Terms
Freddos – Frog shaped chocolate treats (can be with a gooey caramel filling). They used to be 10p. They probably cost a kidney now.
Breagha (Bree-ya) – Scottish Gaelic name meaning beautiful.
Pal – friend
Telly – Television
Midge (Mih-dg-ee) – a tiny minion from hell that lives in Scotland and takes bites out of humans.
Script
Cities are never as big as you think they are. You’re never as far away from someone as you’d like to think. We all go around in our wee bubbles, thinking that they’re small, no larger than a handful, and then you hear something that makes you think the world’s a lot smaller than that. We’re all a lot closer.
It was the end of the month and most of my pals were living off instant ramen and Freddos, but still wanted to have some fun. We usually took turns hosting the others, usually whoever had the most money to spare, or the most booze lying about. On this occasion, and on many before, that was me. Breagha (Bree-ya) was the first to arrive, a dish of nachos in her hands she’d managed to cobble together from what she had in her cupboard, with a sly warning that one or more things had been out of date. I took the nachos, she took a large glass of wine, and we sat waiting for the others, having a catch-up before everyone else arrived.
I don’t know how we got onto the topic, perhaps it was after the shop had come up, but she began to tell me about her cousin. He was having a bit of a hard time recently, and in the last week it’d only got worse. It was a few days after they’d lost their job. It’d been out of the blue, an unexpected redundancy, not that I think there’s such a thing as an expected one. They’d loved their job, even though it wasn’t that well paid, but without a salary coming in they were getting worried over the debts they had. Credit cards and loans would continue to pile up if they couldn’t pay them.
As most people seem to do when they have money worries, they spend what little they do have on drink at a pub. Hoping to lose the burden of worry at the bottom of a pint glass or beer bottle. One night, well into the bender, the cousin was lamenting loudly to whoever would listen about their money worries, drunkenly rambling about how bad debt was, and how unfair their employers had been. During this rant they had said the golden words I usually hear in the shop. They’d do anything to have it fixed.
I had to remind myself I wasn’t in the shop sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table listening to a customer. Those words sent unease writhing in my gut until I could pull myself back. I was in my own house talking to a pal. There was no shop here, no customer, and no problem, supernatural or otherwise.
The cousin, a step away for being cut off by the bartenders, then noticed a girl approach. She took the stool beside theirs, put her own drink down on the table, and swivelled so she was holding their gaze. I don’t know what the cousin thought, if he was about to be scammed or hit on. The girl let the silence linger, letting it grow awkward, past the point of comfortable. The cousin waited, not wanting to touch their drink anymore and beginning to think they’d drank so much they were hallucinating.
The girl sipped her own drink, letting her eyes follow the glass as she put it back down on the table, condensation dripping down the sides and onto the sticky bar surface. Then she spoke. Was the cousin serious? Would he give anything to have his problems go away?
Feeling the tension dissipate, but still not quite knowing what was happening, the cousin snorted into their own glass, and said yes, of course they would. Perhaps they thought they were joking, perhaps deep down in that childish part of every person they were hoping that a stranger could snap their fingers and everything would be fixed.
The girl nodded, and then said she could give the cousin gold, enough to pay off all the debts. The cousin went to stare at the girl, about to laugh in appreciation of her joke, or her charm, or whatever she had going on. Beside her glass was a pile of five small gold bars, shining eagerly in the dim light. Never having seen a gold bar the cousin at first thought they were fake. The stamped writing on the surface, showing its weight, the company that’d made it, and an official looking list of numbers that were possibly an identifier all served to snake doubt into their mind.
The girl, after letting the cousin’ stare longer than intended, reassured that they were real, and would cover all their debt, with extra leftover. All she wanted in return was the watch on their wrist. Was that it? All that gold for one single watch? A Rolex, perhaps, an antique? It didn’t matter. Between glances at the gold and the watch, one disappeared. The cousin’s wrist felt naked, exposed, and when they glanced down the watch was gone, and so was the girl. The gold left beside her empty glass.
Breagha took a sip of her wine, interrupting the story. I almost felt like confiscating it until she was finished. I checked if the gold was fake, and that her cousin had just been robbed. The answer was why she’d had to take some wine. The gold had been genuine. Exactly as the lassie had said, it’d been enough to pay off the cousin’s debt and leave a nice wee nest egg leftover. I needed to go to this bar and beg poverty. Breagha still looked troubled, as though there was more to this tale.
