Chapter 4 #2
“Thumping you over the— I’m sorry, do you think I’m here to”—she failed to stifle her giggle—“proselytize to you?”
He lifted a brow. “You’re saying you’re not?”
The idea was so ludicrous, Effie couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Definitely not.”
Finn blew out a sharp breath and reached for his drink, taking a slow sip. Silence settled between them. He seemed to be in no rush to fill it. Effie appreciated that he was giving the question its due.
“I think it was Socrates who said—and I’m obviously paraphrasing here—the more I know, the more I realize I know nothing,” he said at last, brow knit softly.
If he were her Finn, she’d have reached out to smooth it, but because he wasn’t, she didn’t, curling her fingers into a loose fist instead.
“That’s how I feel about…well, it’s how I feel about a lot of things.
I know enough to know I don’t know much at all, and I probably understand even less.
I think it would be mighty arrogant of me to pretend otherwise. ”
A lovely and thoughtful response that did jack-all to answer her question.
“Intellectual humility’s good and well, sure,” she said.
“But it doesn’t mean you can’t have beliefs.
It just means recognizing that those beliefs of yours are fallible and revising them based on new information.
” And boy was Finn about to get a whole heaping ton of new information dumped on him, even if only temporarily.
“And if we’re talking about Greek philosophers, Plato believed in the immortality of the soul.
He even evinced a belief in reincarnation, using it to introduce the idea that knowledge isn’t a matter of observation or study, but a recollection of that with which one is acquainted before being born. ”
“If we’re working off that theory, it would be fair to say I don’t know what I don’t know because my—past self?
selves?—haven’t yet deigned to fill me in.
” He sounded amused, but not entirely contemptuous of the concept.
“Huh. I mean, why not? That’s as good a theory as any.
” He chuckled. “You know, this is probably the most scholarly conversation this bar’s ever seen. ”
This bar was about to see a whole hell of a lot it hadn’t before, this conversation being the least of it.
“Well, now that we’ve established you’re a scholar”—Finn snorted and Effie smiled, resting her chin on her hand—“I wonder, are you a gentleman, too?”
His lips curled in a slow grin. “Buy me another drink and find out.”
She knocked back her whiskey and slid the glass across the bar. The song on the jukebox had changed, Ronnie Van Zant of Lynyrd Skynyrd now begging for three steps toward the door.
“This not-quite ex-husband of yours,” Finn said, uncapping the bottle of whiskey. “He got a name?”
Her smile faltered, only a little, and she was quick to put it back in place, to bat her lashes a bit for good measure. “What’s it to you?”
“It might come as a surprise, but I don’t make a habit of flirting with married women,” he said evenly, pouring them another double each. “So I guess I’m wondering who this guy is and whether he can fight.”
Her breath caught, or maybe she just held it.
This had gone on too long. She had let it go on too long. It was time to pull the plug. Get this over with so she could fuck off back to Hell, where she belonged.
Effie took a deep breath and allowed her resentment at the universe to harden her expression. “Flirting with me isn’t something you want to do, Finn.
“Pretty sure it’s exactly what I want to—” She could see it in his eyes the moment it registered, a slow blink followed by a frown. He was, no doubt, playing their entire conversation over in his head. “I don’t think I told you my name.”
He didn’t sound sure, so it was up to her to quickly disabuse him of any uncertainty. “You didn’t.”
“Then, how did—”
She cut him off with a firm shake of her head and opened her mouth.
Only, when faced with actually saying the words, she faltered, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like a sticky fly trap.
She seldom talked about her past, went to great lengths to avoid it, meaning she’d never actually told anyone this story before.
A story. Strange, calling it that when it was her life, but maybe that was how she ought to tell it, too.
Quick and to the point, as dispassionately as possible.
“Four hundred and some-odd years ago, in Scotland, the MacDonald clan decided to ally themselves with a clan with whom they had previously feuded and had since established a tentative peace, the MacLeods, who offered the hand of a MacLeod daughter in marriage to the MacDonald clan chief.” Effie rattled off the facts like she was reading the weather report.
