Tasya
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The address of Office M brought Hugh to the heart of this artificial tower forest, dedicated to the life of some titan clan, and to the most awe-inspiring one in the city. It wasn't the tallest of buildings, but its spherical shape and orange glow reproduced the glory of the sun on an autumn day.
Hugh had to double check the address to make sure that he was at the right place. He could not imagine a mystic having the financial means to rent space in such a building, let alone in this neighborhood. Honestly, he expected to Masha's office to be located down a dingy alley or in a desolate apartment. But, after double checking the app and website, Office M was indeed inside the replica of the sun. Hugh even gave Office M a ring on his mobile. In all his huff and gruff Timmy confirmed Office M to be in the tower standing before Hugh.
As soon as Hugh stepped through the doors, security guards swarmed him. They patted him down, waved metal detecting rods around him from head to toe, and then shoved him through yet another metal detector. Satisfied that Hugh posed no threat, they then funneled him to an information desk where he had to show his identification and state his business in the tower.
If Hugh hadn't known that this was an information desk then he would have mistaken the two girls sitting there to be executives. Their blazers looked to cost more than his entire wardrobe combined, their neat and tidy hairstyle could have come from a fashion magazine, and their faces wore a layer of polite elitism that Hugh had seen plastered on self-assured top managers.
Hugh had anticipated that they would laugh at him for visiting a mystic in a tower clearly designer for largescale international businesses. To Hugh's amazement neither of them cracked a smile nor exhibited a speculative look when he stated that he had an appointment at Office M. They unemotionally slid a visitor's pass across the desk, pointed to the elevator, and instructed him to go to the 27th floor.
Hugh came a row of elevators, located the one that would go up to the 27th floor and found it utterly out of place in this contemporary tower.
It would have been more at home in a low budget apartment complex from fifty years prior.
The walls were covered in splintered imitation oak wood, the mirrors were full of scratches and cast not a hint of a reflection. The buttons were a tobacco stained yellow and the numbers themselves had faded through overuse. When Hugh had come into the elevator, the floor creaked and sagged under his weight.
Hugh pushed the button with the faded outline of the number twenty-seven.
He anticipated a cacophony of labored creaks and grinds to come from rusted cogs and worn-out cables right before the elevator malfunctioned and plummeted to the basement. Contrary to his expectation, the elevator greeted him with a muffled hum of well-oiled sliding doors and a soundless ascent that deceived Hugh into thinking that the elevator had broken mid-ascent and was not moving at all. Only a faint flicker of lights behind the stained buttons told Hugh that he was climbing to his destination.
Hugh arrived to the 27th floor and the doors slid open just as silently as they had closed, but the volume of what stood before Hugh rang louder than the antiquity of the elevator.
Exiting the elevator, Hugh stepped into what appeared to be a wing of a museum.
The room was large and could have been an office in and of itself. All along the walls were display cases housing shelves of different historical objects and cultural pieces. Smaller display cases dotted the center of the room and gave a top-down view of the exhibited pieces.
Hugh noticed the only door in the room all the way to his right. He ignored it and forked left so that he could peruse what he guessed was Office M's collection. He slowly walked around the cases with quiet footsteps, unconsciously trying to reduce his noise as if he were in a real museum, daring not to disturb the other patrons of the arts.
The display cases caught Hugh's eyes first. They were bright silver, with gold trimming, and were engraved with circular patterns. It was as if the cases were historical, or culturally important, pieces themselves. Hugh was not sure if the cases distracted from the objects on display or added to the atmosphere of the room.
Hugh's eyes moved from the cases and narrowed on the various exhibited objects. He saw ghastly masks with crooked fanged teeth, long and elegant daggers, ceremonial swords, charms attached to ornate chains, wooden toys, and traditional village clothes. Hugh was not certain whether he was looking at a historical exhibition or someone's personal collection. Each item lacked a caption card to provide some historical or cultural context.
Hugh placed himself in the center of the room and observed the entire collection. More questions arose regarding Office M.
Did all these pieces belong to Masha the mystic? Were these items even historical in nature or just mere replicas acting as decorations? If they were genuine antiques then how profitable could Masha's business be to afford such a collection—inside such a tower?
Hugh looked down at his watch and 12:27 beamed back at him. Too much time had elapsed admiring this collection and he needed to pick up the pace.
Hugh walked over to the door on the right side of the room and rank the intercom. The bell rang once and Hugh heard a large mechanism, like the gears of a bank vault, unlock within the door. He tested the door handle and let himself in.
Hugh entered a comfortable looking lobby whose modern appearance contrasted with the adjacent museum. Paintings hung on the walls and overlooked a neat and clean sitting area. Leather sofas nestled against a window that gave a panorama of the city. A coffee machine sat on a waist high table and offered free drinks.
Hugh was of the mind to brew himself up a drink but couldn't pull his attention from the paintings. They were strange for they depicted bright colored anthropomorphic cats. Some were arguing over bread, others were belly laughing at another feline pair that had tripped and fallen to the concrete, and one cat was even pointing a pistol at a crowd of police.
There seemed to be some sort of social commentary in these paintings, but the cartoony depictions of cats distracted Hugh from the real social message.
Hugh stopped himself from analyzing the message behind the feline with a gun and glanced around the room. He found the receptionist's desk on the other end of the lobby. From his vantagepoint, no one was there. The absence of movement behind the desk struck Hugh as odd because someone had to have unlocked the door less than a minute ago. Perhaps lumberjack Timmy had darted to the bathroom.