The cousin, despite not having the burden of debt hanging over them, was saddened by the whole thing. The watch that had been given in exchange for the gold had been worth more than the all the gold bars in the country. To the cousin, at least. The watch that’d been taken had belonged to their grandfather, who’d been dead for a few years, but had given the watch to the cousin when they turned 18. The two had been close, closer than the rest of the grandchildren. The grandfather had practically raised them. The watch was one of the only things the grandfather had left behind, and the cousin had cherished it above all other possessions. Breagha told me the cousin could’ve sold the watch and put a dent in the debt if they’d wanted, it was quite valuable, a family heirloom. But they’d refused, no matter how bad money got. Now that the watch was gone, they were heartbroken. They’d intended to keep the gold and try to find the lassie to return it in exchange for the watch, but the family hadn’t felt the same and cashed the gold in.
I felt like I was in the shop. I felt the same level of confusion. The watch may have been worth some, but not as much as the gold the girl had left. Why the exchange? What did the watch really do? My mind drifted to Madam Anora, then away. It seemed too altruistic for her. Could it be the Madam? The same Madam who never left the shop, and who let customers come to her to fix their problems? Who was this person who exchanged gold for a sentimental watch?
Breagha said the cousin had found the girl again, waited in the same bar one night to beg her to reverse their deal. She’d refused, saying they were the one who’d promised to do or give anything. She’d smiled and shooed them away, crossing her legs over each other and arranging her green velvet dress, reaching her painted hand up to smooth a loose lock of ginger hair.
Ginger hair? No. It was a coincidence. Plenty of people had ginger hair. Plenty of people who’d been trapped in books had ginger hair. Plenty of people making deals in bars had ginger hair.
I asked Breagha what bar it was, trying to keep my tone casual, and she told me just before the buzzer went and the rest of our wee gathering had arrived. I found it difficult to concentrate for the rest of the night, wishing I could suggest we go to this bar. I knew I needed to go alone, and so my visit would have to wait.
The next night I made my way there half hoping it was wishful thinking, half hoping I’d see the creature I released from a book. If a creature she was. I’d never heard of anything apart from demons and Madams that made deals with people, one thing in exchange for another. Was there a third Madam? Or was this just something I’d never heard of? I didn’t know anything about the lassie in the book, I hadn’t found any clue as to who she was or why she was in there in the first place. I did know it was my responsibility to put her back inside, and hope I didn’t have more people’s injury and pain on my hands. What I’d done to Reid was heavy enough.
I wasn’t dressed to go out, but it was a weekday night when bars were the quietest, only filled with regulars and the occasional person wanting a change. I found the bar where Breagha said it was, nestled on the corner beside an old butcher and opposite a Thai restaurant that looked as empty as the bar did. I opened the door and let the music spill onto the street. It was warm inside, the music background noise. One person looked at me, sitting at one of the booths, evidently waiting for someone they’d arranged to meet. Most of the tables were occupied by people who looked like they never left the chairs they sat in, and one or two booths were taken by groups of people that were as natural there as the stains on the table. I made my way over to the bar but didn’t sit, I wasn’t here to drown my sorrows, or spend money I didn’t have. I got the bartenders attention and asked her about the incident. I told her my name was Breagha and that I was the lad’s cousin, and I was here to see if I could intervene with the lassie and get the watch back.
I don’t think I even needed to lie; the bartender was so eager to tell the story. She was more than eager to pull someone into her tornado of gossip. According to her the ginger-haired lassie had become a regular in the last few months. Every Thursday night, without fail, she’ll turn up at the bar and start drinking. Despite how many she had she never acts like she’s drunk. Every Thursday night, drink in hand, she’ll approach another patron and offer them a deal. Most of them say she’s a thief and has stolen from them, but usually left something of more worth in its place. Some of the regulars, and even staff, have complained to the manager about her, wanting her to be banned as she causes nothing but trouble. Yet, for some reason, they don’t. The bartender told me she thinks it’s because the manager made a deal with her too, so can’t throw the lassie out. I nodded in understanding, but she was the type of person who doesn’t really need any feedback to maintain a conversation.
When I visited it wasn’t Thursday, so I had a few days to wait and plan what I was going to do. Christ was it going to be embarrassing for me if this ginger-haired lassie wasn’t the same one I’d let out of the book. I’d just be a loner in a bar.
