Page 85 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“Skulking? I was patiently awaiting your return.”
As I’ve said, Lilith looks very normal, if one ignores her beautifully handcrafted buckskins. She doesn’t go so far as to craft her own boots—those are expensive hiking boots, a pair I haven’t seen before. She’s white, maybe in her late thirties, dark blond hair perfectly brushed to a sheen, and she wears stylish glasses.
Lilith might not look like a wolf-taming witch, but I’m still not convinced she isn’t one. Part witch, at least, and part nature photographer, a very successful one, given her taste in expensive accessories.
“We went by your cabin twice,” I say. “Only Nero was home. We left a note. We were concerned.”
“I didn’t see the note. Sorry to worry you. I suppose, now that I have acquaintances in this vast forest, I shall need to start posting messages when I leave. I’m gone for a few days every other month. Even a reclusive eccentric needs to answer her email every now and then. That’s when I get my supplies, as well. I don’t take Nero. I would love to, but people ask questions and occasionally call the authorities who, despite my charm, do not always accept my story that he’s mostly husky.”
“So Nero was guarding your cabin. That’s a relief, considering we have a bearskin-wearing potential psychopath on the loose.”
“A what?”
“Come in?” I say, motioning. When she hesitates, I say, “I can come out, but I’m supposed to be resting. We’ve been out for two days straight, and I’m not feeling well.”
She hesitates again. “Is it contagious?”
“Definitely not. Will you come in? It’s just me. Well, and Storm.”
“Oh, I’m not concerned that you’ll lock me inside and turn me into unpaid domestic labor. You’d see the error of your ways after a meal or two. I just don’t like leaving Nero where he could spook a passerby.” She turns. “Nero? Will you come in?”
He looks from her to the door as she gestures at it. Storm looks out around me, and I swear Nero nods before he heads inside.
“Good,” she says. “Because if he doesn’t want to go somewhere, he’s not going. I suspect you have the same problem with that fur mountain.”
“I do.”
I usher them both in. “Can I get you something?”
“I’ll take a beer if you have it, and I’ll pretend that’s just to save you from making a hot drink when you’re unwell.”
“Good excuse.” I fetch a beer from the underfloor icebox and take a box of cookies from the counter. I hand her both.
“I do like your hospitality,” she says. “And I’m also going to pretend I thought you meant for me to take the whole box, and since you’re such a polite human, you’ll hate to correct me.”
“Fair enough.”
We head into the living room and settle in.
“Now, back to the bearskin-wearing psychopath?” she prompts.
“That’s why we were at your cabin. One of our residents spotted what he thought looked like a part-bear and part-human creature. We presumed it was a bear and went looking, concerned that it would approach a hiking party. Then Mr. Rogers—”
“Who?” she cuts in.
“Our not-so-friendly mutual neighbor.”
“The miners I am studiously avoiding.”
“Yes. One of their men seems to have seen the same creature. Except he got a close-up view and reported it was a wild-looking mountain man wearing a bearskin.”
“Okay…”
“We were letting you know. Of course, on seeing you weren’t there, we did get a little concerned.”
Her lips twitch. “Thought I might have been snatched away as a mountain bride?”
“Somehow, I think anyone who did that would realize the error of his ways even before you cooked him a meal. But we had to consider the possibility you’d been hurt.”
