Page 105 of Bonetide

“But I didn’t know. Effie’s letter said⁠—”

“I don’t know what Effie’s letter said, but I know she couldn’t have written it plainly. There are things one does not put on paper in this country, even now. She wrote what she could. She trusted you would understand the rest.”

“I didn’t though!” I cry out softly, feeling so utterly dense. “It’s taken weeks to figure it out.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have figured it out right away. You’re not from here. You didn’t grow up with this folklore, with these tales.”

I need a drink. I look around the shop and spy the local whiskies at the till. I need to drink like a million of those.

Mhairi sighs. “I suppose it’s not so early anymore.” Then she gets up, goes behind the counter, and brings out a half-drunk bottle of Scotch. The cork comes out with a loud pop. She comes back over, picks up my teacup, drinks it back even though I’m pretty sure it’s still hot, then pours the whisky in the empty cup. “There. This is a greater medicine than tea. You’re having a shock. This’ll set you right.”

I nod and shoot back the whisky. It burns going down, but it’s not enough to smack some sense into me, not enough to make any of this make sense. I gesture with my chin and she pours another. I shoot that back too and I feel just a little better.

I sink back in my chair and watch as she takes a swig herself from the bottle then slams the cork back in with the heel of her palm.

“I have known about him since I was eight years old.” She sighs, sitting back down. “My mother sat me down at the kitchen table and told me what lived across the bay from the Galloway cottage, the same way her mother had told her. The village has been keeping his secret for longer than any of us have been alive.”

“And the police?” I ask, thinking of MacRae and Sinclair. “What do they know? Do they know?”

“The police are not from here either. They know what people say, but they look down on us coastal folk, say it’s all tall tales. Because they don’t believe—or don’t want to believe, as is the case with Constable MacRae—they rule it out. But it doesn’t matter anyway. He cannot be stopped by the people of this village. He can’t be stopped by the police. He can’t be stopped by men with guns. He can only be stopped by the line. He can only be stopped by a Galloway woman willing to do what Effie tried for sixty years to do.”

“And…what is that? How do I stop him?”

“That’s for another conversation. Come back when you’re ready to ask it. You’ll need to get used to the truth first.”

I stare at her. She is exactly the same woman I’ve been buying bread from for weeks now. She has been holding this knowledge for me since she was first evasive about who lived in the castle.

“So, what do I do now? Now that I know what he is.”

Now that I know he’s a killer. That he killed forty-seven women in the decades before, plus four women this year, plus who knows who else.

Not to mention being immortal.

And also…the horse thing.

“That is up to you,” she says.

“Aren’t I in any danger?” I ask.

She rubs her lips together, weighing it. “To be truthful with you, I don’t know. He’s never hurt a Galloway. He’s always needed them. He needs you in many ways and he’s used you in many ways. But no Galloway has ever let him in like you have and I don’t know what that means for him…or for you. If the bargain is broken and the threshold is gone, what is left to tie him to his humanity?”

I think about what Alasdair had warned me about. When this happens between us—when you let me have all of you—things will change. When you let me have all of you, the version of me you fall asleep next to won’t be the version you wake up to. Do you understand?

I didn’t understand. I really didn’t understand.

“He was controllable before,” she continues, her eyes taking on a hard gleam. “Then Effie died, and he started ratcheting up, still bound, but freed slightly by her death. Now the bargain is gone completely, and there’s no telling what he will do. So, no, I can’t tell you if you’re in any danger, but I think you should start acting like you are.” She pauses. “I can tell you have some hard decisions to make.”

That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.

I get up, my legs a little shaky from the conversation or maybe the whisky, and give the sincerest smile I can muster.

“Thank you.”

“Aye.”

“I’ll come back when I’ve figured out what to do.”

“I know you will. You stay safe now, alright? Best to keep salting those doors and windows and keep them locked. You let him inside once—you don’t have to do it again, you hear?”