On Thursday I get there at the start of the night, just after they open, pick a table, and make it my home. Thankfully there was Wi-Fi, so at least I could so some coursework whilst I staked the place out. It’s not nearly as glamorous as it is on the telly. People I’d seen a few nights before came in and took the exact same tables and chairs, nervous looking people arrived, dolled up and smelling like they raided Lush, who were waiting for their Tinder or Bumble date. I sat there for hours, ordering non-alcoholic drinks and most of their snack menu. The bartender I’d spoken to the other day told the others who I was, so at least I wasn’t getting heated looks for them.
People around me got merrier, some got louder, but still the ginger-haired girl didn’t arrive. I thought maybe she’d moved on, perhaps my pal’s cousin had proven a step too far. I needn’t have worried, though. She eventually arrived, and just like with every opening of the door, every waft of cold night air that came in through the gap, I glanced briefly up, expecting it to be no one.
I saw the green velvet dress, the blood red lips, and the curled ginger hair, and I felt a jolt of nerves in my stomach. It was her, the lassie from the book.
I’d chosen a table far away from the door, in a corner. I could see whoever came in better than they could see me. Abandoning my coursework my gaze followed her as she sauntered casually over to the bar and sat down, peeling her coat off with envious grace. No sooner did she have a drink in her hand than she had a look around the bar, eyes raking over every regular face and every new one. I gritted my teeth in anticipation of her recognising me, but a drunken demand for another drink at the bar pulled her attention away before she got to me.
One of the patrons, a few stools away from her, was asking loudly for another drink, so addled with booze they thought they were speaking normally. They bore their misery about as well as they bore their drink; poorly. I couldn’t tell what was wrong by looking, but it was enough for the ginger-haired lassie to approach. She did slowly, like an adder sliding silently through the grass to snatch a mouse. I was too far away to hear what she said, if she said anything at all or just stared like last time, but I was ready.
Closing the lid of my laptop I darted across the bar and planted myself in between the lassie and her future victim. I told him she was a thief and that if he wasn’t careful, he’d wake up tomorrow morning finding all his life savings gone. I think he was too drunk to digest what I was saying, thankfully the bartenders helped get him outside and into a taxi. In the meantime, I took his seat and glowered at the lassie.
All she did was smirk into her glass, and I began to wonder if she’d always known I was in the bar, and that she’d approached the man to lure me out.
I told her she should come back to the shop. I made sure not to mention the book, but it lingered in the silence after I’d finished. She started tutting at me, reminding me that that wasn’t our deal. She didn’t have to do anything unless I knew her name.
Did I? Had I figured it out yet? She asked, sickly sweet but I felt the hidden barbs.
Waspishly I said I hadn’t, but that it wasn’t fair to upset people for no reason, taking items that were precious to them. It was brief, but there was a flash of anger behind her eyes as she carefully placed her glass down on the table. I heard the curt thunk as it touched the wood. Her smile was shallower, her humour faded.
She told me it wasn’t for no reason, and that it was just her nature. There was nothing really wrong with it. People got what they wanted in the end, they just had to pay the price, and she never forced them to do anything. I could’ve pointed out they never outright agreed to it either, but I kept silent.
Her smile turned feral; teeth exposed in a humourless way. She said if I didn’t like it, then I’d need to be cleverer. Irritation bit like a midge in summer, but what could I say against that accusation? How long had it been, and I was no further towards solving this problem than I had been the day she’d sprang from the book. Fuck her.
She knew she’d won, she knew I was powerless. After downing her drink and throwing me one last triumphant smirk she left the bar, and I knew she wouldn’t be returning. That bar, at least, wouldn’t be haunted by her, the patrons safe at last from her scheming deals. There was nothing I could do about the next place she decided to designate her hunting grounds.
Script – Scots
Cities are never as big as ye think they are. You’re never as far away frae someone as you’d like tae think. We all go aroond in our wee bubbles, thinkin’ that they’re small, no larger than a handful, and then ye hear somethin’ that makes ye think the world’s a lot smaller than that. We’re all a lot closer.
