The Vengeful Spirit of Lake 
Nepeakea 


Tanya Huff 


"Camping?" 

"Why sound so amazed?" Dragging the old turquoise 
cooler behind her, Vicki Nelson, once one of Toronto's 
finest and currently the city's most successful paranormal 
investigator, backed out of Mike Celluci's crawl space. 

"Why? Maybe because you've never been camping in 
your life. Maybe because your idea of roughing it is a hotel 
without room service. Maybe"  he moved just far enough 
for Vicki to get by then followed her out into the rec room 

 "because you're a" 
"A?" Setting the cooler down beside two sleeping bags 
and a pair of ancient swim fins, she turned to face him. "A 
what, Mike?" Grey eyes silvered. 

"Stop it." 

Grinning, she turned her attention back to the cooler. 
"Besides, I won't be on vacation, I'll be working. You'll be 
the one enjoying the great outdoors." 

"Vicki, my idea of the great outdoors is going to the 
Sky dome for a Jay's game." 

"No one's forcing you to come." Setting the lid to one 
side, she curled her nose at the smell coming out of the 
cooler's depths. "When was the last time you used this 
thing?" 

"Police picnic, 1992. Why?" 

She turned it up on its end. The desiccated body of a 
mouse rolled out, bounced twice and came to rest with its 
sightless little eyes staring up at Celluci. "I think you need 
to buy a new cooler." 

"I think I need a better explanation than 'I've got a great 
way for you to use up your long weekend,'" he sighed, 
kicking the tiny corpse under the rec room couch. 

"So this developer from Toronto, Stuart Gordon, 
bought an old lodge on the shores of Lake Nepeakea and 


he wants to build a rustic, time-share resort so junior 
executives can relax in the woods. Unfortunately, one of 
the surveyors disappeared and local opinion seems to be 
that he's pissed off the lake's protective spirit" 

he wants to build a rustic, time-share resort so junior 
executives can relax in the woods. Unfortunately, one of 
the surveyors disappeared and local opinion seems to be 
that he's pissed off the lake's protective spirit" 

Vicki pulled out to pass a transport and deftly reinserted 
the van back into her own lane before replying. "The 
protective spirit. You know, the sort of thing that rises out 
of the lake to vanquish evil." A quick glance towards the 
passenger seat brought her brows in. "Mike, are you all 
right? You're going to leave permanent finger marks in the 
dashboard." 

He shook his head. The truck-load of logs coming 
down from Northern Ontario had missed them by inches. 
Feet at the very most. All right, maybe yards but not very 
many of them. When they'd left the city, just after sunset, it 
had seemed logical that Vicki, with her better night sight, 
should drive. He was regretting that logic now but, realizing 
he didn't have a hope in hell of gaining control of the 
vehicle, he tried to force himself to relax. "The speed limit 
isn't just a good idea," he growled through clenched teeth, 
"it's the law." 

She grinned, her teeth very white in the darkness. "You 
didn't used to be this nervous." 

"I didn't used to have cause." His fingers wouldn't 
release their grip so he left them where they were. "So this 
missing surveyor, what did he" 

"She." 

"She do to piss off the protective spirit?" 

"Nothing much. She was just working for Stuart 
Gordon." 

"The same Stuart Gordon you're working for." 

"The very one." 

Right. Celluci stared out at the trees and tried not to 
think about how fast they were passing. Vicki Nelson 
against the protective spirit of Lake Nepeakea. That's one 
for pay for view 

"This is the place." 

"No. In order for this to be 'the place' there'd have to be 


something here. It has to be 'a place' before it can be 'the 
place'." 

something here. It has to be 'a place' before it can be 'the 
place'." 

Celluci snorted. "Maybe you can." 

"No. I can't. All I can see are trees." At least she 
assumed they were trees; the high contrast between the 
area her headlights covered and the total darkness beyond 
made it difficult to tell for sure. Silently calling herself 
several kinds of fool, she switched off the lights. The 
shadows separated into half a dozen large evergreens and 
the silhouette of a roof steeply angled to shed snow. 

Since it seemed they'd arrived, Vicki shut off the engine. 
After a heartbeat's silence, the night exploded into a 
cacophony of discordant noise. Hands over sensitive ears, 
she sank back into the seat. "What the hell is that?" 

"Horny frogs." 

"How do you know?" she demanded. 

He gave her a superior smile. "PBS." 

"Oh." They sat there for a moment, listening to the 
frogs. "The creatures of the night," Vicki sighed, "what 
music they make." Snorting derisively, she got out of the 
van. "Somehow, I expected the middle of nowhere to be a 
lot quieter." 

Stuart Gordon had sent Vicki the key to the lodge's 
back door and once she switched on the main breaker, 
they found themselves in a modern, stainless-steel kitchen 
that wouldn't have looked out of place in any small, trendy 
restaurant back in Toronto. The sudden hum of the 
refrigerator turning on momentarily drowned out the frogs 
and both Vicki and Celluci relaxed. 

"So now what?" he asked. 

"Now we unpack your food from the cooler, we find 


you a room, and we make the most of the short time we 
have until dawn." 

you a room, and we make the most of the short time we 
have until dawn." 

"Tomorrow evening. Don't worry, I'll be up." 

"And I'm supposed to do what, tomorrow in the 
daytime?" 

"I'll leave my notes out. I'm sure something'll occur to 
you." 

"I thought I was on vacation?" 

"Then do what you usually do on vacation." 

"Your footwork." He folded his arms. "And on my last 
vacation  which was also your idea  I almost lost a 
kidney." Closing the refrigerator door, Vicki crossed the 
room between one heartbeat and the next. Leaning into 
him, their bodies touching between ankle and chest, she 
smiled into his eyes and pushed the long curl of hair back 
off his forehead. "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the 
spirit of the lake. I have no intention of sharing you with 
another legendary being." 

"Legendary?" He couldn't stop a smile. "Think highly of 
yourself, don't you?" 

"Are you sure you'll be safe in the van?" 

"Stop fussing. You know I'll be fine." Pulling her jeans 
up over her hips, she stared out of the window and shook 
her head. "There's a whole lot of nothing out there." 

From the bed, Celluci could see a patch of stars and the 
top of one of the evergreens. "True enough." 

"And I really don't like it." 

"Then why are we here?" 

"Stuart Gordon just kept talking. I don't even remember 
saying yes but the next thing I knew, I'd agreed to do the 
job." 

"He pressured you?" Celiuci's emphasis on the final 
pronoun made it quite clear that he hadn't believed such a 
thing was possible. 

"Not pressured, no. Convinced with extreme prejudice." 

"He sounds like a prince." 


"Yeah? Well, so was Machiavelli." Dressed, she leaned 
over the bed and kissed him lightly. "Want to hear 
something romantic? When the day claims me, yours will 
be the only life I'll be able to feel." 

"Yeah? Well, so was Machiavelli." Dressed, she leaned 
over the bed and kissed him lightly. "Want to hear 
something romantic? When the day claims me, yours will 
be the only life I'll be able to feel." 

Although she'd tried to keep her voice light when she'd 
mentioned it to Celluci, Vicki really didn't like the great 
outdoors. Maybe it was because she understood the 
wilderness of glass and concrete and needed the anonymity 
of three million lives packed tightly around hers. Standing 
by the van, she swept her gaze from the first hints of dawn 
to the last lingering shadows of night and couldn't help 
feeling excluded, that there was something beyond what 
she could see that she wasn't a part of. She doubted Stuart 
Gordon's junior executives would feel a part of it either and 
wondered why anyone would want to build a resort in the 
midst of such otherness. 

