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T here was something …in the water.

Analise was a scientist, perhaps not formally trained, but a scientist, nevertheless.

As a scientist, she wasn’t given over to flights of fancy.

Nor did she possess a vivid imagination.

And while she didn’t care overmuch for the water, neither did Analise believe in monsters lurking in the depths.

This was merely a lake. And according to Pickwick, incapable of supporting anything larger than a perch or a minnow.

The water rippled a short distance away, disturbed by something far larger beneath the surface. She stopped her pathetic rowing and stared at the spot, body jerking around when a splash sounded on the opposite side of the boat.

“It is only a perch.” Analise stood up, careful not to rock the boat.

She grabbed one of the oars with both hands.

She had heard stories of enormous catfish, most from Martha’s husband, Ralph.

Some were said to be so large they could swallow a person.

True, the accounts had been in a penny dreadful, not an academic journal, but—

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She cast a worried gaze over the opposite edge of the boat. Spreading her stance wider, Analise focused on her balance, smacking at the water with the paddle of the oar. The last thing she needed was to stumble and fall into the water or capsize the rowboat.

“There aren’t man-eating fish,” she said to herself. “I would know because such a creature would be reported in scientific journals. Or spoken about at the Entomological Society. At the very least, such a discovery would be in the newspapers.”

The boat pitched slightly as if something large shoved against the hull.

Analise swallowed down the shriek of terror crawling up her throat.

Her usual confidence not in evidence at the moment.

She blamed nearly drowning in a wave of seawater as a child when her parents rented a cottage in Brighton one summer.

Ever since, Analise hadn’t cared for the water, unless, it was scented, steaming, and in a tub.

The boat rocked once but Analise kept her footing. The advantage to being petite in stature was that one’s center of gravity was closer to the ground, providing better balance. A requirement to keep from falling overboard so that one didn’t become a meal for a man-eating fish. Or an eel.

“Nothing is near the boat,” she hissed out loud before carefully pawing at the surface of the water with the oar repeatedly, hoping to frighten away whatever lurked in the depths of the lake.

The oar vibrated in her hands as she struck something hard. Bubbles came to the surface.

“Oh dear.” Panic bloomed in her chest. “I don’t believe that is a perch.”

The boat rocked violently to one side, dipping nearly into the lake. A beast— for what else could it be, covered in mud and leafy bits of pondweed, springing from the depths of Hell —sprung out of the water, grabbing the edge of the rowboat with its claws.

Analise shrieked, tripping over her feet and tried to lift the oar above her head, all the better to beat whatever was now trying to drown her. A cry left her as she sailed over the hideous monstrosity, frowning as she took in her attacker.

Goodness, those are fingers, not claws .

“What the bloody hell,” came a loud growl, “did you do that for?”