Bigfoot and Steve: A Flashfire Novel

By K. Osborn Sullivan

If a bigfoot dies in the forest, but no one is there to see, does it still leave a body?

Sixteen-year-old Piper O’Connell knows the answer is yes. It’s her responsibility to “scrub” the bodies of deceased bigfoot so the species won't be discovered by humans who are hunting them. Piper's job must be kept secret from her family, friends, and school, but that's not easy when bigfoot die at the most inconvenient times—and in the most challenging locations.

In this second installment of the popular Flashfire Series, an unusually high number of bigfoot are turning up dead in the woods surrounding the small town of Senoia, Georgia. It's up to Piper and her hybrid bigfoot boyfriend Sam to figure out what's going on so they can keep the species safe. Meanwhile, Piper still needs to keep up her grades, choose an extracurricular activity at school that won't get her arrested, pass her driver's test, and make time for dating. The life of a teenage scrub is never simple.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. Osborn Sullivan
• Release date: Feb 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781732152885

K. Osborn Sullivan

K. Osborn Sullivan's first novel is the hilarious and exciting young adult fantasy, Stones of Abraxas. Since the book's original release, Kim has won praise from readers and reviewers alike for creating likeable characters, nonstop action, and overall great fantasy. She also writes nonfiction for teens, and both fiction and nonfiction for adults.Kim grew up on the Southwest side of Chicago, and now lives near Atlanta, Georgia with her family and an assortment of rescued cats. She holds a Ph.D. in political science and has spent many years as a college instructor.For more information about K. Osborn Sullivan and her work, including excerpts and some admittedly lousy advice for students and aspiring writers, please visit www.KOsbornSullivan.com.

Book preview

A Flashfire Novel

K. Osborn Sullivan

Young Adult

Contemporary Fantasy

Copyright © 2020 by K. Osborn Sullivan

Cover design by LadyLight at SelfPubBookCovers.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. Please respect the hard work of this author by purchasing and reading only legal, authorized copies of this book.

Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any similarity to actual events, locations, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

For Mary Paulson—

The cool aunt who helped

a girl grow up.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS AND EXCUSES

1. INTEREST IN FLAMMABLE CHEMICALS

2. A WAR CRIME

3. SELFLESS ACTS

4. ASSIMILATING INTO THE CULTURE

5. BIGFOOT ROMANCE

6. NOT ONE TO FLAKE

7. ARE YOU DEAD?

8. LONELY, ALONE, AND MISERABLE

9. EVERYTHING SEEMS LIKE AN EMERGENCY

10. GET YOUR MOJO BACK

11. THE THIRD WHEEL ON YOUR CRAZY TRAIN

12. IS YOUR DATE AROUND HERE?

13. WATCHING THE BALL-FREE WORLD PASS BY

14. JEZEBEL HERSELF

15. TINFOIL HATS AND ALIEN PROBES

16. OR DIE TRYING

17. GINGER BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN

18. ELVES ARE RARELY HOMICIDAL

19. BE SERIOUS, PUNY HUMAN

20. EVERYONE HAS LAYERS

21. I CAN’T CATCH A BREAK

22. ONE COLOSSAL PROBLEM

23. I BROKE STEVE!

24. THE BRINK OF PANIC

25. A COUPLE DAYS

26. PIPER’S WEB OF WEIRD

27. RELAXED, RELIEVED, CONFIDENT

28. HE’S DREAMY

29. LIKE RIDING A BIKE

30. I NEARLY LOST MY BERET IN THE THRONG

31. A COUPLE OF PRESENTS

WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?

MORE FROM KISSING FROG BOOKS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

AND EXCUSES

Let’s ignore the fact that it took more than two years to get this Bigfoot sequel published. You can’t rush art, right?

The fact is, I wasn’t eager to publish this book in 2020. The year has been such an ordeal for everyone on so many levels that I didn’t want to curse this poor book by publishing it during a year that everyone wants to forget. But postponing the release didn’t make sense, either. We need funny stories when the virus-riddled world is literally on fire and people refuse to get along. So here it is. I hope Piper, Sam, Abbey, Steve, Patrick, and all the Southern Bigfoot cheer you up a bit. They have sure helped me.

Thanks to my extraordinary and extraordinarily patient beta readers, editors, and folks to bounce ideas off of. Veronica Osborn, Jim Preece, Lauren McGuire, Betsy van der Hoek, Ed Medlin, and Chris Sullivan all provided invaluable feedback, insights, and proofreading skills.

