Midnight in Berlin

by JL Merrow

  I gave him a sidelong look. “Yeah? You sure there weren’t real Nazi werewolves?”

  Christoph’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m certain. You think such a thing would have been hushed up by the victorious Allies when so much else was laid bare?”

  My natural cynicism wouldn’t let that one go. “Maybe. If the Allies had wanted to use the research for their own purposes. I mean, hell, you’re talking about a government that had a bunch of people trying to psych out goats. Finding real, live werewolves would have had them creaming their pants with joy.”

  Christoph gestured with his fork. “Then where are all the American werewolves? Why are there no stories coming out of Afghanistan of soldiers who turn into ravening beasts? If they had had such a weapon, don’t you think your government would have used it in Vietnam?”

  Okay, so maybe he had a point. “So you think this Dr. L guy’s just a lone maverick? How come we never see him, though? I’d have thought he’d want to monitor his experiment at close quarters.”

  He nodded. “That’s what the email correspondence with Schreiber is all about. Schreiber reports anything unusual or concerning to Dr. L.”

  “It all seems kind of remote.” I scooped up a forkful of rice, seeing as how all the meat had disappeared.

  “I don’t believe we can be the only pack. We must be just one experiment of many.” Christoph sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted convincing. Did the world really need any more monsters? Then a thought hit me, and I smiled. “That’s what you thought I was, isn’t it? A werewolf from another pack.”

  He nodded. “I thought it was a chance to learn more about Dr. L. To find out what his purpose for us is, and whether we are in danger.”

  “And here I was thinking you just liked the way I look.” It came out sounding like he’d hurt my feelings, which, obviously… Oh, what the hell. Yeah, so I was hurt. I get irrational like that sometimes.

  “I don’t see why my motives should worry you,” he said harshly. “After all, it’s clear you don’t like the way I look anymore.” His voice had turned so cold I damn near glanced at my water glass to check it hadn’t iced over.

  “Christoph, I…” I gripped his arm where it rested on the table. It felt like stone under my fingers—then slowly, deliberately relaxed. “It doesn’t bother me, okay? Your…” I waved my free hand in the direction of his face, completely unable to say the word scars. “Hell, I hardly even notice them now—I mean, I see them, but… Shit. You know what I mean.” I ducked my head down. Christoph probably thought all that was just a load of bullshit. I’d most likely made him feel worse, not better.

  My heart jumped a little as Christoph’s hand closed over mine. He gave a gentle squeeze, then released me. It felt weird, resting my hand on his arm after that—like that small point of contact tingled with electricity, like maybe if we’d been alone right then it wouldn’t have been just our hands touching. I pulled back, my breathing a little unsteady. Still not feeling much like looking him in the eye, I picked up my fork again to eat some cold rice instead. It didn’t taste too good anymore. I swallowed it quickly and gulped down some water. “Tell me everything you’ve found out,” I said, more because it was a safe topic than because I was really ready to find out any more weird shit about our situation.

  He cleared his throat, like maybe I hadn’t been the only one affected just now. “There isn’t much I haven’t told you already.”

  “What about Silke? What’s the deal with her—why were they so keen to have her back?” I thought about it. “She’s another experiment, right? Second generation werewolf. Is she the only one? Is that why they want her back so bad?”

  Christoph steepled his fingers in front of his face. He had nice hands, I noticed irrelevantly. What everyone always calls pianist’s hands, with long, slender fingers. In his case, I guess you’d have to call them artist’s hands. I could just imagine them curled around a paintbrush.

  Or, you know, something else. My pants got a little tighter at the thought.

  “That’s the interesting thing,” Christoph said. “She’s never mentioned in the emails between Schreiber and Dr. L. There is mention of an “S”, but in each case it clearly refers to Sven.”

  I weighed that one over. “Huh. You think Schreiber’s been doing some experimenting of his own?”

  “It’s possible.” Christoph said it like he didn’t think it was all that likely. Hell, maybe it was just Schreiber being a control freak again.

