Nine

Monster Hunt

Neither Fin nor Eddie slept that night.

They went up to Eddie’s room, closed his window, locked the door, and then sat in the middle of the room with a flashlight. During previous sleepovers, they’d brought up a lantern and strewn blankets about, so that it felt like real camping. Eddie had even dragged his own blankets onto the floor. It had been fun.

But this . . . This wasn’t fun. They sat on the floor because it was the farthest distance from the doors or windows.

Neither spoke; there wasn’t anything to say. And besides, Fin could guess what Eddie would want to do—talk to his mom. Aunt Myrtle knew magic, had grown up with it, treated it like an irritating raccoon that kept blundering into her garage and had to be shooed out with a broom. Mom had grown up with it too, but Mom had left Aldermere and made no secret of distrusting the tea shop. She would scold Fin for returning there, for unleashing the magic.

It was only when the first rays of dawn began to creep through the curtains that Eddie rose and crossed to the window. He peeked outside, then nodded to Fin. “I don’t see anything out there.”

“You think it went into the forest or something?” asked Fin. That was her hope—maybe the creature would vanish.

“It could have,” said Eddie, “but it can’t have gone too far. I mean, the town boundaries do stretch into the redwoods, but only about seven miles inland. If that thing crossed a boundary . . .” He made a collapsing gesture with his hands, like a house falling inward.

Hope burned hot within Fin. “Maybe . . . Maybe it will. That would be the best solution, right? For that tea . . . thing to try and leave town. The magic would go away. It would just be tea again. Harmless, completely normal, soggy tea.”

“Maybe,” said Eddie, but he sounded doubtful. He looked at Fin. “How did that even happen?”

Fin shrugged. “I did everything that Talia does. I brewed it, steeped it for exactly five minutes, tossed the tea leaves down the garbage disposal—”

“They’re supposed to go in the compost,” said Eddie.

“I don’t think that really matters at the moment,” replied Fin, flushing.

“I mean—if that thing was made of tea—”

“Which it was,” said Fin.

“Then why aren’t there tea . . . monsters crawling out of everyone’s compost?” asked Eddie. “That seems like something people would notice.”

“Maybe I steeped it too long.”

“And the tea got angry with you?”

Fin threw up her hands. “I don’t know what went wrong!” She took a breath, and then another. “One good thing came out of this.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t feel anxious,” said Fin. “I mean, I’m scared of being eaten by a tea monster, but I think that’s normal under these circumstances.”

There was a moment of quiet. Then Eddie snorted with laughter. “Normal circumstances. Yeah. That’s exactly how I’d describe this.”

They made breakfast. Eddie swore he wasn’t dealing with anything magical until after he’d eaten. Fin had long ago learned how to cobble together pancakes, but the only flours they could find in Aunt Myrtle’s kitchen were barley and almond. Fin could have retrieved the pancake mix from the cottage, but at eight in the morning on a Saturday, her mother would still be asleep after her late shift. So she and Eddie made do. The eggs were from a neighbor’s coop, and Fin had to brush a stray feather from one before cracking it open. The pancakes had a slightly denser texture than she was used to, but it was food. And it didn’t matter once they added plenty of maple syrup.

When it came to cleaning up, both of them stood before the sink and eyed it doubtfully.

“Okay, you turn it on,” said Eddie.

“Why me?” Fin said, turning to him. “It’s your house.”

“It’s your tea monster,” he replied. “And besides, aren’t you supposed to be fearless now?”

It wasn’t that the tea made her fearless. It was like being able to take a full breath after being underwater for too long. It was mostly dizzy relief, the sensation of constriction and weight gone from her shoulders. She wasn’t fearless; she just wasn’t afraid. But she knew Eddie wouldn’t understand, so she didn’t try to explain.

“Fine,” she said. She stepped up to the sink and glanced down. The mesh strainer was still on the counter, and Fin stuck it in place before turning on the faucet. It spat water for a moment, then steadied out into its usual flow.

The water vanished into the sink easily. There was no sign of a blockage, at least.