Following an unexpected move to Kansas, I’m thrilled to now have two different groups of people who share my passion for writing. Both the Senoia Writing Guild and the Wamego Public Library Writing Group have been a terrific help throughout the process of getting this book into the hands of readers.

Big thanks to LadyLight at SelfPubBookCovers.com for creating another perfect cover for this series. I love the one she designed for Bigfoot CSI, and now she’s done it again for Bigfoot and Steve.

Finally, thanks to you, reader, for spending your valuable time reading the story I want to share; I’m honored that you picked up this book. Maybe for a little while you can set aside your worries and get lost in the woods with friends. Enjoy!

Kim Osborn Sullivan

September 16, 2020

The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

- Original source unknown, although it’s recently been

attributed to cosmologists Carl Sagan and Martin Rees.

1. INTEREST IN FLAMMABLE CHEMICALS

The stench hit Piper like a punch to the sinuses. She had just stepped through the double doors of Senoia High School on Monday morning when she suddenly found herself choking on a lungful of vile air. Piper’s hand clapped over her nose and mouth.

What’s that smell? she gasped.

Piper’s twin brother Patrick pegged her with wide blue eyes.

"Is it that kind of smell? he whispered. Do you have to leave? Want me to drive you?"

Piper tentatively pulled air into her nose, analyzing the odor. Students jostled her as they hurried through the hallway on their way to first period or lockers or the bathroom. Piper fought down a wave of nausea and shook her head.

"No, it’s not that kind of smell, she told Patrick. That kind is pleasant, like incense in a forest. This is disgusting. Can’t you smell it? It’s like dead fish washing up on a lake of toxic waste in July, then someone dumped in a garbage truck full of week-old cabbage and rotten eggs."

I smell something nasty, but I just thought it was tuna casserole day in the cafeteria, Patrick said.

Tuna casserole doesn’t make my eyes water. This is a hazardous materials situation.

Is this one of those rare times when your sensitive nose is a curse instead of a blessing? Patrick joked.

Yeah, because getting to smell every dirty sock in the hamper is usually a blast, Piper said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

As long as you don’t need a ride, I’ve gotta go. Breathe through your mouth. With that, Patrick was off, striding down the hallway on long legs, his blond head rising higher than most of the students around him. He greeted a number of kids as he went, easy and casual, the way he did everything.

Piper gazed after her brother, wishing she had lied and said she needed a ride just so she could escape from the stink that hung like a toxic cloud around her. Now all she could do was hope that the smell would weaken as she moved further from the cafeteria.

None of the kids around her seemed affected by the odor; they talked and laughed and swigged cans of Coke as usual. Piper O’Connell couldn’t do that. She had an extra sensitive nose that exaggerated smells—both good and bad—beyond what normal people experienced. She used to think she understood what it was like to be a dog, although she had never shared that thought with anyone. Her two younger brothers already teased her about being a bloodhound. Then a few months ago, she had met some people whose noses were as acute as hers, and she began to re-think her dog theory.

The people she had met were part of an organization called the Legendary Protection Society. Their mission was to ensure that humans remained ignorant of the race of bigfoot. As long as bigfoot existed only in the fantasies of people on the fringe, there would be no serious efforts to hunt them down and drag them into the light.

That’s where Piper came in. She had been recruited by the Society when she stumbled across the body of a dead bigfoot just a mile from her house. By following her nose to the body that night, she had proven that she belongs to the elite group of girls and women who can detect the odor emitted by a dead bigfoot. Known as scrubs, Piper and others like her must track down deceased bigfoot, set them on fire using a special powder called Flashfire, and stand guard while the bodies burn to ash.

She liked knowing that she was helping protect an intelligent species from being hunted, caged, and experimented on. She appreciated the salary—or stipend—the Society paid her, too. What she didn’t much enjoy were the danger and horrible hours that came with her job. It was impossible to know when a bigfoot was going to drop dead and she’d have to dash away to scrub it. Multiple times it had happened during school hours or the middle of the night. As for the danger, her own mother had died as a result of this job, as had Piper’s mentor, Maggie.

The biggest benefit of being a scrub was Piper’s minder, Sam Wilder. Tall, dark, handsome, and half bigfoot himself, Sam’s job was to help Piper and keep her safe. And like all bigfoot, he had a sense of smell that put hers to shame. Piper got a thrill up her spine every time she thought about him, because in addition to being her minder, Sam was Piper’s boyfriend. Remembering that fact never failed to put a big, foolish grin on her face.

