“More old men in fishing gear?”

He raised a brow then chuckled, and though she hardly saw it through his beard, his smile was warm. “Much worse, ma’am.” Her eyes followed his, but she saw nothing. His jaw rolled rigorously as he chewed, then he spat to the side, leaving specks of brown in his beard; they washed away quickly. Finally, with a twinge of regret, he said, “A town’s one mile south of here, right through these trees.” He motioned to his left, into the forest he’d emerged from. It seemed his admittance of this town was the result of some internal battle being lost.

“A town is…through there?”

“My town: Hemlock Veils. We call it Oregon’s best kept secret.” He spat again, giving a proud half-smile. “You feel like a midnight hike?”

She didn’t answer.

“I know a mechanic myself,” he added, “who’d charge you half of what the folks in any of the villages at Mt. Hood would.”

Still speechless, she eyed the trees, trying to feel out the validity of his claim.

“Even if you take the main roads to Hemlock, it’s still closer than Rhododendron. Only two miles.” He pointed east. “You’d just need to go about half a mile back that way, take Road Thirty-Two a mile or so south, where it’ll curve west, until you come to Clayton Road. That takes you right into town. Course…you’re still better off cutting through the forest, time and distance wise.”

“I think I’ll just stick with what I know,” she said, uncertain. “Rhododendron.”

“You want to take the risk of walking alone for so long, that’s up to you. Or I could accompany you through this forest you’ve been eyeballing, since I know it like the back of my hand. We’d be in Hemlock Veils before you know it. It’s only one mile, ma’am, and with my trusty Betsy here,”—he lifted his shotgun—“you can be sure it won’t snatch you up.”

Eccentric or not, and cryptic statements aside, there was something she liked about this man, something she trusted. Her instinct told her to stay with him, however strange the idea seemed. One thing she’d always prided herself on was that she was an excellent judge of character. She smiled, just barely. “Are you saying you’ll be my bodyguard, Old Man?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Her breath hung in the dark, frigid air. She’d never heard of Hemlock Veils, and if her father had, he’d never mentioned it. Perhaps it really was Oregon’s best kept secret. Or perhaps this man was nothing but a senile, lost fisherman.

“Ma’am.” The old man’s voice softened, sobered. “Trust me when I say your best bet is coming with me. I’m heading home anyway, since you scared off my prey.”

Chills attacked her lower spine, but her trepidation wasn’t because of him. It was because with no other soul around, a sensation that they were being watched wrapped itself around her, tingling the back of her neck.

“Come on,” he said, guiding her by the elbow. “We’ll have Sheriff Taggart and Brian—that mechanic I was talking about—come back with you when it’s light, and he’ll get your vehicle fixed right up. We even have a motel to rest your pretty head.” He snickered. “Bill hasn’t rented out a room in years. We don’t get many visitors.” He paused, offering a bony hand. “Name’s Bathgate. Eustace Bathgate.”

“Elizabeth Ashton,” she managed through chattering teeth, taking it hesitantly. The warmth from his hand settled in her bones, right alongside the wariness she couldn’t pinpoint. He pulled her into the forest on what appeared to be a thin game trail, and the towering firs above caught most the rain.

Once the trees concealed them, he turned to her. His hand grew firm on her arm and graveness transformed his eyes. They penetrated, even in the dark, and that chill snuck its way up her spine. “Stay close, Ms. Ashton. It’ll be curious of visitors, always is.”

Chapter 2

Elizabeth couldn’t swallow. Did she stand in one of the places her father used to speak of—a place where magic existed?

“It?” she asked Eustace. “What will be curious of visitors?”

“The beast, Ms. Ashton.” Eustace turned and pulled her along, but she hardly felt there at all. Since her time as a teen when she’d learned life handed out nothing but disappointments and responsibilities, she’d been skeptical of her father’s fairy tales. She was a realist. She knew them for what they were: children’s stories.

Yet here she was, almost thirty and more seasoned than most, and she couldn’t shake the chill in her spine. A beast? She had to have misunderstood.

He traveled fast, too fast, and she nearly tripped. Taking a deep breath, she ripped her arm from his grasp and stopped. She could no longer see the highway through the trees behind them, even when the wide beam of his spotlight shone behind her. He stared at her as though she was the crazy one. “What do you mean, Mr. Bathgate?” she said through shallow breaths. Her hood had fallen in their short journey and her hair was soaked through. “You mean an animal, right? Like a wolf?”

He chuckled, spitting to the side. “Would’ve said wolf if I meant wolf. Not that there aren’t wolves in these parts, but the monster keeps most those buggers away. It’s not the wolves you need to worry about. And the longer we stand around, the more vulnerable we become.”

She pulled her wrist away when he reached for it again. “Not another foot unless you tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

“You’re actually telling me you’ve never heard? I thought when you said you knew the area, you were from somewhere around here. But you’re not, are you, Ms. Ashton?”

“California. I know only what I’ve studied on maps.”

He straightened, eyeing her with a look she didn’t understand. Was he second-guessing his decision to help her?

“That explains it then. I should have known, since no local would wander alone on Mt. Hood Highway, not between Rhododendron and Government Camp.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Have you heard legends about these forests, Ms. Ashton?”

She recoiled. “Actually…” Her tongue tripped over her words. “My father came here a lot, told me legends, but…they’re just legends, Mr. Bathgate.”

“Please. Eustace.”

“If you’re Eustace, I’m Beth.”

“How are legends born, Beth?” He lifted his brow, as though he knew her heart would sink at his word choice.

And it did. Legends are born from flecks of truth, her father used to say. But Eustace and her late father sharing the same philosophy didn’t make the philosophy any saner.

“I’m not trying to scare you, Beth, but judging by the look on your face, I’m doing a pretty good job. And you should be scared. Now, I don’t know how things come to be, or what it all means, but anyone who lives in Hemlock Veils can tell you these woods are guarded by a beast. No wolf, no werewolf.” He gave a breathy smile. “Oh, we once thought it was, since there was no other way to describe it, but then we realized it wasn’t just out on a full moon. It was out every night. And with its features…”

“Then what is it?”

“Now, that’s the scary part: we just don’t know. It’s a mix of everything, and then some. So demented that some say it was shunned from the underworld, with those devil ears and razor-sharp fangs. I’m not sure about that myself, but I do know it’s got no soul. Just pure evil.”

Regardless of how far-fetched his description was, Elizabeth began retreating in the direction they’d come as though her feet had a mind of their own. He grabbed her arm. “That’s not a good idea. You can’t be alone. I’m sure it’s smelled you by now.”

She laughed, shaking her head. Her heart beat in her throat. “Is that why you’re suddenly in no hurry? Because it’s too late to hurry anyway?”

“You don’t have to believe me now, Beth, but you will. You’ll see soon enough.”

“Eustace…”

“Here.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the chest pocket of his flannel, trying to protect it from the rain as he carefully handed it to her. It was thick and coarse, an artist’s sketch paper.