Penelope Naughton was still adjusting to a life she didn’t remember. Each new day offered fresh revelations that were both mind-boggling and oddly familiar. It was a distinctly peculiar feeling. It was also one that had manifested itself just a few weeks prior at the International House of Pancakes in Eureka when she spotted a troll having breakfast and began questioning her sanity. Ironically, it was the troll, Trevor, who’d been by her side ever since, helping her fit together the jigsaw-like pieces of her past.
“Traybee steps,” Trevor would often say when Penelope recalled aspects of her life. Traybee steps were the first steps baby trolls took when they were learning to walk. Of course, trolls were quite large as infants, so traybee steps didn’t correspond perfectly to human baby steps. They were much, much bigger, and therefore, when Trevor said “traybee steps,” it meant Penelope had made a giant leap in understanding. The last time she had taken a traybee step was the day she returned to the park. After passing out in the woods, she awoke in her cabin, where Trevor explained the existence of mythical creatures and her role in protecting them from humans, and vice versa.
Since then, Penelope had eased back into her role as park ranger at Redwood National Park. The most enjoyable part of her job was tending to the tourists and campers who passed through the legendary gates. She handed out maps, answered questions, and enforced the rules efficiently and affably. But there remained other aspects of her occupation that required further acclimation. Specifically, dealing with the mythical wildlife that roamed the forest. She had come to learn that, like her, many of the nation’s park rangers had been briefed on the existence of mythical creatures and were responsible for their well-being. But Penelope’s responsibilities to these animals went much further.
Science had always been Penelope’s strong suit. Someone once told her the things you’re very good at are often the things you are most humble about. When people paid Penelope compliments regarding her scientific prowess, she was always quick to point to some other scientist, past or present, who was—as she put it—so much smarter than she was. But the fact was, she was an exceptional scientist, and more importantly, she enjoyed her work. She recalled using her skills with the Department of the Interior, but it was this particular morning that she remembered using these same skills for the Department of Mythical Wildlife. She was out making her rounds in a remote area of the park when more of the pieces of that puzzle began to come together.
“Are you going to follow me forever?” Penelope asked Trevor, who was less than a foot behind her.
“Dr. Vantana said I got to—I got to until you’re not sick in the head anymore,” the troll stammered.
“Sick in the head?” Penelope was annoyed by Trevor’s indelicate choice of words. He looked down at her, unsure what to say or whether a reply was even necessary. Penelope noticed his confusion—a response Trevor seemed to display on many occasions. “Never mind,” she added. “And what about him? Is he always going to follow me like a lost little puppy?” She motioned to the woods that surrounded the narrow hiking trail. Trevor followed her gesture and spotted the white winged horse named Gus slowly shadowing them.
“Gus? Well, yeah. He’s kinda like your best friend,” explained Trevor.
Great, Penelope thought. My best friend is a horse. Well, at least he can fly.
“Fly,” Penelope heard a voice whisper. She stopped and Trevor nearly ran into her. She eyed the troll quizzically.
“What?” Penelope asked him.
“What?” Trevor replied with his requisite confused expression.
“Did you just say something?”
Trevor shook his trollish head. His appearance still took some getting used to for Penelope. He was hard on the eyes, but also sweet and surprisingly gentle. He grew less ugly with each passing day. Penelope considered his answer, peered around suspiciously, then continued on her way.
“Fly. Fly us?” the voice whispered again. Louder this time, and sounding like a question. Penelope froze, and this time Trevor couldn’t slow his forward momentum. He slammed into the ranger and she tumbled to the ground. Trevor panicked.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ranger Naughton. I’m so sorry,” Trevor pleaded. He pulled her to her feet with his long, hairy arm and went about brushing the dirt off her clothes. He was a little rougher than necessary, and Penelope backed away.
“What did you say?” she asked with authority.
“Sorry?” Trevor responded.
“No, before that. You said ‘fly’ or ‘fly us’ or something like that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Fly us…,” the wispy voice called out once more.
“There!” Penelope exclaimed. “Did you hear that?”
“I didn’t hear anything, Ranger Naughton,” Trevor insisted.
“What are you implying? That I’m hearing things now?” Penelope asked, incredulous. “I suppose that’s part of the job? Hearing voices in my head?”