Somebody’s thinking about Sam the Hottie, a smooth female voice purred beside her.

Am I that transparent? Piper asked, turning sheepish eyes on her friend Abbey Lal.

Yes, in fact, you are. It’s downright humiliating. Especially for those of us who don’t have a hottie of our own to get all gooey about.

Abbey always wore the sharpest clothes, perfectly coordinated accessories, and a confident attitude. Piper didn’t know how her friend did it, but she was eager to collect any style tips that Abbey tossed her way, like beads flung from a Mardi Gras float. That was especially true since Piper’s own style could most generously be called functional. Because she always had to be ready to go off-roading into the woods in search of dead bigfoot, she typically sported battered hiking boots, flannel, and well-worn jeans. Her long, wavy red hair was usually tied back in a ponytail, and her makeup was minimal. The first time she had tracked a body through a rainstorm had proven to Piper that mascara was not her friend.

Abbey’s look this morning was typically photo ready. She had a Western flair with skinny Levi’s, a fringed brown suede jacket, and a substantial turquoise and silver barrette holding back her sleek, black hair.

No hottie of your own, huh? You’re still stuck in unrequited romance territory with your octogenarian guitar teacher? Piper said.

You shouldn’t exaggerate about him being 80 years old. Dangle isn’t even half that. And what’s wrong with senior citizens, anyway? Are you saying Mick Jagger isn’t hot?

I’m not saying that. It might be true, but I’m not saying it.

Abbey rolled her brown eyes. Sir Mick’s extraordinary body of work is only surpassed by his extraordinary body.

Piper decided no good could come from pursuing the topic, so she changed the subject. May I assume that today’s urban cowgirl look is in honor of your beloved Dangle?

Guilty. I went to see Hang & Dangle perform last night at a dive bar in Warm Springs, and I’m still feeling the country-rock vibe.

As usual, Piper had to suppress a giggle at the name of the band. She wanted to avoid seeming judgmental about Abbey’s unsuccessful efforts to date her guitar teacher, but it was difficult because the guy was twice her age and called himself Dangle.

The girls were making their way through the crowded hallway when a voice called, Hey, wait up!

Piper swung to see their friend Steve hobbling up behind them. He wore a backpack over his shoulders and leaned heavily on a set of aluminum crutches. Even three weeks after his accident, Piper still wasn’t used to seeing her graceful ballet dancer friend clumping along like Frankenstein in a protective orthopedic boot.

I thought you could stop wearing that thing today, Piper said to him.

Steve glanced at his left foot with a grimace. I can’t simply remove this godforsaken thing on my own. That would be too simple. Pulling apart the Velcro on a hideous piece of medicinal footwear requires trained personnel. My doctor’s appointment is after lunch.

And then you’ll be able to dance again? Piper asked hopefully. She gazed down at her friend. Piper was tall for a girl, just a few inches shy of six feet, and the top of Steve’s dark hair came level to her eyes.

That’s the plan, Steve replied. But my first order of business is to take a chainsaw to this boot.

Does your leg feel better? Abbey asked.

It was just a sprain, and my doctor said it would heal fully as long as I gave it complete rest, which I have. Steve raised one crutch a few inches off the floor to lend emphasis. By the time I’m ready to take the stage for my first performance, I’ll be better than new.

I wasn’t as worried about your ankle as I was about the concussion from hitting your head when you fell, Piper pointed out. Steve had been at ballet practice—where he usually was if he wasn’t at school—when an especially challenging new leap sent him crashing to the floorboards. He was a talented dancer with dreams of a professional career, so being sidelined had been torture for him.

Steve responded to Piper’s comment with a negligent shrug, as though something as minor as a brain injury was of no concern to him.

Nonsense, he said. You ladies know my middle name is ‘Tough as Nails.’ It’ll take more than a bump on the head to keep me down.

You never had enough brain cells to risk damaging any of them, Abbey scoffed with a shake of her head that sent her long silver earrings jingling. And I hate to tell you, but we’ve been friends since kindergarten, and your middle name is not ‘Tough as Nails.’ It’s ‘My Latte Doesn’t Have Enough Froth.’

