out Gothic script with fountain pens, but it was all clean, utilitarian lines and what looked, to my untrained eye, like the latest in office hardware. The only note of whimsy was the collection of oil paintings on the walls. They looked like they’d all been painted by the same hand and showed forest scenes—dark and gloomy yet somehow majestic. An old-fashioned style of painting. I liked it better than the over-bright colors and too-clear lines a lot of artists seem to go for nowadays. “This way,” Christoph said, shepherding me through the open-plan bit before I could finish looking at everything.

We ignored a few startled glances and slipped into a large corner office, shutting the door behind us.

“Uh, isn’t this the boss’s office?” I whispered, feeling intimidated by the size of the desk. There’s probably a word for it. Megalodescaphobia. Or something.

“And?” Christoph’s tone was curt.

“Uh, nothing.” I jammed my hands in my pants pockets and looked around as he pulled out an expensive-looking chair and sat at the desk. There was an oil painting hanging behind him that was a little different from the ones outside. It sent a shiver down my spine when I recognized a house I knew only too well. Schreiber’s house—that had used to be Christoph’s. Put down in oils, the decay seemed somehow romantic rather than gloomy. For the first time, I appreciated the beauty of its woodland setting.

He’d wanted to be an artist, Christoph had told me. Shit. I was beginning to realize just how much the guy had had to lose. I could picture him, how he must have been before Schreiber arrived on the scene: young, talented, successful, buying a fixer-upper he had big plans for. Plans that didn’t involve a hostile takeover by creatures from out of a nightmare.

He probably wouldn’t have looked twice at a guy like me back then. Or maybe he would have: once to notice I looked

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