No, I’m not tempted to take out my cell and film the crap out of the Bigfoot. First off, Kingsley now has all the proof he needs for me to win the bet. Second, I was never here to prove Bigfoot. I am here to help find him in a calm and orderly manner. And, if we got lucky, to scientifically document him. I am not here to help capture and/or kill him. And at the moment, I’m doing my best to keep Kingsley’s head on. I mean, look at the arms on that Sasquatch, as big around as my waist and roped with enough muscle to stretch from here to Seattle.

  The beast attacked us without provocation, says a voice in my head, a voice I recognize, though it’s been a while since I’ve heard Kingsley’s dark master.

  The hellhound surprised me. Bigger than I’ve seen. I sensed a darkness within it—and dark magic, too. The second voice is deep and rich.

  Clearly the Sasquatch, with its enhanced ability to read minds, delved deep into the headspace of the supernaturally enormous wolf... and didn’t like what he saw. Especially if Kingsley had come upon it unaware.

  Curiously, I’d overheard Trey, the tracker, mention it’s common knowledge that Bigfoots don’t like dogs. Apparently, man’s best friend can sniff the big fellow out. Or hear them. In the very least, they can track him in ways that the Bigfoot is not accustomed to... or can readily escape from.

  Perhaps that’s another reason for the Bigfoot’s animosity toward Kingsley. Surely Kingsley the four-legged wolf hadn’t done more than sniff the squatch down, undoubtedly surprising the hell out of the giant... which led directly to Kingsley having been thrown into a tree.

  “First off,” I say, “he’s not a hellhound. He’s a werewolf. The entity you sense is a creature possessing a man named Kingsley... a man I happen to be quite fond of. We’re mates, in a way, though, to date, we haven’t put much of a label on it other than being boyfriend and girlfriend. Kind of a silly label, really, considering Kingsley is nearly a hundred years old, and I’m pushing fifty. Yes, yes, I know. I look like I’m in my mid-to-late twenties...”

  What is she going on about? I hear in my head.

  She’s speaking long-windedly of her mate, the human I share this body with.

  “I can hear you guys,” I say.

  But you do not look human. You look part wolf, part man.

  And you look part ape, part man.

  Fair enough. You are a supernatural creature, then? I sense much magic within you, in your blood, see it in your distant memories. You were part of a cult, of sorts. You partook of a potion, I believe, one that tainted the blood—

  Yes, yes. I am many things, apeman. One of which is trapped inside this human’s body, only able to be set free once a month.

  I see that, too. You have a penchant for digging up graves, of partaking in the flesh of the recently departed. I do not understand such depravity, but I sense it harkens back to the covenant you made with dark humans, evil humans.

  A decision I made a long time ago, and regret every day.

  The wolf in you gave me quite a start. Wolves, coyotes, dogs are a natural enemy to us. We can’t understand how they can find us, even when using our considerable gifts of camouflage and stealth. But my fight is not with you, or the dog within you, or the man watching from the deep shadows.

  Who is your fight with, then?

  Those who seek to do us harm, unless that’s you, too. I sense great anger in you and not a lot of self control.

  A dark chuckle appears in my thoughts. That’s about the gist of it. There is no longer danger here. I am not needed, and I tire of this banter. Besides, the man called Kingsley is demanding to re-emerge. He can be so tiresome at times. I have to live with him more or less, and so I appease him when I can. So, yes... I have some self control.

  With that, he drops to his knees, hunches forward, growling into the ground. His once-hairy back dissolves into the muscular flesh of my honey’s back. Within a minute or so, Kingsley is kneeling in a similar fashion.

  The high-powered defense attorney rises to his knees, then finds his feet. I could be wrong, but, yeah, there is a slight chance the man I have grown to love is minutely taller than when I had last seen him no more than thirty minutes ago.

  Such is the way of weres.

  He sways a little on his feet, and, as he sways, something else on him sways, too. Human Kingsley is hairy, sure, but not so hairy that his, ah, nether region is fully covered—unlike the Sasquatch, whose own business is mostly covered in long, knotted hair.