“Well, that’s one thing,” said Fin. “We don’t need to tell your mom we ruined her sink.”

“Only that you unleashed a tea monster,” he said.

“I thought you said we unleashed a tea monster!”

“Trust me,” he said, “I’m going to get in enough trouble with your mom when she finds out that I helped you steal from Talia. We don’t need to add my helping create Franken-Tea on top of it.”

They rinsed off the dishes, set them in the rack, and ventured outside. Eddie led the way through the bushes to the place beneath the kitchen window. “You think we can track it?” asked Fin. Eddie had studied animal tracking with Frank.

Eddie made an uncertain noise. He knelt beneath the window, shoving aside a thick bit of overgrown vetch. He looked around the dirt and grass, and then he reached down and picked up something. “This look familiar?”

Fin took it from him. It was a slimy brown leaf. She sniffed it. Tea—definitely tea.

“Okay,” said Eddie. “Okay. I can do this.”

Five minutes later, they walked away from the house wearing boots and jackets, and Fin carried Eddie’s lacrosse stick. She wasn’t quite sure how it would help them, but it felt better to have something in her hands. Eddie found another tea leaf in the grass, sniffing it for good measure before moving on. Fin trailed in his wake. Her mind was whirling, trying to come up with plans and backup plans.

A tea monster. An actual tea monster. This couldn’t happen every time Talia made the tea, because otherwise Aldermere would be overrun. Fin had made a mistake. She must have missed a step.

Eddie found another tea leaf on a mossy rock. Then another between the roots of a tree. “This clump’s bigger,” he said. “Come on. Look at this grass—it’s all tamped down. Someone wandered around here.” He knelt beside a broken branch.

Fin kept the lacrosse stick raised. “What do we do if we find it?”

He glanced at the stick. “Hope that it likes sports?”

“I’m serious,” Fin said. “Do we . . . I don’t know. Can we trap it somehow?”

“Like with a really big tea ball?” Eddie suggested.

Fin glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m trying not to freak out. Pretty much the only way I can do that is with badly timed humor. Or at least that’s what Mom says.”

Fin thought of Aunt Myrtle and shook her head. She loved her aunt, but right now that love was laced with resentment. “She wants me to see a counselor.”

“Who?” Eddie asked, surprised.

“Your mom,” said Fin. “She thinks I need counseling. She wants me to see someone up in Eureka. I overheard her and Mom talking.” She gripped the stick a little harder. “She thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

“We’re hunting a tea monster with a lacrosse stick,” he replied. “I think there’s something wrong with both of us.”

Fin smiled, but it wasn’t real. Eddie didn’t get it—he’d always been talkative and friendly, so easygoing that he could still crack jokes when they were out in the woods with a monster running amok.

They did not find the tea monster. They did find another lizard, which Eddie popped into his shirt pocket; signs that a bear had wandered by; a flower that Eddie claimed was native only to Aldermere; and a bit of shoelace. Eddie was pleased with the lizard. His jeans were damp and muddy at the knees, but he had the satisfied look of a collector who had come across a rare prize. Fin shook her head; the only thing she’d ever collected were old mystery paperbacks.

They walked deeper into the woods, until the sounds of the town and highway had all vanished. Redwood forests were always quiet and oddly still, save for the occasional garter snake that tried to slip away unseen. The fallen red needles softened every step, and even the birds were silent.

The forests were beautiful—but she knew better than to relax. She had grown up in cities and suburbs, where street signs could tell her where to go and the only predators were people. But out here, if they got lost they would have to find their own way back to town. Black bears were common, and a few months ago, a cougar had lingered in the area.

There were other things that lived in the forest: whintossers; deer that looked normal except for their distorted, strange shadows; a hog-bear that only Frank claimed to have seen; the flocks of ever-present ravens; whatever lived in Bower’s Creek; and, of course, the infamous Bigfoot. But today Fin and Eddie saw no sign of monsters.

They lost the trail near the creek.

Eddie stood on the muddy ground, tennis shoes sinking. “Sorry. Wherever it went, I don’t know.”

