It would have been easy. Where springs bubbled up into pools, the trout hovered in the currents, transfixed. Easy prey. At one of these pools I found a fisherman standing knee deep in the water, casting his line. I landed silently in an oak tree above him and observed. He wore rubber waders and a plaid flannel shirt (big surprise!). His hair was cut short, exposing the meaty nape of his neck. When he drew back his arm to cast, I caught a glimpse of his face. His full lips were pursed with concentration, soft blond down grew over his plump cheeks … I recognized him. He was the young man from the diner who’d been chowing down on Angler’s Specials with his father and grandfather. The Stewarts, the waitress had called them. Apparently the stories his grandfather had told him about fishing the Undine hadn’t deterred him from trying it. I soon saw why.

Within seconds of my landing on the branch, young Stewart was reeling in a huge trout. I clenched the branch with my talons to keep from stealing it out of his hand. He had plenty! His creel was full. I inhaled the smell of fresh fish … and something less fresh. A smell like spoiled sardines that was oddly familiar …

A splash in the water drew my attention away. I swiveled my head and cocked one ear toward the sound. It had come from the far bank of the pool. I trained my eyes on the bank but saw nothing … but then noticed strange ripples in the water: a V-shaped pattern trailing streamers, heading straight toward young Stewart.

Stewart was too intent on his catch to notice the disturbance in the water. He was taking the hook out of the fish’s mouth, and then sliding it into his creel, trying to find room for it among the other fish, swearing when his new catch slipped from his fingers and landed in the water. He bent over to retrieve it … and a slim white hand broke the water’s surface and grabbed hold of his wrist. A puzzled look overtook his bland, plump face, and then the hand yanked and he toppled headfirst into the river.

I let out a screech and dove, talons out. I grabbed the collar of the young man’s shirt and pulled back, my wings beating the air. It was enough to bring his head and arms out of the water. He thrashed and sputtered, windmilling his arms, very nearly clocking me. I let go to get out of his way. A head rose out of the water beside Stewart, a head with long streaming hair, fish-belly white skin, and malevolent green-black eyes: Lorelei. When Stewart saw her, he screamed and tried to backpedal away, but he tripped and fell backwards into the water. Lorelei no longer seemed to care about the fisherman. Her eyes were fastened on me.