  Kingsley recovers quickly, gasping and stepping back when he takes in the sheer size of the creature standing before him. Kingsley, the man, is regarding the creature for the first time.

  “What do you think?” I ask, sidling up next to him. “Do I win the bet?”

  “I... I smelled him first. It was unlike anything I’d ever scented before. The wolf in me went into an oddly silent mode, something I’m not used to doing, but knew exactly how. In that form...” He shakes his head. “...I can creep up on anything. Even on something so attuned to the forest. Quieter than a cat. It’s no wonder they have a natural hatred and fear of all things canine. They can’t run from them or hide from them. Well, not for long.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, Sam. You win the bet. Happy?”

  “Very.”

  As we speak, the hulking beast before us examines the torn wound at his shoulder. I note it is not healing at any kind of super speed. These things, though alien, are not supernatural. They are as flesh and blood as any human... with the unusual ability to turn into balls of light, move with lightning fast speed, and travel between worlds.

  Kingsley touches his muscular chest. “The wolfman in me—”

  “Does he have a name?” I ask.

  “Yes, but I do not speak it often, nor do I want to. Acknowledging him by name gives him greater strength. Already he boldly emerges when he thinks we are in danger.”

  “Well, the few times he has, you were in danger.”

  “Well, I prefer the status quo.”

  “Once a month?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Unless you really, really need his help.”

  Kingsley starts to shrug, which morphs into cracking his neck. It’s hard for him to admit to ever needing help, so all I get in reply is a noncommittal grunt.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask him.

  “I was, but already healing. And can we stop talking about me... and start talking about... him?” He points to the Sasquatch before us.

  The Sasquatch stops his self examination, shakes his head. No time, humans. I’m needed elsewhere.

  He broadcasts the telepathic thought into both my mind and Kingsley’s. As he does so, he gives us a brief flash of something I have seen before... or something damn similar. Rather than seeing a Sasquatch suspended by a rope of some sort, I see the same rope now lassoed around the arms and legs of another Sasquatch. Apparently, plans have changed... or adapted.

  Ah, crap. Has one of his kind already been captured?

  “Let us help,” I say. “Please. We’re pretty good at helping.”

  He studies me, probing deep into my thoughts. Yes, little one. You can help by getting me to my brother faster than even I can run.

  He’s talking teleportation. “Can you give me the image again of where your brother has been captured?”

  He does so, though the details are a bit fuzzy. I’m sorry. It’s a mental image broadcast to me. As such, I’m not clear on the details.

  Except I see a small clearing. A grouping of four trees forming a semi-circle. I nod. “It’s enough. Take my hand.”

  Next, I do something few people have ever had the opportunity to do: I hold hands with a Sasquatch. He gently wraps his own around mine, engulfing my hand all the way down to mid-forearm. It’s warm and calloused. He squeezes my hand, and I can’t help but look up at him and smile. Except his face is creased in worry, yellowish eyes distant. He’s not human, but I can read the expression on his face.

  Right. Time to go.

  I reach out with my other hand, take hold of Kingsley, and summon the single flame...

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The scene is chaos, and it takes me a moment to absorb what I’m seeing.

  First off, there appears to be an electrified field or fence surrounding a copse of trees, looking like a massive, gold lasso encircling trunks, stumps and rocks. What this means or how it got here, I don’t know.

  Within this electrified ring of sparking wires is a mess of bodies. Most aren’t moving, and most consist of the day crew of researchers. There’s Scott the drone guy, Madison the howler, and Hitman, the all-around expert. Dammit. All lying on their faces or backs, limbs akimbo, looking dead to the world.

  Wait!

  They’re breathing. Which means they’re only stunned or knocked out. By whom and how, I haven’t a clue. Yet.

  But the puzzle is coming together, however.

  There’s Terrance, standing off to the side, looking befuddled.

  And most obvious of all, there is a massive Sasquatch—pretty sure it’s the one I spoke with earlier—presently fighting against more of that magical gold rope... trapped just as I had seen in the mental image provided by the bigger Sasquatch, the one who had just fought Kingsley.

  The one presently charging headlong to help his friend.

