Oops! I Summoned a Demonic Merman

  Witches Love Monsters

  Naomi Lucas

  Contents

  Oops! I Summoned a Demonic Merman

  1. Cobbin Lake

  2. Circles of Summoning and Demonic Sigils

  3. A New, Very Curious Curiosity

  4. Demon Merman

  5. The Machine That Steams and Cleans

  6. Wet, Wet, Wet

  7. A Worthy Opponent

  8. Dying of Thirst

  9. Bathing Desires

  10. A Force of Will

  11. A Gray Sunset

  12. A Second Summoning

  13. Seas of Seduction

  14. Hazy Waves and Silky Sand

  15. High Noon Thoughts

  16. An Offering

  17. Falling

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  A Gargoyle’s Delight

  18. The Statue

  Books by Naomi Lucas

  Copyright © 2025 by Naomi Lucas

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission in writing from the author.

  Any references to names, places, locales, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art by Morgan Lee

  Edited by J. Mclaughlin and LY Publishing Services

  Oops! I Summoned a Demonic Merman

  One moment I’m within my domain in the abyss, and the next…

  She’s in front of me with a steam cleaner in her hand.

  Her name is Grace… but I’m in no threat of falling, feeling hexed…

  With her, I’ve ascended, on land.

  Now she wants to get rid of me, saying I’m an accident.

  Unfortunately for her, I have no intention of leaving without a taste.

  I plan to stay until she’s flustered, wet, and bent out of shape.

  Then maybe I’ll give her a reprieve, after I’ve had my fill of the chase.

  To the lovely ladies I got to collaborate with for this fun project, and for all of my awesome readers.

  Chapter 1

  Cobbin Lake

  Grace

  I drive up to the lake house, down Lake Road, side-eyeing the million-dollar homes before my parents’ rental spreads out on shore to my right. I’ve been inside two of these homes against my will.

  One is my parents’ place during the off season, which I’m headed for now, and the other our neighbor’s further down the road, where my childhood best friend and once boyfriend, Zack, used to live. He’s long since left his parents’ nest and freed himself from our hometown. Cobbin Lake is the kind of town where the rich liked to vacation but didn’t want to live.

  Though spring and summer are lovely, it becomes a frigid, icy landscape during the winter. The breeze off the water is enough to make even the most strong-willed flee. No one cares for the lake life during the cold season. Half the year Cobbin Lake is all but a ghost town, and that’s as literal as it is figurative.

  Because Cobbin Lake is chock full of witches—those rich, those powerful, and those who are both. There’s a unique community here unlike anywhere else in the States. I should know. I’m a part of it. Sort of.

  Zack met someone and moved away. Last I heard he was married and living somewhere in Colorado. I don’t keep up with my ex; I just get random updates from the few awkward, awful times I run into his parents.

  Pulling into my own parents’ lake house’s driveway, I catch glimpses of the water up ahead through the trees. It’s my favorite thing about this place. It’s the only thing I like about this place at all.

  The water.

  Beautiful and majestic, no matter the weather, the view over the lake from the lake house’s upper deck is breathtaking. Morning, noon, or night, the lake is a beacon of peace. The water, especially during a storm, plays like music in my ears. I’ve always felt a pull to it. It’s powerful, even as a lake.

  Too bad my need for independence and space overrides my need for calming, reminiscent nostalgia of better times and pretty views.

  Parking along the side of the house where my dad keeps his pontoon stored, I climb out of my sedan, an old dark blue car I bought after saving all my Christmas, birthday, and job money for years. My parents expect me to work for what I have, like they did when they were young—and still do—and I’m eternally thankful for that because my independence is the only thing that keeps me from bedrotting with fantasy books most days.

  I glance once more at the lake, excited that it’s calm enough I might be able to see to the bottom. I love it when the water is clear and the pebbles and little silver fish appear. Sometimes I get lucky and spot a big one, like a bass.

  My gaze drifts back to my parents’ house. The large white and black structure has both an upper and lower deck in the back, wraparound walkways, and several picturesque porches detailed by roses and climbing honeysuckles. The smell of the flowers fills my nose, flooding my senses with the nostalgia and angst I’m trying to avoid. Just being here brings the memories too close to the surface.

  I stomp to the front door as I yank out my spare lake house keys and cellphone.

  I’m here unwillingly, even if the water is gorgeous, and as for Zack’s parents’ house… The faster I can get away from it, the better.

  Calling my mom with one hand, I type in the front door code. The box shielding the doorknob pulls to the side. I slip in my key just as the dial sound begins. It rings five times before she answers.

  “I just got here,” I say before she has a chance to tell me hello.

  “Oh good! Thank you so much for doing this. Like I said, there shouldn’t be much to clean up and no one’s arriving until tomorrow afternoon, but I just can’t get out there with your dad fussing the way he is. He wants me here until he’s back from work or until his package arrives. I’m looking out the window. I hope it’s any moment now…”

  Mom is a talker. She told me once she developed the habit while I was a baby, filling the space with her voice constantly so it wasn’t always so quiet. Now she hates silence unless she’s completely alone. It makes her uncomfortable.

