Even the Holes

“Why are all the windows different?” Bernie rotated on the spot, pointing out the features. “That one's stone framed, that one's leaded, that one's stained glass, but in a completely different style.”

“This is an artisan's workshop, or it was, once.” Bryn rubbed a spot of rust from a stove so ancient it looked as if it hadn't been touched since the turn of the century. “It would have started off as one room, perhaps with a loft for the family to sleep in, then as the years passed, the house grew an extra room and the builder would add his own touches to display his ability to customers.” He stepped over to the stone window, reminiscent of a church nave. “This is the oldest, indicating a stonemason built the original building, then the place was a smithy, then a glass craftsman's.”

“And now it's an odd-jobbing builder's.” Bernie grinned, linking her arm into his to show she was only teasing. “So what will your addition be? Plastic framed double glazing?”

“Dunno about the plastic frames but I'm going to double glaze everything.” He put his hand to the window. “It's the middle of a sunny day and there's ice forming on the inside.”

“That's because the house was built upon an ancient portal to Annwyn.”

“To where, now?”

“The Underworld.”

“Ah.” Bryn scuffed at the stone flags with his boot. “Vampires and shit.”