The frogs had stopped trying to get laid and the silence 
seemed to be waiting for something. 

Waiting 

Vicki glanced towards Lake Nepeakea. It lay like a silver 
mirror down at the bottom of a rocky slope. Not a ripple 
broke the surface. Barely a mile away, a perfect reflection 
brought the opposite shore closer still. 

Waiting 

Whipper-will! 

Vicki winced at the sudden, piercing sound and got into 
the van. After locking both outer and inner doors, she 
stripped quickly  if she were found during the day, 
naked would be the least of her problems  laid down 
between the high, padded sides of the narrow bed and 
waited for the dawn. The bird call, repeated with Chinese 
water torture frequency, cut its way through special seals 
and interior walls. 

"Man, that's annoying," she muttered, linking her fingers 
over her stomach. "I wonder if Celluci can sleep 
through" 


As soon as he heard the van door close, Celluci fell into 
a dreamless sleep that lasted until just past noon. When he 
woke, he stared up at the inside of the roof and wondered 
where he was. The rough lumber looked like it'd been 
coated in creosote in the far distant past. 

As soon as he heard the van door close, Celluci fell into 
a dreamless sleep that lasted until just past noon. When he 
woke, he stared up at the inside of the roof and wondered 
where he was. The rough lumber looked like it'd been 
coated in creosote in the far distant past. 

Then he remembered where here was and came fully 
awake. 

Vicki had dragged him out to a wilderness lodge, north 
of Georgian Bay, to hunt for the local and apparently 
homicidal protective lake spirit. 

A few moments later, his sleeping bag neatly rolled on 
the end of the old iron bed, he was in the kitchen making a 
pot of coffee. That kind of a realization upon waking 
needed caffeine. 

On the counter next to the coffee-maker, right where 
he'd be certain to find it first thing, he found a file labelled 
"Lake Nepeakea" in Vicki's unmistakable handwriting. The 
first few pages of glossy card stock had been clearly sent 
by Stuart Gordon along with the key. An artist's 
conception of the time-share resort, they showed a large 
L-shaped building where the lodge now stood and three 
dozen "cottages" scattered through the woods, front doors 
linked by broad gravel paths. Apparently, the guests would 
commute out to their personal chalets by golf cart. 

"Which they can also use on"  Celluci turned the page 
and shook his head in disbelief  "the nine-hole golf 
course." Clearly, a large part of Mr Gordon's building plan 
involved bulldozers. And right after the bulldozers would 
come the cappuccino. He shuddered. 

The next few pages were clipped together and turned 
out to be photocopies of newspaper articles covering the 
disappearance of the surveyor. She'd been working with 
her partner in the late evening, trying to finish up a 
particularly marshy bit of shore destined to be filled in and 
paved over for tennis courts, when, according to her 
partner, she'd stepped back into the mud, announced 
something had moved under her foot, lost her balance, fell, 
screamed and disappeared. The OPP, aided by local 
volunteers, had set up an extensive search but she hadn't 
been found. Since the area was usually avoided because of 
the sink holes, sink holes a distraught Stuart Gordon swore 
he knew nothing about  "Probably distraught about 


having to move his tennis courts," Celluci muttered  the 
official verdict allowed that she'd probably stepped in one 
and been sucked under the mud. 

having to move his tennis courts," Celluci muttered  the 
official verdict allowed that she'd probably stepped in one 
and been sucked under the mud. 

"Two weeks ago," Celluci noted, checking the date. 
"Tragic but hardly a reason for Stuart Gordon to go to the 
effort of convincing Vicki to leave the city." 

The final photocopy included a close-up of a car door 
that looked like it had been splashed with acid, spirit 
attacks developer's vehicle. During the night of 13 May the 
protector of Lake Nepeakea had crawled up into the 
parking lot of the lodge and secreted something corrosive 
and distinctly fishy against Stuart Gordon's brand-new 
Isuzu trooper. A trail of dead bracken, a little over a foot 
wide and smelling strongly of rotting fish, led back to the 
lake. Mary Joseph seemed convinced it was a 
manifestation of the spirit, the local police were looking for 
anyone who might have information about the vandalism, 
and Stuart Gordon announced he was bringing in a special 
investigator from Toronto to settle it once and for all. 

It was entirely probable that the surveyor had stepped 
into a mud hole and that local vandals were using the 
legends of the spirit against an unpopular developer. 
Entirely probable. But living with Vicki had forced Mike 
Celluci to deal with half a dozen improbable things every 
morning before breakfast so, mug in hand, he headed 
outside to investigate the crime scene. 

Because of the screen of evergreens  although, given 
their size, barricade was probably the more descriptive 
word  the parking lot couldn't be seen from the lodge. 


Considering the impenetrable appearance of the 
overlapping branches, Celluci was willing to bet that not 
even light would get through. The spirit could have done 
anything it wanted to, up to and including changing the oil, 
in perfect secrecy. 

Considering the impenetrable appearance of the 
overlapping branches, Celluci was willing to bet that not 
even light would get through. The spirit could have done 
anything it wanted to, up to and including changing the oil, 
in perfect secrecy. 

"Vicki's not going to be happy about that," he grinned, 
wiping it off on his jeans. By the second and third bites, 
he'd stopped grinning. By the fourth and fifth, he really 
didn't give a damn what Vicki thought. By the time he'd 
stopped counting, he was running for the lake, hoping that 
the breeze he could see stirring its surface would be 
enough to blow the little bastards away. 

The faint but unmistakable scent of rotting fish rose 
from the dead bracken crushed under his pounding feet 
and he realized that he was using the path made by the 
manifestation. It was about two feet wide and led down an 
uncomfortably steep slope from the parking lot to the lake. 
But not exactly all the way to the lake. The path ended 
about three feet above the water on a granite ledge. 

Swearing, mostly at Vicki, Celluci threw himself 
backwards, somehow managing to save both his coffee 
and himself from taking an unexpected swim. The 
following cloud of insects effortlessly matched the move. 
A quick glance through the bugs showed the ledge tapering 
off to the right. He bounded down it to the water's edge 
and found himself standing on a small, man-made beach 
staring at a floating dock that stretched out maybe fifteen 
feet into the lake. Proximity to the water had seemed to 
discourage the swarm, so he headed for the dock hoping 
that the breeze would be stronger fifteen feet out. 

It was. Flicking a few bodies out of his coffee, Celluci 
took a long grateful drink and turned to look back up at the 
lodge. Studying the path he'd taken, he was amazed he 
hadn't broken an ankle and had to admit a certain 
appreciation for who or what had created it. A greying 
staircase made of split logs offered a more conventional 
way to the water and the tiny patch of gritty sand, held in 


place by a stone wall. Stuart Gordon's plans had included 
a much larger beach and had replaced the old wooden 
dock with three concrete piers. 

place by a stone wall. Stuart Gordon's plans had included 
a much larger beach and had replaced the old wooden 
dock with three concrete piers. 

The sudden roar of a motor boat came as a welcome 
relief. Watching it bounce its way up the lake, he 
considered how far the sound carried and made a mental 
note to close the window should Vicki spend any 
significant portion of the night with him. 