  I figured I might as well move on. “You said you’d been planning getting her to a wolf pack for ages—was there anything else you were planning?”

  Christoph nodded, a short, sharp dip of his head. “I’d intended to find out more about Dr. L. To confront him—and perhaps to shut down his operations.”

  I stared. “You and whose army?”

  He smiled. It wasn’t a nice one—and that had nothing to do with the scars. “As I said, I don’t think he’s acting with government approval. He won’t have an army to protect him.”

  “Maybe not, but he might just have a couple of psycho werewolves like Sven and Tobias.” I looked away. “Listen, I hate to play devil’s advocate for a bastard like that, but maybe we should leave him to his research after all. It’s got to be better for us to have someone know as much as they can about our condition, right?”

  “Leon.” His voice was low and insistent. I turned back to look at him. He was leaning over the table on his elbows, his hair a loose curtain around his face. It struck me I hadn’t seen him tie it up since he’d been clawed. Maybe I should say something about that. Tell him not to worry what the fuck anyone else thought.

  Then again, I kind of liked it loose, anyhow.

  “The emails I’ve seen date back several years,” he went on. “Back to before Ulf was infected.”

  “So?” I swallowed. I had a bad feeling about this.

  “They discuss him both before and after he was bitten. Ulf was chosen from a list of candidates described in general terms and infected deliberately. By Schreiber, when he was just sixteen, so that Dr. L could investigate the effects of the virus on an adolescent.” Christoph was breathing hard, like he was finding it hard to stay calm. I could feel my pulse speeding up to match. “Do you want to stand by while he extends his research to little children?”

  The food turned to ice-cold lead in my stomach, and all of a sudden I wasn’t aroused anymore. “Shit. But you said—all of what you said earlier. I thought you were only going after Schreiber.” And damn, there was something seriously wrong with the use of only in that last sentence.

  “I told you, I don’t have any information on Dr. L—who he is, or where I can find him. But Schreiber must know. That’s why I need to take care of him first.” Christoph’s gaze was so intense it trapped me like a bug on a pin. I tried to fight the desperate urge to get away.

  “So what you’re saying is,” I said slowly, “you’re not just planning to kill Silke’s dad. You’re going to beat the information out of him first. You really think you can do that?” I caught his look. “I’m not talking about physically. I mean—hell, morally, or however you want to say it.” I figured I’d earned the right to challenge him on that. I was currently wishing I hadn’t eaten so much, because all I could see was Sven after I’d damn near ripped out his jugular.

  The gaze didn’t waver, but I caught the motion of his throat as Christoph swallowed. “He took everything from me. Everything I’d worked for, everything I dreamed of. He just walked in and took it. From me. From you. From all the others he infected. From his own daughter, and from an innocent boy of sixteen. He took our lives and our independence—and used brutality to enforce his rule.” Christoph sighed and looked away. “All I’ll need to do is remember that. And if it doesn’t work…” He fixed me again with that piercing gaze. “I’ll just have to look in a mirror.”

  I couldn’t think of one damn thing to say to that, so I just reached out and grippe
d his arm again. This time, his hand came to cover mine immediately and stayed there until the waitress came over and asked if we wanted anything else. And maybe I did, but it wasn’t anything she could bring me.

  We paid for our food and stepped back out into the light. It was still bright sunshine out there, although it had that reddish warmth you get just before the sun goes down. The weather was way too damn cheerful for my mood right now.

  “You realize it’s suicide, right?” I said as we walked down the street. “Trying to take on Schreiber and the pack all by yourself.” I felt like an asshole as I said it, but hell, this was his funeral. It didn’t have to be mine. Why the hell should I feel any obligation to die for the guy? He’d dragged me into this clusterfuck, not the other way around. I pulled at my collar. Damn shirt never used to be this tight.

  “I won’t need to fight the pack. Schreiber is an honorable man.”

