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The lake is quiet and peaceful, with hardly a ripple to disturb its serene surface. The sky has turned peachy with sunset, which is reflected on the lake. I take a deep breath, enjoying the placid moment in nature. If things go to plan, it won’t be tranquil like this for much longer.
I love it out here. I love this lake, these mountains, and the town tucked amidst them. I love the history and the magic, and the way my ancestors worked to make a home here, a place where humans and the native folk creatures could coexist. According to family legend, the original Bishops made a deal with the folk: As long as the humans honored tradition and cared for the creatures of the land, they would always be safe and welcome here.
Humans are still here, of course, but most no longer observe the traditions outlined in the agreement. And if there are any folk left, they stay well hidden, which is a shame, but understandable. All the same, I honor them. I go back into my cabin and pour fresh, local honey into a bowl, which I take to the end of the dock. I still feed the water sprites—easily confused with dragonflies—even if no one else does. I still salt my doorways and leave milk at my backdoor.
I will always respect the magic that created Haven’s Hollow. And I will always have particular respect for the lake. It’s a place of power—maybetheplace of power—and anything we do out here has to be done correctly and with care.
I can’t risk upsetting the Lady who resides somewhere beneath its surface.
* * *
HAVEN
I wake early the next morning, just after sunrise. On a whim, I throw on my bathing suit and head outside. The lake is bound to be cold this time of year, but that has never bothered me. When I step out, I notice the honey bowl sitting at the doorstep, clean and dry.
That’s weird. The water sprites are too tiny to have transported the bowl. Curious, I go back inside and pull up the security cam footage on my phone to see who the hell was out here. But there’s nothing. One moment, the bowl is on the dock, and in the next frame, it’s on my porch.
What in the world? That’s weird, not to mention a little creepy.
Puzzled, I go to the end of the Little Dock and inspect it, but it looks exactly the same as yesterday. There’s no sign that anyone has been out here besides myself—all the footage I sorted through was quiet and there are no obvious footprints or anything.
I slip into the water, still lost in my thoughts, and swim out to the rope buoy that marks the border of the beach area. Any swimming beyond this point is, if not forbidden, at least heavily discouraged, even though people do it all the time. The bottom drops off at the buoy, so the water is much deeper, darker, and more dangerous beyond the marker.
I cut a smooth turn and swim back to the Little Dock, just in time to see the work crew pulling in. It can’t be later than 7:00, but I respect a team that gets an early start. I pull myself out of the water and hustle into my cabin. I need a shower and some coffee, and then I’m going to find out exactly how much work has to be done out here.
Marlan’s not there when I get back outside; in fact, I don’t recognize any of the workers. They must be the temp crew he mentioned. One guy is standing on the beach waving his hands, as another backs a truck down toward the cabins. It has some sort of machine on a trailer attached, and the whole situation looks wobbly.
The land out here isn’t the sturdiest, thanks to all the sand. Locals would know that, but these guys don’t have a clue. I really don’t think this is a good idea.
I start to say something, but before I can, the trailer comes loose from the truck, careening straight for the lake. The machine on it—some kind of small backhoe, tractor type of thing—is still attached, and the weight of it is enough that the trailer picks up significant speed. Enough to race across the sand and crash into the water.
I shout, horrified, and race toward the site.
“Get out of here!” the worker who was directing the truck yells.
“This is my site!” I shout back.
“Move the fuck back!” he hollers, but I fully ignore him.
Please, please, don’t let oil or fuel be leaking into the lake. Not only would that cause a delay, as it would be a pain to clean, but polluting the lake is strictly forbidden. I mean, in general pollution is forbidden, but keeping the lake pristine is part of the pact that my ancestors made in order to found the town.
It’s why Griffin has me out here overseeing everything: Only a Bishop can be trusted to do this right, and make sure we don’t violate the agreement. According to legend, the Lady lives somewhere in this lake, and if we fuck up her home, she’ll be pissed. She could curse the town.
The man who yelled at me is already in the lake, moving farther out than I’d have thought. The weight of the water should have stopped the trailer almost immediately, but apparently it didn’t. It’s in deeper water than it should be, which only adds to the problem.
As I run, the man suddenly goes under. One second he’s there, head above water, and the next, he’s gone. Behind me, I hear someone shout “Len!” and then I crash into the lake as fast as I can and start swimming, glad I used to compete when I was in high school. I was never gonna go to the Olympics or anything, but I’m quick in the water. I still swim every day.
Once I reach the spot where he vanished, I dive down. The water is murky, all roiled up by the activity, but I see him thrashing near the bottom. I swim down and grab his arm, then reverse directions and try to drag him back up.
I can’t move him.
Somehow, Len is stuck, like he got tangled in the vegetation or something. But that shouldn’t be the case, because this is still technically part of the swimming area. Just barely. It’s not supposed to have a ton of plants at the bottom.
I tug again, as hard as I can considering the lack of leverage under the water, but he still doesn’t move. Instead, I’m pulled deeper. It’s almost as if something is dragging us down, an invisible undertow that wants to keep us below the surface.
Trying not to panic, I let go of Len’s arm and try to surface, but he scrambles and grabs my leg. I know he’s not trying to harm me; he’s probably terrified and hysterical. All the same, pulling me down with him is not the way to do this.
Pressure is building in my lungs and dark spots are starting to pop up in my vision.
