Sasquatch Moon (Vampire for Hire Book 26) Page 2

  “Hairy. There’s a difference.”

  “Anyway. We’ve seen every other creature under the sun. Hell, you were married to a mermaid. Why draw the line at Bigfoot?”

  “Because not all creatures exist. Some really are just stories and legends.”

  I shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong, buddy boy. With enough belief, a creature will come into existence... collective creation, remember. It’s why the devil exists. Hell, it’s why vampires exist. And it’s why Bigfoot is out there, too, stalking the backwoods.”

  Kingsley leans back in his heavy-duty wicker chair. We’re outside, seated in his backyard. The view of the nearby rolling hills is beautiful at this time of day—late evening. “I’m sorry, Sam. I think this is where you’re wrong. And I think this is where the Universe has turned a blind eye. Bigfoot doesn’t exist. Take it from me.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because I’ve been around for damn near a century and have roamed many a wood. Tree sprites, fairies, woodland nymphs... yes. The world is filled with such fae creatures. Hell, I’ve even seen lawn gnomes come to life. But, I’m sorry, there’s no chance Bigfoot is real. None. Zero.”

  “Despite all the reports to the contrary?”

  “I have a theory about that,” he says. Truth be told, I’m a bit surprised by how worked up he’s getting. I mean, just last year, he fought a legit Minotaur. What’s his beef with the big footed hairy fellows?

  I hold up a finger, take a big gulp of wine, then nod. “Okay, I’m ready. Lay it on me. This should be good.”

  “I’m not sure how good it is, but I believe it to be true. Now, we can both agree that despite no real evidence—outside of a few blurry images of folks running around in ape suits—”

  “Objection, hearsay.”

  “Actually, ‘leading’ might be the better objection.”

  “Objection, don’t care. Move this along, counselor.”

  He chuckles. “My point is, the legend of Bigfoot seems only to be gaining steam, correct? Tons of TV shows, tons of video on YouTube and TikTok. Today’s eye witnesses don’t take as much slack or get as much heat for their claims. It’s almost like a badge of honor to have seen Bigfoot. Allegedly, of course.”

  “A fair point. Bigfoot is the cool monster.”

  “Right,” says Kingsley. “The in monster. Which is why I question all the recent sightings. For instance, you and I know there are werewolves. Why haven’t there been a slate of werewolf sightings? Why isn’t there a show called ‘Finding Werewolves’? Why is it all Bigfoot all the time?”

  “To be fair, Loch Ness gets his air time.”

  Kingsley shrugs. “Justifiably so.”

  We had, of course, seen that creature... or something similar to him. Many somethings, thanks to a time glitch on the Loch during our European vacation—a glitch that hurled us back many millions of years.

  I say, “Is there any chance the recent spate of sightings suggest Bigfoot really has made its grand appearance?”

  “Then where’s the evidence?”

  “So you want proof, then?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wanna make it interesting?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A bet. If I bring back proof, let’s see... I get to live in your house for a month. And you have to live in mine.”

  “A house swap?”

  “Yup.”

  “And if you don’t bring back proof? What’s your wager?”

  “I’ll let you think about that one,” I say, winking. “Oh, and Franklin and his merry men have to go with you.”

  Franklin is, of course, Kingsley’s patchwork manservant. The ‘merry men’ are others built similarly to Franklin. Yes, I said built.

  “But your house only has four bedrooms!”

  “And a garage. And a backyard.”

  He thinks about it, raises his goblet. “Fine. It’s a bet, then.”

  As we touch glasses, he smiles.

  Uh oh. “What are you so happy about?” I ask.

  “Oh, just thinking about the possibilities.”

  “The possibilities of what?” I ask.

  “If you don’t bring back evidence.”

  “I’ve never seen you smile like that. It’s... chilling.”

  And the smile grows... and grows...

