Gray water. Gray sky.

  Frankie Rivera sat on her board. The Atlantic swell lifted her, then dropped her. Cold. The kind that snaps bones. It bit her exposed fingertips. Stung her cheeks.

  She breathed it in. Sharp. Free.

  “Incoming.”

  Damon’s voice. Low.

  Frankie looked. A dark line rose on the horizon. A set wave. Heavy.

  She didn’t think. She moved.

  She spun the board. Dug her arms in. Left. Right. Shoulders burned. Good burn. Human burn. Not the other strength. Not the monster. Just a girl in the ocean.

  Gravity took over. The tail lifted.

  Pop up.

  Drop.

  Speed blurred the gray into a tunnel. The spray hit her face like gravel. She carved the face, fins hissing, snapping off the lip.

  Clean.

  Empty.

  Just the roar and the thud of her heart.

  She rode it until the energy faded, sinking back into the froth. She kicked out. Sat up. Air.

  “Show off.”

  Ted. He paddled back out, looking like a drowned rat. He grinned, teeth chattering.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Ted,” Frankie said.

  “I hate this holiday,” Ted said. He sat up on his board. “And I hate winter surfing. Why do we do this?”

  “Because the summer tourists aren’t here,” Dee Dee said.

  Dee Dee drifted closer. The dry-bag strapped to her chest looked tight. Uncomfortable. Like she was planning to go to school in the middle of the ocean.

  “And because,” Damon said. He paddled up beside Frankie. “The swell is perfect.”

  He reached out. His hand brushed Frankie’s. Cold skin. Wet. Rough.

  Frankie’s stomach flipped.

  “Nice wave,” he said.

  “I’m out of practice.”

  “You looked fine.”

  He squeezed her hand. Heat jolted through her chest. She squeezed back.

  She looked at them. Ted, shivering. Damon, watching her. Dee Dee, wiping her glasses.

  Alive.

  Frankie looked at the shoreline. Norchester Bay looked quiet under the clouds. The Gilded Anchor sat at the end of the pier, windows dark. Normalcy.

  “I think I’m done,” Frankie said.

  “Done surfing?” Damon asked.

  “No,” Frankie said. She looked at the scar on her arm. “Done fighting. The town is quiet. Nothing spooky since last year. I think… I think we won.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Ted pumped a fist. “Retirement. Yes. I’m going to buy a hammock. And never leave it.”

  “It feels different,” Frankie said. “The air. It’s light.”

  She wanted to believe it.

  “About that,” Dee Dee said.

  Frankie turned. Dee Dee wasn’t looking at the horizon. She was unclipping the dry-bag.

  “Dee,” Damon said. “Don’t.”

  “I found something,” Dee Dee said.

  “We’re a mile out,” Ted said. “Don’t open that. Not here.”

  Dee Dee didn’t listen. She didn’t look like she could listen.

  She pulled a book from the bag. Wrapped in heavy plastic. She tore the plastic away.

  Black leather. Skin.

  Frankie felt a prickle on her neck.

  “What is that?” Frankie asked.

  “The Tome of Shadows,” Dee Dee said. Flat voice. “Mom said a man left it. Cursed. Found in a crypt at Salem.”

  “Dee,” Damon said. “Put it away.”

  Dee Dee opened the book.

  The water went flat. The chop died. The silence pressed against Frankie’s eardrums.

  “Gibberish,” Ted said. “Like chicken scratch.”

  Dee Dee ran a finger down the page. Sharp wedges pressed into the paper.

  “Sumerian,” Dee Dee said.

  Frankie frowned. “Since when do you read Sumerian?”

  Dee Dee looked up. Behind fogged glasses, her eyes were wide.

  “I don’t,” she said.

  She looked back at the page.

  “But I can read this.”

  The ocean surged. A swell lifted the group, dropping them into a trough. The sky pressed down.

  “Dee,” Damon said. “Close the book.”

  Dee Dee traced the symbols.

  “The Dead Can Wake,” she read.

  Her voice changed. It scraped against her throat. Low. Grinding.

  “Death isn’t always the end. The living can return.”

  Frankie’s heart thudded against her ribs.

  “Stop,” Frankie said.

  “But there is a cost. A deadly cost.”

  Dee Dee stopped.

  She blinked. Looked up.

  “Sometimes they don’t come back how you remember them,” she whispered.

  Chill. It cut through Frankie. Sharper than water. Spine to fingertips.

  She scanned the ocean.

  Nothing. Gray swells. Empty horizon.

  “Creepy, Dee,” Ted said. He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Put it away.”

  “I didn’t mean to read it,” Dee Dee said. Hands shaking. She slammed the book shut. Shoved it back into the bag. “Just… popped into my head.”

  Frankie paddled closer to Damon. The air felt heavy. Thick.

  “It’s just a book,” Damon said.

  “Yeah,” Frankie said. “Just a book.”

  But she felt it. That itch.

  Something was wrong. The silence felt heavy.

  “Hey!”

  A shout from behind.

  Frankie spun.

  A girl in a pink wetsuit paddled toward them. Her board was new, white, and pink. Hair dry. Perfectly styled.

  Tasia Moreno.

  Frankie’s shoulders dropped. The dread shifted. High school annoyance.

  Tasia stopped ten feet away.

  “Séance?” Tasia asked. She pointed to Dee Dee’s backpack. “Reading in the lineup? That’s desperate.”

  “Research,” Dee Dee said.

  “It’s weird,” Tasia said.

  She looked at Damon. Her expression softened.

  “Damon,” she said. “Bonfire tonight? It’s going to be huge.”

  Damon didn’t look at her. Eyes on Frankie.

  “Busy,” Damon said.

  Tasia rolled her eyes. “Right. The tragedy couple.”

  She sat up straighter. Looked at Frankie.

  “You know,” Tasia said. “This is a sharky spot. Deep water. You hang around here too long, you’re going to get bit.”

  Frankie felt a flash of heat.

  “Go catch a wave, Tasia.”

  Tasia laughed. Sharp. Brittle.

  “Fine. But when you get bored, Damon, find me.”

  She spun her board.

  “Ciao.”

  She paddled away. A bright slash against the gray.

  Frankie watched her go.

  “Hate her,” Ted said.

  “Harmless,” Damon said.

  Frankie looked down.

  Dark water. Murky.

  For a second, she saw movement. A shadow. Huge. Fast.

  She blinked.

  Gone.

  But the water was still trembling.