  I walk into the foyer and glance around, discovering everything tidy and untouched. “It’s fine. I need the extra money anyways.”

  “I really appreciate it, Gracie. I’ll be there soon. But, dear⁠—”

  “Mom, really, it’s fine.” I set my bag down on the glass table to my left, right beside a large crystal vase filled with large golden fake flowers. “I just got inside, and it appears fine so far. If there’s not much to do, you won’t even need to come over.” I walk past the large staircase leading up to the second floor. Being able to see straight through the majority of the first floor and out to the water, I only have to check the kitchen at the back right of the house, opposite the staircase. “The air smells like they lit incense or one of the candles, but besides some dishes—” I pull open the drawer hiding the trash receptacle “—and some trash—” a lot of trash, in fact, the container completely full of liquor bottles and black plastic “—the whole first floor looks like it’ll take me thirty, forty-five minutes tops.”

  “That’s good news. I love tidy renters. But I really have one more thing to say…”

  “What?” I ask after she trails off.

  “The renters may have been part of the Cyane Coven. But also… Like I said earlier, they only had the place for a night. They wouldn’t have had time to do more than one ritual.”

  I don’t really care who rented because I really do need the money. I hate it, in fact, taking these small extra jobs my parents give me, but I’m saving for a downpayment on a house. The sooner I can buy my own place, the sooner I’ll feel like I’ve accomplished something, since my degree hasn’t done anything for me. I haven’t been very successful so far in my life, and that hasn’t been for lack of trying. Yeah, I have a job as an event manager at Cobbin Lake Resort, but it’s not fulfilling, and the majority of the people I work with are vapid.

  But renters from the Cyane Coven? Witches that draw their powers from fresh, natural waters? I’m surprised I don’t already smell the reek of moist dirt everywhere.

  “Great. Thanks for the surprise. At least now I know why you offered me so much to get here as quickly as possible,” I say, half-teasing, half-chiding. “Look, I’m going to start stripping the beds. I’ll text you in a few with an update.” If there is occult paraphernalia lying around upstairs, I want to get it cleaned up and out of here as soon as possible. If any magic was called forth, traces may have lingered. It wouldn’t be good for the next renters, especially if they’re normal people, to find said items amongst the natural decor and accidentally get cursed or something.

  “All right, dear. I’ll keep my eye out for it,” Mom responds. “Just like your dad’s package.” She hums.

  “Cool, talk to you soon then.”

  “Thanks again, dear. Bye.”

  I slip my phone into my pocket, then haul the bag of bottles out of the trash container and tie it up. I set the bag down inside the laundry room and by the side door leading out to the garage where the outer cans are kept. The garbage bag clinks and thunks as it settles on the floor, so I prop it upright again until I’m certain it’ll remain in place and nothing will leak.

  My parents don’t live here during tourist season. Instead, they have a much smaller
house in the next town over to dwell in during the busiest months and rent out the lake house—and my childhood home—to strangers for extra money they use to fund their traveling. Despite my parents being well-off, they’re also notoriously cheap, even refusing to spend money on things like professional maid service. Mom typically does the cleaning herself, with either Dad’s or my help on occasion.

  Ditching the laundry room, I waste no time opening the back windows and turning on the speakers to blast music. Ready to get elbows deep in grease, I jog up the stairs to check the upstairs rooms. If it’s anything like downstairs, I’ll be in and out of here in a couple of hours and back in my apartment by dinner.

  A sickeningly sweet scent hits me outside the master bedroom. Pausing outside the partially shut door, my body lurches with hesitation as I wrinkle my face in disgust. It’s not a chocolate chip sweet, but a cloying, sappy scent. It’s unwelcome and unusual and nothing like what I’d expect from water witches.

  My stomach clenches as I hover outside the door, momentarily wondering that someone might still be in the house if it smells this bad—that maybe one of the witches had remained…

  My ears prick as I listen for any untoward noise, frustrated by Tom Petty’s voice from the speakers downstairs. Not only am I bored, prospectless, and cynical about life these days, apparently I’m dumb now too, blaring music before checking the whole house to make sure the renters have left first.

  Giving up, I cover my nose with my hand and push open the door to the room.

  The smell doesn’t impact me as badly as I thought it would but as my eyes rove over the freshly made king-sized bed with its blue quilt, tables with nothing on them except pictures of birds over water, random decorations, and walls, my brief moment of relief sputters out.

  My body jerks as my heart coils into a ball, dropping to my gut. I try to make sense of what I’m seeing, pouring through a litany of excuses and reasons, before I’m able to take a second breath.

  A summoning circle and star painted are painted in deep red on the plush carpet floor. The lines of it are slightly frayed because of how thick the rug is, but it’s definitely magical. In plain view between me and the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows that lead to the private upper deck, the circle takes up the whole space, big enough to lie down inside three times over.

