by Alice Reeds
I stood up and tried to orientate myself, trace back my steps, which turned out to be futile, so instead I looked for a clearing. It took a handful of minutes, but I finally found one. Looking up at the sky and above the tree line, I could just make out the smoke column way more to my left than it should be, but at least now I knew where I had to go and more or less which way led back to the beach.
But just as I began to walk again, the beast roared once more, though not anywhere close to me, and then…the sound of it moving away. Instinctively, I started to duck back into my hiding place, just to be sure, but as I listened to it go, I realized where it was headed. Toward the beach.
Shit.
Straight toward Miles.
Chapter Four
Berlin
Trust no one.
I stood there with my phone glued to my ear, my body frozen. I’d heard of red flags, but this was insane. As far as I knew, Joe didn’t even have a cell phone. And while I didn’t want to give too much credibility to a guy who took seriously whatever conspiracy theories were in the latest Dan Brown book, I couldn’t just ignore his warning.
This wasn’t the first time Joe had said some version of this. But the guy believed cell phones—or any phone, really—caused cancer. Which meant that in his mind, he’d risked his life to call me. It didn’t matter if he was crazy. He believed what he’d said.
So, if something was wrong, how did he know about it? And how was he involved?
If it had been a message from Miles, I’d have laughed. What a stupid prank. But I’d known Joe for a while. He was one of the few decent people in my life. Whatever his reason for leaving that message, he believed it was real. I wanted to talk to someone about it, but there was only Miles. This might affect him, too, though. Could I tell him, show him, ask him what he thought without him laughing at me? Maybe I just misunderstood, maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed. If we were both caught in some sort of trouble, though, he deserved to know. But Joe hadn’t said “trust no one except Miles.” He’d said “trust no one,” period.
Just as I looked up, Miles pulled out a slick black credit card from his wallet. “Don’t know about you, but I’m sick of waiting around. Follow me.”
Normally, I’d have said something snarky. But if he was a part of whatever was going on, I needed to play along, act like I knew nothing. For now. So I followed him. We found a cream-colored Mercedes cab waiting outside. The driver exited and greeted us in German, but his accent didn’t match. He was tall and kind of chubby, with black hair, an even blacker beard, and dark eyes.
“Uh…” I floundered for the words I’d practiced over and over. “Hallo. Wir müssen… Um—”
Miles pointed at himself. “Ich bin Miles.” Then he pointed at me. “Das ist Fiona.”
The driver nodded. “Memet.”
“Wir müssen zu dieser Adresse.” Miles handed him a piece of paper. The driver looked it over and nodded.
Of course Mr. Perfect spoke fluent German. Was there anything he couldn’t do?
“I didn’t know you spoke German.” At least I knew I could kick his ass if it came to it.
He flashed that thousand-watt smile at me. “There’s lots of things you don’t know about me.”
The driver took our luggage and placed it in the trunk while asking us questions in German. At one point, after he asked something, Miles glanced at me in response.
“No.” Miles shrugged. “But maybe.”
“But maybe what?” I asked, annoyed.
“But maybe I’m growing on you.”
“Yeah. Like a fungus.”
We took off toward our hotel, but the traffic in Berlin was a lot like traffic back home. The closer we got to the city center, the thicker the cars and crowds got. Wanting to distract myself from Joe’s message, I watched the city pass us by. The buildings had fancy facades with all sorts of different ornaments and decorations, big windows, and old, heavy-looking wooden doors. My shoulders relaxed. We also passed new, modern buildings and some that were shabby, rundown, and probably abandoned.
Later we went through a tunnel that seemed to span several miles, and once we emerged from the other side, the scenery was completely different. Everywhere I looked there were high-rises with glass facades, hotels, and a casino. The houses looked richer, well maintained, and the stores more expensive. A couple of high-end cars were parked along the streets. Definitely the hub of the city.
Joe’s message nagged at me. I looked at my phone and worried my lower lip.
“You okay?” Miles asked.
I flinched then tried to cover it by slipping on a sweet yet annoyed smile and said, “Mind your own damn business.”
Surprisingly, he did.
The cab halted in front of a gorgeous brick monstrosity. The hotel was seven stories high. Inside, the marble floor was dotted with potted plants, and the walls were covered in warm white, almost a little yellow, velvety-looking wallpaper.
First a private jet, and now this? What had we done to receive this royal treatment? Not that I was complaining.
“Guten Morgen,” the receptionist greeted us.
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m Fiona Wolf. There should be a reservation.”
She switched to English and told me she needed a reservation number, which I pulled up on my phone.
“Great.” She typed away on her keyboard. “Miss Wolf and Mr. Echo, right?”
“Yes,” Miles said, flashing that irresistible smile that usually charmed everyone. Except the receptionist ignored him, and when his smile promptly dropped, I did what I could to cover my laugh with a cough.
“Fourth floor. Room 269. Enjoy your stay.” She nodded and handed me a key. One key.
Umm…no. I looked at her, frowning. “Are you sure that it’s only one room?”