The moment distance allowed, the boat's driver waved 
over the edge of the cracked windshield and, in a great, 
banked turn that sprayed a huge fantail of water out behind 
him, headed towards the exact spot where Celluci stood. 
Celluci's fingers tightened around the handle of the mug but 
he held his ground. Still turning, the driver cut his engines 
and drifted the last few feet to the dock. As empty bleach 
bottles slowly crumpled under the gentle impact, he 
jumped out and tied off his bow line. 

"Frank Patton," he said, straightening from the cleat and 
holding out a callused hand. "You must be the guy that 
developer's brought in from the city to capture the spirit of 
the lake." 

"Detective Sergeant Mike Celluci." His own age or a 
little younger, Frank Patton had a working man's grip that 
was just a little too forceful. Celluci returned pressure for 
pressure. "And I'm just spending a long weekend in the 
woods." 

Patton's dark brows drew down. "But I thought" 

"You thought I was some weirdo psychic you could 
impress by crushing his fingers." The other man looked 
down at their joined hands and had the grace to flush. As 
he released his hold, so did Celluci. He'd played this game 
too often to lose at it. "I suggest, if you get the chance to 
meet the actual investigator, you don't come on quite so 
strong. She's liable to feed you your preconceptions.'' 


"She's" 

"She's" 

"Yeah. Right." Flexing his fingers, Patton stared down 
at the toes of his workboots. "It's just, you know, we 
heard that, well" Sucking in a deep breath, he looked up 
and grinned. "Oh, hell, talk about getting off on the wrong 
foot. Can I get you a beer, Detective?" 

Celluci glanced over at the Styrofoam cooler in the back 
of the boat and was tempted for a moment. As sweat 
rolled painfully into the bug bites on the back of his neck, 
he remembered just how good a cold beer could taste. 
"No, thanks," he sighed with a disgusted glare into his 
mug. "I've, uh, still got coffee." 

To his surprise, Patton nodded and asked, "How 
long've you been dry? My brother-in-law gets that exact 
same look when some damn fool offers him a drink on a 
hot almost summer afternoon," he explained as Celluci 
stared at him in astonishment. "Goes to AA meetings in 
Bigwood twice a week." 

Remembering all the bottles he'd climbed into during 
those long months Vicki had been gone, Celluci shrugged. 
"About two years now  give or take." 

"I got generic cola" 

He dumped the dregs of cold bug-infested coffee into 
the lake. The Ministry of Natural Resources could kiss his 
ass. "Love one," he said. 

"So essentially everyone in town and everyone who 
owns property around the lake and everyone in a 100-mile 
radius has reason to want Stuart Gordon gone." 

"Essentially," Celluci agreed, tossing a gnawed chicken 
bone aside and pulling another piece out of the bucket. 
He'd waited to eat until Vicki got up, maintaining the 
illusion that it was a ritual they continued to share. 
"According to Frank Patton, he hasn't endeared himself to 
his new neighbours. This place used to belong to an Anne 
Kellough who What?" 

Vicki frowned and leaned towards him. "You're covered 
in bites." 

"Tell me about it." The reminder brought his hand up to 


scratch at the back of his neck. "You know what Nepeakea 
means? It's an old Indian word that translates as 'I'm 
fucking sick of being eaten alive by black flies; let's get the 
hell out of here'." 

scratch at the back of his neck. "You know what Nepeakea 
means? It's an old Indian word that translates as 'I'm 
fucking sick of being eaten alive by black flies; let's get the 
hell out of here'." 

Celluci snorted. "Tell me about it." 

"Anne Kellough?" 

"What, not even one poor sweet baby?" 

Stretching out her leg under the table, she ran her foot 
up the inseam of his jeans. "Poor sweet baby." 

"That'd be a lot more effective if you weren't wearing 
hiking boots." Her laugh was one of the things that hadn't 
changed when she had. Her smile was too white and too 
sharp and it made too many new promises but her laugh 
remained fully human. He waited until she finished, 
chewing, swallowing, congratulating himself for evoking it, 
then said, "Anne Kellough ran this place as sort of a 
therapy camp. Last summer, after ignoring her for thirteen 
years, the Ministry of Health people came down on her 
kitchen. Renovations cost more than she thought, the bank 
foreclosed, and Stuart Gordon bought it twenty minutes 
later." 

"That explains why she wants him gone; what about 
everyone else?" 

"Lifestyle." 

"They think he's gay?" 

"Not his, theirs. The people who live out here, down in 
the village and around the lake  while not adverse to 
taking the occasional tourist for everything they can get  
like the quiet, they like the solitude and, God help them, 
they even like the woods. The boys who run the hunting 
and fishing camp at the west end of the lake" 

"Boys?" 

"I'm quoting here. The boys," he repeated, with 
emphasis, "say Gordon's development will kill the fish and 
scare off the game. He nearly got his ass kicked by one of 
them, Pete Wegler, down at the local gas station and then 
got tossed out on said ass by the owner when he called the 
place quaint." 


"In the sort of tone that adds, and 'a Starbucks would 
be a big improvement'?" When Celluci raised a brow, she 
shrugged. "I've spoken to him, it's not that much of an 
extrapolation." 

"In the sort of tone that adds, and 'a Starbucks would 
be a big improvement'?" When Celluci raised a brow, she 
shrugged. "I've spoken to him, it's not that much of an 
extrapolation." 

"Afraid they'll start losing children and pets under 
expensive sport utes?" 

"That, and they're worried about an increase in taxes to 
maintain the road with all the extra traffic." Pushing away 
from the table, he started closing plastic containers and 
carrying them to the fridge. "Apparently, Stuart Gordon, 
ever so diplomatically, told one of the village women that 
this was no place to raise kids." 

"What happened?" 

"Frank says they got them apart before it went much 
beyond name-calling." 

Wondering how far "much beyond name-calling" went, 
Vicki watched Mike clean up the remains of his meal. "Are 
you sure he's pissed off more than just these few people? 
Even if this was already a resort and he didn't have to 
rezone, local council must've agreed to his building 
permit." 

"Yeah, and local opinion would feed local council to the 
spirit right alongside Mr Gordon. Rumour has it they've 
been bought off." 

Tipping her chair back against the wall, she smiled up at 
him. "Can I assume from your busy day that you've come 
down on the mud hole/vandals side of the argument?" 

"It does seem the most likely." He turned and scratched 
at the back of his neck again. When his fingertips came 
away damp, he heard her quick intake of breath. When he 
looked up, she was crossing the kitchen. Cool fingers 
wrapped around the side of his face. 

"You didn't shave." 

It took him a moment to find his voice. "I'm on 
vacation." 

Her breath lapped against him, then her tongue. 

The lines between likely and unlikely blurred. 


Then the sound of an approaching engine jerked him out 
of her embrace. 

Then the sound of an approaching engine jerked him out 
of her embrace. 

Celluci tucked his shirt back in. "Stuart Gordon told 
you what he drives." 

"Unless you think I can tell all that from the sound of the 
engine." 

"Not likely." 

"A detective sergeant? I'm impressed." Pale hands in the 
pockets of his tweed blazer, Stuart Gordon leaned 
conspiratorially in towards Celluci, too many teeth showing 
in too broad a grin. "I don't suppose you could fix a few 
parking tickets." 

"No." 

Thin lips pursed in exaggerated reaction to the blunt 
monosyllable. "Then what do you do, Detective Sergeant?" 

"Violent crimes." 