Fin let out a sigh. “It’s not your fault. You got us farther than I thought we would.” She knelt beside the creek, extending her hand to run her fingers through the cool, clear water. She was sweaty; the summer was lingering in the sunlight, reddening her forearms and making her hair stick to the back of her neck.

Eddie caught her by the wrist. “Wait.”

Fin looked at him, exhausted beyond words, but then she understood.

She rummaged around in her pockets but came up empty. Eddie did the same and found half of a gummy protein ball with lint stuck to it.

“That was in your pocket?” said Fin, aghast.

Eddie shrugged. Then he tossed the protein ball into the creek. It spun around, bouncing merrily along the current. It floated toward the dappled shadows of trees upon the water.

The thing that lived in Bower’s Creek always kept to the shadows.

Fin and Eddie waited, watching, to see if a clawed hand would reach up and seize hold of the food. If that happened, they would have to go around. There was a fallen log about half a mile east of town, and they could cross there.

No one knew what lived in Bower’s Creek. At one town council meeting, Aunt Myrtle had said it could be a malevolent mermaid or a siren, Frank insisted it was a swamp monster, and Mr. Carver murmured about a miniature kraken. But one thing was certain: like all magical creatures, the thing was hungry. And not particular about what it ate.

No one could prove it ate people. But there had been an older man living on the edge of Bower’s Creek who had vanished five years ago. And once in a while, a pet would go missing. There would be a search, but more often than not, the animal would never be found again.

The protein ball floated away and out of sight. Whatever lived in the creek wasn’t here. They were safe.

Fin unlaced her shoes and waded through the shallows. The water was breathtakingly cold but clean against her sweaty skin, and she cupped her fingers and splashed a little on the back of her neck.

“We should head back,” said Eddie. “Your mom’ll probably be awake by now, and she’ll want to know where we are.”

It was true; Aunt Myrtle and other Aldermere parents tended to allow greater leniency than Fin was used to, but her mom still liked to know where the kids were playing.

They took a different route back to town, winding through a trail kept neat for hikers. It was packed with dirt and dead redwood needles, and more than one garter snake slithered reluctantly off the sun-warmed path. As they approached town, Fin heard the sound of bustle and voices. They walked out of the trees, past the edge of the inn’s parking lot. There was a rumble of voices nearby, and Fin remembered it was Saturday.

On Saturdays, from the months of May through October, the Foragers’ Market opened up along East Redwood Street. A few local shops made their presence known: Brewed Awakening always set up a small table where Cedar and one of her parents sold coffee and herbal tisanes out of paper cups, the bakery set up a table of fresh breads and sweets, and the Ack brought over snacks and fishing bait.

But more common were those people who lived off the grid and sold foraged fare. Among the offerings were turkey tail mushrooms in jars of vinegar; balls of homemade cheeses rolled in California bay leaves, fennel, and garlic; jars of dogberries, thimbleberries, huckleberries, salmonberries, and blackberries; bags of edible greens from the forest floor; candied spruce tips wrapped in parchment paper; fresh breads flavored with nettles and sorrel. Sometimes Aunt Myrtle convinced Eddie and Fin to bring a folding card table down to Main Street so she could sell a few seashell wind chimes or offer to read tarot for the tourists.

Eddie and Fin trudged into the market, burrs clinging to their pants and sweat dampening their foreheads. Fin’s forearm stung where she had accidentally brushed a nettle, and all she wanted was a shower and a sandwich. “I’m going to talk to Frank about tracking,” said Eddie. At Fin’s sharp look, he added, “I’m not going to say anything about a tea monster. I just want to know where creatures would go out near Bower’s Creek. Like, if it was trying to find shelter or something.”

Fin nodded, and Eddie walked toward Frank’s table. Frank brewed some kind of frothy beverage out of elderberries and served it to the adults in paper cups. For the kids, he had fresh apple cider.

“Hey, sweetie.”

Mom stood a few feet away. She had a bulging tote bag tucked under her arm and a tired smile on her face. Fin’s stomach lurched at the sight of her; what if Mom knew something was wrong?

“Hi,” said Fin. “What—what are you doing here? I thought you were working today.”