  Chapter Four

  I consider doing some background research on the hairy fella, but ultimately decide against it. From what I gather, I’m going to be surrounded by Bigfoot geeks on this trip. If so, I can always ask one of them... or just dredge it from their mind. Or, if I get cell reception, just Google it... whatever ‘it’ might be.

  Hey, Siri... How to find Bigfoot.

  Or some such nonsense.

  Well, nonsense or not, I had ‘money’ riding on this outcome. And judging by that devious look in Kingsley’s eyes, it most definitely isn’t going to involve money. I’m both concerned and intrigued.

  But mostly concerned...

  With Allison staying over at my place for the next two weeks—I just can’t stomach the thought of leaving my two girls alone while I’m gone—I find myself on a private plane, heading to the Pacific Northwest. The expedition is scheduled for two weeks, but something tells me we may not make it the full two weeks. I’ve never been officially psychic, but I get my hits every now and then. Might be residual magic from my past lives as a witch. Was supposed to be one in this life, too. But... yeah, vampire.

  I met most of the team while we waited to board the twenty-seat Leer jet. Now, as I look at them again, I wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I’m gonna get real here... it looks like a nerd fest. Small geeks. Big geeks. Short geeks. Tall geeks. Lots of glasses on this plane. Lots of shaggy beards, too. Not sure what the deal is with the beards. Maybe it’s a way to feel closer to Bigfoot. At any rate, most team members don’t look like they’d survive twenty-four hours in the woods, let alone two weeks.

  But this initial assumption would be wrong. According to Terrance, the guy who hired me and the leader of the expedition, this ragamuffin crew of San Diego Comic Con rejects is actually a hardy bunch with thousands of hours accrued in the field.

  I guess we’ll see. I turn my attention to the one guy in the group who most definitely looks like he can hold his own in the wilderness... or on the front lines of World War III. His name is Wally Seymour, a dorky name for a man who doesn’t appear to have a dorky bone in his body. Officially, he’s our ‘bear guard.’ The title is exactly what it says. He protects large groups in the wilderness from animal attacks. Personally, I think he would make for a great vampire hunter. Hell, he even makes me feel nervous...

  Because of that, I dip inside his noggin and confirm he is, indeed, mortal. Curiously, the man doesn’t harbor any particularly dark thoughts, though he oozes confidence and a sort of need to prove himself. Where that desire comes from is beyond the scope of my interest in the man, though it probably hails from seeking approval from a critical father... or mother. But the man’s need to be the best at what he does is palpable... and potentially reckless. Not sure if that was a psychic hit, or if I sensed it in his memories somewhere. Probably both.

  For the most part, I sense the man takes pride in his skills and knows what he’s doing. But he’s definitely an alpha male who doesn’t suffer fools lightly. Already, he’s regretting being here; meaning, he thinks the whole lot of them are fools. He’s been in the woods, forests, and jungles all his life—and all over the world—and never once has he seen a Sasquatch... or anything like it. Except...

  I dig a little deeper.

  Okay, wow. There’s something in his memory, but he’s buried it deep and doesn’t want to acknowledge what he saw or heard or felt. Interesting. Might take a little work uncovering that nugget, but I’ll pick at it and see what oozes out.

  Gross, I know, but that’s kind of how I see some buried memories. They’re there, and they’re not quite healed. Sort of festering, waiting to see the healing light
of day. Or not.

  But, yeah. There’s something there, something he won’t allow himself to visit again. But that’s the thing about memories... they’re always there, even if you want to forget them.

  Trust me. I know.

  That said, I do see an inkling of it... and I nearly laugh. It reminds me of those ‘squatch blotch’ pictures, fuzzy and vague. Except this one is different... mostly because it’s not from too far away. But whatever it is, it’s buried deep, meant never to be revisited again. Except this trip is sort of working the memory free, breaking apart the many layers and strata that keeps it interred and forgotten.

  It takes time to dig deep into a memory, even for someone like me. Took me a while to finally punch through Russell Baker, my sweet boxing boyfriend who inadvertently became my love slave. Eventually, I smashed through the many layers of enchantment until I found his real self. This is similar, though more difficult. May not be worth the effort. I might just want to leave it as... the man probably saw something that he wants to forget... and did such a good job of wanting to forget it that he did exactly that.