Laughing, the three friends went in separate directions as the first period warning bell rang. For Piper, that meant an appointment with the school guidance counselor, Ms. Ferelli. She met with the woman every Monday morning, instead of going to gym class. Piper wasn’t thrilled about having to see a counselor who tried to crawl into the troubling crevices of her brain, but ever since her chemistry teacher had misunderstood why she was asking questions about flammable chemicals, she had to spend one period a week with Ms. Ferelli. It wasn’t all bad, though, since it got Piper out of gym.

Good morning, Piper, Ms. Ferelli said, glancing up from a stack of multi-colored file folders on her desk. As always, the middle-aged woman looked professional in a blazer and understated jewelry. Her gray roots had been touched up, so now they blended with the rest of her artificially red hair.

Good morning, Piper replied. Do you want the door closed?

Yes, please. Maybe it will block some of that toxic experiment they’re conducting in the cafeteria, the guidance counselor said as she pushed aside the rainbow of file folders. She took up the notebook she used for scribbling notes during sessions with Piper and poised a pen over it.

The smell bothers you, too? I thought I was the only one, Piper commented.

Yes, I’ve always had a sensitive nose, Ms. Ferelli said, wrinkling up her face. It can be a burden, especially on days like this.

You’re preaching to the choir, Piper said with a laugh.

Ms. Ferelli raised an eyebrow and jotted something in her notebook. Inwardly, Piper groaned. She had just made a huge mistake. The guidance counselor possessed an uncanny knack for picking at any little thread and tugging at it mercilessly until the entire sweater of Piper’s psyche was unraveled. Yes, it was a tortured metaphor, but it closely described the woman’s methods. And now she would have a whole new thread to pick at. What made it especially worrisome was that the thread related to Piper’s acute sense of smell led to a whole closet full of hairy bigfoot sweaters that were completely off limits. Talk about tortured metaphors!

Fortunately, Ms. Ferelli seemed disinclined to discuss Piper’s sense of smell today. The appointment went well, and time passed quickly. Ms. Ferelli was helping Piper work through some unresolved issues surrounding her mother’s death in a vehicle accident three years earlier and, in doing so, helping her overcome her fear of learning to drive. She was making solid progress and had started going out for driving lessons with her dad.

The clock was ticking toward the end of the hour, and Piper was silently congratulating herself on another successful appointment during which she hadn’t spilled the beans about any of the myriad secrets she had locked in her brain. She lived in constant fear that somehow the guidance counselor would manage to pry some detail about bigfoot out of her, and the whole secret of the race would be blown. It was hard being a scrub in therapy.

Before Ms. Ferelli set her notebook aside and told Piper their time was up, the woman fixed Piper with a keen eye.

Just one last little thing, Piper, if you don’t mind, she said.

Uh-oh, Piper thought. Here it comes.

Piper, I’ve been wondering about your plans for the future. I assume you’ll attend college? You’re such a smart girl with excellent grades. It would be a shame to waste that talent.

Yes, I’m going to college. I haven’t decided where yet. My older brother Shannon is at University of Georgia. I liked the campus when we went to visit.

Wonderful. I attended Purdue up in Indiana. Great school. Cold winters.

I’m from Wisconsin, so I know about cold winters.

Ms. Ferelli smiled wryly. Of course. What I really want to know is whether you’ve given any thought to beefing up your college applications. Good schools look at your grade point average and your SAT and ACT scores. You’ve still got time to prepare for those tests because you won’t take them until next year when you’re a junior. In the meantime, what about extracurricular activities? Schools weigh them heavily. Many excellent students look the same on paper when one simply considers grades and test scores. Today it’s more important than ever to have a rich history of extracurriculars and community service. Even a part-time job. Do you have any of those things, Piper?

Piper looked down at her hands. Yes, she did have a part-time job. She protected an entire species by disposing of the bodies of dead bigfoot, but of course, she couldn’t put that on her college applications. And above all, she couldn’t share that secret with Ms. Ferelli. If the woman knew about sasquatch, she would probably track the poor creatures into the woods to ask them intrusive personal questions.

I do think about those things, Piper began in a quiet voice. I’ve been wanting to join more clubs at school, but since I’m new here, I wasn’t sure what’s available and what would work best for me. I’ve just been exploring my options. It was a lie. Piper hadn’t explored anything. She had been doing scrubs, keeping her grades up, and talking to her boyfriend Sam on the phone at night.