“No, that’s not—” And then Trevor’s gaze moved from Penelope to Gus. His purple-red lips curled into a smile and he began to giggle. A low-toned growl of a giggle that exposed his large, discolored teeth, a few of which came to sharp points.
“I know, I know!” Trevor declared in his childlike voice. “You hear Gus. Gus is talking to you. I can’t hear him, but you can.”
“Gus? The horse?” Penelope replied. Trevor nodded happily. Penelope’s eyes darted to the forest, where she spotted the winged creature. He was looking directly at her. When she met his gaze, a rush of memories flooded her mind. Memories of the two of them in the forest side by side, Penelope brushing his gleaming white coat, and of flying. Lots of flying. She could instantly recall riding on Gus’s back as they soared high above the redwoods. But that wasn’t all. There was one other memory that returned.
“My lab,” she said wistfully. Trevor grinned.
“Dr. Vantana said you’d remember and that I couldn’t tell you about it. You had to remember it for yourself. I don’t know why….”
As Trevor rambled on, Penelope closed her eyes and let the memories sweep over her. She could now picture her laboratory perfectly in her mind’s eye. A silvery gray room with lab tables and computers and Erlenmeyer flasks—conical-shaped glass vessels holding liquids of various vibrant colors. She recalled working in the lab, mixing those concoctions, using the computers. The rush of recollections was overwhelming, like being a child on Christmas morning, racing down the stairs and seeing all the presents under the tree. Penelope discovered that she had been the lead scientist for the DMW and had perfected the ways humans were able to see mythical creatures. Her serums, developed from the red blood cells of these creatures, had minimized the amount of blood needed to provide the “sight” to humans. Her methods strengthened the potency of the injections and provided the department’s officials a veritable menu of creatures to choose from. This was important since these injections didn’t merely give humans the “sight”; they also bestowed upon them the magical abilities of the creatures whose blood was used. Diminished magical abilities, of course. Penelope had mastered the formula to ensure there wasn’t too much power, which could prove fatal, and not too little, which would give humans the “sight” and nothing else. And then she remembered her own injection.
“I can hear Gus because he’s inside me. His blood is…” Trevor nodded. “Equavolaxin,” she recalled.
“Those horses there, they talk with their brains,” Trevor added. “And you can also fly with them and go really high. I’ve seen you do it. You once went so high I couldn’t see you anymore.”
“Of course,” Penelope said, realizing, “I can breathe up there because of the injection.” She spun toward Trevor. “Where’s my lab?”
“Where you left it?” he said, uncertain.
“Never mind. I think I remember,” she declared as she stepped into the woods. She reached Gus, petted his silvery mane, and said, “Let’s fly.”
The horse whinnied in excitement and lowered his body to allow Penelope to climb on. She mounted the horse and Gus galloped forward, flapping his feathered wings. As Gus took flight, rising above the redwoods, Trevor heard Penelope joyfully cry out, “Traybee steps!”
The anticipation of what another day held was too great to keep Sam London in bed much after dawn. There was also something else propelling him from his slumber: the distinct smell of breakfast. His nose could discern several elements of the impending feast, including bacon, toast, and a dish with onion. The delectable combination of scents crept in under the door and rose a few feet to find Sam lying on the mattress. He slowly sat upright, as if the appetizing aroma had reached out with wispy fingers and pulled him to a seated position.
Judging by the quality of the hot cocoa Chase had prepared the night before, Sam assumed this morning’s meal was likely to be as delicious as it smelled. As he climbed out of bed, he noticed that his clothes had been placed on a red velvet wingback chair in the corner of the room. They were dry and even appeared to have been pressed. The chair and the simple wood-framed bed were the only two pieces of furniture. Sam concluded that cynocephali were minimalists when it came to interior decorating. The entire home was mostly empty and didn’t evoke any particular style. He had hoped to see a few pictures of Chase’s family. He wanted to find out if there were different breeds of cynocephali. He was dying to lay eyes on a man-sized Chihuahua. Unfortunately, the house was devoid of personal effects. Sam considered this an interesting cultural observation. These dog-people must not be a nostalgic sort.
Sam got dressed and followed his nose to the dining room, where he found the large mahogany table set with polished silverware and a smorgasbord waiting to satiate his hunger. Among the spread were several identifiable items and a few that appeared alien.