  Terrance sits alone at the front of the plane, working on his laptop. A quick dip in his mind reveals a man who needs money and is desperate to make a name for himself.. and those are just the thoughts at the forefront of his thoughts. Deeper is a strong need to finally, once and for all, prove Bigfoot exists. Despite his Hollywood cool exterior... he’s a nerd at heart. In truth, he relates to the geeks on the plane. He believes to make it in Hollywood—and to be taken seriously as a documentary producer—he has to dress the part. Hence, the shades, styled hair, trendy clothes, and tattoos. Curiously, a part of him feels like he’s abandoned his true nerdy self. That he sort of ‘sold out.’

  The thing of it is... he’s right. His splashy exterior probably does attract the right (or wrong) players in Hollywood. It apparently attracted the right investor, as I’m seeing the dollar signs all around us. No expense has been spared. Including my hefty retainer, which is one of the biggest I’ve ever received.

  The flight is short, just a few hours, and we land at the north end of Sea-Tac, in an area of the airport designated for private planes. Yes, I feel privileged. I think we all do. Granted, I could have teleported here instantaneously, but where’s the fun in that?

  We all board a big travel van that doubles as a shuttle and head to our hotel in a city called Port Townsend, which is about an hour away. For the most part, the group takes up similar positions in the van as we did on the plane, only this time we sit a little closer, and no cart service. Not a problem; after all, I’m not craving Diet Coke at the moment. No, I need a little energy. And so, I gently siphon from everyone in the van... minus the driver. He needs to stay alert.

  With my teeth humming and mind buzzing—and the majority of the occupants in the van yawning—I go about texting just about everyone I know, letting them know I arrived, am safe, and if they are behaving, etc. Allison wants a picture of the Olympic Peninsula. I tell her I’ll send her one when I’m good and ready. So dang needy, that one. Then again, she is watching my kids for free... so I gently delete the ‘when I’m good and ready’ and replace it with ‘soon’ and send the text.

  After Kingsley sends me a picture of his puckering lips, themselves nearly covered in facial hair, I send him a ‘I think I just found proof of Bigfoot’ text and send his picture right back to him.

  Chuckling, I settle in my seat and stare out at the passing scenery. Soon enough, the massive snow-covered peaks of the Olympic Peninsula come into view. I stare at them, wondering if such a creature as Bigfoot really did live there. Seems inhospitable, truth be known. Then again, the peaks are high above the treeline.

  As I contemplate the existence of Bigfoot, I find myself dipping into Wally’s memory, pealing away layer after layer of that hidden memory...

  This might take some time.

  Dangit.

  Chapter Five

  The hotel overlooks the Puget Sound.

  Curiously, it’s in an old cannery factory that someone refurbished into a seriously haunted hotel. At least, I assume it is haunted. These days, it takes a lot for me to see a ghost; meaning, it has to pretty much manifest. Gone are the days of seeing the energy of the universe, of which these ghosts are mostly composed... those squiggly, flowing light waves that coalesce into something denser.

  Sadly, I no longer see such light; after all, I’m no longer a creature of the night. As such, I don’t need the super enhanced night vision I once had. Now, I see things at night on a sort of gray scale. Probably closer to what a cat might see. My eyes simply enhance what ambient light there is.

  That said, I know there are ghosts in this old brick building, a building that seems to lean this way and that, including its hallways and floors. Weirdly, the building doesn’t creek one iota. Probably because of all that brick. Sturdy as, well, a brick house. Just seems that whoever built up the interior might have eyeballed everything—to hell with using a level.

  Anyway, I actually love this old building. And the cold spots I feel? Definitely ghosts.

  After we each settle into our rooms—most of the guys bunk together, while little ol’ me gets her own room—Terrance has us all meet in one of the many smallish conference rooms the hotel sports.