Well, it’s about time you got involved in something. In addition to helping you get into a good college and identify future career paths, it makes you feel like a part of the community. You’re less likely to feel isolated and act out. We don’t want a repeat of that episode from a couple months ago when your chemistry teacher brought you to my attention.

That incident with Mr. Sebrinski was a misunderstanding. I wasn’t going to set anything on fire. He simply misinterpreted my interest in flammable chemicals. Piper still felt insulted every time she remembered it. No doubt her chemistry teacher thought he was doing the right thing when he reported Piper to Ms. Ferelli for being a potential arsonist, but that didn’t make the incident any less irritating. It had happened the day after Piper learned she was a scrub, and she had been curious about how her Flashfire could incinerate a huge bigfoot body in mere minutes.

Of course you weren’t doing anything wrong, but it’s always a good idea to nip these things in the bud. Let’s keep your mind engaged on school so you don’t get into any trouble.

Piper saw no alternative but to nod agreement.

When we first started meeting, you had mentioned that you and a friend used to take nature walks, Ms. Ferelli began. Her name was Maggie, correct? And she was helping you become something of a naturalist, until she passed away tragically.

Yes, she taught me a lot. I still miss her, Piper said truthfully.

Well, here at Senoia High School we have a student group called the Environmental Health Club. The members are dedicated to protecting the environment and preventing harm to plants and animals. I thought you might benefit from joining. You can get to know some likeminded students and continue learning about the natural world.

Piper was pleasantly surprised by the suggestion. Wow. That sounds…good. I think I’d like to check out that group. Thanks.

My pleasure. They meet on Wednesdays after school in the biology lab. Around school, the group is commonly known as Eco Warriors, but don’t let that put you off. I hope you can go this week, then report back to me during our appointment next Monday.

Piper said she would attend, and she found herself eager for the meeting.

2. A WAR CRIME

When the bell signaled the end of first period, Piper gathered her messenger bag and took a long walk down to the science corridor. The cafeteria’s stench wasn’t as strong down there. Piper was grateful that the odors of toxic chemicals in the chemistry lab and dissected frogs in the biology lab helped mask whatever atrocity was being committed in the lunchroom.

Steve was already sitting at the chemistry lab table that he and Piper shared. His crutches leaned against the wall next to their table, and he had his lab notebook spread out in front of him. A deep scowl was etched on his face as he glowered at the pages.

What has that notebook ever done to you? Piper asked, sliding onto her stool.

Steve shook his head. I thought I finished that lab report from last week, but the blank paper in front of me says different. He swiveled to look at Piper. Didn’t we finish the write-up in class?

Piper frowned as she scanned her own lab report. No, I don’t think so. We finished the experiment, but then we had that fire drill, remember? When we were finally able to come back inside, it was time for third period, so we never finished writing up the lab.

You’re right, Steve grumbled, slouching over the report. How could I have forgotten that? I never forget homework.

Here, copy mine. Sebrinski is still in the hall flirting with that biology substitute. Piper shoved her paper over to Steve, who began jotting down numbers and describing reactions that they had observed during the experiment. By the time their teacher Mr. Sebrinski had pulled himself away from the pretty young sub, Steve’s report was done.

Thanks, Steve murmured after the teacher scooped up the report. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.

Can you ask your doctor about it this afternoon? You did get a concussion a few weeks ago.

"No, I don’t want to be a whiner. And I don’t want him to bench me from The Nutcracker. I’ve already missed weeks of rehearsal, and if I miss more, the director will replace me as the lead."

But if you get another concus– Piper was cut off by Mr. Sebrinski clearing his throat sharply. The man stood beside the periodic table of elements poster at the front of the room, directing a pointed glare at Piper. His arms were crossed over a paunchy middle that strained the buttons on his short-sleeved yellow dress-shirt.

She mumbled a hasty, Oops, sorry, and bent her head over her notebook.

Piper wanted to bring up the subject again, but there was no opportunity with Mr. Sebrinski’s vigilant eyes on her during class. Later, when chemistry was over, Steve seemed eager to avoid giving her a chance to question him again. The bell hadn’t even stopped ringing before he hopped over to the wall, grabbed his crutches, and escaped out the door. In that span of time, Piper barely managed to close her notebook. Even with only one functioning ankle and a cumbersome piece of medicinal footwear, that boy could really move.