  “What, you’re going to challenge him to a duel?” Hell, it looked like I hadn’t been so far out with my first impressions of Christoph.

  “A fight, yes. There will be no swords or pistols. You’re disappointed?”

  That really wasn’t the word I’d use. I was picturing them fighting, transformed into wolfmen, slugging it out, tooth and claw. Fuck, would there be anything left of either of them by the time they were done? I felt sick. “What about the others?” I asked, my voice rough. I cleared my throat. “After you fight Schreiber, assuming you’re the last man standing, are you going to have to fight them too?”

  “Most, I think, will accept me. If I win against Schreiber in a fair fight.” His eyes were scanning our surroundings, and I felt a frisson of fear as I realized we might be vulnerable to another attack. “Tobias and Sven may be a problem.”

  “Damn it, Christoph, they’ll rip you to pieces! There’s got to be a better way.”

  “There isn’t. I need to take back what he stole from me.” His jaw was set.

  My fist itched to clench and knock some sense into his stubborn, suicidal head. “So it’s some kind of macho pissing contest, is that it? You’ve got to prove you’re the one with the bigger balls by ripping his off and eating them?”

  Christoph laughed, the bastard. “Something like that. Here. We’ll take the U-Bahn.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  We clattered down the steps to the subway, dodging the tourists huddling over their little maps in twos and threes trying to work out where the hell they were going. As we grabbed our tickets from one of the machines, it struck me how much less Christoph stood out down here, compared to up on the street outside. I don’t mean it was dark and seedy down there—hell, no; the place was a lot cleaner than most of the bathrooms I’d used over the last few years—but down here, no one really looked you in the face.

  What was it about coming underground that made everyone retreat into themselves? I’d been on German overground rail services, and it was like travelling through another country—all the old folks wished you good morning as they got on board and everyone else, even if they weren’t actually friendly, would at least relax. Hell, some of them even smiled. Smile at someone on the subway and it was an even chance your next stop would be the emergency room. Well, maybe not quite—this wasn’t New York. But there was enough of a sense of it that nobody seemed to think it worth bucking the trend.

  There weren’t any girls giving Christoph the eye this time. Maybe it was the lateness of the hour—too risky after dusk, or something. Or maybe it was because I’d gotten us seats at the end of the carriage and was glaring death threats at anyone who dared to look our way.

  “You want to, uh, take a walk or something?” I asked as we stepped out of the subway at Schlesisches Tor, dodging a couple of drunks by the ticket machines who’d already racked up an impressive row of beer bottles for the Flaschensammler.

  “No. But you should go if you need some air. I’ll be in our room.”

  Damn. I didn’t want to go if he wasn’t coming, but every single way I could think of to say that made me sound like a little girl. “Yeah, sure. I’ll see you back in the hostel.” I started walking off toward the river.

  I also started counting the reasons why us splitting up at this point was a really bad idea. By the time I’d gotten as far as the riverbank, I was running out of fingers, and I hadn’t even reached “because it never went well for Scooby and the gang” yet. I turned around and headed straight back, walking a little faster this way.

  Running up the stairs in the hostel, I’d pretty much convinced myself Christoph had (a) run out on me and (b) gotten himself killed already. I was irrationally annoyed when I found him in our room, lying on the damn bed staring up at the ceiling like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “You’re back,” he said, like he was surprised to see me.

  “Did you think I was going to bail?” I snapped.

  His mouth twitched in a half-smile. “No. You left your backpack.”

  “Fuck you,” I muttered, hurt. I flung myself on the other bed, the wooden slats groaning worryingly. I couldn’t get comfortable—the mattress felt lumpy, and my limbs were itchy and restless—so after a moment I heaved myself up again and went to stare out the window. The view hadn’t improved any since last time I’d looked.