“Good morning, Mr. London,” said Chase as he entered with a plate overflowing with fried eggs. “Hungry?”
“Starved,” Sam replied.
“Please.” Chase gestured to a chair. As he did, Sam observed a small white patch on Chase’s arm. A single colorless spot. Chase noticed. “Family birthmark. I guess I should be thankful they didn’t name me Spot,” he joked.
Sam peered around. “Where’s Dr. Vantana?”
“He’s having a new windshield put on the car. The hazards of playing with les gargouilles.”
Sam sat down, pulled his chair close to the table, and got right down to business. It was all as tasty as he’d predicted. Chase also indulged, but not nearly with the same abandon. He appeared amused by Sam’s appetite. He explained that they were eating a “full English breakfast.” There were fried eggs, fried tomatoes, bacon, sausage, toast, and a dish called bubble and squeak, which Sam initially believed was fancy dog food for cynocephali. It was actually a vegetable dish, but Chase had quite a chuckle at Sam’s original determination. Yet with all the delicacies to choose from, Sam enjoyed the cookies Chase had set out the most. They were small and rectangular in shape, with a slight coconut flavor and the word “NICE” etched on their face. Chase referred to them as biscuits and confessed that he’d had a weakness for the sugary treats since childhood. The conversation then turned to Sam.
“Why do you suppose Phylassos chose you?” Chase inquired. Sam shrugged as he took in a mouthful of eggs. Chase squinted at Sam and added, almost to himself, “What makes you special?”
Sam was quick to respond. “Nothing. Nothing makes me special. I promise.” If only Chase could see his room, Sam thought. The cynocephalus would bear witness to all the failed attempts to find that one special skill. Chase considered Sam’s answer but didn’t seem to believe it. As Chase eyed him, Sam looked around the dining area. It was as sparsely decorated as the guest room.
“Why don’t you have any pictures of your family?” Sam asked.
“Observant, I see,” Chase replied. “Cynocephali do not prize familial relationships or any relationship based solely on genetic correlation. It can prove binding. As such, we have no need to make proud or opportunity to disappoint. We see relationships as purposeful, and purposes have beginnings and ends.”
“Do you care about each other?” Sam wondered.
“We care very deeply, but not about any one individual. About all of us. About our collective future,” Chase explained.
“Do you have a family?”
“I have offspring, but when cynocephali children are born, they are raised separately from their parents.”
“So you don’t know your own children?” Sam asked.
“I know of them. But we interact as fellow cynocephali. Nothing more. Enough about us. I have a great many questions about Phylassos. His appearance could mean many things to us as a species.”
Sam kept stuffing his mouth to avoid answering Chase’s increasingly pointed questions. He went through a whole package of biscuits and could tell the cynocephalus was growing frustrated. Fortunately, Sam was saved by the appearance of Dr. Vantana, who had returned from having the car fixed and was eager to leave. Sam thanked Chase profusely for his hospitality, which turned out to be as legendary as promised. Chase reiterated to Vance his willingness to lend a hand if needed, and Vance nodded and expressed hope it wouldn’t come to that. Before they pulled away in the newly repaired SUV, Chase slipped a box of NICE biscuits to Sam for the ride to Redwood National Park.
“A gift for you, Sam London,” Chase said as he handed them over. Sam smiled big.
“Thanks! I might eat them all before we reach the park,” Sam proclaimed.
“They’re hard to resist.”
Sam waved to the cynocephalus as they drove off. He would miss his unusual new friend, especially his cooking.
Once they were on the road, Sam figured it was a good time to finish the conversation he and Vance had begun the previous evening.
“Before yesterday, when was the last time someone had seen Phylassos?” he inquired.
“Technically speakin’, the last time he appeared to a human—or anyone, for that matter—was in 1945, shortly after the Potsdam Conference and the atomic bombing of Japan. It was a secret meetin’ with the leaders of the world, informin’ them that a balance needed to be kept. He wouldn’t allow humanity to destroy the planet. After all, they weren’t the only ones on it.”
“So he revealed his existence and the existence of mythical creatures?” asked Sam.
“He had to. But they were all sworn to secrecy.”
“But why would these leaders care about keeping it a secret?”