“I am,” said Mom around a yawn. “Just headed to the inn, actually. But Mr. Madeira texted me and said he didn’t have time to bake bread this morning, so I stopped here.”

Sure enough, a closer look at the tote back revealed the edge of brown paper—the kind the bakery always used to wrap their loaves. “You and Eddie have a fun sleepover?” asked Mom. Her keen gaze slid over Fin, stopping at the muddied spots on her jeans.

Fin hated lying to Mom, but this was one of those times when it was unavoidable. She had gone against Mom’s wishes, returned to the tea shop, stolen tea, and accidentally created a monster. She couldn’t imagine how Mom would react—no, she could imagine it. There would be disappointment and lectures and . . . and maybe this would be the final straw. Maybe this would make Mom so angry that she’d decide this place was too magical for both of them.

They hadn’t moved for three years, and it had been the best three years of Fin’s life. She didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to be uprooted again.

So she kept the truth to herself. It was safer.

“It was a good sleepover,” Fin said. “And this morning Eddie wanted to look for stuff for our science fair project, so we went into the woods.”

Mom’s eyes lingered on the ragged hems of Fin’s jeans. They were dark with damp, the cold creeping through her socks and against her bare skin.

“You weren’t near Bower’s Creek, right?” Mom asked.

Fin swallowed another lie. “Yeah, we waded in.”

Alarm flashed across Mom’s face.

“We were careful,” Fin said quickly, before Mom could open her mouth and give her the lecture Fin could recite by heart.

Aldermere can be dangerous, Fin—

“We checked to make sure the creek was empty,” said Fin. “Before we crossed it.”

—Don’t ever let your guard down.

Mom exhaled, and it sounded as though that breath carried the weight of those unspoken warnings. “All right,” she said quietly. “That’s good that you were careful. I want you safe, okay? And I trust you.”

That was almost worse than a lecture. Fin’s stomach clenched, her insides tight with guilt. Mom gave her a one-armed hug before leaving for the inn.

Fin glanced around the market. There were the usual vendors: the bakery, Frank’s drink stand, and a homesteader with blackberry honey. The Reyes twins were standing near a truck selling bundles of foraged mushrooms. Fin waved to them uncertainly. The twins were Fin’s age, but she didn’t know them all that well. Matty and Izzy were a little intimidating—both attractive and aloof. It was rumored that the twins only spoke to each other and vanished into the forest for weeks at a time. Fin thought it was all gossip; after all, the twins were homeschooled. They were probably normal and just kept to themselves.

Probably. This was Aldermere, after all.

The twins stared back at her, and only Izzy raised a hand in reply. Feeling awkward, Fin turned away—and to her relief, she saw Brewed Awakening’s little cart. It was a place to stand while she waited for Eddie.

Cedar was at work, pouring two young tourists cups of coffee and making change. Fin watched as Cedar deftly counted out the dollars, handing them over with a polite “Come again.”

The tourists never once looked at Cedar—just took the money and walked away.

“That was rude,” said Fin, when they were out of earshot. The entire interaction made Fin glad that her only job in town was to help with the grocery store deliveries. At least people smiled, grateful when she brought their packages. Maybe it was different working in a coffee shop or a restaurant; people treated Cedar with rude indifference.

Cedar shrugged. “Tourists,” she said simply. She leaned against the cart, gazing at Fin with interest. “You look more tired than I am, and that’s saying something. You want a cup?”

Fin shook her head. “I’m not allowed to have coffee.”

“We also have tisanes,” said Cedar. “We’ve got an iced blend of hibiscus and pineapple my parents are trying to move because it never sells in the fall. You want some?”

Fin dug into her pocket and came up with a few crumpled dollars. She passed them over in exchange for a paper cup. It was wondrously cold against her fingers and it tasted like summer. “Thanks,” she said. She gulped the rest down.

“Your parents here?” asked Fin. They had to be—Fin couldn’t imagine a kid being allowed to run a cart all by herself, even if she was a year older.

