Page 28 of Geist Fleisch
“And leave you to wonder what this is really about? Why Frank Bakker and his pet abominations wanted so badly to see and understand what you saw? Bakker is a liar among liars, make no mistake.”
“All right, out with you!”
The man watched Callum with perfect composure. “You’re quite beautiful, Callum, at least for the moment. There’s one thing Frank Bakker tells you that is absolutely true, but it’s something you know already. You’re disappearing. A Cloak Walker. In German, we sayGeistfleisch,a description taken from God and bestowed on men like you. Curious. Impossible. Yet, here you are.”
Realising he’d paused his trousers halfway over his knees, Callum finished putting them on, closed his belt, and sat down again in the armchair. “So? Who the hell are you, then?”
“Heinrich.”
Callum turned his palms to the ceiling.
“Heinrich.” The man looked as satisfied with this answer as he had with the disbelief that had frozen on Callum’s face as he’d tried to pull up his trousers.
“All right, Heinrich, off with your fancy tales.” He tossed the money back at his guest, who let the bills flutter to the floor with a cryptic smile. “I said piss off!”
“Without letting you consider our offer?”
Callum swallowed. “Our?”
“Tell me, Callum. If there was a cure for your condition, developed by Germany’s best minds, would you take it?” Damnit. Leaning forward only emphasised the hard muscles of the man’s stomach and chest. “No more dealing with Bakker?”
“I’m done dealing with him already,” Callum growled. “Can’t see myself being too welcome… Look, just leave, will you?”
“At Suzi’s?” Heinrich finished for him. “Or do you mean the place within Suzi’s, where only you can go?”
Denial pricked at his tongue, but he hesitated. Nothing Heinrich had said had been off the mark so far. The impossible body. The crisp bills he’d discarded like they were scrap.
“You said ‘our’ offer?” Callum asked. “Whose?”
“Patriots, who care for the future of Germany and have the resources to help you, if it’s a cure you seek. You didn’t think Bakker was the only man in Berlin studying the supernatural?” Heinrich leaned back again, pushing out his chest, every ripple in his muscles a power play Callum fought with every fibre of his being to ignore. “You don’t have much time. Probably less than Bakker told you.”
“Patriots?” Callum asked, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve seen your lot about. No thanks.”
“I understand your distaste for Rohm and his thugs. But what we share is a commitment to the future of Germany. Still, I did not come to recruit you to a cause.” Heinrich stood up, retrieved a small vial of clear liquid from his overcoat and held it up to the dim light. “Give me your hand.”
“Never took to schnapps,” Callum said with a sneer, “and I’m no friend of yours.”
“Your hand, please.”
If it got rid of the man faster… The cold drops vanished as soon as they hit Callum’s skin. He shivered as Heinrich took hold of his wrist with a gentle, yet firm touch that testified to the man’s calm strength. He lifted Callum’s hand up in front of the lamp beside them, and Callum’s eyes widened. His hand was no more than a shade cast over the light, except for the one small patch where his visitor had dabbed the strange brew.
“There is enough to restore your entire body, at least for a while, and if you help us with our research, we may even find a permanent solution.” Heinrich sat down again, stretching his muscular arms over the headboard as he made himself comfortable on Callum’s bed. “I need your help, Callum, not your loyalty. If the medicine is not enough, I can offer you something more. Perhaps something for the man you met in the place within Suzi’s?”
Whatever his politics, the German had Callum’s undivided attention.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Callum couldn’t imagine what the surly Suzi must have thought of him, returning to her bar again, so soon, and alone. But he’d brought pfennigs and she’d poured beer, until at last, his nerves fortified, he’d gone through the curtain and emerged in the bar of the dead.
The bar within Suzi’s—whatever the ghosts called it—greeted him with a slow tune accompanied by the hiss of a needle on vinyl. He’d steeled himself for what he might see, Max and Ferdi’s place of refuge turned into another bloody battleground. Instead, an eerie peace pervaded the room, as two solitary men curled in each other’s arms turned around the dance floor like a slow top.
He ordered yet another beer he couldn’t drink, and scanned the dark room for Max. The two men on the floor ignored him, and beyond the bartender, there was no-one else to see. His pulse quickened as he considered what more could happen to a man whose violent end had already come in battle. His hand itched where Heinrich had poured the strange potion. He scratched at it, only to feel a burning under the angry red mark that had risen in its place. Then, a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Why are you here?” Ferdi asked, his once friendly voice now stern.
Callum turned to look at the man, and at Max who stood by his side. Heinrich had made him a promise. He had to at least offer it to them.
Ferdi caught his glance at Max. “He can no longer be your tourist guide.”
