Six

Bread Crumbs and Brie

Fin had known the legend of Bigfoot—or Sasquatch, as he was sometimes called—long before she’d moved to Aldermere.

He was supposed to be a large, apelike creature. One that lived in mountains or forests, who kept to himself save for the occasional late-night documentary. Those films were of people who’d seen or smelled things that didn’t belong in Northern California, who glimpsed mangled animals and large rocks hurled toward human settlements. The way those people told it, Bigfoot was a creature who terrorized humans when he bothered to emerge from the shadows.

This small, otterlike creature didn’t resemble the legend in the slightest.

For a moment, no one moved. Not even the creature. The bigfoot. Fin forced herself to think the word. She had believed in magic for years now. But she never thought she would meet an actual bigfoot.

“That’s a bigfoot?” said Fin. “I thought they were . . . bigger.”

“That’s a baby,” said Eddie. “The adults are like fifteen feet tall.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be scary?” asked Fin, frowning.

The bigfoot made a noise that sounded like meep.

“Oh my goodness,” cooed Cedar. She squatted down, as if the bigfoot was a stray cat. “Hi there.”

“They’re not predators,” said Eddie. “And they’re very shy. At least that’s what Nick told me. One wandered into town a few years ago—I never saw her, but some people renting that eastern water tower kept leaving food out.”

The bigfoot cowered, but Fin knew better than to let her guard down. Fear only made some creatures—and people—more dangerous.

“If that’s a baby,” said Cedar, keeping her voice low and soothing, “where are its parents?”

Eddie frowned. “She must have gotten separated from her herd.”

“That’s what I felt last night, then,” Fin said. “The ground was shaking a little—it must have been a bunch of bigfoots moving through the woods.”

The bigfoot’s ears twitched, moving back and forth as if it was listening to Fin’s every word.

“Is this the creature you saw?” said Eddie.

Fin shook her head. “No, definitely not. What I saw was much scarier. And bigger.”

“Maybe that shadow creature chased her away from her herd,” said Eddie. “She could’ve been trying to escape it.”

Fin thought of the long-legged shadow and shivered. “Yeah. I could see even a bigfoot being afraid of it.”

“Hey,” Cedar said, voice soft. “It’s okay. We’re not scary, I promise.”

The bigfoot’s dark gaze flicked from Eddie to Cedar to Fin, then over its own shoulder. It appeared to yearn for the woods behind it.

“Why isn’t it running?” murmured Fin, trying to keep her mouth from moving too much. She didn’t want to startle it a second time.

“Maybe it’s tired,” said Cedar. “Poor thing must have been scared all night, if it got lost.”

Fin began to shrug off her coat. Sweat had beaded up behind her T-shirt and she was too warm after their run through the forest. The bag Mr. Carver had given her fell from the coat pocket. It tumbled to the ground, spilling several crusts.

The bigfoot’s ears pricked forward. It edged toward the food but wasn’t brave enough to venture closer.

Fin didn’t have Eddie’s affinity for animals, but even she understood. “Are you hungry?” she said. She picked up the bag and tossed one crust toward the bigfoot. The creature scooped it up with those otterlike paws and began devouring it.

“She’s starving,” said Eddie, clapping a fist into the palm of his other hand. “That’s why she came into town and looked around the dumpsters near Brewed Awakening. I bet she poked around the inn’s trash too. She’s too young to forage for her own food yet. And without her parents, she’s desperate.”

“She?” asked Fin.

“I think it’s a female,” said Eddie. “Pretty sure.”

“She’s adorable,” said Cedar. “Look at those whiskers! And her little paws.”

The bigfoot finished the crust and began cleaning her face, running her paws over her whiskers and ears the way a rabbit might. Fin softened toward the bigfoot, the last vestiges of fear draining away. This creature wasn’t monstrous—she was hungry and scared. If she had been fleeing that shadow, Fin could understand why the bigfoot had risked coming into town.

The bigfoot lifted her head, her small ears moving back and forth as she listened.

And then Fin heard it—the footsteps. A cracking branch, the rustle of undergrowth.

Adrenaline jolted through her in a hot rush. Fin’s gaze jerked around until it landed on the hiking path only a few feet away.

“Someone’s coming,” Cedar whispered. “What if they see her?”

All of them gazed at the bigfoot for a heartbeat, then Fin tore into the bag of bread. “Come on,” she said in a low voice. “Come here . . . uh . . . you.” She waggled a crust of bread at the bigfoot.

The creature’s head tilted, curious. But she didn’t move. Fin gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to give into her frustration. They couldn’t risk startling the creature and driving her toward the hiking trail.

