They were surrounded by the Others here. Really surrounded by the Others. And not just the Crows and the furry guys. There was some seriously weird shit living in these woods. Like a tornado that targeted the two flatbed trucks and twisted them into an impenetrable tangle of burning metal that would take days to cut apart in order to reopen the access road. Like a fire that killed the loggers they had hired.

No, Dane hadn’t been up front about a whole lot of things, including the fact that the land that was supposed to be his share of the investment didn’t actually belong to him.

Hershel struck out for the beach. Nice beach, but that didn’t mean anything if all you had to offer was unfurnished cabins, and most of them didn’t have indoor plumbing! Sure, they could furnish the renovated cabins. He’d suggested buying the furniture off of Vicki DeVine—they could get it cheaper than buying new since she wouldn’t have a use for it—but Constance refused to consider the idea, said Vicki’s tastes were too pedestrian.

He wondered if Constance was starting to think that her choice of husband made her own taste a bit too pedestrian. After all, she and Vicki had married the same man.

Hershel paused at the beach, then continued walking until he reached the dock that stretched out into the water. Didn’t seem to be much good for a boat. Did people fish off the end of it? Did kids jump off the end of it the way kids always wanted to do?

He walked to the end of the dock. A starry night sky and dark water. Not even a single light on in the lodge across the lake.

Piss on this place. As soon as that access road reopened, he was backing out of this loser deal and returning to Hubbney, where he had other deals in the works.

He grinned and put his hand in the opening in his boxers. Yeah. He’d piss on this place.

He huffed out a pleased laugh as his urine hit the lake.

“Monkey man.”

No longer laughing, he finished up and tucked himself back into the boxers.

“Moooonkey maaaannnn.”

“Spoiling our water.”

“Soiling our water.”

He started to turn, started to ask who was out there. But something—someone—hit him from behind, sent him flying off the end of the dock. He hit the water hard and went under—and felt something pinch the triceps of his right arm, the calf of his left leg. He surfaced immediately, focusing on the dock, but whoever had pushed him was already gone.

Something pinched his left forearm. He raised it above the water and stared at the wound. He’d been bitten.

Something yanked on his leg, followed by several pinches.

Not pinches. Bites. Something in the water was biting him.

He took a breath, intending to yell for help. A hand rose out of the water, a hand with webbed fingers and curved, needlelike nails. The hand covered his face, the nails piercing his skin as he was shoved under the water.

Thrashing. Spinning as the things bit and bit and bit. He flailed, managed to break free a couple of times and reach the surface. But not long enough to call for help. Barely long enough to suck in air before being pulled under again.

Teeth sheared through one side of his neck. As he sank for the last time, he had the odd sensation of feeling his lower legs separate from the rest of him.

CHAPTER 66

Grimshaw

Firesday, Sumor 7

Grimshaw rinsed the shampoo from his hair, soaped up a cloth, and began washing himself. The Bristol CIU team had bunked at The Jumble, making do with sleeping bags rolled out in the social room. Ineke still had a full house, so Captain Hargreaves had been given Osgood’s room, and the baby cop had slept on the sofa in the parlor. Today they would figure out whom to call in Bristol or Crystalton to disassemble the flatbed trucks and the construction equipment—and figure out where to haul it.

Thankfully, that was Hargreaves’s headache, not his. With Bristol taking the lead on the latest trouble in The Jumble, he would stick to the village today, walk the streets, check in with the businesses. When he got tired of that, he would take the desk and let Osgood patrol and soak up the gossip.

He finished his shower and reached for a towel when he heard his bedroom door open.

Crap. He’d locked that door. Always did. His service weapon wasn’t in plain sight but . . .

“Grimshaw? Wayne!”

“Captain?” He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the bathroom, beads of water running down his chest. Hargreaves stood in the middle of his room. Ineke stood in the doorway. She seemed to appreciate the view he provided but not the water he dripped on her hardwood floor.

He quickly stepped onto the area rug. Not that that was much better, but at least Ineke’s presence—and the room key she held up for him to see—explained how Hargreaves had entered the room.

He took in his captain’s appearance—hastily dressed and unshaven. Not showing pride in the uniform.

“Get dressed,” Hargreaves said. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

Ah, gods. “What happened?”

“The CIU team found part of a body at The Jumble. On the beach.”

“A floater?”

Hargreaves shook his head. “They think it’s one of Yorick Dane’s business partners.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Grimshaw stared at the uniform he had hung on the hook attached to the back of the bedroom door. There were things he hadn’t put in any report, things he wouldn’t put on paper. But he should have told Hargreaves and the Bristol team about the creatures he and Julian had seen in the lake during the trail ride beach party. He couldn’t have told them much, wasn’t even sure what he’d seen. Except whatever lived in the lake probably weren’t the same creatures that had been whispering in the dark the night Constance Dane had been choked by freezing water in her own bathroom.

Five minutes later, he was dressed and heading downstairs. Ineke met him at the front door and held out a large travel mug.

“Coffee,” she said. “Sounds like you won’t want to eat beforehand.”

“Thanks.” He took the coffee and walked out to Hargreaves’s car.

* * *

• • •

Seeing what was left of Hershel, Grimshaw felt glad he hadn’t had breakfast and wished he hadn’t drunk the coffee.

“The bites aren’t that much bigger than a human bite, but the teeth . . .” Samuel Kipp, Bristol’s CIU team leader, shook his head. “Not an animal. Some kind of fish? Teeth could have been sharp enough that the victim didn’t feel much more than a pinch or a tug when the creatures bit off chunks of him.”

“Creatures?” Hargreaves asked. “More than one?”

Kipp nodded. “At least a handful of different bite marks. And the marks on the face? Claws maybe. I’ve got a man calling police stations located on the other Finger Lakes to see if they have any record of a similar attack.” He looked at Grimshaw. “Anyone around here who would be the village historian?”

Grimshaw stared across the lake. “The residents of Silence Lodge probably could tell you exactly what did this, but I doubt the Sanguinati will be that forthcoming.”

“Why not?” Hargreaves asked.

“Because they’re close-lipped about the Elders who live on this land—and in the lake.”

All the color leached out of Kipp’s brown face. “Gods. We went swimming last night. Dane and his missus were bitching about us using that general shower area off the kitchen, so we all went down to the lake to rinse off and cool off. We could have—”

“Not likely,” Grimshaw said. “I went swimming here too. Julian Farrow and I saw something out there—just a glimpse—but there was no indication we would be attacked.” A sudden thought made his heart give one hard bump. “Except we were out here swimming when Vicki DeVine was still in charge of The Jumble.”

He shook his head. Vicki was an important factor but not the only factor. “There hasn’t been a lot of downtime since I got here, but I did take a quick look at the reports that were filed at the station. An attack like this would have been reported. If nothing else, there would be a missing persons report or a copy of a DLU form. But people go fishing on the lake all the time. They swim at the public beach. If this had happened before, Ineke Xavier wouldn’t have proposed bringing her guests here for beach parties.”