It was the end ae the month and most ae ma pals were livin’ aff ae instant ramen and Freddos, but still wanted tae have some fun. We usually took turns hosting the others, usually whoever had the most money to spare, or the most booze lyin’ aboot. On this occasion, and on many before, that was me. Breagha was the first tae arrive, a dish ae nachos in her hands she’d managed to cobble together frae whit she had in her cupboard, wi a sly warnin’ that one or more things had been oot ae date. I took the nachos, she took a large glass ae wine and we sat waitin’ fae the others, havin’ a catch-up before everyone else arrived.
I dinnae know how we got ontae the topic, perhaps it was after the shop had come up, but she began tae tell me aboot her cousin. He was havin’ a bit ae a hard time recently, and in the last week it’d only got worse. It was a few days after they’d lost their job. It’d been oot ae the blue, an unexpected redundancy, no that I think there’s such a ‘hing as an expected one. They’d loved their job, even though it wasnae that well paid, but withoot a salary comin’ in they were gettin’ worried over the debts they had. Credit cards and loans would continue tae pile up if they couldnae pay them.
As most people seem tae do when they have money worries, they spend whit little they do have on drink at a pub. Hopin’ tae lose the burden ae worry at the bottom ae a pint glass or beer bottle. One night, well intae the bender, the cousin was lamentin’ loudly tae whoever would listen aboot their money worries, drunkenly ramblin’ aboot how bad debt was, and how unfair their employers had been. Durin’ this rant they had said the golden words I usually hear in the shop. They’d do anythin’ tae have it fixed.
I had tae remind maself I wasnae in the shop, sittin’ on the floor in front ae the coffee table listenin’ tae a customer. Those words sent unease writhin’ in ma gut until I could pull maself back. I was in ma own hoose talkin’ tae a pal. There was no shop here, no customer, and no problem, supernatural or otherwise.
The cousin, a step away fae bein’ cut aff by the bartenders, then noticed a girl approach. She took the stool beside theirs, put her own drink doon on the table, and swivelled so she was holdin’ their gaze. I dinnae know whit the cousin thought, if he was aboot tae be scammed or hit on. The girl let the silence linger, lettin’ it grow awkward, past the point ae comfortable. The cousin waited, no wantin’ tae touch their drink anymore and beginnin’ tae ‘hink they’d drank so much they were hallucinatin’.
The girl sipped her own drink, lettin’ her eyes follow the glass as she put it back doon on the table, condensation drippin’ doon the sides and ontae the sticky bar surface. Then she spoke. Was the cousin serious? Would he give anythin’ tae have his problems go away?
Feelin’ the tension dissipate, but still no quite knowin’ whit was happenin’, the cousin snorted intae their own glass, and said yes, of course they would. Perhaps they thought they were jokin’, perhaps deep doon in that childish part ae every person they were hopin’ that a stranger could snap their fingers and everythin’ would be fixed.
The girl nodded, and then said she could give the cousin gold, enough tae pay aff all ae the debts. The cousin went tae stare at the girl, aboot tae laugh in appreciation ae her joke, or her charm, or whitever she had goin’ on. Beside her glass was a pile ae five small gold bars, shining eagerly in the dim light. Never havin’ seen a gold bar the cousin at first thought they were fake. The stamped writin’ on the surface, showin’ its weight, the company that’d made it, and an official lookin’ list ae numbers that were possibly an identifier all served tae snake doubt intae their mind.
The girl, after lettin’ the cousin’ stare longer than intended, reassured that they were real, and would cover all ae their debt, wi’ extra leftover. All she wanted in return was the watch on their wrist. Was that it? All ae that gold fae one single watch? A Rolex, perhaps, an antique? It didnae matter. Between glances at the gold and the watch, one disappeared. The cousin’s wrist felt naked, exposed, and when they glanced doon the watch was gone, and so was the girl. The gold left beside her empty glass.
Breagha took a sip ae her wine, interuptin’ the story. I almost felt like confiscatin’ it until she was finished. I checked if the gold was fake, and that her cousin had just been robbed. The answer was why she’d had tae take some wine. The gold had been genuine. Exactly as the lassie had said it’d been enough tae pay aff the cousin’s debt and leave a nice wee nest egg leftover. I needed tae go tae this bar and beg poverty. Breagha still looked troubled, as though there was more tae this tale.
