He nodded, unfazed by the threat. His focus was entirely on the food before him.
Marnie was finished with her lunch; she couldn’t eat another bite. She really should pay and get back to work, but this was fascinating. She’d been impulsive herself, since coming to this odd town, but she wasn’t nearly as changed as Nelson was. He had become an entirely different person.
She wasn’t going to get any information out of him before he finished his meal, so as Eve approached with his milkshake, Marnie stood and said, “Come over to the library when you’re finished with lunch.”
He muttered what seemed to be an agreement, though she couldn’t be sure he understood a word she said.
Feeling wonderfully full and all but drunk, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d consumed alcohol, Nelson crossed the street to the library. He looked inside and saw Marnie talking to a little girl with pigtails. If the librarian who’d brought him to this town looked up she’d see him standing there, on the other side of the glass door, but she didn’t look up. She smiled. She laughed.
She’d lied to him.
He’d crossed the street with every intention of walking through that door to ask Marnie why she’d asked him to come to the library, but instead he turned away, walking, walking, then running toward the end of the street and the woods beyond. They smelled so good, each leaf its own perfume. The forest called to him, beckoned him into its arms.
Nelson had awakened that morning itching and hungry and somehow angry. He’d dressed quickly and gone downstairs to devour his breakfast, ignoring the annoying old woman who had prepared it. No longer hungry but still so antsy he could not possibly sit still, he’d burst through the B&B back door to run through the yard to the woods beyond.
Running was glorious.
He’d been fascinated by Bigfoot since he’d been a boy. From Texas, to Oregon, to Florida, he’d searched. The fake accent and doctored background had come later, when he’d decided to make his passion a career.
No one would take Nelson Lovell — An embarrassing Nelly to family — steel worker’s son, seriously.
So he’d left home and started exploring. He’d changed his way of dressing and his voice, and he’d let his hair grow long. He’d created a fictional backstory for Nelson Lovell, and had charmed his way into the life he wanted. He’d always been a charmer, had been able to snow teachers, women, debt collectors…
He should’ve been an actor.
Nelson hadn’t spoken to his father in years. His mother was long gone, and his brothers… hell, he had no idea where they were. When he made a new life he didn’t do it in half measures. He embraced it. He’d left everything and everyone of Nelly behind. This was not a part of the plan.
Deeper and deeper into the woods he went. He ran between trees, leapt over a bush that was in his path, and bathed himself in the smells and sounds of the forest. They were so acute, they blinded him to everything else. There was just this, just the trees and the small creatures, and the drive to run.
He tripped over the root of a tree that jutted up above the path. Grace had never been his strong suit; he worked very hard to present an air of easy confidence and strength. Still, rarely did he lose his balance this way. He stumbled and tried to recover but could not. He scraped his cheek on the hard ground as he gave into the fall, and even that was wonderful. Bloody brilliant, he might’ve said if anyone was listening.
Nelson didn’t immediately rise, but rolled onto his back and took a few deep breaths. On his back on the ground, he stared up at the sky beyond the trees. He began to unbutton his shirt, not sure why, really. The sensation of clothing against his skin was annoying; that was reason enough. A strange tingle worked its way up his spine. It hurt. It was wonderful. It was frightening.
He lifted his hand, which had begun to itch, and watched as a number of long, dark hairs pushed their way beyond the skin and quickly grew to a length of five inches, or more. He felt the same sensation on one side of his face, and on his legs. Even his ass itched.
He quickly shimmied his pants and boxers down and off, kicking off his boots as he whipped the jeans from his body. Nelson lay naked in the forest, part human, part hairy creature. One leg was completely hairy; the other was misshapen and had tufts of dark hair here and there. He should be alarmed, but instead he laughed. Damn, he felt good.
After a long, quiet moment he stood, studying his body as best he could. He longed for a mirror, but a look down would have to do for now. The hair, the muscles, the immense size of his hands and feet… hairy hands and feet…
“What am I?” he tried to whisper, but what came out was a garbled mess of unintelligible words.