  While Terrance stands there in a daze, I spy another man who’s very much not in a daze. A man who seems very active indeed. Who he is, I haven’t a clue, but those electrified ropes? Yeah, they’re come from him.

  Except for, well, me... I’m unaware of any other bloodsuckers gifted with magic. And even my own talents are negligible, though I did create a helluva fireball, one that Wally the hunter won’t soon forget. Fireballs and an ability to create the illusion of garments (which I used to good effect on Talos’s dragon world)—and that’s it. My lack of significant magical ability led directly to my quitting Allison’s trifecta. Sadly, I just couldn’t hold up my end of the magical bargain.

  So, yeah... seeing this guy summoning these magical cords and whipping them around like a rodeo clown from hell, I’m pretty sure I’m not looking at the vampire mastermind here.

  You’re not, Mom, comes Tammy’s voice in my head. He’s a hired gun, so to speak. Or, in his case, a hired warlock.

  Where are you?

  Not terribly far, but we’re on foot. Well, sort of. Allison created a sort of levitating magical path that we’re running on. Sort of like one of those conveyor belts you see at the airport, except this one is a few feet off the ground and winds through the tree branches. We’re only going like twenty miles an hour, if I had to guess. I figure we’re five, ten minutes away.

  Please be careful.

  I know I will. Allison, however, wants a piece of that warlock. Speaking of which, he’s created a barrier around that open area. No one comes in or out.

  I got in.

  Probably because you teleported in. He probably didn’t think that far ahead. Trust me, though. No one is teleporting out. It’s how he trapped the Bigfoot. Speaking of, they need your help, Mom. You have to hurry!

  She’s right, of course. My daughter is such a powerhouse mind reader she can read the minds of any and all of us, including the Bigfoots and the magician—and anything else in the area.

  Meanwhile, I see now the genius and simplicity of the trap.

  Bigfoot #1 is pulling and kicking at the four magical ropes secured around his wrists and ankles. Said ropes extend from the magician’s right hand. No way that puny guy is strong enough to control such a powerful creature. Obviously more magic.

  Yeah, ma. The ropes sap energy from the target and return it to him. Meaning, he’s growing stronger while the Bigfoot grows weaker. Kind of like you when you draw energy. Except his intention is terrible. He seeks to drain the creature completely, leaving it comatose, so that the mastermind of this operation—for lack of a better word—can swoop in and deliver the final killshot.

  Who is this guy?

  I’m only getting vague images. The wizard doesn’t know. Never met him. But has been paid well. He’s all too happy to hurt these things.

  Well, screw him.

  My thoughts completely. But Allison says she will need to handle him. You should try to save the Sasquatches before they are as good as dead.

  Son of a bitch. Four more ropes appear from the guy’s other hand and wrap around the Sasquatch I teleported here with. It seems to take the wizard a moment or two to sort of wrangle the squatch in, as the beast fights like a cornered hellcat, roaring so damn loud that my teeth nearly rattle loose. This gets Kingsley going, too, though he doesn’t turn into the wolfman. Instead, my honey bunches of oats charges the wizard, despite me screaming for him not to.

  At least the wizard doesn’t have another... scratch that.

  I was going to say arm, but, dammit, a third arm appears now, under his right arm, lassoing Kingsley with not one, but four glowing lariats that rocket out from this new appendage. They snare the big oaf at his hands and feet, promptly slowing him down. The wizard, a medium-sized, middle-aged, chubby dude who looks like he might have just stepped out of an Apple store, snaps the lassos back in one smooth motion, effectively hog-tying the man I had just been cuddling with not too long ago.

  Kingsley fights it, but only seems to get more and more ensnared. Something else happens that’s obvious to see, knowing the way I know Kingsley. The fight leaves him immediately. Not like Kingsley at all. Nope. He lays very, very still, breathing shallowly.

  He’s being drained quickly, ma. You have to hurry. That first Bigfoot—the one you spoke with—is getting close to being gone forever. He needs your help, too. They both do!

