Page 1 of Bitten By the Basilisk

Chapter One

Alice

Alice knew she should be looking at the marketing campaign on her laptop and not out the window of the intercity bus taking her on her first vacation in years, but the beauty of the surrounding landscape could not be ignored.

The two-lane road they’d been following for the last thirty minutes curved sedately through low hills choked with old-growth trees, their bright autumn foliage catching the late-afternoon sun on this clear if blustery day. Each gust that rolled along the treetops sent a scattering of gold, ruby, and carnelian leaves onto the freshly painted blacktop smoothly conveying her toward the coast.

What she wouldn’t give to capture the vivid view from an easel. She could already envision how she would compose the scene, the exact arc the road would take before disappearing behind a wall of maples and sycamores. But in lieu of gouache applied to illustration board, she settled for taking photos with her phone.

“Folks, we’re about to reach our destination. Please start gathering your things, and be sure to check around your seat for any belongings that might have fallen.”

The announcement from the bus driver pulled her attention back inside the coach, where the other passengers began closing books, putting on jackets, and zipping up bags.

Most of them were tourists, but two rows up sat a couple who gave off a shimmer that Alice could see past if she concentrated. Pointed ears and a glittery sheen to their skin and hair. They might also be tourists, but she suspected they were simply returning home.

The woman sitting next to her also had a unique aura, but Alice refrained from rudely peering point-blank through her seatmate’s glamour just to sate her curiosity. On the surface, the woman was slender, attractive, and of a rather indeterminate age, anywhere from late twenties to somewhere in her forties.

While Alice had been snapping photos out the window, her laptop had gone to sleep, its screen dark. Promising herself she wouldn’t look at anything work-related for the duration of her stay, she woke up her computer long enough to make sure everything was properly saved, then stowed it in her backpack.

“Is this your first visit?” her seatmate asked, surprising her, having spoken in Japanese. Presumably, she had glimpsed Alice’s text messages to her mom.

Except for a brief greeting at the start of their trip, her seatmate had spent most of the ride reading a newspaper. Alice had almost commented on it, as most people read the news on their phones, but her seatmate clearly wasn’t like most people.

“No, but it’s been a long time,” Alice answered. Almost fifteen years, in fact. “You?”

“My last visit was also many years ago.” The woman spoke in a dialect Alice had only heard in films set in the Meiji era—only more accurate, she suspected. “I look forward to seeing what has and hasn’t changed. I hear there’s a lovely bathhouse that … caters to all kinds. Sounds intriguing.”

Again, Alice found herself surprised, and not by her seatmate’s innuendo or age, as her late grandparents had opened Renart Bathhouse almost forty years ago. Of all the local connections to mention… The coincidence was eerie. Then again, Indigo Cove was a decidedly eerie place—one that drew “all kinds,” as her seatmate had put it.

“It’s now Renart Salon and Spa.”

“Oh, you know of it?”

Alice nodded. “My mom runs it.”

Her seatmate twisted toward her, one hand primly concealing a delighted smile. “Really? Does that mean your family is from Indigo Cove?”

“One side of it, yes,” she revealed. Her great-grandmother had been a kitsune—a powerful fox spirit who could take human form and whose mortal descendants inherited lesser versions of her magical abilities.

Or at least, they could. While her mom could glamour herself and even conjure tactile, detailed illusions, Alice’s gift merely helped her sense the presence of magic, or clock it when someone lied. On the rare occasion when two souls were destined to love each other, her special sight allowed her to see the magical red thread that fate had tied to their smallest fingers.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the famous kraken?” her seatmate then asked.

Kennie the kraken. To human tourists, he was akin to the Loch Ness Monster, so of course, boat tours that promised an opportunity to catch sight of the enormous cryptid were the most consistently popular attraction.

Kraken-themed souvenirs were also plentiful. Alice’s grandparents had gifted her several over the years. Her favorite was an enormous Kennie plushy she’d left at home. She slept best when wrapped up in its tentacles and would honestly miss it.

Unfortunately, visitors without a sense of self-preservation occasionally entered the waters of the cove on their own, despite the many posted warning signs. As a result, “accidental drownings” were not uncommon.

“I’ve not yet had the opportunity,” Alice admitted.

“Perhaps this visit, then.” Her seatmate, glancing past her out the window, perked up. “Oh, we’re here!”

Alice followed her gaze to watch as they descended from the forested hills toward their destination—a picturesque coastal town with historical buildings, tree-lined avenues, and more ghosts than you could shake a stick at. Fewer than ten thousand residents called Indigo Cove home, quite a number of them non-human, although tourists didn’t know that. Not consciously.

Powerful magic concealed the town’s supernatural aspects. So-called normies believed Indigo Cove was simply a former colonial settlement and former pirate haven, now known for a blend of historical and haunted tourism that included reenactments and ghost tours.

Visitors had no idea they were walking among witches, warlocks, werewolves, and even vampires, or that ageless fae were as ubiquitous as smartphones and corner coffee shops, all of them drawn to the kraken’s innate magic like planets orbiting a star.