He should be horrified, but he was not. Following his new instincts he climbed the nearest tree with incredible ease. When he reached the top he gave an instinctive, joyous “Whoop!” that reverberated through the woods.
Clint had been trying to write, but hadn’t gotten far. The story wasn’t working. His mind wandered. Normally he had no trouble concentrating when he was at the computer, but today was a different story. He’d been yawning since he got started, which didn’t help matters at all.
It should be no surprise that he was exhausted. He’d spent half the night prowling around Marnie’s house, making sure she was safe, making sure no one saw his absence as an opportunity to break in. He didn’t care if the intention was to search for the formula, scare her out of town, or physically harm her, he would protect her from it all.
He’d never had the urge to protect anyone before, not like this.
The startling call from the forest made his hair stand on end. Clint leapt from his chair, straining to listen. Was his imagination working overtime? What the hell? That was his sound, his alone. There were no other Dyn Gwallts in or around Mystic Springs. At least, there shouldn’t be.
But that sound, it had not been his imagination.
He left his computer behind and headed for the deck, stripping as he walked. Once he was outdoors, he lifted his head and took a long, deep breath. What struck him, what he inhaled, was the odor of another of his kind, mingled with the stink of a man he had come to despise.
“Shit,” he tried to say, as he leapt over the deck railing and onto the ground, ignoring the pain of the change. The resulting growl sent birds and small creatures scattering in all directions.
He ran, guided by smell, intrigued and alarmed at the same time, until he came across an area where the scent was so strong it stopped him in his tracks. He looked up and there it was, high in a pine tree.
Half man, half Dyn Gwallt, Nelson Lovell leaned forward and whooped again.
Was this what he looked like in the midst of a shift? It was grotesque, to be caught in between. There were tufts of hair in some places and patches of smooth, pale skin in others. Lovell’s face was barely recognizable. It was twisted, neither human nor Dyn Gwallt. One leg, the hairiest one, was significantly longer than the other.
Lovell leaned forward. Clint growled a warning. The Bigfoot hunter — and how ironic was that? — was too far up. The fall would be…
It happened fast. Lovell didn’t fall, he jumped. Clint moved out of the way, as the beast landed. The more human leg took the brunt of it, buckling under, bending back in a sickeningly unnatural way. In pain, the creature screamed. The sound that came from a misshapen mouth was a garbled mess of sounds at first, but soon changed to a very human scream as Lovell shifted entirely into his human form.
The scream of pain changed to one of terror as he looked up at Clint, as he looked up into the face of the Bigfoot he had hunted for so long.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” Lovell screamed, without a trace of a British accent.
Marnie walked home from work, after a satisfying day. Well, satisfying in the librarian sense. Several people had stopped by, including Felicity. They’d had a very nice conversation, about books and ice cream, the ice cream shop Marnie had yet to visit, and the best treats from Ivy’s.
She hadn’
t seen Clint, which disappointed her even though she’d been the one to tell him they needed time apart. At least, she needed time.
Looking forward to kicking off her shoes and heating up the last of the gumbo, Marnie was surprised — and a little disappointed — to see Elaine Forrester sitting on her front porch. She really was tired, and not inclined to indulge in idle chitchat at the moment. The owner of the B&B held a cloth-covered wicker basket on her lap; she smiled widely as Marnie approached.
“I seem to have lost my boarder,” she said in a cheery voice. “Have you seen him?”
“Nelson Lovell?”
Elaine’s eyes seem to harden. One of them narrowed slightly. “He’s the only boarder I have, at the moment.”
Marnie climbed the steps. “I saw him at lunchtime. He was supposed to stop by the library after he finished eating, but did not.” Talking about Nelson made her wonder, again, what had happened to him. “Maybe he left town. I think his work here is done.” It should be.