“Because if they didn’t, Phylassos couldn’t protect them,” Vantana explained. He noticed Sam’s confusion and continued, “You see, not all magical creatures agreed with Phylassos’s curse on humanity. Many believed they should rid themselves of these humans. The use of nuclear weapons only added to that belief. Phylassos warned these leaders that in order to keep this balance, he would need help. Some way of protecting that secrecy and handling any incidents that might arise.”
“The DMW,” Sam concluded. Vance nodded.
“There were individuals like the cynocephali who had taken on that mantle in the years prior, but Phylassos felt it was time to bring humanity in on the cause. And there just so happened to be one of the world’s foremost authorities on mythology in attendance. His name was Dr. Arrigo Busso. And he brought along his twelve-year-old protégé—Henry Knox.”
“Dr. Knox was there?” Sam responded excitedly. Vance grinned.
“He was indeed. The two of them were charged with creating agencies like the DMW in every country. Since then, there have been rumors of Phylassos sightings and some supposed communication with the gryphon, but nothing like Potsdam or the other day with you. Now, are you going to tell me what Phylassos told you or what?”
“I have a few more questions,” Sam replied.
“Shoot,” said Vantana.
“Are you married?”
Vance eyed him. He wasn’t expecting that query. “No.”
“Girlfriend?” Sam followed.
“This is an odd line of questionin’,” Vantana observed. Sam shrugged.
“Just trying to get to know you. See if we have anything in common. I’m also not married and I don’t have a girlfriend,” Sam responded.
“Really? I’m surprised. Just haven’t met Miss Right yet, have ya?”
Sam shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m still young.”
Vance smiled at that. He sniffed the air. “Why the heck do I smell coconut?”
“Oh. Those are the NICE biscuits Chase gave me for the road. They’re really good.”
“Well, I guess a dog would know his biscuits.”
Sam chuckled. “You could smell the coconut?”
“I’ve always had a good sense of smell. Of course, the serum enhances it.”
“How?”
“A serum can enable a human to manifest some of the abilities of the creature whose blood is used. Bigfoots have a killer nose.”
Sam took a deep breath through his nostrils, but he couldn’t smell the coconut from the cookies. He tried again. This time he took short sniffs like a bloodhound; however, he still couldn’t detect the slightest scent from the cookies.
“What are you doin’?” Vance asked quizzically.
“I’m trying out my enhanced sense of smell,” Sam explained.
“And?”
“Nothing. There’s no difference. Does it work for everyone who takes it?” Sam asked.
“So far. Maybe it just takes time to develop,” Vance suggested.
“Did it take time with you?”
Vance thought about that for a moment. “Well, maybe it’s ’cause you’re a kid.”
“I doubt that would have an effect. If anything, it should be stronger in my case ’cause I’m smaller,” Sam answered with certainty. Even after being injected with superpowered bigfoot blood, Sam was still just Sam.
The two of them finished out the trip in silence. Sam sulked over his lack of supersmell, while Vance sat frustrated with Sam’s continued refusal to answer any of his Phylassos-related questions. Even so, they were both quite comfortable. They had serendipitously stumbled upon one of the many things they had in common.
Trevor the troll found himself sitting across from Sam London in Ranger Naughton’s cabin. It was quite thrilling for him, since Sam had become a bit of a celebrity in the world of mythical creatures. Word had spread of the boy’s encounter with the legendary gryphon, and the world was abuzz with rumors and conjecture around Phylassos’s appearance. Trevor had heard of the incident from his second cousin Toby, who in turn heard it from his fourth cousin Tommy, who heard it from his half sister Tina. Troll families, though large, remained close-knit. They were creatures who valued family and friendships above all else and took great pride in the number of people they could call friends. In fact, trolls could quickly tell you the exact number of friends they had at any given moment. At this particular point in time, Trevor claimed eight hundred and two friends. He hoped to make it eight hundred and three. The addition of Sam London would be a triumph not only for Trevor but also for the entire troll race. Trevor could boast that his latest friend was one of the most famous humans in the mythical world. And any trolls related to Trevor would by simple fact of familial relation obtain bragging rights.
“So you’re a troll?” asked Sam London with boyish wonder. Trevor nodded. “Are there many of your kind in the world?” Trevor nodded again.
“We’re pretty much everywhere. Some creatures have ind-ind-ind—”
“Indigenous?” Sam offered.
“Yeah. In—” Trevor struggled. Sam assisted once again.
