#teufelsmal

The bar looks like it's simply too stubborn to just give up, with paint peeling off the exterior and a neon sign buzzing like a fly that just won’t die, which should make me feel just at home. I push the door open and step inside. My dog stays outside, he's the smartest one of the two of us for sure.

The place is half-full. Locals, mostly, I assume. Men with faces like cracked leather, women with cigarettes glued to their fingers and a drink always in reach. A jukebox in the corner blurts out a country song nobody’s really listening to. I catch a few eyes on me as I walk to the bar. Strangers don’t get smiles around here, I suppose. But that's fine, I didn't expect it any other way.

I drop onto a stool and lean an elbow on the counter. The bartender looks me over like he’s trying to decide if I’m trouble or just broke. Well, he’s not wrong on either count.

“I would like to buy an astonishing amount of booze, please,” I say, like that's something you can just do.

The  rain  pelted  heavily  against  the  thin  window  panes.  The  cool  temperatures  of  the  changing  seasons  were  evident  in  the  hoarfrost  that  framed  the  edges  of  the  glass  in  an  elliptical  shape.  Inside  the  house,  it  was  warm  and  smelled  faintly  of  pine  trees.  The  firewood  was  not  yet  completely  dry  when  the  owner  threw  the  logs  into  the  flames,  causing  them  to  hiss  promisingly  from  time  to  time  and  created  an  atmosphere  that  suggested  something  ominous.  Candlelight  flickered  off  the  walls,  bathing  the  surroundings  in  a  warm  orange  glow  and  revealing  that  the  windows  were  not  completely  sealed.  A  flaw  that  Zeev  was  willing  to  accept.  No  one  who  saw  the  mansion  in  the  forest  assumed  it  was  habitable;  dilapidated  and  crooked,  the  shutters  hung  defiantly  on  their  last  nails  and  the  veranda  sagged  so  heavily  in  the  middle  that  stepping  onto  it  was  at  one's  own  risk.  From  the  inside,  none  of  this  was  apparent.  Solid,  dark  wooden  floors  ran  through  all  the  rooms,  the  walls  lined  with  dark  wallpaper,  some  of  it  decorated  with  floral  patterns.  Everywhere  the  eye  could  see,  there  were  plants.  They  thrived  as  if  the  conditions  could  hardly  be  better. 

Zeev  sat  with  a  cup  of  tea  opposite  a  woman  with  auburn  hair,  dressed  in  a  style  that  reflected  her  personality  as  clearly  as  her  words.  She  did  not  hide  behind  a  façade  and  wore  her  liveliness  like  a  bird  sings  its  unique  song.  The  Irish  woman  impressed  with  her  profound  knowledge  of  the  occult  and  was  therefore  someone  Zeev  enjoyed  inviting  into  his  home.  What  he  hadn't  expected  was  the  sudden  harshness  of  her  words,  even  though  they  had  previously  joked  and  shared  their  knowledge  with  ease.

Although  Zeev  was  someone  who  placed  great  importance  on  the  language  of  touch,  it  was  he  who  withdrew  his  hand  in  shock.  Without  a  doubt,  the  surprise  was  as  clear  on  his  face  as  the  jewellery  on  his  hands,  which  suddenly  felt  unspeakably  cold  against  his  skin.  He  clenched  his  hand  into  a  fist,  as  if  to  hide  the  realisation  that  Róisín  had  drawn  from  it.  But  what  she  had  seen  had  long  been  in  the  air  between  them,  which  smelled  beguilingly  of  lavender  and  sandalwood.  However,  the  qualities  of  calm  and  serenity  contained  therein  seemed  to  have  no  effect  on  Zeev.  For  Rose,  however,  it  had  strengthened  her  psychic  abilities.  Much  to  the  witcher's  dismay,  it  seemed. 

His  fingertips  pressed  firmly  against  the  scar  that  marked  his  palm. 

Of  course,  her  statement  could  be  interpreted  to  mean  that  sooner  or  later,  everyone  succumbs  to  the  natural  law  of  death.  He,  too,  was  not  a  creature  of  immortality,  nor  did  he  have  any  intention  of  changing  that.  However,  there  was  such  finality  and  poignancy  in  the  way  she  said  it  that  he  couldn't  help  but  believe  that  his  death  would  not  be  a  natural  one. 

It  would  be  a  lie  to  say  that  this  fact  surprised  him.  He  had  recently  suspected  that  his  current  career  path  was  not  without  its  consequences.  Hearing  it,  having  it  confirmed,  made  his  blood  run  cold.

“What  did  you  see?”  he  dared  to  ask,  although  he  was  unsure  whether  he  wanted  to  hear  the  answer.  His  jaw  tensed,  yet  his  gaze  remained  fixed  on  the  woman  opposite  him.  As  if  he  were  afraid  of  recognising  an  answer  in  the  fine  lines  of  her  face  that  she  might  withhold  from  him  if  he  looked  away.

The air outside, the first breath of Fall, hits me like another punch. I’m not sure if it’s the chill or the blood drying on my skin that makes me shiver. My ribs are screaming, my lip’s split, and every step feels like walking on glass. Doesn’t matter. I’ve been broken worse. I’ll walk it off. Always do.

I hear the sirens already, still barely a whisper in the distance, but closing in. Red and blue won’t do me any favors, not with the mess I left behind. Not with the mess I carry everywhere.

“Yeah.” I am spitting iron onto the pavement. “Talking somewhere else would be real smart.”