Elaine didn’t accept that explanation. “Why would he leave without taking his clothes, his computer, his cell phone? And that fancy car of his is right where he left it.”
It would be easy enough to notice that the car was still there, but what about the rest? Had the old woman searched Nelson’s room or had she simply seen his things as she’d made the bed? She did seem a bit like a snooper. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“You’re right. He’s a grown man and will show up when he feels like it. I’m such a worrywart.” Elaine stood. “I brought you a little something for supper.” She lifted the pale pink cloth to reveal what was beneath. “Chicken salad sandwiches, my famous vegetable soup, and a double fudge brownie.”
Marnie could almost groan. She’d eaten far too well in the past week. Any day now, her clothes were going to start getting tighter. It usually started in the hips. But she just smiled, thanked Elaine, and unlocked the front door hoping the B&B owner would head for home, with the meal delivered and her question about Nelson answered.
Instead, the older woman continued to chat, following Marnie into the house and then to the kitchen, where Marnie placed the basket on the table. “I’ll dig into this later. Thank you so much.”
Elaine took a seat at the table. “Do try my soup. It’s famous around these parts. I grow my own herbs.” She reached into the basket and pulled out a small glass bowl with a dark blue lid. “It’s still warm, see? I love to see the expressions on people’s faces when they eat the food I prepared. It’s my greatest joy.”
Taking a deep breath, Marnie fetched a spoon from the silverware drawer and sat across the table from Elaine. She’d rather have leftover gumbo, but it seemed the only way she was going to get rid of the woman was to eat the damn soup. She removed the lid and spooned a bit into her mouth. Okay, so it was good. Very good. Maybe not Eve-good or gumbo-good, but she liked it. Another spoonful followed the first, and then another, and then another, until the small bowl was empty.
“You’re such a good girl,” Elaine said in a soothing voice.
Marnie tried to stand, intending to put her bowl and spoon into the sink, but she had a bout of lightheadedness that caused her to sit down. Hard. The room swam. “Goodness, I have no idea why I’m so dizzy.” Her words were oddly slurred. She tried again to get up and could not. Okay, it had been a long day and she was pretty tired, but this was ridiculous.
Elaine patted her hand, then took the bowl and spoon. She didn’t just place them in the sink, she washed both thoroughly then returned the spoon to its place in the drawer and the bowl to her basket.
The edges of her world were going dim, but Marnie heard Elaine well enough as she said, “Now you sit right here while we take a look around. We don’t want to have to kill you, if we don’t have to. Alice didn’t believe us when we told her that, and now look where she is. Stubborn old witch,” she muttered under her breath.
We?
When Marnie shuddered, Elaine gently took her head and placed it on the table, right before everything went black.
Chapter 18
As luck would have it — bad luck — Lovell’s leg was broken. If he’d been fully transformed that never would’ve happened, but his shift had remained incomplete.
The cryptozoologist was sleeping — passed out, more likely — on Clint’s den sofa, with a crocheted afghan draped over his still-naked body. Clint had run home with the wounded Lovell draped over his shoulder, deposited the man on the couch, shifted and dressed. Now he watched.
He’d be happy to loan the man a change of clothes, but he wasn’t about to dress him in his sleep, or whatever this was.
Clint sat in a recliner a few feet away, eyes on Lovell’s tortured face.
Obviously Lovell had Springer blood. Maybe he was a distant cousin, though it was possible he’d descended from an entirely different bloodline. No one had bothered to write down the history of his kind, at least, not that he knew of. Were there others out there? Of course there were.
Nelson Lovell been born in the world, far away from Mystic Springs, but the minute he’d come to town his magic had begun to awaken.
Amnesia punch didn’t always work on a Springer. It was iffy, at best. Funeral cake? Who knew? It had been more than fifty years since that method had been used, or so he heard. Still, Frannie managed to bake one when she felt the need, as she had for Marnie. The cake was always fatal. Anyone who consumed it would be dead within a matter of days, but not by any kind of poison. They might be hit by a car, have a heart attack, trip and fall down the stairs.