Third period doubled as homeroom, which meant morning announcements. And on Mondays, morning announcements meant the lilting, saccharine-sweet voice of head cheerleader Angela Pierce dripping from the intercom. Piper wasn’t sure exactly why Angela annoyed her so much, but everything about the girl was like fingernails on a blackboard. From her cloying, cutesy voice to her immobile coiffed blond hair to her perfectly pressed cheerleading outfit that she wore every single day of the year, it was all an affront to Piper’s sensibilities. It was like the girl was made out of plastic. Take her out of the box, dress her up, and pose her in Barbie’s Dream Car.

It didn’t help that Piper’s own traitorous twin brother Patrick had an inexplicable crush on the girl. Angela had never given Patrick the time of day—seeing as he wasn’t likely to become a college football star quarterback or heir to a large fortune—but the possibility existed that he might somehow attract her notice. If they started dating now, what if they stayed together and got married someday? Piper would have to see that absurd cheerleading sweater across the dining room table at Thanksgiving dinner every year for the rest of her life. The granola bar Piper had eaten for breakfast roiled in her stomach at the thought.

The intercom crackled and buzzed before Angela Pierce’s voice burst forth triumphantly.

Good morning, Senoia High School faculty, staff, and students! she enthused. I hope y’all had a stellar weekend and are ready for another exciting week of learning!

Piper wondered—as she often did—whether someone wrote that nonsense for Angela or if she ad-libbed. Patrick had said that Angela was given a script to read every Monday when she did announcements, but it was unclear how much detail the script contained. It was possible that the other students who read announcements on Tuesdays through Fridays were given scripts just like Angela’s, but she was the only one who was willing to repeat the ra-ra school spirit drivel out loud. Or maybe the scripts were just bare bones, but Angela felt her duties as a cheerleader included slapping everyone in the eardrums with her pompoms on Monday mornings. Either way, Piper felt the girl was a sociopath.

Today’s lunch special will carry on a unique Senoia High tradition, Angela said gleefully. Piper wondered if the other girl ever wet her pants from the excitement. Every year, our lunchroom staff prepares a special meal for us during the week before Thanksgiving. It helps get everyone in the festive holiday mood. Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, and, of course, Lunch Lady Gladys’s famous low country boil stuffing will be served! I hope y’all brought your appetites!

As if on cue, the class groaned. That stuffing explained the stench in the hallway. Piper had learned since moving to Georgia that low country boil was a popular Southern stew-like dish that included shrimp and sausage with bottom feeders like crab and crawfish thrown in, all mixed with corn on the cob, potatoes, and onions. The idea of turning that concoction into stuffing and baking it inside a turkey was beyond disgusting in Piper’s mind. Individually, some of those ingredients might be edible, but combine them? That’s how you ended up with a stink that could curl your nose hairs.

The chunky, brown-haired boy next to Piper leaned over and whispered, I heard that serving Lunch Lady Gladys’s stuffing to prisoners has been declared a war crime in Europe.

The kid had to be joking, right?

Except for lunch, the day went well. Because she couldn’t tolerate sitting in the cafeteria with the low country abomination, Piper spent her lunch period in the library, sneaking bites under the table from a chicken salad sandwich she had brought from home. The day’s only excitement occurred at the end of the day while Piper was on her way to last period. Her phone buzzed. She tapped the text and saw it was from Sam. Her heart skipped a beat, as it always did when she heard from him, and she slipped into the girls’ bathroom to read his message.

scrub after school will pik u up was all it said.

Piper frowned at the phone. A scrub meant that a bigfoot had died, and if a bigfoot had died, she should be able to smell it. The earthy, incense-like scent permeated everything for miles around, attracting the girls and women who had been born with the ability to track down the bodies of dead bigfoot, but now Piper didn’t smell anything. Non-scrub humans couldn’t detect the odor, although other bigfoot and many animals could.

She tested the air in the bathroom again. Fortunately the stench of the low country stuffing had dissipated since lunchtime, but it still lingered a bit. Stuffing stink or not, Piper should have been able to smell a bigfoot body. Even the chemical smell of the bathroom’s air freshener and illicit cigarette smoke couldn’t mask a dead bigfoot.

Piper tapped a few letters into her phone. A moment later, across town, a message was delivered to Sam that read, r u sure?

trust me was his prompt response.

As Piper often did when she was preparing for a scrub, she touched her fingers to the six silver charms on a thin leather cord around her neck. The necklace had belonged to her late mentor Maggie Kraus, who had given it to Piper as