Thinking that sounded a little too much like a 
suggestion, Vicki intervened. "Detective Celluci has agreed 
to assist me this weekend. Between us, we'll be able to 
keep a twenty-four-hour watch." 

"Twenty-four hours?" The developer's brows drew in. 
"I'm not paying more for that." 

"I'm not asking you to." 

"Good." Stepping up on to the raised hearth as though 
it were a stage, he smiled with all the sincerity of a 
television infomercial. "Then I'm glad to have you aboard, 
Detective. Mike  can I call you Mike?" He continued 
without waiting for an answer. "Call me Stuart. Together 
we'll make this a safe place for the weary masses able to 
pay a premium price for a premium week in the woods." A 
heartbeat later, his smile grew strained. "Don't you two 
have detecting to do?" 

"Call me Stuart?" Shaking his head, Celluci followed 
Vicki's dark on dark silhouette out to the parking lot. "Why 
is he here?" 


"He's bait." 

"He's bait." 

She turned and walked backward so she could study his 
face. Sometimes he forgot how well she could see in the 
dark and forgot to mask his expressions. "Mike, you don't 
believe that call-me-Stuart has actually pissed off some 
kind of vengeful spirit protecting Lake Nepeakea?" 

"You're the one who said bait" 

"Because we're not going to catch the person, or 
persons, who threw acid on his car unless we catch them 
in the act. He understands that." 

"Oh. Right." 

Feeling the bulk of the van behind her, she stopped. 
"You didn't answer my question." 

He sighed and folded his arms, wishing he could see her 
as well as she could see him. "Vicki, in the last four years I 
have been attacked by demons, mummies, zombies, 
werewolves" 

"That wasn't an attack, that was a misunderstanding." 

"He went for my throat, I count it as an attack. I've 
offered my blood to the bastard son of Henry VIII and I've 
spent two years watching you hide from the day. There 
isn't anything much I don't believe in any more." 

"But" 

"I believe in you," he interrupted, "and from there, it's 
not that big a step to just about anywhere. Are you going 
to speak with Mary Joseph tonight?" 

His tone suggested the discussion was over. "No, I was 
going to check means and opportunity on that list of names 
you gave me." She glanced down towards the lake then up 
at him, not entirely certain what she was looking for in 
either instance. "Are you going to be all right out here on 
your own?" 

"Why the hell wouldn't I be?" 

"No reason." She kissed him, got into the van, and 
leaned out the open window to add, "Try and remember, 
Sigmund, that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." 


Celluci watched Vicki drive away and then turned on his 
flashlight and played the beam over the side of Stuart's car. 
Although it would have been more helpful to have seen the 
damage, he had to admit that the body shop had done a 
good job. And to give the man credit, however reluctantly, 
developing a wilderness property did provide more of an 
excuse than most of his kind had for the four-wheel drive. 

Celluci watched Vicki drive away and then turned on his 
flashlight and played the beam over the side of Stuart's car. 
Although it would have been more helpful to have seen the 
damage, he had to admit that the body shop had done a 
good job. And to give the man credit, however reluctantly, 
developing a wilderness property did provide more of an 
excuse than most of his kind had for the four-wheel drive. 

His eyes widened. 

Behind the evergreens, the lodge blazed with light. 
Inside lights. Outside lights. Every light in the place. The 
harsh yellow-white illumination washed out the stars up 
above and threw everything below into such sharp relief 
that even the lush, spring growth seemed manufactured. 
The shadows under the distant trees were now solid, 
impenetrable sheets of darkness. 

"Well at least Ontario Hydro's glad he's here." Shaking 
his head in disbelief, Celluci returned to his surveillance. 

Too far away for the light to reach it, the lake threw up 
shimmering reflections of the stars and lapped gently 
against the shore. 

Finally back on the paved road, Vicki unclenched her 
teeth and followed the southern edge of the lake towards 
the village. With nothing between the passenger side of the 
van and the water but a whitewashed guard rail and a few 
tumbled rocks, it was easy enough to look out the window 
and pretend she was driving on the lake itself. When the 
shoulder widened into a small parking area and a boat 
ramp, she pulled over and shut off the van. 

The water moved inside its narrow channel like liquid 
darkness, opaque and mysterious. The part of the night 
that belonged to her ended at the water's edge. 


"Not the way it's supposed to work," she muttered, 
getting out of the van and walking down the boat ramp. Up 
close, she could see through four or five inches of liquid to 
a stony bottom and the broken shells of freshwater clams, 
but beyond that it was hard not to believe she couldn't just 
walk across to the other side. 

"Not the way it's supposed to work," she muttered, 
getting out of the van and walking down the boat ramp. Up 
close, she could see through four or five inches of liquid to 
a stony bottom and the broken shells of freshwater clams, 
but beyond that it was hard not to believe she couldn't just 
walk across to the other side. 

"Hey, there." 

She'd spun around and taken a step out into the lake 
before her brain caught up with her reaction. The feel of 
cold water filling her hiking boots brought her back to 
herself and she damped the hunter in her eyes before the 
man in the canoe had time to realize his danger. 

Paddle in the water, holding the canoe in place, he 
nodded down at Vicki's feet. "You don't want to be doing 
that." 

"Doing what?" 

"Wading at night. You're going to want to see where 
you're going, old Nepeakea drops off fast." He jerked his 
head back towards the silvered darkness. "Even the 
ministry boys couldn't tell you how deep she is in the 
middle. She's got so much loose mud on the bottom it 
kept throwing back their sonar readings." 

"Then what are you doing here?" 

"Well, I'm not wading, that's for sure." 

"Or answering my question," Vicki muttered, stepping 
back out on the shore. Wet feet making her less than 
happy, she half hoped for another smartass comment. 

"I often canoe at night. I like the quiet." He grinned in at 
her, clearly believing he was too far away and there was 
too little light for her to see the appraisal that went with it. 
"You must be that investigator from Toronto. I saw your 
van when I was up at the lodge today." 

"You must be Frank Patton. You've changed your 
boat." 

"Can't be quiet in a fifty-horsepower Evinrude, can I? 
You going in to see Mary Joseph?" 


"No. I was going in to see Anne Kellough." 

"No. I was going in to see Anne Kellough." 

Vicki smiled. "Thanks anyway." Her eyes silvered. 
"Maybe another time." 

She was still smiling as she got into the van. Out on the 
lake, Frank Patton splashed about trying to retrieve the 
canoe paddle that had dropped from nerveless fingers. 

"Frankly, I hate the little bastard, but there's no law 
against that." Anne Kellough pulled her sweater tighter and 
leaned back against the porch railing. "He's the one who 
set the health department on me you know." 

"I didn't." 

"Oh, yeah. He came up here about three months before 
it happened looking for land and he wanted mine. I 
wouldn't sell it to him so he figured out a way to take it." 
Anger quickened her breathing and flared her nostrils. "He 
as much as told me, after it was all over, with that big 
shit-eating grin and his, 'Rough, luck, Ms Kellough, too 
bad the banks can't be more forgiving.' The patronizing 
asshole." Eyes narrowed, she glared at Vicki. "And you 
know what really pisses me off? I used to rent the lodge 
out to people who needed a little silence in their lives; you 
know, so they could maybe hear what was going on inside 
their heads. If Stuart Gordon has his way, there won't be 
any silence and the place'll be awash in brand names and 
expensive dental work." 

