Flopping back onto the bed, my head hit the pillows, and I let out a frustrated cry. The puzzle only deepened the longer I was in Derrydun. If I knew who she was, then maybe I would have a chance at knowing who I was supposed to be in the wake of her death.
Something was going on here. Something just out of my reach. There was a time where coincidence became more—a tipping point—and I couldn’t help feeling it was coming up fast. I would tip, but which side of the fence would I land on?
Would Derrydun claim me as its own, or would it spit me out?
Chapter 8
The following night, I went to Molly McCreedy’s for dinner.
“Skye!” Maggie exclaimed as I walked into the homely pub. “What brings you to our fine establishment?”
She was wiping down a table just inside the door, her russet-colored curls done up into a bouncy ponytail.
“Hey. I’m after something for dinner,” I replied. “I’m sick of microwave meals.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. What would you like? We’ve got traditional lamb stew, cod and chips, steak… Anything you would like.”
“Stew is fine.”
Maggie nodded across the pub. “Have a seat at the bar, and I’ll get the boys to fix you up.”
Glancing across the room, I was surprised to find it empty other than Sean McKinnon, who was nursing a pint of beer at the bar. It was a little late, after all. Crossing the pub, I chose the stool two down from the farmer.
“You’re a witch,” Sean stated as I sat. “It’s a fact.”
My mouth fell open at the warm greeting, and I felt like clipping him around the ear. He also smelled like a brewery, so I just flipped my hair over my shoulder and turned away.
“Aileen was related to Mary Byrne, the white witch from the tower house,” he said, slurring his words. “That means she was a witch, so you’re one, too.”
“I really don’t know if I should be offended by your stupid mouth or not,” I declared. “There’s no such thing as witches.”
“What’s so offensive about it?” His hand curled around his pint glass, and he downed a mouthful of beer. “You’re a witch.”
“Am not!”
“Are so!”
“Sean McKinnon!” Maggie screeched as she pushed out of the kitchen. “That’s not how you talk to a lady!”
The door swung back, and I spotted Boone wiping down a bench while the cook started on my order. He glanced up just as it swung closed, and our gazes met. In that moment, electricity pinged between us, and I blinked, shaking my head.
“Gimme a beer, will you?” Sean slurred, ignoring Maggie’s chastising.
“No. I’m cuttin’ you off.”
“Just one more, Maggie. Be a good girl.”
“No. You’re sloshed, Sean. No more. Get home with you before I hose you out the door.” She waved furiously at him.
“Skye.” He made puppy-dog eyes at me. “Would you buy me a drink? I’ll pay you back.”
“No way,” I retorted. “I’m not enabling you, Sean McKinnon. Not after you called me a witch.”
“The women in this village are nothin’ but—”
“Uh!” Maggie exclaimed, interrupting him. “You be careful with that mouth of yours before I cut you off for good. Now get yourself home before my boot hits your asshole.”
Sean grumbled and slipped off the barstool. Shuffling across the pub on unsteady feet, he pushed out of the door and disappeared into the night, muttering something about ungrateful women.
“Sorry about that,” Maggie said to me. “He can get a little grumpy when he’s had one too many.”
I glanced after him and frowned. There were all kinds of drunks out there in the world. Happy drunks, fun drunks, animated drunks. Then there were the least desirable kinds. Addictive drunks, sad drunks, and abusive drunks. I wondered which one Sean was. After tonight, I was leaning toward the addicted kind considering his usual disposition. The life of the party.
“Dinner’s up.” Boone appeared from the kitchen and placed a giant bowl of stew in front of me.
“Thanks.” I took the proffered spoon, and our fingers brushed. A zap of static electricity pinged up my arm, and I dropped the spoon onto the bar. Shaking my hand, I said, “Damn it! I thought I’d shaken the static. I was zapping everything there for a while.”
Boone laughed. “Maybe Sean’s right. Maybe you are a witch.”
“There’s no such thing, and that’s mean, by the way.”
“Why?” He tilted his head to the side. “You wouldn’t want to be able to use magic if you could?”
I made a face and picked up the spoon. “All I’m worried about right now is food. And besides, there’s no such thing as magical powers, so why bother thinking about it. If I decide to write a novel, I’ll ask you for research, okay?”
“Leave the poor girl to eat in peace,” Maggie shouted at Boone. “You can ask her for a kiss later.”
My cheeks instantly flushed crimson, and I almost dropped the spoon again. Boone almost choked on his own spit and shoved his hand through his hair before backing away and escaping into the kitchen.
“Maggie!” I exclaimed.
“What?” She shrugged, though she wasn’t able to hide the wicked grin on her face.
Embarrassed because I wouldn’t have minded a full-on open-mouthed kiss from the mysterious Boone, I began shoveling stew into my mouth.
“He likes you,” the bartender said in a singsong voice.
“Does not!” I exclaimed through a mouthful of potato.
“Don’t be shy, Skye. There have been loads of women who’ve tried to capture his eye, but none have. He’s a good sort, our Boone, even though he can be all mysterious. It’s the trifecta if you ask me. Tall, handsome…and
