Free The Lightkeepers by Abby Geni

hunting ground. The Rat Pack lingered to the south of the archipelago like a clique of teenagers at the mall. Galen and Forest had come to know them well. Some were curious, easily lured to the surface. Some were aggressive, thudding into the Janus ’s side or trying to bite the motor. Theywere usually named for their wounds: Bite Head, No Fin, One-Eyed Jack.
    The Sisters, however, were something else. The puny males were dwarfed by the female sharks, which could be as long as limousines, twenty feet from snout to tail. These ladies were nobility. They did not demean themselves to hunt with the Rat Pack but maintained their own turf, staying to the east, patrolling from Sugarloaf to Jewel Cave. I had yet to see a Sister myself (though any day now, I was sure that I would find the courage to go out on Shark Watch). They cruised the waters with a lazy grace, and the Rat Pack, those lesser peons, treated them with unswerving respect. The Sisters had so much gravitas that Galen and Forest claimed to be able to sense them underwater even before they surfaced.
    There were three in particular who ruled the islands. Galen had named them after the witches in Macbeth . They swam together, hunted together. Their dorsal fins sliced through the surf like ships in a fleet. The leader of the trio—Hecate—was the largest shark that had ever been seen on the islands. Twenty-four feet 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 thatLucy, 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