The cousin, despite no havin’ the burden ae debt hangin’ over them, was saddened by the whole ‘hing. The watch that had been given in exchange fae the gold had been worth more than the all the gold bars in the country. Tae the cousin, at least. The watch that’d been taken had belonged tae their grandfather, who’d been deid fae a few years, but had given the watch tae the cousin when they turned 18. The two had been close, closer than the rest ae the grandchildren. The grandfather had practically raised them. The watch was one ae the only hings the grandfather had left behind, and the cousin had cherished it above all other possessions. Breagha told me the cousin couldae sold the watch and put a dent in the debt if they’d wanted, it was quite valuable, a family heirloom. But they’d refused, no matter how bad money got. Noo that the watch was gone they were heartbroken. They’d intended tae keep the gold and try tae find the lassie tae return it in exchange fae the watch, but the family hadnae felt the same and cashed the gold in.
I felt like I was in the shop. I felt the same level ae confusion. The watch may have been worth some, but no as much as the gold the girl had left. Why the exchange? Whit did the watch really do? Ma mind drifted tae Madam Anora, then away. It seemed too altruistic fae her. Could it be the Madam? The same Madam who never left the shop, and who let customers come tae her tae fix their problems? Who was this person who exchanged gold fae a sentimental watch?
Breagha said the cousin had found the girl again, waited in the same bar one night tae beg her tae reverse their deal. She’d refused, sayin’ they were the one who’d promised tae do or give anythin’. She’d smiled and shooed them away, crossin’ her legs over each other and arranging her green velvet dress, reaching her painted hand up tae smooth a loose lock ae ginger hair.
Ginger hair? No. It was a coincidence. Plenty ae people had ginger hair. Plenty ae people who’d been trapped in books had ginger hair. Plenty ae people makin’ deals in bars had ginger hair.
I asked Breagha whit bar it was, tryin’ tae keep ma tone casual, and she told me just before the buzzer went and the rest ae our wee gathering had arrived. I found it difficult tae concentrate fae the rest ae the night, wishin’ I could suggest we go tae this bar. I knew I needed tae go alone, and so ma visit would have tae wait.
The next night I made ma way there half hopin’ it was wishful thinkin’ half hopin’ I’d see the creature I released frae a book. If a creature she was. I’d never heard ae anythin’ apart frae demons and Madams that made deals wi’ people, one ‘hing in exchange fae another. Was there a third Madam? Or was this just somethin’ I’d never heard of? I didnae know anythin’ aboot the lassie in the book, I hadnae found any clue as tae who she was or why she was in there in the first place. I did know it was ma responsibility tae put her back inside, and hope I didnae have more people’s injury and pain on ma hands. Whit I’d done tae Reid was heavy enough.
I wasnae dressed tae go oot, but it was a weekday night, when bars were the quietest, only filled wi’ regulars and the occasional person wantin’ a change. I found the bar where Breagha said it was, nestled on the corner beside an old butchers and opposite a Thai restaurant that looked as empty as the bar did. I opened the door and let the music spill ontae the street. It was warm inside, the music background noise. One person looked at me, sittin’ at one ae the booths, evidently waitin’ fae someone they’d arranged tae meet. Most ae the tables were occupied by people who looked like they never left the chairs they sat in, and one or two booths were taken by groups ae people that were as natural there as the stains on the table. I made ma way over tae the bar but didnae sit, I wasnae here tae drown ma sorrows, or spend money I didnae have. I got the bartenders attention and asked her aboot the incident. I told her ma name was Breagha and that I was the lad’s cousin, and I was here tae see if I could intervene wi’ the lassie and get the watch back.
I dinnae think I even needed tae lie, the bartender was so eager tae tell the story. She was more than eager tae pull someone intae her tornado ae gossip. According tae her the ginger-haired lassie had become a regular in the last few months. Every Thursday night, withoot fail, she’ll turn up at the bar and start drinkin’. Despite how many she had she never acts like she’s drunk. Every Thursday night, drink in hand, she’ll approach another patron and offer them a deal. Most ae them say she’s a thief and has stolen frae them, but usually left somethin’ ae more worth in its place. Some ae the regulars, and even staff, have complained tae the manager aboot her, wantin’ her tae be banned as she causes nothin’ but trouble. Yet, fae some reason, they don’t. The bartender told me she thinks it’s because the manager made a deal wi’ her too, so cannae throw the lassie oot. I nodded in understandin’, but she was the type ae person who doesnae really need any feedback tae maintain a conversation.