“Yeah, they wanted to run to the bakery stand before they ran out of sourdough,” said Cedar. “Someone said it was selling fast today.”

“My mom may have bought it all for the inn, sorry,” said Fin, wincing.

Cedar laughed. It was a nice laugh—quick and quiet, like a secret. “They’ll have to settle for whole grain, then. That’s fine, I like that better.” She smiled at Fin. “You want a refill?”

“No, I can’t—”

But Cedar was taking the empty paper cup from Fin’s hand and refilling it with the cold herbal tea. “It’s not selling,” said Cedar. “You can have it.”

“Thanks,” said Fin.

Another person walked up to the coffee cart—Mayor Downer. She wore leather shoes and pressed trousers, despite the muddy ground. She looked over the small chalkboard menu before saying, “One cup of coffee, please.”

Cedar was already picking up a thermos before the words were out of the mayor’s mouth. She poured a cup of black coffee, holding it out even as Mayor Downer pushed a few dollars across the table and picked up the cup without looking at Cedar. She moved on, striding into the Foragers’ Market with a kind of grim determination.

“Why does she even come to the market?” asked Fin, her eyes on Mayor Downer’s back.

“Probably to check that everyone has licenses to be here,” said Cedar with a snort. “And make people leave when they don’t.”

“She can try.” Fin thought of what might happen should Aunt Myrtle be told that she needed a license to read tarot cards. It wouldn’t end well for the mayor.

“Were you and Eddie out playing in the woods?” asked Cedar. She gestured vaguely at Fin’s head. “You’ve got briars in your hair.”

Fin grimaced; while Cedar was always friendly, she had a way of making Fin feel awkward and unsophisticated. Fin yanked a small blackberry leaf from her messy ponytail. “Eddie and I were looking for lizards for our science project,” said Fin.

Cedar nodded. “Oh. You hear about the break-in?”

Fin went still, the edge of the cup against her lips. “Break-in?”

Cedar seemed to be trying to sound sympathetic, but there was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. “Someone broke into Mr. Madeira’s house last night. He only noticed when the ravens started shrieking up a storm.”

“He feeds them stale bread from the inn,” said Fin. “They flock around his house.”

“Mr. Madeira went into his kitchen and found it trashed. Stuff just thrown everywhere, so it took a while to figure out what the thief stole.”

That was why Mom had come to the Foragers’ Market, Fin realized. Mr. Madeira must have been dealing with the aftermath of the break-in, so he hadn’t had time to bake in the morning. “Who steals from a kitchen?” said Fin, frowning. “Don’t they go for phones or computers?”

“Not this thief,” said Cedar, tapping a finger against her cart. “This one stole all of the tea.”

A chill started at the nape of Fin’s neck and worked its way downward. “T-tea?”

Cedar gave her a significant look. “Talia’s tea. The kind Mr. Madeira buys for his wife.”

Fin’s breathing was coming a little faster now, rough in her throat and lungs. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t—

“Do they know what time it happened?” Fin asked.

Cedar shrugged. “Around ten at night.”

Ten. The tea monster had crawled out of the sink earlier than that. There would have been more than enough time for it to circle through the woods and break into Mr. Madeira’s home.

“Why would anyone want it?” Fin muttered, more to herself than to Cedar.

But Cedar answered. “Don’t know. I mean—the tea is special, but no one’s ever tried to steal it before. Maybe Talia wouldn’t sell to someone and they decided to take it. But since they couldn’t break into the tea shop itself without the shop vanishing . . .” She let the sentence trail off.

“Did they see who did it?” Fin asked. Maybe Mr. Madeira had caught a glimpse of the thief, maybe—

“Nope,” said Cedar. “Not a look.”

The last of Fin’s hopes died away.

Because she knew what had broken into Mr. Madeira’s home. Not a person, but a thing seeking tea.

Maybe it needed more. Maybe all those soggy tea leaves that had flaked off had left the creature small and injured, and it had needed to replenish itself. It reminded Fin of those video games that Eddie played, when monsters healed themselves halfway through a battle. Or scooped up magic potions and grew ten times their size.

Monsters were hungry, after all.