“Handfastings—er, trial marriages—were de rigueur back then, so it was agreed that they would live as man and wife for a year and a day, and if during that period she conceived an heir, a formal marriage would result. If not, they would go their separate ways. It was all purely political for their families, but the MacLeod girl and the MacDonald clan chief of course had to go and fall ass over teakettle in love and, in a fit of absolute brilliance”—she rolled her eyes—“decided to make their own vows to each other, promising not until death do them part, or, you know, something normal, but instead to find each other again in the next life.”
Finn’s eyes were distant, a slight frown pulling down the corners of his mouth as he listened. “Sounds romantic,” he murmured.
She scoffed. Of course he would think that. “Reckless is what it was, and not without consequence, either. Which brings me to why I’m here.” Effie sat up straight and clasped her hands atop the bar, her fingers laced loosely. “Yesterday, my boyfriend proposed to me.”
He froze, glass halfway to his lips. “I thought you said you had a husband.”
Subtlety eluded him, apparently.
“My name”—she pointed at herself—“is Effie MacLeod. You are Finley MacDonald.” She paused, waiting for him to pick up what she was putting down.
All he did was stare, which made her huff.
“MacLeod daughter and MacDonald clan chief tie their souls together for all eternity. I show up here, looking for you…Please tell me you see where I’m going with this. ”
“Not with a map and a flashlight.”
She sighed. “I need you to renounce the vows you made four hundred and eighty years ago, vows that were your dumb idea, by the way, so that I can get married.”
“I’ve heard a lot of drunken yarns in my time, but I think that one might take the cake.”
“I’m not drunk and it’s not a—a yarn,” she said. “It’s the truth. And the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can both move on.”
Finn blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “No offense, but it sounds like your cheese slid off your cracker.”
“All I’m asking is for you to say that you, Finley MacDonald, renounce me, Effie MacLeod, as your wife so that my cheeseless cracker and I will be out that door and somebody else’s problem.”
“Hmm.” His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing minutely as he seemed to mull the request over. “Pass.”
“What?” Effie frowned. “Why?”
“Because.” He laughed. “What you’re saying is nuttier than a porta potty at a peanut festival.”
Ew. “However colorful your metaphors for calling me crazy, I came here with a singular goal, and if you think I have any intention of leaving without achieving that goal, you’ve got another think coming.”
His eyes sparkled with mirth. “And if you think I let strange, albeit beguiling, women waltz into my bar and boss me around, you’re the one who’s got another think coming, honey.”
She scowled. “I am not your honey, bucko.”
“No? ’Cause, according to that little story of yours, seems you think I’m your long-lost, reincarnated husband. I reckon I’m due a honey or two, don’t you?”
“I don’t understand you.” She meant it as a complaint, but she feared it sounded more like a confession. “If you think I’m so crazy, why aren’t you trying to run me out of your bar, huh? It’s ten words. Ten words and you can forget all about me.”
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than listening to a beautiful woman talk bullshit to me.”
Her neck prickled. It wasn’t a blush. It wasn’t. Effie MacLeod did not blush. “It’s not bullshit, and I’m not crazy, you cad.”
“Oof.” Finn clutched his chest, feigning injury. “Come now, darlin’, is that any way to talk to your dearly beloved?”
“I’m not crazy. I’m—” Oh, fuck it. “What I am is a demon.”
Finn burst out laughing, and she sighed.
As far as reactions went, laughter was mild.
Didn’t make it grate any less, but it beat having a crucifix shoved in her face or holy water thrown at her.
Neither did much—well, holy water was hell on her hair—but they were annoying.
On the other hand, she did sort of miss the days when simply announcing herself as a force of evil struck fear in the hearts of humans.
Those were simpler times. These days, practically everyone was a heretic and skeptic, and it had made her job, back when she was in the business of striking deals rather than riling up assholes on the internet, a lot harder.
“Laugh all you want, but it’s true.”
His laughter petered off into great hiccupping gasps, and he wiped tears away from under his eyes. “Are you here to lead me into temptation? Deliver me to evil?” He waggled his brows. “Tell me, you in cahoots with the devil?”
“The devil is a dick, so no, I am not in cahoots with him.” Effie rolled her eyes. “And if you’d been listening, you’d know all I want is for you to— You don’t believe a word I’ve said, do you?”
He shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you sure sound it,” she grumbled. If telling him the truth wouldn’t convince him, it looked like she’d have to try a different tactic. “You don’t have a weak heart, do you?”
He looked at her askance. “I’m not easily led, if that’s what you’re asking.”