“Let’s see…” She clicked away at her console. “Reservations for M. Echo and F. Wolf. One room. Enjoy your stay.”
This so couldn’t be happening. I already didn’t like the idea of sharing this internship with Miles, and now I had to share a room with him? And what about Joe’s message? What if this was all a setup so “they” could “watch” me? Whatever that meant.
The elevator opened to a long hallway with gray walls and wine-colored carpet. We found room 269, and I slipped the key over the door’s electronic lock—whirr, click—
Whoa.
Before we’d flown to Berlin, I’d looked up this hotel online. I was sure Briola would book us two of the cheapest rooms, which I’d checked out and was prepared for. This was anything but. The room was generously sized, with a king-size four-post bed in a vintage Biedermeier style. The frame was painted in whites and grays that matched the rest of the furniture, which was a similar style.
This couldn’t be right. We were high school students, not honeymooning celebrities.
Wordlessly, I dropped my suitcase and marched out of the room then back into the elevator. Miles stayed behind.
Downstairs, I returned to the receptionist. The lobby wasn’t empty anymore. Two figures were sitting on one of the sofas in the lounge, their backs turned toward me. “Sorry, I think there must be a mistake.”
“Is the key not working?” she asked, concerned. “Or are there any damages to the room?”
“No, no. That’s not it.” I shook my head lightly. This entire situation was simply ridiculous. “There’s only one bed. So, like, that cannot be right. We need two. Is there another room we could get, additionally? Or two completely different rooms, ideally.”
She looked at her monitor and typed. “Unfortunately, we are completely booked. I’m very sorry.”
“How is that even possible? This place is huge!”
“We are in an exclusive and much requested location, Miss Wolf. As I said, I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, but there isn’t anything I can do for you.”
What even, honestly? Ugh.
Defeated, I turned to the elevators but then stopped. “I do have another question,” I said, trying
to keep my voice as calm as possible.
“Yes?”
“Who made that reservation?”
She looked at her monitor and typed something again, her frown deepening.
I wiped my hands on my sides. Please say Briola, please say Briola, please say Briola.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Wolf, but there’s no record here. Odd. Is there anything el—”
“What do you mean no record? Who booked that room?”
“Miss—”
“No. Don’t ‘Miss Wolf’ me. Something—”
My voice had risen enough that the two men in the lobby were watching me, annoyance written across Buzz Cut and Blondie’s faces as though I disturbed their peaceful time of staring at the wall or something, but I didn’t care.
“Miss Wolf, please calm down. We will sort this out.”
“Sure you will.” I walked away, already so done with this trip. This whole hotel situation was absurd in every way.
Blood pounded in my ears like I was about to enter a fight. Okay, just keep it cool, relax. We’d go to the Briola headquarters, and everything would be fine. They’d explain why the hotel couldn’t find the information. Everything would be fine. It had to be.
In the elevator, I sent a collective prayer to every God and superhero I could think of, wishing and hoping for things to right themselves.
Back in our room, I dropped the key card onto the small table by the door and set my bag next to the sofa.
“No luck?” Miles was lying on the bed, his legs hanging off the end.
I shook my head, a fog over my mind. “Nope.” This didn’t make any sense.
He shrugged. “Oh well. At least there’s more than enough space to sleep.” He glanced at me, then at the open space beside him on the bed.
“You can sleep on the sofa.”
“You can sleep on the sofa,” he quipped.
I knew he was just trying to mess with me, but that didn’t change the fact that I really needed to kick something.
Or someone.
Him.
“I’m not opposed to sharing,” he offered, something lingering at the edge of his voice that I couldn’t quite identify. Really, I didn’t have another choice. I mean, sure, I could have slept on the sofa or argued with him all day, but that wasn’t productive or helpful.
“Just don’t get any ideas,” I hissed.
Thankfully, sleep was still hours away, so I didn’t have to worry about it just yet.
As I started to unpack, there was a knock at the door.
“Wonder who that is?” Miles said and slipped off the bed. His tone conveyed he knew exactly who it was. Guess he had done something useful while I was gone, because when he opened the door, I smelled food.
“Guten Morgen. Ich bringe Ihr Frühstück,” the guy on the other side said. Miles said something to him and then stepped aside, letting him walk in. The bellboy didn’t seem much older than us, his hair a silvery shade of blond. He was tall and really thin, skinny enough that his uniform hung loosely off of his body.
“Do you prefer to eat inside or on the balcony?” he said in English. Miles must’ve told him to switch languages.
“Balcony?” I asked.
The bellboy stopped in front of the curtains. Pushing them aside, he revealed two windows with a glass balcony door between them, which he opened with a quiet click and then pushed the cart outside.
Wow. A balcony. I just assumed there would be windows and nothing more.
It was beautiful. The view was amazing, the sun rising on a cloudless blue sky and the TV Tower peaking just over the building opposite ours. The balcony itself was light gray stone with sleek metal and frosted glass fencing, two potted plants standing in either corner, and in the middle of it all a metal table with two chairs.
Miles and I sat down on the chairs while the bellboy parked the cart next to the table.