“—digenous.”
“—places they live. But my kind, we can make ourselves comfortable anywhere. Except for like the ocean or inside a volcano.”
Trolls weren’t good swimmers, and as for volcanoes, trolls didn’t get along well with the Cherufe, a volcano creature who refused to share. Sharing happened to be the cornerstone of the troll culture. No matter how small a morsel of food a troll possessed, he or she would always share it equally among friends and family. In fact, the act of sharing was so important, it was the method by which they established a new friendship. So when Sam offered Trevor one of his British “biscuits,” the troll lit up and smiled so wide his ears crinkled. Eight hundred and three.
The broad grin on Trevor the troll’s face proved more unnerving than comforting for Sam London. Perhaps it was the color and sharpness of the teeth that caused the traditionally joyful expression to appear almost menacing. But Sam knew that the troll’s grin, though a touch frightening, was well-intentioned. Vance had informed Sam about Trevor before they reached Penelope Naughton’s cabin.
“He may not be pretty. Heck, he may even give ya nightmares. But just remember, he’s a big ol’ teddy bear,” Vance explained with his signature smirk.
The doctor had also taken time before they arrived to explain Penelope’s role within the DMW and mention her recent bout of amnesia. Penelope’s cabin sat off a small service road deep in the forest. It was surrounded on three sides by giant redwood trees and had a rustic wood facade and a stone chimney. Once inside the quaintly decorated home, Vance introduced Sam to the ranger and the troll, then disappeared with Penelope down a staircase that was hidden behind a painting. The painting was of a winged horse drinking from a pond. Sam noticed that the painting was signed simply Trevor. As Trevor munched on his cookie, Sam had to ask.
“Did you paint that?” He gestured toward the frame. Trevor nodded, crumbs falling off the small tuft of hair on his chin.
“It’s good. My mom is an art teacher, so I’m a well-informed critic. It’s very imaginative.”
“Oh. I didn’t imagine that,” the Troll corrected Sam. “It’s a portrait. You’ll meet Gus later.”
Sam let that sink in as he looked back at the painting. The frame suddenly swung back open and Vance and Penelope emerged.
“Come on, Sam. You’ve got an appointment,” Vance said as he grabbed his jacket and hat. Sam climbed to his feet and reached out his hand for Trevor to shake.
“It was nice”—Trevor pulled Sam into a hug—“meeting you,” Sam strained to say.
“Wow,” Vance quipped. “You two are friends already? That was quick.”
It was later on in their adventure that Dr. Vantana would reveal to Sam what sharing meant to trolls. The simple act of giving Trevor a cookie resulted in making a lifelong friend. Sam finally broke free from the troll hug, which felt like a bear hug, only sweatier. He said his goodbyes and followed Vantana to the door. Penelope pulled him aside before he exited.
“Dr. Vantana tells me you have not exhibited any enhancements following the injection of Magnapedaxin thirteen,” the ranger whispered. “Is that still the case?” Sam sniffed the air and nodded. She pursed her lips to the side in a perplexed manner. “That’s very unusual.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Sam. “It figures it wouldn’t work on me.”
“No, it doesn’t. There’s a reason, Sam. It’s just a matter of scientific investigation. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.” Penelope smiled and mussed Sam’s hair.
The sun was just beginning to disappear past the horizon as Sam followed Vantana off a trail and farther into the woods. Sam had never visited Redwood National Park and was overwhelmed by the size of the trees. Dr. Vantana explained that the tallest of the trees was known as Sequoia sempervirens and the largest in diameter was Sequoiadendron giganteum. Sam was in awe of these massive spires of wood and leaves. They were nature’s version of skyscrapers.
After forty-five minutes of hiking, they came upon a giant redwood trunk that was damaged during a lightning storm and had fallen to the ground. The slope of the terrain propped the trunk up several feet from the surface, enabling Vantana and Sam to walk beneath it.
“It’s just through here,” Vantana said as he stepped underneath the hollowed-out trunk.
Sam followed the doctor, and when he emerged on the other side, he suddenly noticed a change in the landscape. The trees now surrounding them were even larger than the ones they had passed along the way. Four times as big as the biggest redwood they had come upon just a quarter mile back.
“Are these still Sequoiadendron giganteum?” Sam asked.
