Leashing the Tempest
Page 1
It didn’t seem like the sort of boat that got lost at sea. But what did I know? I’d been on all of two boats in my twenty-five years, and neither was remarkable.
This, however, was a sexy luxury yacht: gleaming metal, glossy white hull, polished wood deck. It bobbed in the sparkling water at the end of the pier, putting the other fishing and diving boats to shame, like a high-end sports car parked in a row of rusted-out pickup trucks. Lon had chartered it for the afternoon, and though it was a little windy out on the pier, it was sunny and beautiful. A near perfect November day. A good day to live in central California.
“I can almost see the name of the boat.” Jupe strode across weathered dock boards, leaving Lon and me behind as he craned his neck for a better look. “Baba Yaga? Like the movie?”
“Like the Russian fairy tale,” I said.
“Oh,” he said in disappointment. “Is this a Russian boat?”
“I’m not answering stupid questions today,” Lon said in a deep voice, which, much like his personality, was eternally even-keeled. A brisk afternoon breeze carrying the salty tang of the Pacific rustled his shoulder-length golden brown hair, which, combined with his roguish pirate mustache, faded T-shirt, and lean, muscular physique, gave him an Aging Surfer vibe. But the reserved way he held his six-foot frame in check and the wary squint of his perpetually narrowed eyes made strangers think twice about approaching him.
Brown spiral curls bounced as his lanky fourteen-year-old son turned around to face us. “What did you say?” he shouted at Lon.
“Your dad is selling you to a Russian family,” I called back. Several people milling around the pier gave me the stink-eye.
“Fine by me. That means you have to start taking out the garbage, though.” Jupe absently swung a cooler in one hand as his steps quickened. His wispy spring green halo was barely visible in the afternoon sun. “Oh, man. Check out the deck. Hurry, Cady.”
Dream on, kid. I wasn’t doing any hurrying. I had the weekend off from my Tiki bar, and Lon promised me a relaxing three-hour cruise down the Big Sur coastline. See some whales. Eat some fabulous food that Lon’s housekeepers had packed. Soak up some sun and be perfectly lazy.
Lon and I had a few of other motives for the trip. One of them was to grant my best friend and co-owner of Tambuku, Kar Yee, a chance to get to know my new family a little better—and vice versa. Kar Yee had volunteered to be Jupe’s test subject for the afternoon, allowing him to do a little experimentation with his blooming demonic ability. And when I say “volunteered,” it’s more like Jupe had finally worn her down with his please-please-please begging.
Really, it seemed like a full-immersion, crash course in getting to know my family, so I hoped she wouldn’t live to regret this decision, or I’d never hear the end of it. She’d already texted to complain about the half-hour slog from the city to the coast, but I hadn’t spotted her car when we drove up.
“She’s late,” Lon noted, either reading my emotions with his demonic empathy, or noticing my fidgety glances around the boardwalk as I searched for her.
Kar Yee was never late. “She’s here somewhere. Considering the insane amount of money you’re paying the charter company, I think they can hold the boat for a few minutes.”
He grunted a reluctant reply.
“Cady!” Jupe motioned widely with one long arm, beckoning us like he was directing concert traffic into a twenty-dollar stadium parking lot. He pointed at painted script across the side of the fishing boat next to our chartered yacht: Silver Girl. “Check it out. That one’s named after you,” he said, giving me a goofy grin.
Even though I was human, I had a silver halo, setting me apart from both the halo-free humans and the typically green-and-blue haloed Earthbound demons that outnumbered them in this seaside town. The wispy cloud of silver light hanging over my head frequently got me curious looks from Earthbounds—they could see mine, and I could see theirs—but human="B—but s are color-blind, so to speak: they can’t see halos, and most of them are oblivious to demons walking among them.
I’m an exception, having been born with preternatural sight. It’s one of the things Earthbounds and I have in common. My unparalleled ability to bind them with magick is what sets us apart. Just not far enough apart to stop me from falling for a demon almost twice my age, apparently . . .