When I visited it wasnae Thursday, so I had a few days tae wait and plan whit I was gonnae do. Christ was it gonnae be embarassin’ fae me if this ginger-haired lassie wasnae the same one I’d let oot ae the book. I’d just be a loner in a bar.
On Thursday I get there at the start ae the night, just after they open, pick a table and make it ma home. Thankfully there was Wifi, so at least I could so some coursework whilst I staked the place oot. It’s no nearly as glamorous as it is on the tele. People I’d seen a few nights before came in and took the exact same tables and chairs, nervous lookin’ people arrived, dolled up and smellin’ like they raided Lush, who were waitin’ fae their Tinder or Bumble date. I sat there fae hours, orderin’ non-alcoholic drinks and most ae their snack menu. The bartender I’d spoken tae the other day told the others who I was, so at least I wasnae gettin’ heated looks fae them.
People aroond me got merrier, some got louder, but still the ginger-haired girl didnae arrive. I thought maybe she’d moved on, perhaps ma pal’s cousin had proven a step too far. I needn’t have worried, though. She eventually arrived, and just like wi’ every openin’ ae the door, every waft ae cold night air that came in through the gap, I glanced briefly up, expectin’ it tae be no one.
I saw the green velvet dress, the blood red lips, and the curled ginger hair, and I felt a jolt ae nerves in ma stomach. It was her, the lassie frae the book.
I’d chosen a table far away frae the door, in a corner. I could see whoever came in better than they could see me. Abandonin’ ma coursework ma gaze followed her as she sauntered casually over tae the bar and sat doon, peelin’ her coat aff wi’ envious grace. No sooner did she have a drink in her hand than she had a look roond the bar, eyes rakin’ over every regular face and every new one. I gritted ma teeth in anticipation ae her recognisin’ me, but a drunken demand fae another drink at the bar pulled her attention away before she got tae me.
One ae the patrons, a few stools away frae her, was askin’ loudly fae another drink, so addled wi’ booze they thought they were speakin’ normally. They bore their misery aboot as well as they bore their drink; poorly. I couldnae tell whit was wrong by lookin’, but it was enough fae the ginger-haired lassie tae approach. She did slowly, like an adder slidin’ silently through the grass tae snatch a mouse. I was too far away tae hear whit she said, if she said anythin’ at all or just stared like last time, but I was ready.
Closin’ the lid ae ma laptop I darted across the bar and planted maself in between the lassie and her future victim. I told him she was a thief and that if he wasnae careful he’d wake up tomorrow mornin’ findin’ all ae his life savings gone. I think he was too drunk tae digest whit I was sayin’, thankfully the bartenders helped get him ootside and intae a taxi. In the meantime I took his seat and glowered at the lassie.
All she did was smirk intae her glass and I began tae wonder if she’d always known I was in the bar, and that she’d approached the man tae lure me oot.
I told her she should come back tae the shop. I made sure no tae mention the book, but it lingered in the silence after I’d finished. She started tuttin’ at me, remindin’ me that that wasnae our deal. She didnae have tae do anything unless I knew her name.
Did I? Had I figured it oot yet? She asked, sickly sweet but I felt the hidden barbs.
Waspishly I said I hadnae, but that it wasnae fair tae upset people fae no reason, takin’ items that were precious tae them. It was brief, but there was a flash ae anger behind her eyes as she carefully placed her glass doon on the table. I heard the curt thunk as it touched the wood. Her smile was shallower, her humour faded.
She told me it wasnae fae no reason, and that it was just her nature. There was nothin’ really wrong wi’ it. People got whit they wanted in the end, they just had tae pay the price, and she never forced them tae do anythin’. I could’ve pointed oot they never outright agreed tae it either, but I kept silent.
Her smile turned feral; teeth exposed in a humourless way. She said if I didnae like it, then I’d need tae be cleverer. Irritation bit like a midge in summer, but whit could I say against that accusation? How long had it been and I was no further towards solvin’ this problem than I had been the day she’d sprang frae the book. Fuck her.
She knew she’d won, she knew I was powerless. After downin’ her drink and throwin’ me one last triumphant smirk she left the bar, and I knew she wouldnae be returnin’. That bar, at least, wouldnae be haunted by her, the patrons safe at last frae her scheming deals. There was nothin’ I could do aboot the next place she decided tae designate her huntin’ grounds.