“I hope the meal will be to your liking,” he said, and folded his hands behind his back.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” I smiled. Better than fine. I felt like royalty.
Miles tipped him, and the bellboy disappeared out of our room while Miles opened the first silver box on the cart. Inside, we found two plates of pancakes and a steaming pot of coffee. I went for the porcelain coffee pot, placed one of the mugs in front of me, and poured some java. The heavenly smell of freshly made coffee surrounded us, mixing with the smell of pancakes.
“This is insane,” I said after a couple of silent minutes of eating. I looked up from my mug at Miles, who wore an amused expression. His hair was a complete mess now from the breeze, and some of it hung over his forehead, almost into his eyes, though he didn’t brush it away.
“Makes you feel like a celebrity,” he said. “Doesn’t it?”
“And how would I know what that feels like? Not everybody grows up wiping their ass with hundred-dollar bills.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. Come on, just admit it. This room is great.”
I wanted to say no. But even I couldn’t say that with a straight face. This was amazing. I wouldn’t admit it, though. Not to him.
The food was gone in a flash, one incredible flavor after the next. My God. Sure, we’d scored high on those aptitude tests, or whatever, but I didn’t know what we’d done to deserve this kind of special treatment.
As Miles set the cart in the hall, I snatched a new outfit from my suitcase and slipped into the bathroom to change before we left for Briola headquarters. A dark pair of jeans, a white dress shirt, and my favorite black jacket with silver studs all over the shoulders. My father hated it, tried to force me to take a different one, but Mom had switched it last minute without him noticing. In one of the pockets, I found a hair tie and pulled my hair into a high ponytail.
“Our cab is waiting,” Miles called. “If you’re not out here in sixty seconds, I’m leaving without you.”
I rolled my eyes and finished applying a bit of eyeliner, and some warm-toned nude shadow. For a moment, I eyed one of my dark liquid lipsticks, which of course belonged on the long list of things my father hated, but went with a light gloss instead. Nothing too dark or heavy, just a classy extra touch. I was probably already pushing the envelope with my “unprofessional” hair color; no need to give Briola another reason to reconsider their decision.
Part of me wished Miles would leave without me. But when I came back out, he was still waiting. And the look on his face when he saw me…
“What’s wrong?” I said.
He coughed. “Nothing. You…” He coughed again. “You look good.”
I turned away so he wouldn’t see the heat flushing my face. Of course, I knew he was just saying that because now I looked more like all the girls he ever dated, thanks to the makeup, but getting a compliment was still nice, even if it was from him. “Did you write down the address?”
“Yeah.”
I grabbed my purse, and we made our way downstairs then through the lobby. Just like Miles said, there was a cab waiting for us outside. We got in and left the city center behind. We passed factories, some new, and others that looked like they’d been standing there since the beginning of the previous century. Occasional buses and gigantic trucks passed us. There were far fewer pedestrians out here and way more fenced-off areas with CCTV cameras and metal gates. A patrolling police car crossed the street in front of us while we waited for the light to change.
We came to a halt outside a tall, gated entrance. The wall surrounding the property, even the gate itself, was overgrown with vines and leaves. We’d have to go inside to see the actual building. Given the ridiculously expensive services Briola had already offered, I expected nothing short of a palace.
“You want me to wait?” the driver asked.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” Miles said. “Will this cover it?” He pulled out a few Euro bills, paid the driver, and got out.
I got out, too, and then followed him to the front of the gate.
At the side of the gate, there
was an intercom box. I pressed the button…and got nothing. Which, upon closer inspection, wasn’t a total surprise. The intercom was as neglected as the rusted gate; what was once white and shiny silver was now dirty and somewhat dusty, the button hanging on for dear life.
“Box is busted,” I said. “How do we get inside?”
Miles went back to the gate and pushed one side. It budged, but just a little.
“Come help me,” he said.
I joined him, and we pushed it together until it was open just enough for us to slip inside, but as soon as we did, I wished we hadn’t.
Miles froze. “Wait… What?”
“This can’t be it,” I said.
Instead of the shiny new headquarters of Briola, we found an old, broke-down factory that seemed barely still standing. It wasn’t just the missing windows and gaping holes where doors should be. Something was very wrong. A tree grew half inside the building and half out of the window. If this place had ever been a pharmaceutical factory, that had to be several decades ago, if not longer.
“We have a problem,” Miles said.
I glanced back at where the cab had dropped us off. It was long gone. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Chapter Five
The Island
I’d been raised to be brave and not shy away from challenges, but chasing a beast and hoping I could catch it wasn’t quite what my father meant. Yet I took off running as fast as my legs could carry me, ignoring my exhaustion and how much my body screamed at me to stop. I wasn’t entirely sure I went the right way, but I had to trust myself. And I didn’t like playing savior to Miles, no way, but the idea of being on the island on my own scared me more than I disliked being stranded with him in the first place.
The air was too hot, too humid. My lungs burned, screamed. But I couldn’t slow down. This thing, whatever it was, was far larger than I was, faster, so my hopes of making it to the beach first were already abysmal.