Fin tore off a small bit of crust and tossed it into a large clump of ferns. The bigfoot gave Fin a wary, confused look. Then she scurried into the bushes and out of sight.

“Good idea,” said Eddie. “Cedar, come here.” He took two steps sideways, so he stood between the ferns and the trail. “If we stand here . . . they might not see anything.”

“Yeah,” said Cedar, and hurried to his side.

Fin walked as quickly and quietly as she could, around the thick ferns to where the bigfoot had found the bread. She was nibbling away at the crust, holding it between her tiny paws and getting crumbs all over her whiskers. Luckily, she didn’t mind Fin’s presence.

Fin crouched behind the ferns, listening. The only sounds were the soft click-click of the bigfoot’s teeth and the approaching footsteps. Fin tried to slow her breathing, to make it less audible.

“Morning,” came an unfamiliar voice. Fin peered through the bushes and saw a boy and a girl. They were perhaps fourteen or fifteen, wearing sneakers that would be ruined on a muddy trail. Definitely tourists.

“Morning,” said Cedar and Eddie in one voice.

“Is this the trail that leads to that big redwood?” said the boy.

“No,” said Cedar. “There’s a trail across town, going east, and it leads to that big one. I forget what the name is.”

“Delilah,” said Eddie helpfully. “Big Delilah. She’s marked along the trail. Supposed to be almost a thousand years old.”

The bigfoot finished her snack and lifted her head, listening. Fin’s heart thudded in her chest. She fumbled another bread crust out of the bag.

The bigfoot’s gaze darted toward the tourists, then back to the bread. Fin held her breath, silently hoping that she wouldn’t investigate the strangers.

The bigfoot picked up the crust and began eating.

“Thanks,” said the girl. There was a rustle, as if she’d elbowed the boy. “I told you it was in the other direction.” There was the sound of footsteps against the dirt path, returning the way they had come. Fin didn’t move until she couldn’t hear them.

She rose from her crouch. At least they were safe. For now.

“That was close,” said Cedar. “Is she still . . . ?”

“Eating?” said Fin. “Yup.”

They walked around the ferns to see the bigfoot. She regarded them without fear, probably because Fin kept feeding her. Which wasn’t a great solution, Fin knew. Wildlife was supposed to be wild. But the magic also had to be kept secret, and this adorable creature with her oversized feet and otter’s face didn’t seem to understand that.

For a few moments, they all looked at the bigfoot.

“We can’t leave her here,” said Fin, breaking the silence. “She could wander into town again—and imagine what the SNACC Pack would do if they saw her.”

Concern crossed Cedar’s face. “They’d take her away. Probably to a lab or something. She’d never see her parents again.” She straightened. “You’re right—we can’t leave her here.”

Eddie grinned. “So much for ‘My mom won’t let me have a pet.’”

“She’s not a pet,” protested Fin. “I’m just saying—Nick will know what to do with her. We can take her back to . . . I don’t know where.”

“What about your cottage?” said Cedar. “Your mom is working today, so it’ll be empty. And the bigfoot will be in familiar territory, but not in town. And if we show her it’s safe and there’s food, she’ll probably be fine.”

Sure enough, the bigfoot was sniffing in Fin’s direction, her eyes on the bag of bread.

“We’ll have to lure her all the way to the cottage, then,” said Eddie.

Fin pulled out another crust. “I think I know how to do that.”

Of all the things Fin had planned for spring break, she hadn’t expected to lure a baby bigfoot back to her cottage with a trail of breadcrumbs. It took the better part of an hour—she had to sprinkle the crumbs, wait for the bigfoot to eat them, then step back about fifteen feet and sprinkle more. Luckily, the bigfoot never tired of the stale snack; she kept shuffling after Fin, her big dark eyes on the bag of food. Eddie kept up a steady stream of soothing chatter, trying to get the bigfoot used to the sound of his voice. Cedar followed a few feet behind, quiet and watchful. They kept to the woods, peering warily at the old logging road before hurrying across. That wide expanse of open air and gravel felt dangerous; there was no place to hide. Fin didn’t know how they would explain the bigfoot to any tourists who might glimpse her.

Finally the familiar redwoods near Fin’s cottage came into view. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“No one’s home,” she said. “But someone should probably still keep watch near the big house, make sure none of the neighbors come by.”

Cedar nodded. “I can do that.” She turned and trotted toward the big house.

Fin tossed a few more breadcrumbs onto the porch. The bigfoot shuffled up the steps, picking up each crumb with her deft little paws. Fin carefully unlocked the cottage door and stepped inside, sprinkling a few more crumbs. “Your mom would freak if she knew what you’re bringing inside,” said Eddie, grinning. He sounded proud of Fin’s new bout of rule breaking. Fin wasn’t sure if what she was doing was right—but she was pretty sure they didn’t have many other options.