“Nope. These are Sequoiadendron collosaeus. The true giants of the forest. Not many humans have laid eyes on them, Sam. This is a section of the park that is hidden from our kind for reasons you’ll come to understand.”
Sam could hardly fathom the magnitude of what he was seeing. He felt as if his eyes were betraying him. These trees were just too big to be real.
Dr. Vantana led them down a beaten path until they reached a pond surrounded by several Sequoiadendron collosaeus. Sam recognized the pond as the one in Trevor’s painting, sans the winged horse. Exhausted, Sam plopped down on a rock to catch his breath. Vantana was busy scanning the terrain and muttering to himself.
“Are we there yet?” Sam asked, out of breath. “We’re not going to camp the night, are we? I really don’t like camping. I’m not very good at it. I didn’t last very long in the Boy Scouts. They wanted me to learn all these knots. Do you know how long it took me just to learn how to tie my shoes?”
“Shhh,” Vance silenced him. “I always get a little mixed up here. North is noon; we’re looking for four o’clock.” Vance pointed his left arm northward, then moved his right arm like the small hand of a clock until he reached four o’clock. His hand was now directed at one of the trees that lined the pond. It looked big enough to park two dozen cars around its base and soared into the sky so high Sam couldn’t see the top. Dr. Vantana walked toward the tree, and Sam gathered himself and followed. Once they were at the base, Vantana put out his hand and began feeling the rough, creviced bark. This went on a full minute before Sam finally asked—
“Uh…what are you doing?”
“Lookin’ for the button,” Vance replied, frustrated.
“Button?” Sam asked. “Button for what?”
Vance abruptly stopped his hand and grinned. “The elevator.” He pushed in on the tree bark and Sam could distinguish a button-shaped indentation. It lit up with an auburn glow and was followed by the distinct ding of an elevator arriving. Sam watched in amazement as the bark vibrated and wrinkled, then split and slid open. This tree apparently had an elevator. It looked like one you would find at an upscale apartment building, well lit, with sequoia-paneled walls. A familiar classical piece played over the elevator speakers; Sam remembered it from music class as a composition by Mozart. Vance stepped inside, but Sam hesitated.
“They carved an elevator into a tree?” Sam asked in disbelief.
“Not carved into the tree. It just appears that way. It’s actually part of a structure that was built around the tree.” The doors began to close and Vance stopped them with his arm. “I don’t feel like climbin’ today, Sam. You’re gonna have to get in.”
Sam entered the elevator and Vance let the doors close. The control panel had hundreds of buttons. Each was labeled with a floor number and a time. Vance’s finger hovered above the panel and then settled on one of the buttons. The forty-seventh floor at eight-fifteen. Sam concluded that, like the arrangement of the trees around the pond, this was also configured in relation to a clock. Upon the push of the floor button, the elevator immediately shot upward. Sam grabbed the handrail to steady himself. The ascent was quick and not entirely straight up. Sam could feel the elevator shift sideways—and he realized it must be circling the tree. The sensation was akin to being shot up a spiral staircase at high speed. Sam’s ears popped, and he began to feel light-headed. Vantana was watching.
“You get used to it,” he offered.
Sam wasn’t sure why he would ever need to. When else would he be traveling in an elevator that was part of a giant redwood tree? The elevator halted as suddenly as it had started. Sam had to grip the handrail to keep from falling over. The doors slid open and Sam’s eyes went wide. He was staring out onto a massive tree branch that stretched outward into a sea of intermingled branches. There was nothing on either side of this branch except a steep drop to the ground. The branch itself was about as wide as a two-lane roadway. Vance motioned for Sam to get off.
“This is your stop.”
“My stop? You’re not coming with me?” Sam asked.
“I think it’s best if you talk with him by yourself. Maybe you’ll tell him all the stuff you won’t tell me,” Vance said with a snarky smile. Sam wouldn’t admit it, but he had come to trust the doctor, even if he wouldn’t share with him exactly what the gryphon had said. He’d been instructed to be careful with whom he spoke about their meeting, and he was taking that warning seriously. He also felt safe around Vance and didn’t much like the thought of the ranger not being with him for his encounter with the mysterious “Carl.” Rather than admit this feeling, Sam steeled himself and stepped out of the elevator and into the open.
“Well? Where is he?” Sam asked.
“In his house. Waitin’ for you. You gotta go knock on his door, Sam.”
