Page 8 of Guarded By the Bigfoot
I exhaled through my nose, feeling heat crawl up my neck. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
Her brows arched, unconvinced. Before she could interrogate me further, Calla slid two steaming mugs onto the counter, giving me a knowing smile.
“He’s always been this way. Takes a special kind of stubborn to deal with him.”
“Good thing I’m stubborn, too,” Parker replied, her grin triumphant. She wrapped her hands around the mug, inhaling deeply. “Thank you both for everything last night. The food was wonderful, and I really appreciate you helping me.”
“Our pleasure,” Finn beamed. “Anyone who can keep the Guardian on his toes is welcome anytime.”
Calla leaned across the counter, her voice lowering. “That storm last night was out of control. Even my protection wards were rattled.”
I noticed Parker’s subtle shift, her agent instincts kicking in, but before she could start her interrogation, Finn slid a plate of warm pastries between us.
“Here,” he said, pushing them closer. “Can’t have the Guardian and his ARC agent working on empty stomachs.” He gestured toward the window where villagers were still clearing debris. “Brock, try not to bump into any of our decorations. The Wild Moon committee will have my head if we’re not properly festive by Sunday.”
Parker reached for a pastry, seizing the one I’d been eyeing. The smirk she gave me was pure mischief. I had no choice but to take two because I was dealing with a thief.
“No promises about the decorations,” I said between bites. “But these really are amazing, Finn.”
“So,” Parker said, still savoring her stolen pastry, “about that business you were mentioning earlier.”
“We should get going,” I cut in, standing abruptly.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push. Yet. I knew that look; she was filing it away for later.
Outside, the warmth of the Glitter and Gruel faded, and the weight pressing against my senses crept back in. The storm hadn’t just rattled the village. It had left the air charged with something darker, something that felt too much like the night we sealed the fracture.
“What is it?” Parker asked, her voice softer now. “You’ve been tense since we got here.”
I hesitated. How could I explain the weight pressing against the edges of my world, the sense that something darker was slipping through?
“The festival prep is always... a bit of a whirlwind,” I said, avoiding her gaze.
She stopped in front of me, her eyes flashing with frustration.
“Don’t lie to me, Brock. I might not have your Guardian senses, but I can feel it. Something’s wrong. Why won’t you just tell me?”
Because I’m trying to protect you, I thought. Because the truth could make you a target.
A group of harvest sprites zipped past us, their wings trailing emerald sparks as they restored fallen decorations and dried out waterlogged areas. The early light caught their spellwork, casting a shimmer over the damp cobblestones.
“Is it always this... alive?” she asked, nodding toward a group of gnomes working to right an overturned market stall. Their hands moved quickly, arranging crystals and herbs that danced and spun mid-air, while simultaneously draining water from damaged goods.
Before I could answer, a goblin’s panicked shout cut through the air.
“Look out!”
The bottle in the goblin’s hand crackled with purple-black energy, and I barely had time to react before lightning arced from the potion, wild and unstable.
I lunged forward, shoving Parker behind me as light burst from my hands, forming a protective barrier. The first bolt struck the shield, sizzling against it, leaving an oily residue that reeked of decay.
The goblin stumbled back, his face pale. “I don’t understand! These potions were perfect yesterday, before the storm!”
“That was not normal,” Parker said, her voice sharp. She patted her pockets, then cursed.
“Missing your ARC toys?” I asked, keeping myself between her and the potions.
“Hard to do my job without them,” she muttered. “Everything I need went over a cliff.”
