we were past social niceties here. “The werewolf crap. How did that happen?”
Christoph shrugged. “The house.”
“The what?” Visions of Amityville-style curses paraded gruesomely through my mind.
“Schreiber was looking for a new base. He thought my house would be ideal, but I didn’t wish to sell.” Christoph turned and smiled at me. It was gruesome, and not just because of the scars. “In any case, I doubt he could have afforded it. He persuaded me to give it to him, instead.”
“Jesus fuck!” I stared at him, appalled. I’d thought I’d been the one who’d gotten screwed over.
“I had big plans for that house,” Christoph said softly, as if he was talking to himself. He’d stepped forward, right up to the window, and was tracing the frame with his long, slender fingers. “A studio in the attic, and a rearrangement of the rooms downstairs.”
“Yeah, that ground floor is kinda dark,” I forced out after a moment. Hell, a neutral topic was just what we needed right now. I dragged up a bit more interest. “If you lose some of the internal walls, you’ll get a whole lot more light in the place. Make it seem bigger. Airier.”
Christoph whirled, his expression intense and almost smiling. Seeing him come alive like that did weird things inside of me. It was like I’d gotten a glimpse of the real Christoph—not the potential hookup, not the scary-ass werewolf and not the scarred victim, but the talented, passionate guy he was inside. I’d always kind of sneered at guys who said they loved their jobs, told them Jeez, get a life —but seeing Christoph like that made me realize that maybe it wasn’t something to sneer at. Maybe it was something to aspire to. “Exactly,” he was saying. “And with modern windows—”
“Hey, you can’t take out those old windows with the shutters!” I did the eye-roll thing, getting into the swing of it. “Jeez, you architects—”
“Not in the front.” Christoph shook his head impatiently. “But internal windows to channel the light, and redesigned ones at the back, to make a more organic transition to the forest…” The light in his eyes faded as he faltered and fell silent, turning back to stare out of the window. Either he had a real thing for trash cans and graffiti, or he’d just remembered all those plans were from the years BW—Before Werewolf.
Me, I just lay on my bed, trying to work out what the hell he’d found so fascinating about the cracks on the ceiling. But if there was any meaning to be found there, I couldn’t read it.
Jon wasn’t happy about us going out without him. Me and Christoph, he couldn’t give a damn about, but he didn’t like the thought of Silke going somewhere with us untrustworthy types and no big surfer dude to act as chaperone. It wasn’t like we could explain where we were going and why, either—we just had to fall back on the old “safer if you don’t know” routine.
He wasn’t buying it willingly, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. We’d dragged him into our mess and now we wouldn’t even tell him what the hell it was all about. He didn’t back down until Silke took him to one side and held both his hands, talking in that soft voice of hers. Whatever she said, I guess it worked, as ten minutes later we were closing the hostel door behind us and heading toward the Tiergarten.
It was far enough away that we’d have taken the subway if we’d only had the money—hell, I would have, anyhow. Then again, this was a workday. The trains must have stopped running around two hours ago, all the good little wage slaves already safely tucked up in bed.
I didn’t mind the walk much, anyhow. The air was cool and fresh after the rain, and the city was almost as quiet as it ever got. Talking of quiet, Christoph still wasn’t speaking to me much. He’d clammed up big-time after dropping that bombshell about what Schreiber had done to him. Damn, I wanted to kill that psycho bastard.
The
Christoph shrugged. “The house.”
“The what?” Visions of Amityville-style curses paraded gruesomely through my mind.
“Schreiber was looking for a new base. He thought my house would be ideal, but I didn’t wish to sell.” Christoph turned and smiled at me. It was gruesome, and not just because of the scars. “In any case, I doubt he could have afforded it. He persuaded me to give it to him, instead.”
“Jesus fuck!” I stared at him, appalled. I’d thought I’d been the one who’d gotten screwed over.
“I had big plans for that house,” Christoph said softly, as if he was talking to himself. He’d stepped forward, right up to the window, and was tracing the frame with his long, slender fingers. “A studio in the attic, and a rearrangement of the rooms downstairs.”
“Yeah, that ground floor is kinda dark,” I forced out after a moment. Hell, a neutral topic was just what we needed right now. I dragged up a bit more interest. “If you lose some of the internal walls, you’ll get a whole lot more light in the place. Make it seem bigger. Airier.”
Christoph whirled, his expression intense and almost smiling. Seeing him come alive like that did weird things inside of me. It was like I’d gotten a glimpse of the real Christoph—not the potential hookup, not the scary-ass werewolf and not the scarred victim, but the talented, passionate guy he was inside. I’d always kind of sneered at guys who said they loved their jobs, told them Jeez, get a life —but seeing Christoph like that made me realize that maybe it wasn’t something to sneer at. Maybe it was something to aspire to. “Exactly,” he was saying. “And with modern windows—”
“Hey, you can’t take out those old windows with the shutters!” I did the eye-roll thing, getting into the swing of it. “Jeez, you architects—”
“Not in the front.” Christoph shook his head impatiently. “But internal windows to channel the light, and redesigned ones at the back, to make a more organic transition to the forest…” The light in his eyes faded as he faltered and fell silent, turning back to stare out of the window. Either he had a real thing for trash cans and graffiti, or he’d just remembered all those plans were from the years BW—Before Werewolf.
Me, I just lay on my bed, trying to work out what the hell he’d found so fascinating about the cracks on the ceiling. But if there was any meaning to be found there, I couldn’t read it.
Jon wasn’t happy about us going out without him. Me and Christoph, he couldn’t give a damn about, but he didn’t like the thought of Silke going somewhere with us untrustworthy types and no big surfer dude to act as chaperone. It wasn’t like we could explain where we were going and why, either—we just had to fall back on the old “safer if you don’t know” routine.
He wasn’t buying it willingly, and I couldn’t say I blamed him. We’d dragged him into our mess and now we wouldn’t even tell him what the hell it was all about. He didn’t back down until Silke took him to one side and held both his hands, talking in that soft voice of hers. Whatever she said, I guess it worked, as ten minutes later we were closing the hostel door behind us and heading toward the Tiergarten.
It was far enough away that we’d have taken the subway if we’d only had the money—hell, I would have, anyhow. Then again, this was a workday. The trains must have stopped running around two hours ago, all the good little wage slaves already safely tucked up in bed.
I didn’t mind the walk much, anyhow. The air was cool and fresh after the rain, and the city was almost as quiet as it ever got. Talking of quiet, Christoph still wasn’t speaking to me much. He’d clammed up big-time after dropping that bombshell about what Schreiber had done to him. Damn, I wanted to kill that psycho bastard.
The
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