The Witch's Stone Read Online Free PDF Page B

blowhard no mind,” Bristol said, setting a tall, dark beer down before Hillary and another in front of himself. “Are you sure you’ll no’ have something to eat?”
    She shook her head, too angry to eat. Douglas gave new meaning to the words pretentious jackass. Though, in all honesty she wasn’t sure if she meant the father or the son.
    Douglas Senior’s remarks, while uncalled for, were not wholly unexpected. Joan had painted a rather unflattering picture of him the night before. But who did Caid think he was, opening his big mouth? Did he think she was incapable of defending work that she not only believed in, but took a certain pride in, as well?
    She’d been writing and lecturing on the subject for years. She didn’t need him, or anyone else, to run interference for her. She was fine on her own.
    “Ye’re brooding,” Bristol said.
    “I’m sorry. I’m probably lousy company right now.”
    “Nonsense. Right, here we are, then.”
    A waitress arrived and set a basket of fish and chips down before him. Hillary glanced around the smoky pub. A half dozen men sat at the bar, laughing and ribbing the pub’s owner. Two women, one in her mid to late fifties, the other who looked not far from her own age, sat in a booth across from them.
    Hillary returned her attention to Bristol. His eyes glowed as they fell on the deep fried food before him. She plucked a fry from the paper-lined basket and popped it into her mouth.
    “If ye’re hungry, order something,” he said, frowning in mild irritation.   
    “I’m not, really.”
    “Then hands to yerself, Miss.” After dousing the food with a sickening amount of vinegar, he dug in. “So without Roddy’s journals, where does that leave you?” he asked between mouthfuls.
    “Exactly nowhere.” Truer words had never been spoken. No journals, no book. No book, no way to salvage her career.
    “Surely, things cannae be that bad.”
    Oh, but they could. She didn’t teach anymore, and with her divorce finalized and her house sold, what did she have to go back to?
    She could move home with her parents. Live in their basement. A spectacular future of sitting around all day in her jammies, watching game shows and soap operas awaited her. She could spend some time in internet chat rooms for human companionship, theorizing about government conspiracies and wowing her fellow chatters with obscure historical references.
    God, she was depressed.
    “Damn it,” Bristol muttered, pushing back from the table and lifting his stomach to see the cell phone clipped to the waistband of his pants. “Will you excuse me?”
    Hillary nodded and watched Bristol maneuver his large body through the narrow space between the dark wooden tables. He moved with a grace she would never have attributed to a man of his size.
    Almost as soon as Bristol slipped out the door, the conversation at the bar ceased. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, as if an icy wind had swept into the room. She turned slowly to the group of seven men, their hard glares on her.
    There was a vibe here, and it wasn’t good.
    Her insides tangled into knots, and she gripped her right hand with her left, rubbing the scar on her sweaty palm with her thumb. Her heart thudded against her ribs as the owner came out from behind the bar and started toward her. The dim light reflected off his shiny, bald head. He stroked his grisly goatee with his hand as if in deep thought. A tiny silver skull and cross bones earring dangled from his ear, swinging back and forth as he moved.
    The other men watched, but none left their seats.
    Hillary tensed. She should get up and leave, go after Bristol, but she couldn’t move. The panic rising within her held her frozen in place.
    “Ye’re the writer?” The man asked when he reached her table, putting himself between her and the door.
    Sick fear slicked over her, and she fought to keep herself from trembling. She hated the weakness in her almost as much as the man making her feel