“Noted.” I laughed as Agnes pretended to hiss at the man.
“I’m Graham, welcome to my pub.” Graham shot a guilty look to where Fergus cleared his throat into the microphone. “And I’ll just very quietly give you a menu to look over if you’re in the mood for a wee bite. And I’ll get a bowl of water out for your wee pup as well.”
“Thanks,” I mouthed, and took the menu from him. Luch leaned close, resting his chin on my shoulder as he read the menu with me, and my heart did a funny little flutter in my chest at the intimacy of this moment.
I mean, we’d been wildly intimate an hour ago, but this was different. I couldn’t explain it, but that small gesture from him made me both excited and a touch panicky. Suddenly, this felt real. All of this. My new job, my new town, a potential new boyfriend. And with all that came very real responsibilities to these people—including telling some of them my truth. Namely, Luch.
Maybe I was getting ahead of myself.
We could keep things fun. Light. No labels. We were both busy individuals, hardly room for real relationships in our lives.
“See anything you like?” Luch said at my ear, and I turned, his lips centimeters from mine. His eyes caught me again, that beautiful golden greenish, like sunlight hitting a mossy rock garden.
Yes, yes I do.
“Um, vegetable soup and a cheese toastie is fine for me.”
“Great.” Luch turned and ordered with Graham, glancing back at me. “Red wine, okay?”
“Yup, that’ll suit me.” I turned back to where Fergus was instructing his son on how to call the questions.
“This first round, we’ll all write the answers down.No phones allowed,” Agnes whispered to me, “then we’ll discuss. Someone will get mad. There will be arguments. Fergus will put people in line. And then we’ll move on to the next round.”
“What are the topics?”
“This round is popular media and Scotland, so likely a bunch of questions about crime dramas.” Agnes sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest and fiddling with a book charm on her necklace.
“Not a fan?”
“Nothing wrong with a good thriller, I just think Scotland has more to offer when it comes to shows and films. I mean, come on. We live in a land rich with myths and history. Magick. Romance. We can’t just keep producing the same television over and over. Surely there’s more to cover.”
“Agnes. Wheesht,” Fergus’s command was sharp and Agnes winced.
“Sorry, Fergus.”
“Round One begins now. On you go, lad.” Fergus nudged his son.
The round went quick, and the pub was dead silent as people whispered answers in each other’s ears. By the time my soup and sandwich had arrived, Agnes was on her feet, going head to head with Archie, who I hadn’t seen when we’d first come in. He and Hilda had been tucked away in a corner table, but they’d waved when I’d spotted them halfway through the round.
“Twilightis not the basis for werewolf stories in Scotland.” Hands on her hips, hairflying around her head, Agnes leaned into the argument. “Haven’t you heard of the Wulver?”
“Now, lass. He’s talking about modern media. You can’t say the Wulver comes from modern day media.” Archie’s bushy brows drew low over his forehead as he thundered.
“The question was … what story informed Scotland’s modern-day retellings of werewolves,” Agnes shot back.
“I love when she gets worked up.” Graham pitched his voice low behind me, and I turned to grin at him. Clearly the handsome bartender had a thing for pretty Agnes.
Luch looked ashen.
Surprised, I tilted my head at him, as he pressed his lips together, his eyes tightening at the sides.
“The Wulver is Scotland’s most famous werewolf,” Agnes continued. “Granted, they aren’t entirely werewolves in the traditional sense, but they wereScotland’swerewolves, weren’t they now? Truly misunderstood, too. Kindred protectors they were. None of that rip-your-throat-out-at-the-full-moon nonsense. They looked after people. Left them gifts at their door. Fish and other presents. Had a responsibility to protect others. That kind of thing.”
“Scotland has other werewolf myths,” Fergus said.
“Twilightis not one of them. It’s not eveninScotland. How is this even relevant?” Agnes argued.
“Because people may have watchedTwilightand then written modern-day werewolf stories,” Archie said, hands on his hips.
