On her second day of lake duty, Ellie saw the Zeidan children, along with Aisosa and two of her younger siblings, playing in the water at the beach, which was roped off as a safe area. Ellie scanned the shore eagerly but saw only the nanny seated under a tree with Rita. No sign of the Zeidan parents.
Or of Omar.
She was disappointed. But, she acknowledged to herself, Omar’s absence made it easier to concentrate on her work. She needed to get all these silly thoughts about him out of her head anyway.
Around midmorning, while skimming along the north shore of the island, Ellie saw a scaly something floating on the surface. Curious, she slowed down to move closer. It was long and thin, much longer than she’d first guessed. Much, much longer. And were those . . . spikes? The lake serpent! It must be sunning itself.
Just as she decided to back off and sneak away, the creature suddenly sank beneath the surface, and her scooter spun helplessly about on the waves.
Heart pounding in her throat, she resumed her patrol, but her thoughts were scrambled. The serpent had never harmed anyone, so far as she knew, but once she had seen it threaten a guest—Omar, actually—and that memory lingered, sometimes in her nightmares.
After that alarming event, the morning was uneventful. Sometime after her lunch break, she was trolling along the northeast shore when screams and shouts reached her ears. They seemed to come from within a small bay, so Ellie gunned her engine and followed the noise.
Among some reeds near the shore, she saw a man in a wetsuit. He appeared to be dragging a small rowboat occupied by three boys, hauling it by its mooring line while they desperately tried to row in the opposite direction. One of the two larger boys stopped rowing to attack him with an oar, but the man caught it and yanked it from his hands. She heard the rumble of the man’s voice and saw him snatch something from another boy and throw it onto the nearby bank. The boys were panicked while the man remained eerily calm.
What could she do? She carried no weapons, and that man was big. Her voice was her only weapon. Using it on guests was forbidden . . . but this was an emergency.
As she cautiously approached, the smallest boy, a freckled redhead, called out to her in his treble voice. “Help! Thief! He’s stealing our things!”
“It’s just a girl,” snapped the other redhead, who had to be his older brother. “What could she do to help, idiot?”
Just as Ellie drew breath and opened her mouth, the man said, “Stealing? I took away your fishing poles.” He turned to Ellie. “They were fishing.”
“We only want catfish and panfish,” the biggest boy said, shoving lanky black hair from his face. “We aren’t hurting anything.”
“You think catfish and panfish don’t feel pain?” The man glowered as if the fish were his personal friends. Now she could see that he was young, early twenties at most, with wide shoulders and a rangy build, a short beard, buzz-cut hair, and sunblock on his nose.
Ellie put her scooter into idle and let it drift closer. “The rule is no fishing, with no exceptions,” she told the boys, then gave the man a curious look. “Are you new here, sir?”
“I stayed at the resort twice before, most recently six years ago.” He kept his focus on the boys.
Six years ago? That would have been her first summer at Faraway Castle. He didn’t look familiar.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Torbjorn. I’m from Hyllestad.”
His tone was polite but distant. Guests were often haughty in their manner toward staff members. This guy just seemed distracted.
“I thank you for rescuing the resort’s fish,” she said. “If you would hand over the boys’ fishing gear, I will take it to the office for proper disposal and alert the director to this misconduct.” Still seated on her idling scooter, she pulled a pad and pen from a waterproof compartment under her seat then fixed her gaze on the boys. “Names, please.”
The boys mumbled their names, spelling them when necessary. She’d been right—the redheads were brothers, and all three were lords’ sons from Rathvilly. Then Torbjorn waded out waist-deep and passed their gear to Ellie, who stowed the small tackle box in her storage compartment and laid the fishing poles across her lap.
“Is this everything?” she asked.
The boys nodded.
“What did you use for bait?” the man asked.
“We dug worms in the garden,” the youngest boy, Brian, answered warily.
“That was stealing. Put them back where they belong.”
Ellie bit her lip to prevent a smile. “He’s right,” she said. “I’m sure you did not have permission to dig worms.”
“The guy is cracked!” Quinn, the big brother, muttered. “Clean off his nut!”
Which may well be true, Ellie mused. On the plus side, the boys didn’t dare defy her authority while the big vigilante loomed near. No need to use her magic. She ordered, “Now you boys head directly to the dock and turn in your boat. I must report your offense to Bence, my supervisor.”
The dark-haired boy, Desmond, spoke up. “We need our oars back. He took ’em.”
As the man waded back to the shore where he’d tossed the oars, Ellie saw something large and gray break the water’s surface not far behind him. A fish? She was jumpy after that lake-serpent encounter.
Then, when Torbjorn waded back out to return the oars, the creature appeared again, bumping him in the side. “Back off a minute,” she heard him say. To the fish?
Its head appeared at the surface beside him, revealing a wide mouth, small yellow eyes, and trailing whiskers.
“Whoa! I didn’t know there were fish that size in this lake,” Quinn said.
“That’s a monster catfish,” said Desmond with awe.
Monster? These kids had no idea what lurked in these waters. A close-up glimpse of the lake serpent might put them off fishing for life!
Once he’d handed over the oars and the coiled mooring line, the man Torbjorn reached out to rub the catfish’s broad head. “He’s no monster. He’s a pet. Years ago, he was hooked by another illegal fisherman”—he pointed to a notch in the fish’s broad lip—“but someone rescued him. And he’s smart. I haven’t been here in six years, yet this fish still remembers me.”
“No way!” Desmond said. “I didn’t know fish could think.”
“And they’re protected by law.” Torbjorn spoke with calm authority. “From now on, hunt fish with a camera. Maybe you could make friends with one like Fathoms here.”
“I’ll put the worms back in the garden, mister,” Brian piped up.
Torbjorn nodded approval.
Desmond started rowing, and Brian waved to the fish man. “Goodbye!” he called. “Goodbye, Fathoms.” The fish swam after the boat, that big head plowing through the waves, and Brian reached over the side to touch its slimy back. Only Quinn still looked sulky by the time the boat moved out of sight.
Ellie turned to the fish guardian. “I appreciate your assistance, sir.”
Standing there in the reedy water, Torbjorn bowed slightly, then for the first time focused on her. “Have there been any siren incidents recently? I mean, do they still live on the island?”
“Why do you ask?” Her guard went up. She backed her scooter, keeping her eyes on him.
“I need to know.” The catfish returned and butted against the man’s arm. He absently put his arm around its thick body.
“The sirens are still around.” She wanted to add “unfortunately” but restrained herself. This guy needed watching, she mused. He was either a genius or a wack job. Maybe both. “Thanks again for the help.”
She drove away, leaving Tor among the reeds with his catfish. What a strange dude! At the docks she tied up her scooter, unloaded the tackle box and awkwardly carried three fishing poles toward the lifeguard station. “Whoa,” was Bence’s comment when she stacked her booty in a corner of the shed.
“Did the boys turn themselves in?” she asked. “I have their names. If they gave me false names, I can identify their faces.”