No one had shifted into wolves. The vampires still looked human and so did the werewolves, but they were all moving at a speed no human could match.
Moving toward the edge of the ocean.
More cars drove onto the sand and spilled out various gods and goddesses. None of them were carrying their powers, but I could tell by how they were marching this way that they were pissed off.
They were not about to let an ocean monster ruin their vacation time.
Just before I made it to Jean, just before I could ask her how this had happened and what we could do to stop it, she shouted into the bullhorn.
“Now, Chris, now!”
I pulled up short and spun on my heel, expecting a monster attack. But instead, I saw a flash of black dive through the stormy gray and white waves.
Chris Lagon, our local gilman.
He was the owner of Jump Off Jack’s, an award-winning craft brewery. But right now he didn’t look like a businessman. No, he looked like black lightning: fast and deadly and sleek.
He swam through the curl of waves, closing in on the ocean monster.
The Hollywood creature from the black lagoon couldn’t hold a candle to the real deal. Chris was built for this, his body a bullet, his arms and legs cutting through the chop like he was taking a dip in a summer-smooth pond.
The ocean monster spotted Chris and roared again, all three heads tracking the gilman. The monster thrashed, tentacles falling from a great height, hitting the water with earth-shakingbooms, each slap a crack of thunder, a rolling earthquake.
Chris just kept swimming, diving and ducking the whip-fast tentacles. He narrowly missed being grabbed and dragged to the bottom of the ocean, once, twice. Again and again.
Jean yelled, “Do it! Do it!” and Chris dove beneath the waves, shooting into the barrel of a massive curl.
He popped out the other side, but instead of avoiding the tentacle slapping down to grab him, he pushed up, jumped out of the water and landed on his feet—on top of the tentacle.
He sprinted the length of the twisting, knotted appendage, headed toward the triple necks.
I had good eyes, but I couldn’t see what happened through that much spray and rain.
One minute Chris was running, his fist cocked back like he was going to punch the ocean monster in the neck. A huge wave lifted, blocking my view.
Then the next minute, the monster roared. Tentacles whipped wildly as it sank down and down beneath the waves, the ocean swallowing it up: suckers, necks, and heads until, finally, it was gone.
Jean swung the bullhorn toward Crow and yelled, “Ha! I told you so!”
He clapped one hand over his ear. “I still think a dart gun or slingshot would have been more fun.”
“Did that really happen?” Ryder had caught up with me and now stood with his shoulder against mine, staring at the water.
“Like you would have been able to hit it from here,” Jean shouted through the bullhorn again. Then she noticed the crowd of gods and weres and vamps streaming onto the beach.
Unfortunately, human citizens were coming down to the sand too.
She turned toward the crowd of people standing near the shoreline. “Okay, it’s okay everyone. Everything’s fine.”
“Did he just punch a sea monster to death?” Ryder asked, sounding dazed.
“Ocean monster,” I corrected absently.
One of the gods snickered, the vampires all moved in to make sure there weren’t any bits of beast evidence washing up on shore, and the werewolves all strode out to the shoreline, instantly falling into crowd control mode.
Crow spotted me and came strolling up.
“Delaney Reed. Whatever are you doing out in this miserable weather?”
