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Awkward.

That also meant he couldn’t contact the other gods. Or a Strega.

He certainly couldn’t ask the selkies to worship him for a boost because they were dead. Which was probably a good thing, given their skinless situation. He refused to look at them in case his stomach betrayed him.

In case he screamed and lost his mind.

He was a god, so he needed to act like one.

How did a god stuck in the human world without magic act?

His fingers curled, and he gave into the panic breaking his chest and screamed his fear and frustration at the sky. How had this happened? Why had this happened, and how did he return home…assuming there was a home to return to?

He sucked in a breath, his throat raw. Without magic, what was he?

CHAPTER2

The bottles on the shelf behind the bar rattled again. The vodka danced closer to the edge as if contemplating making a fatal leap. Noah gave the bottle a nudge back to safety. They had been rumbling all week. And much to his horror, he’d learned that Wales did experience earthquakes, but not regularly and not big ones. Though there had been one six months ago that had caused a rockslide and killed one hiker, left one wounded and another unaccounted for.

Some of the locals blamed mysterious beings. Mythological beasts, citing everything from oversized hellhounds to knockers and dragons. As much as Noah loved the local lore, he wasn’t about to blame cryptids for natural occurrences. Even if the scientists couldn’t agree on why the quakes were happening. When even scientists were saying it was weird…

He shook his head and poured a beer for the regular who did buy into the mythical causes, though he liked to blame ley lines and fairies.

The regular handed over some notes. “These earthquakes aren’t going to stop. We have pissed off the fae, and they’re going to take what’s theirs.” He nodded as if he was sharing a great secret.

Noah smiled. “Well, when you find out what they want, I guess we’ll be able to appease them. What will it take? A cow? A barrel of beer? A wheel of cheese?”

The man wagged his finger. “Don’t mock the fae, even if you don’t believe.”

Noah held his hands up. “You know I’m not mocking. You’ve explained a lot of the local legends to me. But I’m not sure any of them were up for causing earthquakes.”

The glasses rattled again. This time, the vodka made its break for freedom, launching off the shelf and shattering on the ground.

“You’d best leave some milk out and hope you’ve got a friendly bwbach in the bar to protect you.”

His grandmother already left out milk. She believed in the old lore and saw no harm in taking precautions. Noah glanced over at her as she talked to another local at the other end of the bar. Nan had run it with her husband, and then after his death, she just kept going instead of selling and retiring. Everyone knew her and liked her, and she saw no point in sitting at home and being bored when she liked her life. Which was good for Noah, as it meant there’d been a job waiting for him when he’d arrived.

If it hadn’t been for his aunt agreeing he could stay with her, he was pretty sure his parents would have refused to let him leave. Not that they could’ve kept him in Australia as he was legally an adult, but they might’ve made things difficult.

More difficult.

Linda grabbed the broom and shook her head as if the bottle had misbehaved by jumping off the shelf. “I think we should send people home.”

They’d only just opened.

The rattling of bottles increased. The vibrations in the ground intensified and traveled up Noah’s legs. “Should we be standing in doorways or something?”

He should be doing something other than serving beers. Or telling people to head home. There were some who would not be happy if the bar closed early.

A loud bang outside made everyone pause. The normal chatter and noise of the bar died as people listened. The pop song continued to play in the background. A couple of people pulled on their coats, choosing to flee. Others chugged down the remains of their drink as if reaching the same conclusion.

A groan echoed through the building like the undead were rising and were very unhappy with the living. Three bottles smashed on the floor behind him, splashing liquor up the back of his jeans.

It wasn’t only the bottles vibrating. The walls hummed as if possessed. And that awful bone-deep groaning continued and settled in the pit of his stomach.

People who’d been making to leave hesitated. Noah didn’t blame them. Was it safer in or out?

There were a few muttered curses, and then two ran for the door. Others decided that crouching under the table was a better life choice.