  Looks like I have zero time to think any of this through, and throwing myself at the guy is only going to cause a fourth damn arm to appear and more glowing lassos. So, I do a little Sam Moon magic.

  Well, not magic, per se.

  But a specialty of mine.

  I summon the single flame, ready to teleport behind the guy and damn near break his neck. Except... dammit. No, not again! Crap.

  The single flame appears, flutters, then winks out.

  No teleporting out, remember, Mom? It’s how he captured the Sasquatch in the ring. Once in, they can’t escape out. And neither can you.

  But I’m not teleporting out. I’m teleporting within.

  Take it up with him.

  Hmm. What worked on Wally might just work on this guy, too.

  Watching the epic display of magical pyrotechnics before me makes me feel a bit silly when I summon a cute little fireball—then again, say that to Wally—and hurl it at the pudgy, mid-sized master magician.

  He sees it or senses it. Crazily, a fourth arm appears from under his left. It’s muscular and clearly not his own. The new arm and hand swats the fireball aside, dispersing it into a puff of black smoke.

  I send another and another, as fast as I can conjure them, but each time they’re smacked away. Crap.

  That muscular fourth arm of his whips around in a circular motion, particularly at the wrist. It’s a movement I’m already familiar with; after all, he’d just done it with his second and third arms when he’d entangled the second, bigger Bigfoot and my honey bear.

  Sure enough, a single golden lasso rockets out. I sense the intent behind it: it will seek me out much like a heat-seeking missile. Meaning, if I dodge left, it’ll move left, etc. That thing is gonna find its way around my wrist or ankle, whether I like it or not.

  Except, I really, really don’t like it.

  Does that count for anything?

  Maybe, because it inspires the only thing I can think of...

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Where exactly the Devil Killer resides—and in what dimension—I haven’t a clue.

  But there it is, its smooth yet tacky grip waiting for me. I withdraw it in a heartbeat and, as that rocketing golden lasso comes at me with all the speed of a striking cobra (and looking much like one, too), I slash down with a speed that I doubt even the magician is prepared for.

  The blade severs the cord instantly; after all, there are few things in this world (or any world) that can rebuff the Devil Killer. Certainly not the magic behind this gold rope... which, by the way, dissolves into liquid gold and splashes onto the forest floor, before dissipating a few seconds later.

  More lariats appear, one after another, shooting from that fourth arm with precision and speed. Except I happen to be pretty good with this sword... and pretty speedy myself. I leap and swipe and spin and slash, all while long wisps of golden liquid spill across the dirt trails and thick ferns. The problem is... the stupid gold ropes are taking up most of my attention... all while the two Bigfoot—specially the first—are quickly being drained of nearly all life. Not to mention poor Kingsley, who’s half their size and losing his own energy at a faster rate.

  Running and slashing, I move toward the three fallen behemoths. The ropes come faster now—and thicker. They take more effort to sever, and one even snags my ankle, tripping me. Almost immediately, I feel myself weakening. Whoa!

  I now need two hacks this time to sever the bond; after all, it’s easily twice the thickness as the other ropes, and my energy depleted that fast.

  Sweet mama.

  Another rope comes for my neck—yeah, I suspect this was not meant to drain me of energy, but choke the life out of me.

  Jokes on you, asshole. I can’t choke.

  Scratch that. The rope, I can’t help but note, has sharp edges attached to it. He didn’t intend to choke me, but to remove my head. I slash harder than ever... and the damn thing drops to the forest floor like a wounded anaconda. I stomp down on it, and it wriggles briefly before dissolving. I dash off as fast as I can, though I am feeling the effects of being drained.

  Crap, if I feel this drained after just a few seconds, how are these guys even still alive?

  At least, I hoped they were still alive. Shit. Hurry!

  Hurry I did, hurdling a massive log—or trying to. My toe clips a broken nub of a branch, and I tumble over dirt and forest clutter, coming up spitting pine needles. When my eyes refocus, another barbed lariat is coming straight at me. Though I don’t have time to slash it, I’m able to hold my sword up before me. Like an archer splitting an arrow, the glowing magical cable splits down the middle, pealing away to the side... and then reforming around me.