"If Stuart Gordon has his way?" Vicki repeated, brows 
rising. 

"Well, it's not built yet, is it?" 

"He has all the paperwork filed; what's going to stop 
him?" 

The other woman picked at a flake of paint, her whole 
attention focused on lifting it from the railing. Just when 
Vicki felt she'd have to ask again, Anne looked up and out 
towards the dark waters of the lake. "That's the question, 
isn't it," she said softly, brushing her hair back off her face. 


The lake seemed no different to Vicki than it ever had. 
About to suggest that the question acquire an answer, she 
suddenly frowned. "What happened to your hand? That 
looks like an acid burn." 

The lake seemed no different to Vicki than it ever had. 
About to suggest that the question acquire an answer, she 
suddenly frowned. "What happened to your hand? That 
looks like an acid burn." 

"A new battery, eh? Afraid I can't help you, miss." Ken, 
owner of Ken's Garage and Auto Body, pressed one knee 
against the side of the van and leaned, letting it take his 
weight as he filled the tank. "But if you're not in a hurry I 
can go into Bigwood tomorrow and get you one." Before 
Vicki could speak, he went on. "No, wait, tomorrow's 
Sunday, place'll be closed. Closed Monday too seeing as 
how it's Victoria Day." He shrugged and smiled. "I'll be 
open but that won't get you a battery." 

"It doesn't have to be a new one. I just want to make 
sure that when I turn her off on the way home I can get her 
started again." Leaning back against the closed driver's 
side door, she gestured into the work bay where a small 
pile of old batteries had been more or less stacked against 
the back wall. "What about one of them?" 

Ken turned, peered, and shook his head. "Damn but 
you've got good eyes, miss. It's dark as bloody pitch in 
there." 

"Thank you." 

"None of them batteries will do you any good though, 
cause I drained them all a couple of days ago. They're just 
too dangerous, eh? You know, if kids get poking around?" 
He glanced over at the gas pump and carefully squirted the 
total up to an even thirty-two dollars. "You're that 
investigator working up at the lodge, aren't you?" he asked 
as he pushed the bills she handed him into a greasy pocket 
and counted out three loonies in change. "Trying to lay the 
spirit?" 

"Trying to catch whoever vandalized Stuart Gordon's 
car." 

"He, uh, get that fixed then?" 

"Good as new." Vicki opened the van door and paused, 


one foot up on the running board. "I take it he didn't get it 
fixed here?" 

one foot up on the running board. "I take it he didn't get it 
fixed here?" 

"If?" 

Much as Anne Kellough had, he glanced towards the 
lake. "If." 

About to swing up into the van, two five-gallon glass 
jars sitting outside the office caught her eye. The lids were 
off and it looked very much as though they were airing out. 
"I haven't seen jars like that in years," she said, pointing. "I 
don't suppose you want to sell them?" 

Ken turned to follow her finger. "Can't. They belong to 
my cousin. I just borrowed them, eh? Her kids were 
supposed to come and get them but, hey, you know kids." 

According to call-me-Stuart, the village was no place to 
raise kids. 

Glass jars would be handy for transporting acid mixed 
with fish bits. 

And where would they have got the fish? she 
wondered, pulling carefully out of the gas station. Maybe 
from one of the boys who runs the hunting and fishing 
camp. 

Pete Wegler stood in the door of his trailer, a slightly 
confused look on his face. "Do I know you?" 

Vicki smiled. "Not yet. Aren't you going to invite me 
in?" 

Ten to twelve. The lights were still on at the lodge. 
Celluci stood, stretched, and wondered how much longer 
Vicki was going to be. Surely everyone in Dulvie's asleep 
by now. 

Maybe she stopped for a bite to eat. 

The second thought followed the first too quickly for 
him to prevent it so he ignored it instead. Turning his back 
on the lodge, he sat down and stared out at the lake. Water 


looked almost secretive at night, he decided as his eyes 
readjusted to the darkness. 

looked almost secretive at night, he decided as his eyes 
readjusted to the darkness. 

"And if Stuart Gordon has got a protective spirit pissed 
off enough to kill, what then?" he wondered aloud, 
glancing down at his watch. 

Midnight. 

Which meant absolutely nothing to that ever-expanding 
catalogue of things that went bump in the night. Experience 
had taught him that the so-called supernatural was just 
about as likely to attack at two in the afternoon as at 
midnight but he couldn't not react to the knowledge that he 
was as far from the dubious safety of daylight as he was 
able to get. 

Even the night seemed affected. 

Waiting 

A breeze blew in off the lake and the hair lifted on both 
his arms. 

Waiting for something to happen. 

About fifteen feet from shore, a fish broke through the 
surface of the water like Alice going the wrong way 
through the Looking Glass. It leaped up, up, and was 
suddenly grabbed by the end of a glistening, grey tube as 
big around as his biceps. Teeth, or claws or something 
back inside the tube's opening sank into the fish and 
together they finished the arch of the leap. A hump, the 
same glistening grey, slid up and back into the water, 
followed by what could only have been the propelling beat 
of a flat tail. From teeth to tail the whole thing had to be at 
least nine feet long. 

"Jesus H. Christ." He took a deep breath and added, 
"On crutches." 

"I'm telling you, Vicki, I saw the spirit of the lake 
manifest." 

"You saw something eat a fish." Vicki stared out at the 
water but saw only the reflection of a thousand stars. "You 
probably saw a bigger fish eat a fish. A long, narrow pike 
leaping up after a nice fat bass." 

About to deny he'd seen any such thing, Celluci 


suddenly frowned. "How do you know so much about 
fish?" 

suddenly frowned. "How do you know so much about 
fish?" 

 the mother who went much beyond name calling with 
our boy Stuart. Anne Kellough did the deed  she's 
convinced Gordon called in the Health Department to get 
his hands on the property  having been transported 
quietly to the site in Frank Patton's canoe." She grinned. "I 
feel like Hercule Poirot on the Orient Express." 
"Yeah? Well, I'm feeling a lot more Stephen King than 
Agatha Christie." 

Sobering, Vicki laid her hand on the barricade of his 
crossed arms and studied his face. "You're really freaked 
by this, aren't you?" 

"I don't know exactly what I saw, but I didn't see a fish 
get eaten by another fish." 

The muscles under her hand were rigid and he was 
staring past her, out at the lake. "Mike, what is it?" 

"I told you, Vicki. I don't know exactly what I saw." In 
spite of everything, he still liked his world defined. 
Reluctantly transferring his gaze to the pale oval of her 
upturned face, he sighed. "How much, if any, of this do 
you want me to tell Mr Gordon tomorrow?" 

"How about none? I'll tell him myself after sunset." 

"Fine. It's late, I'm turning in. I assume you'll be staking 
out the parking lot for the rest of the night." 

"What for? I guarantee the vengeful spirits won't be 
back." Her voice suggested that in a direct, one-on-one 
confrontation a vengeful spirit wouldn't stand a chance. 
Celluci remembered the thing that rose up out of the lake 
and wasn't so sure. 

"That doesn't matter, you promised twenty-four-hour 
protection." 

"Yeah, but" His expression told her that if she wasn't 
going to stay, he would. "Fine, I'll watch the car. Happy?" 

"That you're doing what you said you were going to do? 
Ecstatic." Celluci unfolded his arms, pulled her close 
enough to kiss the frown lines between her brows, and 
headed for the lodge. She had a little talk with Pete 


Wegler, my ass. He knew Vicki had to feed off others, but 
he didn't have to like it. 

