Thomas's POV. Prequel to Stars.
The Water Beetle rocked gently as I let myself out of the cabin with an armful of drinks. I tossed a bottle of Mac's to my brother, in the nearest chair.
"Hm. No," said Harry, opening the beer. "I would prefer not to."
"I would," said Murphy, posted in the other deck chair, methodically reapplying sunscreen like she had every hour, on the hour, for the past few. "But only if I have a rocket launcher."
"What are we talking about?" I asked, restocking the cooler with bottles of water, more beer, and a few cans of soda. "Why do we need a rocket launcher?"
"Sea monsters," said Molly, who was lounging on a tie-dye beach towel with a copy of Vogue Justine had left. "Like Nessie, or a kraken. Could you imagine something like that, popping up out of the water? It would be like, so awesome."
"So awesome for like, a minute," Harry mused, pretending to read one of the Clive Cussler novels that had been in the cabin of the boat when I bought it.
"Okay then, what about you, Boss?" the girl asked. "What's your favorite monster?"
He said nothing, but tugged at the shoulder of his own Hawaiian shirt, printed with a surfing Bigfoot.
"It can't be one you know personally," I said, taking the third chair.
"That's kind of a short list," my brother shrugged. "Yours?"
"Chupacabra," I answered promptly.
"Why?" Harry raised an eyebrow over the Blues Brothers-style shades I had put on him the last time his partner had started smearing Coppertone on her décolletage. "Vampire solidarity?"
"It's fun to say," I shrugged. He nodded as if this were a perfectly acceptable reason.
"Chupacabra," Molly echoed. "Careful. If we say it three times, that might summon it here."
"That's Candyman," said Murphy.
"Three times for Bloody Mary and most other mirror-summoned entities. Five times for Candyman," my brother said sagely. "He's the exception to the rule."
"... Dork," Murphy accused. Molly and I laughed. Harry grinned and flicked a beer bottle cap at her.
It felt nice to be hanging out with the part of my family who (sometimes) did normal things like weekend lake trips and barbecues. Definitely a refreshing break from manipulation, paranormal political intrigue and drug-fueled orgies.
"What about you, Murph? What's your favorite?"
"My favorite what?" She violently shook the last bit of sunblock out of the bottle, which was as fun to watch as chupacabra was to say.
"Mythological creature," I said, distractedly. "Ah. You know, a cryptid. What's yours?"
"David Duchovny," she announced after a second of serious consideration.
Molly frowned like she didn't know who that was. Harry snorted behind his paperback.
"Doesn't count," I said, even though her answer explained a lot.
"Does too."
"No," I said, trying not to grin. "He doesn't."
"We'll leave this decision to the resident cryptid expert," Murphy replied, smirking at me but pointing at Harry.
"... I'll allow it."
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