Read Online At the Water's Edge by Sara Gruen - Free Book Online Page B

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.
    â€œDon’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.
    â€œYou’ve had a rough journey then?”
    â€œYes.” 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.”
    â€œThank 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.
    â€œI have, yes.”
    â€œYour husband and his friend look able-bodied enough.”
    â€œMy 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 behindthe 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