Free The Red Witch (Amber Lee Mysteries Book 6) by Katerina Martinez Page A

pink, or yellow paint save, maybe, for the oldest buildings. The ones the city really maintained. The driver, Yens was his name, explained that the police in Berlin didn’t clamp down so much on street artists, so a lot of the art would remain on the canvas for a long time.
    One of the pieces I saw was huge. It was an astronaut tagged in black spray paint, floating on the side of an apartment block. It must have been 20 feet tall, and the artist must have had to pull some crazy acrobatics to get it done, but there it was, blowing my mind. I suspected Yens, who had been telling us the incredible stories of how these bits of art were created, was taking us for a ride. It was a fantastic tour, don’t get me wrong, but when he slapped us with an 89 Euro bill I felt that familiar angry heat rise into my throat.
    “That was, like, 130 bucks,” I said to Collette once we had gotten off the cab. “Did we just get ripped off?”
    Collette shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, “But we’re safe, and we’re here.”
    “Yeah, that’s true.”
    I made a 360 degree spin and took in my surroundings. Alexanderplatz, one of the city’s main districts, wasn’t as tall as an American would have come to expect of a central district in a capital city. Nor was it as cramped as some cities, like New York, tended to be in many places. But it was perfectly European, with its red-brick Victorian buildings, its massive clock towers, and its wide open pedestrian courtyards; not to mention the slew of little cafes, bistros, and eateries.
    Across the busy street I saw the Alexanderplatz overhead train station; the city’s main train hub, which saw the connection of three underground lines, three overhead lines, and several bus lines. We could have taken the train from the airport, I thought. But that was in the past, and in any case the thought was immediately dwarfed by the hugely impressive TV Tower, otherwise known as the Fernsehturm Berlin —a disco ball impaled on a tall spike—the tallest building in all of Berlin. At least, that I knew anyway.
    Not wanting to be overcome with tourist syndrome, we made tracks for the hotel. Luckily, it wasn’t hard to get to from where we were. We had chosen Alexanderplatz because of its accessibility—and because the last time I was in Berlin I had been too concerned with the Berlin Wall to even think of visiting Amexanderplatz—but mostly because the hotels and hostels here weren’t too expensive, so we figured we would stay somewhere comfortable as well as central.
    Of course, just because we were in a European city didn’t mean that we needed to necessarily stay at a hostel like a pair of travelers. I wasn’t a penniless student anymore, and while I wasn’t a snob either, I had grown out of communal bathrooms, no showers, and no internet. So we strolled right into the Holiday Inn across the way, checked in to our room, and headed on upstairs. It still marveled me how everyone here spoke English so well.
    When I pulled the curtains back a darkening Berlin rolled out in front of me. From here I could see the train station, all red brick and fluorescent light. Beyond it the TV tower, with the red light atop its spire glowing red and tall in the night. And beyond that, the twinkling lights of a city that was starting to look more alive now, in the dark, than it had during the day.
    I had missed Europe so much.
    Collette’s reflection melted in next to mine. She was smiling.
    “This is as close to home as you’ve been in a long time, huh?” I asked.
    “Oui,” she said.
    “Do you miss home?”
    “I do and I don’t. I miss France, of course. But I have a new home with you, one I am very grateful for.”
    I turned around and smiled. “And you’re welcome to it for as long as you like. Of course, assuming we can get you back in to the US.”
    “Zat will not be a problem.” A wicked grin spread across her face.
    “Oh?”
    “Did we have a problem getting out?”
    “No, but historically I