By the time the sun had dipped behind the hills and twilight crept across the town, I'd managed a long nap, a steaming hot shower, and a change into something clean. The mirror in the bathroom was only slightly less tarnished than the one back at the house, but I caught enough of my reflection to dab concealer under my eyes and tie my hair back in a loose ponytail.
Downstairs, the Kingfisher Inn had come alive.
It was still early by bar standards, but the locals clearly kept their own schedule. A small crowd had gathered. Men in heavy jackets with wind-chapped cheeks, women with weathered hands and knowing eyes. They clustered at tables and barstools, their low voices and laughter filling the room like smoke.
Maggie handed me a black T-shirt with the pub's name printed over the chest and showed me the ropes. It wasn't complicated-tap beers, a short cocktail list, and a till that looked like it was clinging on for dear life after being bought in the seventies.
Within twenty minutes, I was behind the bar, pulling my first pint with only a little foam spillage to betray my rustiness.
"You'll get used to it," Maggie muttered, drying glasses beside me. "Folk around here aren't fussy, so long as their drinks are wet and cold."
I gave her a grateful smile and settled into the rhythm; clean, pour, smile, small talk.
It was the talk that caught my attention.
"…same bloody dream again. Swear I woke up screaming this time."
"Was it the voice?"
"Aye. Always the voice. Whisperin' right into my skull. Felt like something was leanin' over me."
"It's that house. Place's been wrong for years."
"Getting worse, aye."
I froze, mid-wipe on a pint glass, ears straining.
Three men at a corner table were hunched low, their voices just loud enough to carry. They had the look of tradesmen with thick arms, callused hands and weather-beaten skin. One of them, a red-faced man with thick neck and balding head, glanced towards me and jerked his chin.
"That her, then? The Ashwood girl?"
"Aye, that's her."
"Slept there last night by all accounts."
"Bloody daft!"
I looked away, quickly, cheeks heating, and pretended to reorganise the spirit's shelf.
"Old woman was mad at the end," one murmured. "Used to talk to herself. I seen it."
"Dementia," another agreed, nodding. "Happens to too many."
"Nah, this was summat else," the first protested. "She was seeing things that wasn't there."
The others didn't sound convinced, and I was distracted from their conversation as a burst of laughter came from the opposite side of the bar. A man and a woman were doing shots, her laughter ringing high and bright as he flirted outrageously, whispering into her ear.
A group had gathered around the pool table, cues in hand, the clack of balls echoing across the wood panelled room.
I moved away, keeping myself busy with cleaning and pouring, nodding politely at the locals who came and went with curious glances in my direction. It didn't take me long to realise they all knew who I was, and where I had stayed last night. Knew about the house.
And none of them seemed to like it.
By nine, the bar had grown louder, the air thick with the scent of beer and woodsmoke from the fireplace. Maggie had retreated to the back, leaving me to hold down the fort. I was just about managing when things turned.
Two men near the dartboard began shouting. It escalated fast, starting with accusations, then insults, and then a shove.
"Hey!" I shouted, but neither paid attention.
One of them threw a punch, sloppy and wide. It glanced off the other's cheek, and suddenly they were grappling, knocking over stools and sending a glass flying from the bar.
"Stop it! Hey!" I rushed from behind the counter, heart hammering with no real plan except to wave my arms and hope they stopped long enough for Maggie to come and save my foolish ass.
They didn't, and I stood, gaping at them, not knowing what to do as the crowd in the bar were content to watch.
Then the door opened.
And everything stopped.
A hush fell like a dropped curtain. Even the jukebox, which had been muttering 80s rock in the background, seemed to fade. Heads turned.
He stepped inside like he owned the world.
Tall, lean, dressed head to toe in black. Coats, gloves, tailored shirt that clung to broad shoulders and tapered down to a narrow waist. His shoes were polished, not muddy like the locals', and he moved with a grace that didn't belong in a place like this.
Like a cat among dogs.
He paused just inside the threshold, letting the door swing shut behind him. Dark hair, combed back with an easy kind of precision, and a face sculpted out of shadows and cold stone. Clean shaved. Pale. His eyes-God, his eyes-swept the room like a king surveying his court.
All while a faint smile played upon his lips as though he were privy to a joke the rest of us couldn't yet see.
Those eyes swept the room, and when they landed on me, something shifted. A prickle across my skin. Not fear. Something else.
The two fighting men backed away from each other, muttering half-hearted apologies as they brushed themselves off.
No one told them to stop.
No one had to.
He strolled to the bar, his pace slow and deliberate, and leaned one elbow against the polished wood. His gaze lingered on me again, and I couldn't help it-I stared back. Something about him was magnetic. Hypnotic.
Too perfect.
Too poised.
"Good evening," he said, voice low and smooth as silk over stone.
"Hi," I replied, just managed to keep my tone polite but neutral. "What can I get you?"
He smiled. A slight curve of the lips, like he was humouring me. "Whiskey. Single malt. Neat."
"Sure."
I poured him a glass of the top shelf booze and set it down on the bar before him.
