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strangest of names—Auchterdub, Balwearie, Donibristle—all of it unfolding in a strange tongue. It was startling.
    Just after 9 P.M. , but with the sky still light, even though it was only April, the bus finally arrived in Kirrinfief.
    Nina was the only one getting off here, feeling odd and crushed and so very far from home. She looked around. There were two narrow streets winding down from the side of the hills that surrounded the town: a little pub, a gray-painted restaurant with scrubbed wooden tables, a small grocer’s shop, a bakery, a tiny post office, and a shop selling fishing rods. There wasn’t a single soul to be seen anywhere, nobody on the road.
    Nina felt nervous. In novels, this usually meant that the next person you met was going to try and kill you and the rest of the community was going to cover it up, or everyone would turn into a werewolf. She told herself not to be ridiculous. Griffin and Surinder knew where she was. She was going to look at a van, an insurance policy if everything kept going so horribly at work. That was all. This was just business. Normal people did it all the time. She took out her phone regardless and checked it. No signal. She bit her lip, then told herself to get on with it.
    The pub was called the Rob Roy and was covered in pretty hanging baskets. There was no one sitting outside; the evening had taken on a chill, even though a weak sun was still making its slow way down over the horizon. Nina took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
    Inside, the old wooden tables were highly polished, and there was a great stone fireplace surrounded by horse brasses and filled with dried flowers. The room was almost empty, but at the bar, two old men turned around and regarded her carefully above the pints they were clearly nursing. Nina had to grab her courage with both hands to smile nicely and walk forward. After all, the bus had gone, and there wasn’t another until tomorrow, so it wasn’t like she had a lot of choice in the matter.
    â€œUh, hello,” she said, conscious suddenly of how English she sounded. “Is, er . . . Is the landlord in?”
    â€œHesjustawainnit.”
    Nina couldn’t remember feeling more embarrassed in her entire life. A hot flush rose up around her neck; she genuinely hadn’t understood a word the man had said. She put her hand to her throat.
    â€œUh, sorry?” she said. It felt like the more she tried to make herself comprehensible, the more she sounded like the Queen. Suddenly she wished herself very, very far away from here, almost anywhere, in fact.
    Both men sniggered, then, thank heavens, the door burst open and a ruddy-faced man came in carrying a barrel of beer as if it weighed nothing.
    â€œThe lass!” he said cheerfully. “Hello there! I was wondering if the bus had been through.”
    â€œIt has.” She nodded, relieved beyond words. If she concentrated, she could follow him.
    â€œI’m Alasdair. So what brings you here this time of year? The snow’s barely melted off the peak land.”
    Nina smiled. “I know. It’s beautiful.”
    His face softened at that. “Aye, it is. Can I get you a drink?”
    Nina didn’t recognize any of the beers on tap. She asked for a mineral water, then saw the men shake their heads sadly and changed her order to half a pint of the local beer, which tasted like fizzy molasses.
    â€œGet some of that down you, lass,” Alasdair said.
    â€œAre you still serving food?” asked Nina. They all laughed.
    â€œNaw, not at this time of night,” said Alasdair. He looked up, his eyes very blue under his sandy hair. “I can probably make you a sandwich if you like.”
    Nina was starving; the food in the service stations hadn’t looked particularly nice and cost a fortune, and she was conscious that she might well be out of work very soon. She’d hoped for a casserole or a potpie or something warm and