Page 38 of Geist Fleisch
“Ist Fleisch?” Max grinned at Callum when they at last broke.
Callum grinned back. “Ja, ist Fleisch. Geist Fleisch.”
Max laughed, holding him again and burying his face in Callum’s neck. “Mein Geist Fleisch.”
The warm music and gaiety of the sanctuary crept through the curtain. As silently as ever, they passed the veil between the living and the dead.
Max’s borrowed lips brushed Callum’s again. “Komme.” As abruptly as he’d pulled Callum from his hiding place, Max pulled Callum through the curtain again, to where Ferdi, Frank, Johann, and an anxious-looking Ernst hovered around the corner of the bar. All greeted him with smiles, except for Ernst who grabbed the hand he’d cut from Callum’s body—or perhaps his spirit body—and, satisfied it was restored, threw his arms around Callum’s neck and hugged him.
“Tut mir Leid,” Ernst said. “Tut mir Leid,English.”
Callum didn’t understand, but he took the hug anyway. “Tut mir Leid,” he said back.
The rest of the men gathered round, squeezing his shoulders and laughing as Max vacated the shell of the living Nazi’s body and joined them.
Callum watched the mortal man shudder as Max’s spirit left him. The fellow looked around the bar, eyes wide, as if for all his commander’s scheming and boasting, he’d not actually believed it possible. Then, his eyes grew wider, the flesh around them reddening. He screamed as flames burst from every orifice, melting his brown eyes and singeing his skin, consuming flesh, hair, muscle, bone and clothing alike until a pile of glowing ashes scorched the floor where the man had stood.
Spying the mess, the bartender launched a furious barrage of German at Max, who alongside his friends—and Callum—stared at the puddle of charred carnage, lost for words.
“Does that always…” Callum began. “I mean, is he…?”
Ferdi shook his head before putting a hand on Max’s shoulder and muttering something to him in German. Absolution for bringing the poor devil to such a grisly end?
Callum tried not to overthink it. Pretending he had not just seen a man incinerated from the inside, he turned to the bartender, ready to order the strongest drink available. In some way, it made a sort of horrible sense. The beer in this place had burned him on the first sip, before Max’s intervention. The spot on his hand had burned here too, thanks to Heinrich’s ‘cure’ for his condition. But for the grace of his slow disappearing act, he might have met the same fate as the Brownshirt.
The earnest conversation between the German ghosts filled him briefly with hope, but the exasperated look on Max’s face was draining it fast. He didn’t understand a word, but whatever Max was trying to tell them, his friends obviously weren’t going for it.
At last, Ferdi broke off silently from the group and approached Callum. “You bring us more mortal trouble?”
His words weren’t angry, or even accusatory, but Ferdi’s sadness was beyond evident.
“No!” Callum protested. “They want to capture you! Put you back among the living and use you for God knows—”
“Max told us what they want,” Ferdi answered flatly. “But these are not your people? Strange. One of their minds feels the same.”
“They’re not the same!” He remembered Brigitte. “I mean, yes, one of them is, but they’re making her do it. These blokes are evil!”
“Like they told us the English and the French were in 1914? Still, I suspect you are right. Life by the sword, eh?” Ferdi tilted his head at the scorch mark on the floor. “I could feel the rage in him before he died. His spirit will find no sanctuary here.”
“Then, you’ll help us?”
“Help who?” Ferdi signalled the bartender for another drink. “Another unseen master who wants us to fight his battles? I think not. If they try to take us from this place, they will meet a resistance greater than any you have seen us give so far. Thank you for the warning, my friend. We will take care of each other, as we always have.”
“But what about Anne?” he protested. “You might not care about her, but I do. They’ll… I don’t know what they’ll do to her if this doesn’t work.”
“If it doesn’t work?” Ferdi asked, taking his drink and sipping it. “Then, you want it to work?”
Callum paused. He’d not looked at it that way. Or thought about what could happen if Ferdi and the others crossed over of their own free will, or were brought over by the force of Brigitte’s power, assuming she could do it. He hadn’t thought about any of it.
“You need to choose a side, Callum,” Ferdi said at last. “I’ve chosen mine.”
Max shook his head ruefully at Callum. Whatever he’d tried to talk the group into, he’d failed, and they were running out of time.
Damn it, not good enough!
Callum took Max by the arm and pulled him away. “Anne,” he said, not caring if he sounded like a madman, or if the German could understand him. “We’ve got to help Anne.”
Max clasped Callum’s hands, casting another look at Ferdi and the others as they retreated to their usual table. He shook his head, turned back to Callum, and squeezed. “Wait.”