  The room felt too small with both of us in it, but I wasn’t about to leave him on his own again. My hands curled into fists, my nails biting into the palms of my hands. I’d really thought there was some kind of a connection between the two of us in the restaurant, but it seemed to have snapped, leaving me feeling like an amputated limb about to be thrown in the hospital trash. I wanted to fix it, but I didn’t know how. I was furious at myself, and him, and the whole goddamn world. “Sure you shouldn’t be off giving Flower-boy a farewell fuck?” I asked pissily. Something in me seemed determined to pick at this spot until it turned into a boil.

  Christoph’s bed creaked softly. I didn’t look around to see if he’d gotten up and was coming over, but the hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my breathing hitched just a little. “Florian and I aren’t lovers,” he said.

  My sneer reflected in the window—and I realized I could see Christoph too, still lying on the bed. My spirits dropped a little further. “Sure you aren’t. I heard what Tobias said about your pretty little pet.”

  There was a moment of absolute stillness. When Christoph spoke again, he sounded amused, the bastard. “I think you misunderstood who he was referring to.”

  “Jeez, Christoph, who else have you got stashed away?” I snarled. Why the hell were we even having this conversation, anyhow? Oh, yeah. Me. I’d started it.

  Stupid me.

  Christoph’s voice was soft, a little rough, as he answered my question. “Only you.”

  I whirled, my heart pounding.

  “I picked you up near the Tiergarten late at night, remember?” he carried on. “I think they all assumed I’d made up the story of thinking you one of us. Or at least—”

  “They assumed you’d been thinking with your dick?” My head felt kind of light. “Hell, I guess you ought to be glad Schreiber wasn’t too strung up on making the punishment fit the crime.”

  “Agreed.” He shuddered, but there was a smile on his lips.

  I uncurled my fingers, my palms throbbing anew at the release of pressure, and took a deep breath. Somehow, the tension in the air had gone—or maybe just been replaced by tension of a whole different kind. “So I’m your type, huh?”

  Christoph’s expression altered. He turned away to speak to the wall. “You have to ask?”

  I remembered the way he’d looked at me, that night we met. Like he’d wanted me so bad he could hardly wait to get me on my own. Yeah, I was his type, all right. I felt warmth spread through me as I looked at him. “You must have thought Christmas had come early. You meet another werewolf—at least, you thought you had—and it turns out he’s available and,” I smirked, “kind of hot?”

  Christoph half smiled. “Maybe I was thinking with my dick. Just
a little. But at least I was thinking.”

  I was wounded. “Hey, what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  He rolled his eyes at me. “Drunk, alone—accepting lifts from strangers?”

  Okay. Maybe he had a point. “Guess I paid for that.”

  “It could cost you even more next time. Don’t do it again,” he said quietly, all trace of a smile gone.

  Shit. He was telling me to be safe. With a strong suggestion of after I’m dead. I swallowed, a sick feeling churning in my guts. He was probably going to fucking die tomorrow. This was our last night together. In the morning he’d go off and fight werewolves, and I’d just carry on living my crappy, useless life.

  My heart was beating funny. Probably something to do with the way it was currently lodged in my throat. I couldn’t just let him go. Not like this. Not without trying to make that connection again. Even if it’d cost me more in the end. “You want to, uh, do something?”

  “Something?”

  “You know. Me. You. A bed. Jeez, do I have to draw a goddamn diagram?”

  “There’s an English phrase for this, isn’t there? A ‘pity fuck’?” He was doing the Von Henzau voice again.

  I turned away, coloring. “It’s not… So do you want it or not?” Damn it, did he want me to beg?

  “Do you?” His voice was low, throaty.

  “Yeah,” I said hoarsely, staring at the bricks in the wall opposite the window. So fucking much, I didn’t add.

  Maybe he read it in my body language. There was blur of movement from his reflection in the window, and then his hands were on my hips, and his mouth was inches from the back of my neck. I shivered, my eyes falling closed in desperate relief as I felt his hot breath on my skin. His hands were moving up and down, soothing my hips through the denim of my jeans. I felt a whisper of a touch against my shoulder, but my shirt was too damn thick to know if it was a kiss or not. “Take off my shirt,” I pleaded.