“Well, Mom doesn’t have to know,” she replied. “We’ll be out of here long before she’s back from work. And we need more food to keep Bigfoot here occupied. I’m out of bread.” She crumpled the empty bag and put it into the trash bin.

Luckily, the bigfoot wasn’t interested in destroying the cottage. She merely picked up the last of the crumbs and looked around curiously for more. Eddie shut the door behind her, leaning against it. “What else can we feed her?”

Fin opened the fridge. There was an assortment of old greens in the crisper drawer; a plate with the last of the frittata was on the first shelf, along with a plate of Brie cheese with a note that said For Book Club at Inn Tonight—DO NOT EAT. The top shelf held a scattering of yogurt containers, a half-empty mustard bottle on its side, and the butter dish. Fin pulled out the frittata and cheese plates, setting them on the floor so she could rummage in the back. Sure enough, she found a few apples. “They’re not into meat, right?”

“Yeah, Nick said they aren’t carnivores,” said Eddie.

Fin rinsed off the apple, then rolled it across the floor. The creature eyed the fruit curiously, then picked it up in her tiny paws. She turned it over a few times, and again, Fin was reminded of those videos of otters washing their food. Then the bigfoot took a little bite, nibbling at the apple like a rabbit.

“She is cute, isn’t she?” said Fin, shutting the fridge.

Eddie looked elated at the sight of a tiny bigfoot eating an apple. “I’ve always wanted to see one, but this is . . . wow.”

Fin turned toward the kitchen window. It was difficult to believe that only last night, she had watched a shadow monster creep across the lawn through this same window. “What do you think separated her from her family?” she asked quietly. “That monster I saw?”

Eddie came up beside her, peering through the window. “Where’d you see it?”

She pointed at the corner of the big house. “It went around there. But it walked across the entire backyard. You didn’t see any tracks?”

“Nothing.” Eddie scratched idly at the back of his head. “Do we know yet if shadow monsters leave tracks?”

“I’d ask the internet, but the Wi-Fi doesn’t reach out here,” said Fin, deadpan.

That earned her a snort of laughter. Eddie’s expression grew more thoughtful as he considered the backyard. “Maybe Nick will know what that shadow thing was.”

“I hope so.” Fin turned to look at the bigfoot and drew in a sharp gasp. “Oh no.”

“What?” Eddie’s head whipped toward the bigfoot.

The bigfoot sat before the plate that had once held Mom’s Brie cheese—the plate that was now empty. Fin felt a rush of panic. Mom was going to be mad; she’d put that cheese away specifically for a book club meeting, and it wasn’t as though Fin could explain that a bigfoot had eaten it.

The bigfoot in question was cleaning her whiskers in a self-satisfied way. When Fin let out a groan, the bigfoot looked up at her as if to say, “What?”

“She ate the Brie,” said Fin faintly. “My mom’s going to be mad.”

“Just say I ate it,” said Eddie, with far more grim bravery than Fin could muster. “She can’t get mad at me. I’m the favorite nephew.”

The bigfoot, oblivious to their conversation, sidled up to the plate of frittata. Fin scooped that up quickly, setting it on the counter. “You’re her only nephew. And she can definitely get mad at you,” she said. “She just can’t ground you.”

“And that’s what matters,” said Eddie. “Once Mom comes back, she can ground me. Or maybe your mom will have forgotten about the cheese by then.”

The bigfoot meeped. Then she shuffled up to Fin and leaned against her leg, gazing up with big, warm eyes.

Fin hesitated, then patted the bigfoot on the head. The bigfoot meeped again and closed her eyes contentedly.

It was adorable.

“She likes you,” said Eddie.

“I fed her.” Fin continued the gentle patting. “She’s probably just happy to be full. Like how that stray cat moved himself into the Ack when Mr. Hardin fed him.” She looked at Eddie, another squirm of nerves going through her. “She can’t stay here. Not forever. Just until we find her family or pack or . . . whatever.”

“Are you going to tell your mom?” asked Eddie.

Fin let out a startled laugh. “Definitely not. I mean—she’s gotten better about the magic stuff since the tea shop incident. But I don’t think she’ll be excited about keeping a bigfoot in my loft.”

“We’ll need a code word then.” Eddie’s brow furrowed. “So we can talk about her around other people. ‘Bigfoot’ would be kinda obvious.”

The bigfoot’s eyes were slipping closed; she seemed tired after the walk to the cottage and her meal of cheese. Fin’s gaze returned to the empty plate.

“Brie,” she said. “We can call her Brie.”