In the old days Springers might’ve been inclined to take care of their problems in such a manner, but these days they didn’t make a habit of killing one another, if they could help it. Frannie was getting old. Clint hoped the recipe died with her.
Something would have to be done. They couldn’t have the Bigfoot hunter going back into the world to tell people that he himself was Bigfoot. If the man had any self-preservation instincts at all, he’d keep their secret. They all did, had always done. But there was no guarantee Lovell had even a lick of common sense, so…
What the hell were they going to do with him?
Lovell came awake slowly, tossing on the couch, his expression one of pain. One eye opened, then another. He looked at Clint, jumped a little, and tried to get up. He didn’t get far before flinching. “Why am I here?” He lifted the blanket and peered beneath. “And why am I naked?”
If he didn’t remember…
Judging by the dawning expression on Lovell’s face, he remembered everything. “Bloody hell…”
“You can drop the phony accent,” Clint said.
He did, without argument. “I think I broke my leg.”
“Likely,” Clint said without concern.
“Is there a doctor in this godforsaken town?”
“We have a vet.”
Lovell leaned back and sighed. “I suppose that’s appropriate.”
He was taking this better than Clint had imagined he would, so far.
“You won’t need him,” Clint said. “The leg will heal quickly.” That process had already started, deep in the bone. The healing would progress quickly from there.
Lovell didn’t question that statement, as he should’ve. Instead he looked Clint over critically, one eye narrowed as he pushed a long lock of hair away from his face. “Are you…”
“Depends,” Clint snapped. “Is this going in one of your damn books?”
A shrug, a roll of the eyes. “No one would believe me,” Lovell said calmly.
“If I say yes?”
Lovell sat up. If he was still in pain, he didn’t let it show. “I want to know everything. From the beginning. I want the complete story of this place, the reason I am what I am and you are what you are. Why now? And why am I so hungry?”
Clint stood. “I’ll get you some clothes and a sandwich, and then we’ll talk.”
“Two!” Lovell called out as Clint walked away.
Clint stopped and turned. “Two
what?”
“Two sandwiches. I’m starving.”
Marnie opened one eye and then the other. Oh my God, what a headache! But she was alive, at least. That crazy old woman hadn’t killed her. Yet.
She was still at the kitchen table, but now her hands were tied behind her back and she was lashed to the chair with one of her own scarves. Judging by the light from the single window, only an hour or two had passed since she’d eaten that damned soup. There was still plenty of light in the sky on this long summer day.
She lifted her head and looked around. Holy shit! It looked as if a tornado had blown through her kitchen. The cabinets had been emptied, and so had the fridge. The garbage can was on its side, contents spilled onto the floor; the sugar canister had been emptied onto the counter.
Elaine wasn’t in the room, though it was obvious she’d been busy here for a while. What a mess! Marnie heard a noise, the thud of a heavy item of some kind being dropped, it sounded like. At a distance, perhaps from the parlor, something hit the floor and broke with a crash. A piece of furniture was moved; legs scraped across a wooden floor.
And a man’s gravelly voice said, “The formula has to be somewhere else. Let’s just burn this place to the ground and be done with it.”
Elaine made what seemed to be a soft argument — at least Marnie hoped it was an argument — and the man, whoever he was, scoffed and cursed.
When she heard footsteps headed her way, Marnie placed her head back on the table and closed her eyes. Maybe they’d think she was still out. Maybe they’d just leave.
Yeah, right.
“You can’t fool me, dear,” Elaine said in a cheery voice. “Open those eyes and let’s have a talk.”
Marnie opened her eyes and lifted her head. If she remained calm, maybe she’d get out of this alive. If she played along, maybe they wouldn’t hurt her. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”
Bigfoot and the Librarian Page 16