  During this first official meeting, we all introduce ourselves. I’m the only private eye in the crew of ten. I’m also the only female. As I stand and talk, I also mention I’d once been a federal agent, since being a private eye doesn’t seem to get much of a reaction from the group. This gets a fractionally better response, but nothing like the nerd speak that vomits out of the mouths of the others: so and so started such and such Bigfoot organization, this one led that infamous expedition, another was featured on this Travel Channel episode. Apparently, they were all each others’ biggest fans.

  Wally the hunter/tracker got only mild applause, mostly because the others wouldn’t look him in the eye... or even look his way. A quick dip into their collective minds reveals why. They were not only afraid of him, they worried he might actually harm a Bigfoot. Worse, kill one—a crime against all they stood for.

  With introductions out of the way, we go through the itinerary of various stops, the picking up of supplies, and target campsites in the woods. We’ll be kicking things off tonight with a round of filmed interviews, of which Terrance wants me to conduct with him and one of the cameramen. Apparently, this endeavor serves as more than a vanity project for a backer with more money than sense. It will also be Terrance’s documentary debut, of which he hopes to reveal at some film festival.

  Luckily, these days, I once again show up on cameras (and in mirrors), so I hesitate only briefly before agreeing to be on camera. The hesitation stems only from a decade of avoiding cameras of all types. Old habits die hard and all that. I knew there would be a camera crew following us around. Just didn’t quite know I would be in a documentary. I feel a bit blindsided. Terence assures me I will rarely find myself on camera. I will simply help conduct the interview off camera. I agree for now, and even sign a few waivers to that effect. What they don’t know is that if I feel, in the end, that I don’t want to be part of their documentary, I’ll mind control the lot of them to remove me from it.

  For now, though, I play nice.

  Time for the interviews...

  ***

  Shortly, I find myself in yet another conference room, this one smaller and enclosed in glass.

  There’s not a ton of space in the room, but we make due. The cameraman is setting up a surprisingly huge camera with him. Feels a little too big for our needs, but what the heck do I know? While he’s busy with the tripod, I sit with Terrance on one side of a small oval table. The camera is situated along the far end of the table, capturing my right profile—and the left of whoever sits across from us. Before the camera rolls, I send out a mental instruction or two. First, I give the cameraman a command not to listen to what I’m about to say to Terrance, and not to start rolling the camera
s until I tell him to (the man nods his consent); second, I tell Terrance that he is to forget everything I’m about to tell him as soon as the interviewers come to an end, including me giving him these instructions.

  He nods his consent and says, “So, what’s this about?”

  “I’m a vampire,” I say. “Well, a psychic vampire. But same thing, minus the blood and sun issues.”

  His jaw drops open; he’s about to begin a long process of denial, disbelief, confusion, etc. etc. So I give him a prompt to simply believe me.

  “Wow,” he says. “You just go around telling people that?”

  “I do when necessary. Then I usually make them forget.”

  “So, I’m going to forget all this?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “Sorry, bub. Nothing personal. Just the way it is.”

  “Jason, roll the cameras, let’s get this on tape.”

  “Jason isn’t listening,” I say. “And he won’t roll the cameras until I tell him to.”

  “Worth a shot,” says Terrance, shrugging.

  Next, I catch him fidgeting with something under the table. I dip into his thoughts. Boy, he’s a real filmmaker—anything it takes to capture the goods on film. I command him to turn off his phone and give it to me, which he does.

  “You just made me give you my phone, didn’t you?”

  “I did. And unless you stop with the bull crap, I might make you streak through the hotel naked.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to do that. I’m sorry.” He rubs his temples. “Wow, I really thought it had been my idea to give you my phone, but why would I do that?”

  “Why, indeed.”

  “Wow, you’re the real deal.”

  “I am.”

  “And I’m really going to forget all of this?”

  “Most of it. I’ll let you remember anything that has to do with this interview.”

  “Gee, thanks. I have so many questions.”