“Knock on his door?” Sam repeated.
“Or ring the bell, whichever strikes ya.”
“What door? What house?”
Vance pointed. “That one right there.” Sam followed his finger and saw nothing. He peered back at Vance, his disbelief evident in his expression.
“Look harder,” Vance suggested firmly.
Sam turned his eyes toward the branch once again. This time he focused and scanned the scene carefully. His gaze concentrated in one spot for a second or two; then he saw it. There was something on the branch just a few yards ahead. Sam squinted, thinking it might help him discern what he was looking at. It was a structure of some sort, but it was camouflaged so as to be almost completely invisible. It was as if Sam were seeing through the structure itself. As though it were entirely transparent. It was only visible because the edges of the structure didn’t seamlessly transition into its environment. This visual wrinkle in the air betrayed the outline of the structure just enough for Sam to spot it. The more he stared, the clearer it became.
It was a house of simple architecture. One that reminded Sam of the colonial homes he had seen in history documentaries. It had four windows and a front door covered by an arched portico, held up by two pillars. The structure was exactly the width of the branch. It was a tree house unlike any Sam could have imagined. As he started toward it, he immediately noticed that this house was much larger than he’d thought. The front door was twice as tall as a normal front door. Carl must be big, Sam deduced. He glanced back at Vantana, his nerves dancing a jig in his stomach.
“Go on. He won’t bite,” Vance said reassuringly. “You’re small enough that he could just swallow you whole.” The doctor chuckled at his joke, but Sam wasn’t amused. He got to the door and found that both the knocker and the button for the bell were too high for him to reach. He clenched his hand into a fist and banged against the wooden surface. Even at this proximity, the camouflage was impressive, making it appear as though Sam were knocking on air.
“Door’s open. Come on in,” a voice called from inside the house. It sounded mature in its tone—Carl must be old, or older than Vance, anyway. Sam leapt up and grabbed the knob, turning it in the process and pushing it open. He swung into the home, still clutching the giant doorknob. He let go and dropped to the ground. When he looked back toward the elevator, he saw that Dr. Vantana had already gone.
“You may wait in the study. I’ll be in, in a moment,” the voice added. Sam glanced around at his surroundings. It was a well-appointed home. The entryway led into a hallway with stairs leading to a second floor. The decor was antique in nature, bordering on ancient. There was a stone bench in the hall with etchings that appeared, to Sam’s unarchaeologically trained eye, to be Egyptian. The walls were adorned with paintings from several eras, all sharing a common theme: nature. There were forests and mountains, hills and valleys, desert landscapes and coastal views. Carl had managed to bring a little of the outside inside.
Sam noticed an open set of double doors leading to a living room, and another door that led to what Sam concluded was the study. The living room had couches that were, like the front door, twice the normal size. There was a coffee table made from an old tree, which appeared to have been involved in a fire, since it was covered in scorch marks. The far wall had two windows that were separated by a massive fireplace and offered breathtaking views of the park. Atop the fireplace was a mantel with photographs, and above the mantel was a giant painting of Phylassos. Sam quickly determined that it was the same image of Phylassos from Dr. Knox’s book. He strained to make out the photos on the mantel, but they were too small and far away. He was just about to step inside for a closer look when he heard a thump from a nearby room, followed by pounding footsteps. Sam quickly retreated to the study.
The study was more like a library with a desk and chairs. The room was lined with massive bookshelves that reached all the way to the top of the cathedral ceiling and were filled with tomes of varying sizes. The desk sat in front of a bay window that offered more extraordinary views. It was built from a dark mahogany wood and decorated with intricate carvings of mythological creatures. The backs of the two leather chairs in the room had similar carvings. Sam’s eyes wandered and focused on a framed picture displayed on a credenza behind the desk. The photograph was of Dr. Knox standing next to a very large creature. Before Sam could comprehend what he was looking at, the voice returned, and this time it was in the room and standing directly behind him.
“Mr. London. It is an honor to meet you,” the voice said humbly. Sam slowly turned to face his host. “If I’m not mistaken, your heart is pumping some of my blood around in that body.”
Sam could barely manage a nod.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I believe that makes us family. And mi casa es su casa. Welcome home, Sam.”
Carl was Sam London’s newest family member, and he was also a bigfoot.