Page 73 of Last Witch Attempt
I ignored her and kept my eyes on Evan. “You’ve never seen one. You mentioned you had co-workers who dealt with one when you were down there. What about Scout?”
“To my knowledge she hasn’t seen one. It’s possible she did after I was taken from her.” He frowned at the memory. “I think she would’ve told me if she had taken on a naiad. She likes to talk to hear herself talk occasionally.”
“Not Scout,” I deadpanned, earning a grin from him.
“Does nobody care about my Bigfoot theory?” Clove challenged.
“Obviously not,” Thistle replied. “We’re focused on the real world right now. I think two Aunt Tillies, a naiad, and spider people are more than enough for one week. We’ll get to Bigfoot next week.”
Clove huffed but didn’t argue.
“The only naiad story I’m familiar with is the one I mentioned earlier, but others dealt with it,” Evan offered. “Supposedly boaters were going missing. This would’ve been about eight years ago.
“Anyway, there’s a wildlife refuge in the Detroit River,” he explained. “You’re not supposed to go near it—humans can’t stop themselves from throwing trash and ruining things—but people still hang out in the area. It’s popular with potheads who have access to a boat. I think three or four boaters went missing over the course of two months. Boating is a religion to some and even though whispers had started creeping up, nothing was going to keep boaters from the water. People kept going out, and several of those people went missing.”
“I would’ve stopped after the first disappearance,” Clove offered.
Evan shrugged. “The first disappearance could’ve been a fluke. The boaters—they were all men—could’ve gotten drunk and fallen off the boat. They could’ve fallen victim to pirates.”
Clove perked up.
“NotPirates of the Caribbeanpirates,” Thistle said darkly. “He’s talking about drug smugglers.”
“Oh.” Clove deflated a bit.
Evan gave her a small smile before continuing. “Eventually, people from our group were sent to investigate. It took them a few weeks—I believe that they stretched it out so they could keep renting boats—but they finally went to the refuge and found a naiad had set up shop there.”
“She built a house?” Thistle’s nose wrinkled. “Why didn’t anyone see that before.”
“She didn’t build a house. She did have a little teepee-like thing, a campsite. She caught fish and lured boaters in to do manual labor for her … and other things.”
I made a face. “I don’t really want to hear about the ‘other things.’”
“You really don’t,” he agreed. “As for the naiad, when approached by my group, she said that her habitat had been disrupted, and she created a new home in the aftermath. She was adamant that she wasn’t leaving and there was nothing that could be done to make her leave.”
“And how did that work out?” I asked.
“A fight broke out. A few people died.” Evan’s lips curved down. “Naiads are fierce fighters and can enslave men to battle for them. Eventually a team of women was sent in to finish the fight. That’s when she lost.”
“She died?” Sadness flooded through me as I pictured her life. “I’m not saying she was fighting the good fight or anything, but it sounds like she was just looking for a new home because she lost her previous one.”
“You’re leaving out the part where she was turning men into sex slaves,” Thistle argued.
“Yes, well, that wasn’t very nice,” I agreed. “I feel sorry for her. How was she killed?”
“I don’t have specifics.” Evan shook his head. “I can request the file if you think that will help.”
“It seems like our best shot,” I said. “What I’m curious about is why the naiad is suddenly here. She killed three men to do what exactly? Was she marking her territory?”
“Maybe she’s acting out for the same reason the other naiad did,” Thistle interjected. “The other naiad was angry she lost her home. Maybe this one has been here and keeping to herself. Now that someone is invading her space, she’s sending a message to keep people out.”
“That actually makes sense,” I said. “Where could she have been? What areas have been recently disrupted?”
“They’re building that huge resort on Torch Lake…” She trailed off.
I knew the project. The locals had fought the development because they didn’t want fudgies—what northern Lower Michigan residents called tourists—taking over their private utopia. The problem was, the resort would create a lot of jobs, so those who didn’t live directly on the lake were all for it because it would be a benefit to the local economy. Only those rich enough to be able to afford to live on the lake were still fighting the development.
“That’s a very interesting theory,” I mused. “They’re bringing in equipment and plan to break ground within the next few days. It will knock out a big chunk of the wilderness on the lake.”