Wegler, my ass. He knew Vicki had to feed off others, but 
he didn't have to like it. 

"This isn't mysterious, it's irritating." 

As Celluci wandered around the lodge, turning off 
lights, he could hear Stuart snoring through the door of one 
of the two main-floor bedrooms. In the few hours he'd 
been outside, the other man had managed to leave a trail of 
debris from one end of the place to the other. On top of 
that, he'd used up the last of the toilet paper on the roll and 
hadn't replaced it, he'd put the almost empty coffee pot 
back on the coffee-maker with the machine still on so that 
the dregs had baked on to the glass, and he'd eaten a piece 
of Celluci's chicken, tossing the gnawed bone back into the 
bucket. Celluci didn't mind him eating the piece of chicken 
but the last thing he wanted was Stuart Gordon's spit over 
the rest of the bird. 

Dropping the bone into the garbage, he noticed a 
crumpled piece of paper and fished it out. Apparently the 
resort was destined to grow beyond its current boundaries. 
Destined to grow all the way around the lake, devouring 
Dulvie as it went. 

"Which would put Stuart Gordon's spit all over the rest 
of the area." 

Bored with watching the lake and frightening off the 
local wildlife, Vicki pressed her nose against the window of 
the sports ute and clicked her tongue at the dashboard full 
of electronic displays, willing to bet that call-me-Stuart 
didn't have the slightest idea of what most of them meant. 

"Probably has a trouble light if his air freshener needs 
hello." 


Tucked under the passenger seat was the unmistakable 
edge of a laptop. 

Tucked under the passenger seat was the unmistakable 
edge of a laptop. 

Stuart slept on his back with one hand flung over his 
head and a slight smile on his thin face. Vicki watched the 
pulse beat in his throat for a moment. She'd been assured 
that, if necessary, she could feed off lower life-forms  
pigeons, rats, developers  but she was just as glad she'd 
taken the edge off the hunger down in the village. Scooping 
up his car keys, she went out of the room as silently as 
she'd come in. 

Celluci woke to a decent voice belting out a Beatles tune 
and came downstairs just as Stuart came out of the 
bathroom finger-combing damp hair. 

"Good morning, Mike. Can I assume no vengeful spirits 
of Lake Nepeakea trashed my car in the night?" 

"You can." 

"Good. Good. Oh, by the way,"  his smile could 
have sold attitude to Americans  "I've used all the hot 
water." 

"I guess it's true what they say about so many of our 
boys in blue." 

"And what's that?" Celluci growled, fortified by two 
cups of coffee made only slightly bitter by the burned 
carafe. 

"Well, you know, Mike." Grinning broadly, the 
developer mimed tipping a bottle to his lips. "I mean, if 
you can drink that vile brew, you've certainly got a drinking 
problem." Laughing at his own joke, he headed for the 
door. 

To begin with, they're not your boys in blue and then, 
you can just fucking well drop dead. You try dealing with 
the world we deal with for a while, asshole, it'll chew you 
up and spit you out. But although his fist closed around 
his mug tightly enough for it to creak, all he said was, 


"Where are you going?" 

"Where are you going?" 

Celluci growled something non-committal. Right at the 
moment, the last thing he wanted was to think of Stuart 
Gordon as a decent human being. 

"I might not be back until after dark but hey, that's when 
the spirit's likely to appear so you won't need me until then. 
Right, Mike?" Turning towards the screen where the black 
flies had settled, waiting for their breakfast to emerge, he 
shook his head. "The first thing I'm going to do when all 
this is settled is drain every stream these little bloodsuckers 
breed in." 

The water levels in the swamp had dropped in the two 
weeks since the death of the surveyor. Drenched in the bug 
spray he'd found under the sink, Celluci followed the path 
made by the searchers, treading carefully on the higher 
hummocks no matter how solid the ground looked. When 
he reached the remains of the police tape, he squatted and 
peered down into the water. He didn't expect to find 
anything, but after Stuart's confession he felt he had to 
come. 

About two inches deep, it was surprisingly clear. 

"No reason for it to be muddy now, there's nothing 
stirring it" 

Something metallic glinted in the mud. 

Gripping the marsh grass on his hummock with one 
hand, he reached out with the other and managed to get 
thumb and forefinger around the protruding piece of 

"Stainless-steel measuring tape?" 


It was probably a remnant of the dead surveyor's 
equipment. One end of the six-inch piece had been cleanly 
broken but the other end, the end that had been down in 
the mud, looked as though it had been dissolved. 

It was probably a remnant of the dead surveyor's 
equipment. One end of the six-inch piece had been cleanly 
broken but the other end, the end that had been down in 
the mud, looked as though it had been dissolved. 

Celluci inhaled deeply and spat a mouthful of suicidal 
black flies out into the swamp. "I think it's time to talk to 
Mary Joseph." 

"Can't you feel it?" 

Enjoying the first decent cup of coffee he'd had in days, 
Celluci walked to the edge of the porch and stared out at 
the lake. Unlike most of Dulvie, separated from the water 
by the road, Mary Joseph's house was right on the shore. 
"I can feel something," he admitted. 

"You can feel the spirit of the lake, angered by this man 
from the city. Another cookie?" 

"No, thank you." He'd had one and it was without 
question the worst cookie he'd ever eaten. "Tell me about 
the spirit of the lake, Ms Joseph. Have you seen it?" 

"Oh, yes. Well, not exactly it, but I've seen the wake of 
its passing." She gestured out towards the water but, at the 
moment, the lake was perfectly calm. "Most water has a 
protective spirit, you know. Wells and springs, lakes and 
rivers, it's why we throw coins into fountains, so that the 
spirits will exchange them for luck. Kelpies, selkies, 
mermaids, Jenny Greenteeth, Peg Powler, the Fideal all 
water spirits." 

"And one of them, is that what's out there?" Somehow 
he couldn't reconcile mermaids to that toothed trunk 
snaking out of the water. 

"Oh, no, our water spirit is a new world water spirit. 
The Cree called it a mantouche  surely you recognize the 
similarity to the word Manitou or Great Spirit? Only the 
deepest lakes with the best fishing had them. They 
protected the lakes and the area around the lakes and, in 
return" 

"Were revered?" 

"Well, no actually. They were left strictly alone." 


"You told the paper that the spirit had manifested twice 
before?" 

"You told the paper that the spirit had manifested twice 
before?" 

Product of a Catholic school education, Celluci wasn't 
entirely certain the involvement of the Jesuits added 
credibility. "What happened?" 

"It was spring. A pair of white trappers had been at the 
lake all winter, slaughtering the animals around it. Animals 
under the lake's protection. According to the surviving 
trapper, his partner was coming out of high-water marshes, 
just after sunset, when his canoe suddenly upended and he 
disappeared. When the remaining man retrieved the canoe 
he found that bits had been burned away without flame and 
it carried the mark of all the dead they'd stolen from the 
lake." 

"The mark of the dead?" 

"The record says it stank, Detective. Like offal." About 
to eat another cookie, she paused. "You do know what 
offal is?" 

"Yes, ma'am. Did the survivor see anything?" 

"Well, he said he saw what he thought was a giant snake 
except that it had two stubby wings at the upper end. And 
you know what that is." 

 a glistening, grey tube as big around as his biceps. 
"No." 

