We stop at the door of a small pub with a thatched roof. Bron grins and bows, opening the door for me like a gentleman. I try not to simper and step inside.
Everyone turns towards us. The bartender, polishing a glass, raises his eyebrows. Ignoring my discomfort at being the centre of attention, I let Bron lead me to a small corner table.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Er...’ I spot a man nearby with a pint of amber liquid topped with a frothy head. ‘I’ll have one of those.’ It’s not like I get to drink draught beer in the real world any more.
‘A lady after my own heart,’ Bron says with a smile, and goes to order.
I look around the room more carefully. The gentleman next to me with the pint is in deep conversation with a woman. I catch a few words but none of it makes sense. My eyes drift over to a group of boisterous teenagers who are surely too young to drink legally. They are punching each other in the arm, shouting and laughing. I smile. It’s almost like being normal again.
Bron turns round and waves at me from the bar and I wave back. Then, from the corner of the room, I see a pair of glowering silver eyes. I stiffen; it’s the dark man from the forest. If looks could kill, I’d be a rotting corpse on the floor. He gives every impression of wanting to throttle me. What the hell. It’s only another dream, I tell myself.
I wave in his direction and he looks even crosser. I notice all the tables around him are empty and several of the other customers are sneaking glances at him. He wasn’t wrong before; people really do dislike him.
‘There you go,’ Bron says cheerfully, placing a pint in front of me.
I pick up the glass and take a tentative sip. ‘I can taste it!’ I crow.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Mmmm.’ I chug down several mouthfuls. Screw creepy forests. This is the way I want the rest of my dreams to go.
A shadow falls across our table and we both look up. A woman is standing in front of us. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she says.
She is obviously talking to Bron, not me. As lovely as Bron is, I’m more than happy to focus on my drink so I don’t care. Bron, however, is less relaxed. He gestures at me. ‘Ashley, this is...’
‘Zoe,’ I supply helpfully. I smile and take another sip.
‘What a beautiful name,’ he says. He looks at Ashley. ‘We should probably do this another time.’
‘Why?’ Ashley pulls up a chair. ‘She’s just an outlier. She won’t remember this and she’ll never be here again.’ She looks at me guiltily. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. Bron, we need to do something about the Mayor’s guards. They’re getting too heavy-handed.’
I frown, zoning in on the conversation and Ashley’s earlier words. ‘Outlier? I’ve heard that before. What is it?’
The pair of them turn to me. Ashley seems astonished but I swear a look of glee crosses Bron’s face. ‘Where did you hear it before?’
‘Last night. I was in the forest then too.’
‘You were here yesterday and now you’re here again today?’
I nod. ‘Yup. Although I’ve got to say, this place is much nicer than the forest.’
Ashley and Bron exchange looks. ‘Zoe,’ Bron says urgently, ‘who did you meet in the forest?’
‘The dark-haired man in the corner who has a face like thunder.’ I point to where he was sitting and realise he’s gone. I shrug. ‘He has a scar.’
The pair of them stiffen. ‘You met Dante?’ Ashley says slowly.
I take another swig. Damn, this beer is good. ‘I didn’t catch his name. He wasn’t very nice. He said I was an outlier and that I should pinch myself and wake up.’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Bron breathes. There’s triumph in his gaze. ‘I knew this would pay off sooner or later.’
I drain the last of my glass and look at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘An outlier is someone who finds their way here by accident,’ Ashley explains. ‘We get a few every week. Bron takes it upon himself to greet them all, just on the off-chance that they end up being Travellers.’
I’m even more confused. ‘Travellers?’
‘People who can come here at will.’
‘I didn’t choose to come here,’ I say. ‘In fact, I was trying to...’
There’s a shout from the table of teenagers. One of the boys is on his feet and raising his fists. The girl opposite him springs up, grabs a glass and empties its contents. She smashes it against the back of a chair and jabs it in the boy’s direction.
‘Bron,’ Ashley says, warningly.
Irritated, he gets up and strides over.
‘Goodness. I never expected my dreams to have violence in them,’ I comment as I watch him snatch the broken glass from the girl. I’m conscious of Ashley looking at me. ‘What?’ I ask.
‘This isn’t your dream, Zoe,’ she says, her voice low.
‘Is it yours?’ Obviously I’ve neither met her nor touched her but it’s not as if I’ve had a large sample on which to test my theories.
She looks confused. ‘No. It’s not anyone’s specific dream.’