Page 2 of An Inheritance of Monsters

Otherwise, we were on our own.

And, seeing as how I believed in superstitions pretty damn well, I wondered if seeing the statue from the deck of the ferry was in fact a very bad omen.

I was so lost in thought, staring at the idol and its cavernous mouth, that I didn’t realize Sierra was calling my name.

“Juno!”

She was at the head with Crispy, and we were floating alongside the dock. I’d been so intent on the idol I hadn’t even noticed we’d docked, and the ferry captain had finally emerged from the bridge.

His head never turned towards the idol as a crewmate brought our luggage from the bridge. “Good luck. Can’t say I’d want to be in your shoes.”

The itch to interview came over me. Now that we’d docked, the sea spray was gone. A cool wind breezed off the island, ruffling my hair.

I pulled out the Black Book, the eponymous notebook our viewers loved. “Have you ever been on the island yourself?”

He snorted, then leaned over the side of the ferry and spit in the water. “That’s as close as I get.”

Gross. I noted that beneath the quick sketch of the ferry I’d done at six in the morning while waiting to board. “Have you ever seen the Lady of—”

The captain held up a hand, cutting me off. “We don’t talk about that here.”

His tone was so hard that even Crispy’s head swung around, his brows knit with concern.

A tense moment passed, and then the captain’s leathery, sea-worn face broke into a forced smile. “Sorry. But you should know, we don’t bring that up on the water. Ever.”

He wasn’t the only one. The minute I brought up the Lady of Dark Waters, who had been mentioned in one historical text but seemed to contain a wealth of information behind that solitary paragraph, all the locals instantly shut down.

I also hadn’t missed that he was always careful to keep his head turned away from the idol.

“That’s fine. Maybe we could arrange an interview for next month?”

The captain worked his lips for a moment, staring into the distance, then shook his head.

And hawked another loogie in the water.

“I don’t do interviews.”

His crewmate finished unloading our luggage onto the dock, which creaked dangerously. A visible shiver ran through the man as he jumped back up onto the ferry, and the captain held out a hand.

He couldn’t have made it more obvious he wanted us gone if he’d had a flashing neon sign over his head.

“See you next month.”

I forced my own smile as I followed Crispy and Sierra off the ferry. It wasn’t like I didn’t have experience with unwilling interviewees; at least this wasn’t like the time we’d run into an asylum security guard who wasn’t willing to be paid off, and had a slavering Doberman on a leash to boot.

But as I stepped onto the dock, wood creaking under my boots, the captain added a, “Maybe,” under his breath.

I whirled around, but he was already striding into the bridge, and the crewmate’s back was conspicuously turned towards me.

Crispy whipped out the camera, and Sierra and I stepped aside as he filmed it plowing back towards Innsmouth, leaving white, foamy swells behind it. “Aaaand there goes our ride, ladies. We are officially stuck here.”

“Group pic!” Sierra darted to my side, phone in hand, and Crispy squeezed in on my left, holding the camera. “One, two, three!”

“Spirit Squad!” we yelled, laughing and grinning, arms slung around each other.

A shiver ran down my spine as the picture froze on Sierra’s phone.

“The fuck?” Crispy muttered.

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