"A wyvern. One of the ancient dragons." 

"There's a dragon in the lake." 

"No, of course not. The spirit of the lake can take many 
forms. When it's angry, those who face its anger see a 
great and terrifying beast. To the trapper, who no doubt 
had northern European roots, it appeared as a wyvern. The 
natives would have probably seen a giant serpent. There 
are many so-called serpent mounds around deep lakes." 

"But it couldn't just be a giant serpent?" 

"Detective Celluci, don't you think that if there was a 
giant serpent living in this lake that someone would have 
got a good look at it by now? Besides, after the second 


death the lake was searched extensively with modern 
equipment  and once or twice since then as well  and 
nothing has ever been found. That trapper was killed by the 
spirit of the lake and so was Thomas Stebbing." 

death the lake was searched extensively with modern 
equipment  and once or twice since then as well  and 
nothing has ever been found. That trapper was killed by the 
spirit of the lake and so was Thomas Stebbing." 

"The recorded death in 1937. I have newspaper 
clippings" 

In the spring of 1937, four young men from the 
University of Toronto came to Lake Nepeakea on a 
wilderness vacation. Out canoeing with a friend at dusk, 
Thomas Stebbing saw what he thought was a burned log 
on the shore and they paddled in to investigate. As his 
friend watched in horror, the log "attacked" Stebbing, left 
him burned and dead and "undulated into the lake" on a 
trail of dead vegetation. 

The investigation turned up nothing at all and the 
eyewitness account of a "kind of big worm thing" was 
summarily dismissed. The final, official verdict was that the 
victim had indeed disturbed a partially burned log and, as it 
rolled over him was burned by the embers and died. The 
log then rolled into the lake, burning a path as it rolled, and 
sank. The stench was dismissed as the smell of roasting 
flesh and the insistence by the friend that the burns were 
acid burns was completely ignored  in spite of the fact 
he was a chemistry student and should therefore know 
what he was talking about. 

"The spirit of the lake came up on land, Ms Joseph?" 

She nodded, apparently unconcerned with the 
contradiction. "There were a lot of fires being lit around the 
lake that year. Between the wars this area got popular for a 
while and fires were the easiest way to clear land for 
summer homes. The spirit of the lake couldn't allow that, 
hence its appearance as a burned log." 

"And Thomas Stebbing had done what to disturb its 
peace?" 

"Nothing specifically. I think the poor boy was just in 
the wrong place at the wrong time. It is a vengeful spirit, 
you understand." 

Only a few short years earlier, he'd have understood that 
Mary Joseph was a total nutcase. But that was before he'd 
willingly thrown himself into the darkness that lurked 
behind a pair of silvered eyes. He sighed and stood; the 


afternoon had nearly ended. It wouldn't be long now until 
sunset. 

afternoon had nearly ended. It wouldn't be long now until 
sunset. 

She was staring at him, nodding. "You've seen it, 
haven't you? You have that look." 

"I've seen something," he admitted reluctantly and 
turned towards the water. "I've seen a lot of thi" 

A pair of jet skiers roared around the point and drowned 
him out. As they passed the house, blanketing it in noise, 
one of the adolescent operators waved a cheery hello. 

Never a vengeful lake spirit around when you really need 
one, he thought. 

"He knew about the sinkholes in the marsh and he sent 
those surveyors out anyway." Vicki tossed a pebble off the 
end of the dock and watched it disappear into the liquid 
darkness. 

"You're sure?" 

"The information was all there on his laptop and the file 
was dated back in March. Now, although evidence that I 
just happened to have found in his computer will be 
inadmissible in court I can go to the Department of Lands 
and Forests and get the dates he requested the geological 
surveys." 

Celluci shook his head. "You're not going to be able to 
get him charged with anything. Sure, he should've told 
them but they were both professionals; they should've been 
more careful." He thought of the crocodile tears Stuart had 
cried that morning over the death and his hands formed 
fists by his side. Being an irresponsible asshole was one 
thing; being a manipulative, irresponsible asshole was on 
another level entirely. "It's an ethical failure," he growled, 
"not a legal one." 

"Maybe I should take care of him myself then." The 
second pebble hit the water with considerably more force. 

"He's your client, Vicki. You're supposed to be working 
for him, not against him." 

She snorted. "So I'll wait until his cheque clears." 

"He's planning on acquiring the rest of the land around 
the lake." Pulling the paper he'd retrieved from the garbage 


out of his pocket, Celluci handed it over. 

out of his pocket, Celluci handed it over. 

"Neither was this lodge until he decided he wanted it." 

Crushing the paper in one hand, Vicki's eyes silvered. 
"There's got to be something we can Shit!" Tossing the 
paper aside, she grabbed Celluci's arm as the end of the 
dock bucked up into the air and leaped back one section, 
dragging him with her. "What the fuck was that?" she 
demanded as they turned to watch the place they'd just 
been standing rock violently back and forth. The paper 
she'd dropped into the water was nowhere to be seen. 

"Wave from a passing boat?" 

"There hasn't been a boat past here in hours." 

"Sometimes these long narrow lakes build up a standing 
wave. It's called a seiche." 

"A seiche?" When he nodded, she rolled her eyes. "I've 
got to start watching more PBS. In the meantime" 

The sound of an approaching car drew their attention up 
to the lodge in time to see Stuart slowly and carefully pull 
into the parking lot, barely disturbing the gravel. 

"Are you going to tell him who vandalized his car?" 
Celluci asked as they started up the hill. 

"Who? Probably not. I can't prove it after all, but I will 
tell him it wasn't some vengeful spirit and it definitely won't 
happen again." At least not if Pete Wegler had anything to 
say about it. The spirit of the lake might be hypothetical 
but she wasn't. 

"A group of villagers, Vicki? You're sure?" 

"Positive." 

"They actually thought I'd believe it was an angry spirit 
manifesting all over the side of my vehicle?" 

"Apparently." Actually, they hadn't cared if he believed 
it or not. They were all just so angry they needed to do 
something and since the spirit was handy She offered 
none of that to call-me-Stuart. 

"I want their names, Vicki." His tone made it an 
ultimatum. 

Vicki had never responded well to ultimatums. Celluci 


watched her masks begin to fall and wondered just how far 
his dislike of the developer would let her go. He could stop 
her with a word, he just wondered if he'd say it. Or when. 

watched her masks begin to fall and wondered just how far 
his dislike of the developer would let her go. He could stop 
her with a word, he just wondered if he'd say it. Or when. 

For a moment, it seemed that Stuart realized how close 
he'd just come to seeing the definition of his own mortality 
but then he smiled and said, "You're right, Vicki, I haven't 
endeared myself to my neighbours. And do you know 
what: I'm going to do something about that. Tomorrow's 
Victoria Day. I'll invite them all to a big picnic supper with 
great food and fireworks out over the lake. We'll kiss and 
make up." 

"It's Sunday evening and tomorrow's a holiday. Where 
are you going to find food and fireworks?" 

"Not a problem, Mike. I'll e-mail my caterers in 
Toronto. I'm sure they can be here by tomorrow 
afternoon. I'll pay through the nose but, hey, developing a 
good relationship with the locals is worth it. You two will 
stay, of course." 

Vicki's lips drew back off her teeth but Celluci answered 
for them both. "Of course." 

"He's up to something," he explained later, "and I want 
to know what that is." 

