The Lightkeepers. Abby Geni

at least. If she were ever hooked and measured, she would break every record in the book, Forest had said. But she would never be caught. Not here. Her two companions were smaller, though still massive enough to merit awe. Nineteen feet, maybe. They were called the Twins, since they bore similar markings.

      Now Galen and Forest began to debate the sharks’ feeding habits. Live prey. Styrofoam dummies. Better ways to dupe the Sisters into approaching the Janus on the water. They threw ideas back and forth like jugglers tossing silk scarves in the air. The fact that Lucy, their friend and colleague, might be at the mercy of these same creatures at that very moment did not dampen their enthusiasm.

      Andrew, however, was the worst of everyone. In the early evening, he was cloistered in the room he shared with Lucy, doing whatever he usually did in there—napping, leafing through reference books, masturbating. Then a creaking of floorboards indicated that he had finished his work. He strolled into the kitchen in his languid way, yawning a little. He wore his usual uniform: slouchy jeans and his crimson knit cap with the phoenix emblem. He did not speak to any of us. I gritted my teeth. It would have been natural—it would have been human—for him to stop at the window and glance out for any sign of Lucy, to pace the floor as he awaited her return. Instead, he gave a cry of delight. At the back of the cupboard, he had discovered a supply of tinned peaches, his favorite. For the next few minutes, I had to watch him eating his way through three syrupy cans.

      By the time the dinner hour rolled around, my nerves were shot. Charlene was cooking—macaroni and cheese, with tuna mixed in for protein. (This, sadly, is a staple of our diet.) The occasional “Oops” or “Oh no” wafted out of the kitchen, indicating that she was having her usual trouble managing the cantankerous cast-iron range. Galen was now dozing in an armchair, his head sagging comically to the side. Andrew had settled next to me on the couch to read, though I could feel his gaze shift to me, heavy and thick. I resisted the urge to wipe his attention off me like oil. When the door slammed again, I did not even look up.

      “Sorry,” Lucy said in her clear voice. “I hope we’re not late for dinner.”

      She brought the smell of the sea into the room. One hand held a bucket, the other a wire basket that shimmered with shells. She was still wearing her wetsuit, now with a man’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Mick’s jacket. He eased through the door behind her, kicking off his boots and spattering the floor with mud.

      For an instant, I saw that the others were relieved too. As Lucy hung up Mick’s coat, Galen shot her a look that swept from her feet to her brow, verifying that she still had all her limbs. Forest beamed, showing his teeth—something I had only seen him do once or twice before. Usually, any gleam of humor from him was just that: a gleam. A crinkle at the corner of the mouth, a bit of frivolity near the eyebrows. This wide-open grin sat oddly on his angular face. Mick collapsed onto the couch with a groaning of springs. His hair had been blown into a ragged bird’s nest by the breeze.

      Swishing in her wetsuit, Lucy marched over to Andrew and gave him a kiss. He patted her shoulder gently, though I noticed that he kept one finger planted in his book to mark his page.

      “How was it?” Forest called from the table.

      “Fine.” Lucy straightened up. “No problems. I saw the most wonderful bed of sea urchins. They were marching around in extreme slow motion. Inch by inch. The spines waving everywhere. I found an enormous clam, too. One of the biggest I’ve ever seen. I could probably fit inside it.” As she spoke, her hands flitted through the air, miming the shapes of anemones. “It was beautiful. Cold, but beautiful. You can’t blink without seeing a stingray or a rockfish.”

      “Any sharks?” Forest asked.

      Lucy considered. “Not really. The only guys who got close to me were a couple harbor seals and a huge sea lion. He nosed me a little. Wanted to bite my air hose. I had to whack him with my basket.” She pursed her lips. “Well, I did see some of the Rat Pack at a distance. They were over by Mussel Flat, circling around and acting weird. They didn’t bother me.”

      “No Sisters?” Galen asked.

      “None.”

      Then, to my surprise, Lucy turned to me.

      “Come here, mouse girl,” she said.

      She snapped her fingers impatiently, as though summoning a recalcitrant pet. Gritting my teeth, I got to my feet. Lucy pointed into her bucket, yellow and plastic, filled almost to the brim.

      I approached it cautiously. At the bottom of the pool, there was a lump of clay. I bent over, peering into it. Then the object twitched. I let out a gasp as it changed shape, like a flower opening its petals or a fist uncurling. A few brown tendrils snaked across the bucket’s floor. A gauzy sac ballooned upward—a wealth of tentacles.

      I stepped back instinctively. Lucy laughed. She reached into the water and picked the tiny octopus up. Before my eyes, it changed color, its skin roughening, suffused with deep red. Its skinny arms braided themselves around her wrist in a death grip. The pouch of its body dangled like a bizarre ornament on a charm bracelet. Yellow eyes pivoted on stalks. Droplets rained onto the floor.

      “Isn’t he beautiful?” Lucy said.