—
I let myself in. The heavy wooden door groaned in both directions, and when it clicked shut, I glanced around self-consciously.
There was no sign of the bearded man, although he’d left a kerosene lamp on a long wooden bar to my left. Glossy beer spigots ran down its length: McEwan’s, Younger’s, Mackeson, and Guinness, along with a few I couldn’t make out. One had a cardboard sign hanging around it declaring it temporarily unavailable.
The lamplight flickered off the bottles on the shelves behind the bar, reflected and amplified by the mirror behind them. It looked for all the world like there was an identical, inverted room just beyond, and for a moment I wondered if I was in the wrong one.
There were a number of tables and chairs in front of the bar, and a wireless in a chest-high console against the far wall. The ceiling was low and supported by thick, dark beams, and the floor consisted of huge slabs of stone. The walls were plastered, and even by the dim light of the lamp’s flame, I could make out the faint raised edges of the trowel tracks. Thick black material covered the windows, and it dawned on me that the white-painted lampposts and curbs I’d seen in Aultbea were to help cars navigate at night during the Blackout.
To the right was a large stone fireplace with an assortment of stuffed and mismatched furniture arranged in front of it. Victorian, from the looks of it—a couch and two wing chairs positioned across from each other on a threadbare Oriental carpet, separated by a low, heavy table. The contents of the grate were covered by an even layer of ash, but still cast a faint orange glow.
I made my way to the couch and perched on the very edge of it, holding my numb fingers toward the embers. They smelled like smoked dirt, and the logs stacked off to the side were not wood. I had no idea what they were. They were rectangular and striated, and looked like gigantic Cadbury Flake bars, the much-coveted treat sent by the British grandmother of one of my classmates.
A dog with scruffy gray fur rose from nowhere, materializing directly beside me. I stiffened. It was enormously tall, and thin as a greyhound, with the same rounded back and scooped abdomen. It stared at me, its dark eyes mournful, its tail curled between its legs.
“Don’t worry. He’ll do you no harm.”
The bearded man had come through a doorway behind the bar. He picked up the lamp, crossed the room, and set a glass of something fizzy on the table in front of me.
The low ceiling accentuated his height, but he would have been imposing in any circumstances. His eyes were an unlikely and startling blue under eyebrows as unruly as his beard. He remained barefoot and robeless, and apparently unbothered by it.
“You’ve had a rough journey then?”
“Yes.” I reached up instinctively to check my hair, although since I could see myself from the chest down, I had a fair idea of how I looked.
He nodded at the glass. “Ginger beer. To settle your stomach.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s very kind.”
I felt his eyes upon me. After a beat of silence, he said, “I suppose you’ve heard there’s a war.”
A familiar bristle ran up the back of my neck. I turned to see if Ellis was within earshot, but he and Hank were still outside, beyond the closed door, having a heated discussion with the driver.
“I have, yes.”
“Your husband and his friend look able-bodied enough.”
“My husband and his colleague are here to perform scientific research,” I said.
The man threw his head back and laughed. “Of course. Monster hunters. Absolutely brilliant. And here I was thinking you were war tourists.”
He set the lamp on the table and waved at a board of keys behind the bar. “You can take two and three, or four and five, or two and six for that matter. It makes no difference to me. And be quick about it. I’ll not have you wasting my paraffin.”
I was emboldened. I’d never met a man so rude.
“Surely you mean kerosene,” I said.
“I think I know what I mean,” he said, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I said quickly. “Don’t you want to know our names?”
“Not particularly. What I want is to be in bed.” He slapped his thigh. “Conall, thig a seo!”
The dog went to his side, and they slipped into the shadows behind the bar.
I was still staring at the place they’d disappeared when Hank and Ellis lurched through the front door, carrying a trunk between them. They dropped it on the worn flagstones and looked around.
“Where’s the light switch?” Ellis said, squinting as he searched the walls.
“I don’t think there is one,” I said.
I watched Ellis’s eyes as he scanned the various lamps and sconces around the room. They were all topped by glass globes—oil lamps, every one.
“Are you kidding me? There’s no electricity?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
His eyes glommed onto the radio. “What about that?”
“Maybe it runs on batteries. I don’t know,” I said. “Isn’t the driver going to help you with the luggage?”
“He took off,” said Hank. “Left everything in the driveway.”
“You could have just tipped him again,” Ellis said.
“I believe it was your turn,” Hank said.
Ellis glared at him.
“What? It’s only money,” Hank said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and we need help. Where’s that charming Scotsman?”
“I’m pretty sure he went back to bed,” I said.
“But we need help. Did you see where he went?” said Hank, craning his neck. His eyes lit on the doorway behind the bar.
“Hank, please. Just leave him alone.”