"He's going to confront the villagers with what he 
knows, see who reacts and make their lives a living hell. 
He'll find a way to make them the first part of his 
expansion." 

"You're probably right." 

"I'm always right." Head pillowed on his shoulder, she 
stirred his chest hair with one finger. "He's an unethical, 
immoral, unscrupulous little asshole." 

"You missed annoying, irritating, and just generally 
unlikable." 

"I could convince him he was a combination of Mother 
Theresa and Lady Di. I could rip his mind out, use it for 
unnatural purposes, and stuff it back into his skull in any 
shape I damn well chose but I can't." 


Once you start down the dark side, for ever will it 
dominate your destiny? But he didn't say it aloud because 
he didn't want to know how far down the dark side she'd 
been. He was grateful that she'd drawn any personal 
boundaries at all, that she'd chosen to remain someone 
who couldn't use terror for the sake of terror. "So what are 
we going to do about him?" 

Once you start down the dark side, for ever will it 
dominate your destiny? But he didn't say it aloud because 
he didn't want to know how far down the dark side she'd 
been. He was grateful that she'd drawn any personal 
boundaries at all, that she'd chosen to remain someone 
who couldn't use terror for the sake of terror. "So what are 
we going to do about him?" 

Suddenly he smiled. "Could you convince him that you 
were the spirit of the lake and that he'd better haul his ass 
back to Toronto unless he wants it dissolved off?" 

She was off the bed in one fluid movement. "I knew 
there was a reason I dragged you out here this weekend." 
She turned on one bare heel then turned again and was 
suddenly back in the bed. "But I think I'll wait until 
tomorrow night. He hasn't paid me yet." 

"Morning, Mike. Where's Vicki?" 

"Sleeping." 

"Well, since you're up, why don't you help out by 
carrying the barbecue down to the beach. I may be willing 
to make amends but I'm not sure they are and since they've 
already damaged my car, I'd just as soon keep them away 
from anything valuable. Particularly when in combination 
with propane and open flames." 

"Isn't Vicki joining us for lunch, Mike?" 

"She says she isn't hungry. She went for a walk in the 
woods." 

"Must be how she keeps her girlish figure. I've got to 
hand it to you, Mike, there aren't many men your age who 
could hold on to such a woman. I mean, she's really got 
that independent thing going, doesn't she?" He accepted a 
tuna sandwich with effusive thanks, took a bite and 
winced. "Not light mayo?" 

"No." 

"Never mind, Mike. I'm sure you meant well. Now, then, 
as it's just the two of us, have you ever considered 
investing in a time-share" 


Mike Celluci had never been so glad to see anyone as he 
was to see a van full of bleary-eyed and stiff caterers arrive 
at four that afternoon. As Vicki had discovered during that 
initial phone call, Stuart Gordon was not a man who took 
no for an answer. He might have accepted "Fuck off and 
die!" followed by a fast exit but since Vicki expected to 
wake up on the shores of Lake Nepeakea, Celluci held his 
tongue. Besides, it would be a little difficult for her to 
chase the developer away if they were halfway back to 
Toronto. 

Mike Celluci had never been so glad to see anyone as he 
was to see a van full of bleary-eyed and stiff caterers arrive 
at four that afternoon. As Vicki had discovered during that 
initial phone call, Stuart Gordon was not a man who took 
no for an answer. He might have accepted "Fuck off and 
die!" followed by a fast exit but since Vicki expected to 
wake up on the shores of Lake Nepeakea, Celluci held his 
tongue. Besides, it would be a little difficult for her to 
chase the developer away if they were halfway back to 
Toronto. 

Vicki could feel maybe two dozen lives around her 
when she woke and she lay there for a moment revelling in 
them. The last two evenings she'd had to fight the urge to 
climb into the driver's seat and speed towards civilization. 

"Fast food." 

She snickered, dressed, and stepped out into the 
parking lot. 

Celluci was down on the beach talking to Frank Patton. 
She made her way over to them, the crowd opening to let 
her pass without really being aware she was there at all. 
Both men nodded as she approached and Patton gestured 
towards the barbecue. 

"Burger?" 

"No thanks, I'm not hungry." She glanced around. "No 
one seems to have brought their kids." 

"No one wants to expose their kids to Stuart Gordon." 

"Afraid they'll catch something," Celluci added. 

"Mike here says you've solved your case and you're just 
waiting for Mr Congeniality over there to pay you." 

Wondering what Mike had been up to, Vicki nodded. 

"He also says you didn't mention any names. Thank 
you." He sighed. "We didn't really expect the spirit of the 
lake thing to work but" 

Vicki raised both hands. "Hey, you never know. He 
could be suppressing." 

"Yeah, right. The only thing that clown suppresses is 
everyone around him. If you'll excuse me, I'd better go 
rescue Anne before she rips out his tongue and strangles 


him with it." 

him with it." 

"She thinks he's up to something and she wants to know 
what it is." 

"Don't we all," Celluci murmured as he walked away. 

The combined smell of cooked meat and fresh blood 
making her a little light-headed, Vicki started Mike moving 
towards the floating dock. "Have I missed anything?" 

"No, I think you're just in time." 

As Frank Patton approached, Stuart broke off the 
conversation he'd been having with Anne Kellough  or 
more precisely, Vicki amended, at Anne Kellough  and 
walked out to the end of the dock where a number of large 
rockets had been set up. 

"He's got a permit for the damned things," Celluci 
muttered. "The son of a bitch knows how to cover his 
ass." 

"But not his id." Vicki's fingers curved cool around 
Mike's forearm. "He'll get his, don't worry." 

The first rocket went up, exploding red over the lake, 
the colours muted against the evening grey of sky and 
water. The developer turned towards the shore and raised 
both hands above his head. "Now that I've got your 
attention, there's a few things I'd like to share with you all 
before the festivities continue. First of all, I've decided not 
to press charges concerning the damage to my vehicle 
although I'm aware that" 

The dock began to rock. Behind him, one of the rockets 
fell into the water. 

"Mr Gordon." The voice was Mary Joseph's. "Get to 
shore, now." 

Pointing a finger towards her, he shook his head. "Oh, 
no, old woman, I'm Stuart Gordon" 

No call-me-Stuart, tonight, Celluci noted. 

" and you don't tell me what to do, I tell" 

Arms windmilling, he stepped back, once, twice, and hit 
the water. Arms and legs stretched out, he looked as 
though he was sitting on something just below the surface. 
"I have had enough of this," he began and disappeared. 


Vicki reached the end of the dock in time to see the pale 
oval of his face engulfed by dark water. To her 
astonishment, he seemed to have got his cell phone out of 
his pocket and all she could think of was that old movie 
cut line, Who you gonna call? 

Vicki reached the end of the dock in time to see the pale 
oval of his face engulfed by dark water. To her 
astonishment, he seemed to have got his cell phone out of 
his pocket and all she could think of was that old movie 
cut line, Who you gonna call? 

Back on the shore, two dozen identical wide-eyed stares 
were locked on the flat, black surface of the lake, too 
astounded by what had happened to their mutual enemy, 
Vicki realized, to notice how fast she'd made it to the end 
of the dock. 

Mary Joseph broke the silence first. "Thus acts the 
vengeful spirit of Lake Nepeakea," she declared. Then as 
heads began to nod, she added dryly, "Can't say I didn't 
warn him." 

Mike looked over at Vicki, who shrugged. 

"Works for me," she said. 