  A circle is only as big as the entity being summoned…

  Thankfully, there’s nothing inside the circle except the star and the strange-looking sigils that I have no idea the meaning of, because although I’m the daughter of a witch, I only seem to have weak, dangerous gifts—gifts that have, so far, only appeared once.

  A thin white powdery substance that doesn’t look like salt—maybe chalk—makes a second circle within the first, which is also strange. I always thought that kind of stuff was meant for protection, not summoning.

  The Cyane Coven may have chosen this spot for its openness to the water and the moon. Safely tucked within land owned by a witch of an allied coven, the lake house was sought after sometimes for their occasional ritual. The nearest neighbors are several acres away and through thick woods on either side. It’s a perfect place for privacy, natural ambiance, and access to resources.

  But what’s on the floor from before isn’t a setup for a standard ritual, it’s a legit summoning circle, and, based on the red used in its creation, a demonic one. Why water witches wanted to summon something demonic, I have no intention of asking. All I know is that demons and demon magic are something to stay far, far away from… Anything dark and unnatural is to be avoided.

  I may know a thing or two about magic and rituals, but I’ve yet to find my coven or calling, if I even have one. I was offered a place within my mother’s coven, but I declined. I’ve never had an interest in moon magic, nor has it ever had an interest in me.

  It’s part of the reason I’m so listless and eager to own a place of my own. That’s an accomplishment I could actually achieve.

  Thoughts of the past start to arise, and I turn away before they’re able to form.

  I take a calming breath and cringe again from the scent, wondering where the hell it’s coming from. After making certain I’m, in fact, alone by checking the bedrooms, closets, and hallway behind me, I return to the master bedroom with narrowed eyes, ready to hunt down the source of the disgusting smell.

  I approach the circle first, making certain not to touch it as I kneel to sniff the area, only finding more of the cloying sweetness. Either way, I head to the nearest windows and open them wide. With fresher air diluting the reek, I head to the master bathroom next.

  Unlike the rest of the house, the bathroom is a complete mess. One step into the once-luxurious space and I’m inside a morgue or a surgical chamber of some sort, with metal pliers, crushed powders, and even herbs of various colors all over the counters and along the jacuzzi tub. The floor is marred with scuffs, dirt, and even…

  Used condoms.

  “Fuck.”

  My worst nightmare.

  So this was where they prepped.

  I let out a loud sigh as I slip my fingers into my pocket to pull out my phone. I have to call Mom with the terrible news of her bathroom’s defilement. With Grand Funk Railroad’s “We’re An American Band,” fading into “Money For Nothing”—which makes me smile, despite having used condoms scattered around me—my gaze lands on a large open book that’s been left on the floor in the back.

  Sidestepping the occult paraphernalia, I tuck my phone away again and pick it up, curious as to why, of all things, this was left behind. Books are precious to witches and practitioners of magic. Each one has the ability to be someone’s personal bible. A book of spells and thoughts is deeply personal and often incredibly magical, hosting remnants of that person’s essence for much longer than other kinds of objects. Writing down conscious thought is like putting a piece of your soul into words, and words have the potential to live forever.

  I turn the thick, frail book over, finding no words on the cover or back. It’s bound like any old book from the back of those study rooms in a library. I open it, and as I do, a picture falls out. Pausing to pick it up, I discover there are three polaroids on the ground, not one.

  I frown as I lift them, peering at the picture in the first one. Grainy and dark, all I can make out is a bulky form and a canine’s grinning face. Unsettled, I moved to the next one, only to find it as obscure as the first except there are two people in it in addition to the dog. A middle-aged couple. The canine is looking at them. I flip to the last picture and it’s the body of a fish, but without the upper half. Only the tail, long, tapering to a slender end with two sweeping but crumpled fins, the black and white image just as uncanny as the other two.

  Throwing the pictures in the garbage, I walk out of the bathroom with the book and head onto the upper deck to make sure there are no more surprises. Finding the area mostly untouched, I slip out my phone and finally text Mom.

  You’re not going to like reading this, but…

  I delete the message and start over, trying once more before deleting it again. Staring at the screen, I scrape my teeth across my bottom lip, wondering what to do. My parents are older than they used to be, and the house is still clean enough to have it done in a couple of hours. There was nothing to indicate real dark magic happened, only an attempt, and the mess it left behind.

  I don’t want to be stuck here all afternoon. I sigh up at the sky.

  Chapter 2

  Circles of Summoning and Demonic Sigils

  Grace

  With the laundry running, condoms and paraphernalia swept up, and trash taken outside, besides the wiping and dusting, there’s only one more big task to take care of.

  You see, renting a lake house like my parents’ isn’t without insurance. Any renter willing to pay the nightly rate to stay here also must sign a legal agreement that they will cover the cost of any damage to the property, or items inside, that might happen during their stay—magical or otherwise. So, if the red stain doesn’t come out of the carpet, it won’t be my parents who will pay for it. It’ll be deducted from the renter’s credit card that’s temporarily on file.