His fingers brushed mine when he took it. Cold. Not just winter cold, but deep, bone numbing cold. Like the lake in winter, dark and bottomless.
He didn't drink. Just studied me over the rim of his glass.
"You're new."
"Yeah, just moved in."
"To the Hollow?" Not a question.
I stiffened, tired of the curiosity of the locals. "Yeah."
"How do you find it?"
I considered that before I answered with a single word. "Uneasy."
His smile widened. He straightened his back, and his eyes caught mine. This time, they seemed to shine, faintly, like starlight through smoke.
I blinked.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "You have unpleasant memories of that place and are looking to sell. You will be happy with my offer and accept it gladly."
It rolled over me like a wave, soft and sweet, his voice irresistible. For a heartbeat, my knees went weak, my eyelids fluttered. I felt an insane urge to agree. A desire to accept whatever it was he wanted to offer me.
But then-
Nothing.
I shook my head, stepping back. Mind clearing as though a fog had lifted.
"I haven't decided yet."
His brow furrowed, lips parting in genuine surprise. He recovered quickly, that easy smile falling into place.
"You haven't heard my offer."
"I don't think I need to." I frowned back at him. He'd tried to do something. What, I didn't know. Maybe tried to hypnotise me! Whatever it was, it pissed me off. If anything, it had cemented my decision to not sell.
Especially not to him.
"I'm not selling."
He tilted his head to the side, still watching me, far too much like a hawk watching a mouse scurrying across a field for my liking.
"Curious," he murmured. "Very curious."
I crossed my arms, defensive now, the earlier haze fading.
"How did you sleep?" he asked.
"What?"
He lifted a hand, gesturing around the bar. "I gather many are sleeping poorly these days." There was that damned smile again. "Something in the air."
"I slept fine."
He knew I was lying, I was sure, but something about him irritated me. I didn't want to tell him anything!
"Jonathan," he said, holding out his hand. "Jonathan Thorne."
People were watching. They were already suspicious about me and the last thing I needed was an attitude of being snobbish or unwelcoming.
I reached out and took his hand.
His eyes met mine, as his fingers tightened around my hand.
"Are you sure you won't sell?"
His pale blue eyes shone.
"No!" I jerked my hand back, shaking my head, brow furrowed. "What the hell was that?"
"Was what?"
His smile was all innocence, but his eyes were mocking.
I backed away from the bar and slipped into the back where Maggie was rousing. I looked at her and then glanced back over my shoulder at the door to the bar. I shook my head.
"I need a break."
"Okay, love. You alright?"
"Yeah." I waved her back and headed out through the kitchen and into the rear garden.
Benches and tables filled the well-maintained grounds, and I slumped down onto the closest, sucking in deep breaths of chill night air.
Something was off about that guy, and I didn't know what it was. Or why I couldn't shake the image of his eyes, piercing my very being.
I rubbed absently at my arms, breath misting in the night air. Something flew past overhead, high pitched sound suggesting it was a bat.
Another shudder ran through me.
Since I had arrived, I'd had a piss-poor nights sleep and a creepy encounter in the bar.
Great.
Off to a fantastic start with my new life.
"Hey."
I looked over at the sound of the voice. A pretty young woman, around my age, stepped out of the back door. Black hair hung in waves, and her smile was wide and welcoming. She held up a coat that she carried.
"Figured you might be cold."
I groaned.
"Oh, tell me everyone didn't see me freak out."
The girl held up a hand, forefinger and thumb half-an-inch apart as she laughed. "Maybe a little."
I groaned again and hung my head.
That was all I needed.
She came over and passed me the coat. I slipped it on gratefully and offered a smile of thanks.
"Mary," she said. "You're Ellie, right?"
"Yah."
"I'm new here too. Don't worry about the locals. They're a good bunch really. Just need a minute to get to know you."
"Thanks. I guess, I thought I was doing something wrong."
"Nah. Been weird around here for a few months now."
"Weird how?"
"Lot of people having bad dreams, seeing weird shit in the woods and hills. Peter Mills swears he saw something swimming in the lake."
"People swim, even in winter," I pointed out.
"At night, naked?" She cocked a brow. "That's one way to freeze your ass off."
I laughed along with her, feeling more at ease. My shoulders relaxed, the tension leaving them, and I glanced back at the pub.
"Guess I should go back to work."
"I'll come stand at the bar and keep you company."
"You don't have to do that. What about your friends?"
"I'm here alone," she said. "Honestly, I come out more for company than anything else."
"Well, company would be welcome."
"Good." She clapped her hands and stood up. "Come on then."
I watched her as she walked away and smiled. A friendly face. The evening wasn't a total loss then.
All I had to do was avoid the Thorne guy and whatever weirdness he had going on, and the night might not totally suck.
Though knowing my luck, that wasn't likely.
With a sigh, I hurried after Mary, squaring my shoulders as I braced to face the crowd.
But no one so much as looked my way as I came back inside, and the Thorne fellow was gone.
Happier now, I headed back to work.