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Newt Goodreaux liked Aunt Margie well enough, though she would never mean to him what Mama Jean did. He sat out on the serene waters of Cape Madre, grateful to be free. Tommy had kept his word — it had all come down on Bark and, seeing how Ol’ Newt didn’t do anything except not stop it, the district attorney had agreed to a deal. The DA had gone pretty easy on Bark, all things considered. He’d be back out in the waters in just a few years, so Newt scrambled to fill the void of the best fisherman Cape Madre had ever known, hoping that he could keep his foothold once Bark returned.
Newt had been doing pretty well for himself, too, what with all the fish flocking back to the vortex. None of the others had thought to try it yet, so he enjoyed the easy pickins. He brought in massive hauls, sold it all off, then squirreled away the money. He never much cared for drinking or gambling or owning nice things, and now that he finally had some money, he couldn’t think of anything to do with it.
Really, his favorite thing was doing just this — sitting out and enjoying the ocean breeze. All the craziness with the kraken seemed so far away now that he hardly thought about it, except sometimes in his dreams, but mostly he could deal with that. Not every man got to live through something so fantastical. Ol’ Newt considered himself lucky, truth be told.
He felt a tug on his pole. While the nets brought in the bulk of it, Newt also enjoyed just dropping a line in from time to time. He pulled up hard, felt the hook lodge into its quarry, then started reeling. The fish put up a little fight, but he could tell it wouldn’t be a big one. He’d probably just throw it back. Let it get a little fatter.
He reeled and reeled, pulling up and expertly guiding the fish to the surface alongside Aunt Margie. He reached down, grabbed the small thing, and worked the hook out of the roof of its mouth. He let it go. It sat there for a few seconds, then wriggled and started to descend.
Then something grabbed it, causing Newt to do a double take.
A small tentacle jerked the fish forward, just as the toothed beak of an octopus rose into view and slurped the fish down its gullet.
It surfaced right next to him, black inky eyes seeming to regard him with a kind of indeterminate purpose. Cute little thing, for sure, but Newt knew in an instant that it wasn’t just an ordinary octopus. No, he recognized something in it. Something he knew intimately.
A splash caught his attention, dragging his eyes to the horizon where he saw another one pop up to the surface. To his right, another. Then another. More and more of them swarmed around Aunt Margie in numbers that he couldn’t track. They were all small and unassuming. Surely no threat. Not yet.
Instinctively, he touched the scars along his midsection. Newt looked at each one in turn, looking into their eyes, nodding and reassuring them, certain that they’d understand his words.
“Don’t you worry none, fellas. Ol’ Newt won’t tell a soul.”
But... don’t stop here. Please keep reading for more, including our Bonus Content—not just one, but two Special Sneak Previews:
THE WITCH OF GRAY’S POINT by J.P. Barnett
and
GODSKNIFE: REVOLT by Timothy C. Ward