As we passed the fishing boat and approached our chartered yacht, a middle-aged Earthbound with long blond hair limped across the polished deck and leaned on the rail, looking down at us. I’d never seen anyone so tan. His hair looked a little thin and stringy, but he classed it up with a bright orange bandana wrapped around his crown. He might’ve been David Lee Roth’s shorter, fatter, older cousin. “Afternoon. I’m Captain Christie. You Butler?”
Lon lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
“Dispatcher said you were a famous photographer. I was hoping you might be bringing some models onboard.” He grinned at Lon, then glanced at me. I could almost divine his thoughts: pretty, but not beautiful; average height and weight; long, dark hair spoiled by the rebellious bleached streak at the nape of my neck. Clearly I was no model in his eyes, though I was sure he’d be checking out my ass at his first chance. But for now, all he said was, “Nice halo. Never seen one quite like that before. Where did you—”
Lon, in his economical way of communicating, cut him off midsentence with the facts, and nothing but the facts. “We’ve got one more coming.”
This, however, was a sexy luxury yacht: gleaming metal, glossy white hull, polished wood deck. It bobbed in the sparkling water at the end of the pier, putting the other fishing and diving boats to shame, like a high-end sports car parked in a row of rusted-out pickup trucks. Lon had chartered it for the afternoon, and though it was a little windy out on the pier, it was sunny and beautiful. A near perfect November day. A good day to live in central California.
“I can almost see the name of the boat.” Jupe strode across weathered dock boards, leaving Lon and me behind as he craned his neck for a better look. “Baba Yaga? Like the movie?”
“Like the Russian fairy tale,” I said.
“Oh,” he said in disappointment. “Is this a Russian boat?”
“I’m not answering stupid questions today,” Lon said in a deep voice, which, much like his personality, was eternally even-keeled. A brisk afternoon breeze carrying the salty tang of the Pacific rustled his shoulder-length golden brown hair, which, combined with his roguish pirate mustache, faded T-shirt, and lean, muscular physique, gave him an Aging Surfer vibe. But the reserved way he held his six-foot frame in check and the wary squint of his perpetually narrowed eyes made strangers think twice about approaching him.
Brown spiral curls bounced as his lanky fourteen-year-old son turned around to face us. “What did you say?” he shouted at Lon.
“Your dad is selling you to a Russian family,” I called back. Several people milling around the pier gave me the stink-eye.
“Fine by me. That means you have to start taking out the garbage, though.” Jupe absently swung a cooler in one hand as his steps quickened. His wispy spring green halo was barely visible in the afternoon sun. “Oh, man. Check out the deck. Hurry, Cady.”
Dream on, kid. I wasn’t doing any hurrying. I had the weekend off from my Tiki bar, and Lon promised me a relaxing three-hour cruise down the Big Sur coastline. See some whales. Eat some fabulous food that Lon’s housekeepers had packed. Soak up some sun and be perfectly lazy.
Lon and I had a few of other motives for the trip. One of them was to grant my best friend and co-owner of Tambuku, Kar Yee, a chance to get to know my new family a little better—and vice versa. Kar Yee had volunteered to be Jupe’s test subject for the afternoon, allowing him to do a little experimentation with his blooming demonic ability. And when I say “volunteered,” it’s more like Jupe had finally worn her down with his please-please-please begging.
Really, it seemed like a full-immersion, crash course in getting to know my family, so I hoped she wouldn’t live to regret this decision, or I’d never hear the end of it. She’d already texted to complain about the half-hour slog from the city to the coast, but I hadn’t spotted her car when we drove up.
“She’s late,” Lon noted, either reading my emotions with his demonic empathy, or noticing my fidgety glances around the boardwalk as I searched for her.
Kar Yee was never late. “She’s here somewhere. Considering the insane amount of money you’re paying the charter company, I think they can hold the boat for a few minutes.”
He grunted a reluctant reply.
“Cady!” Jupe motioned widely with one long arm, beckoning us like he was directing concert traffic into a twenty-dollar stadium parking lot. He pointed at painted script across the side of the fishing boat next to our chartered yacht: Silver Girl. “Check it out. That one’s named after you,” he said, giving me a goofy grin.
Even though I was human, I had a silver halo, setting me apart from both the halo-free humans and the typically green-and-blue haloed Earthbound demons that outnumbered them in this seaside town. The wispy cloud of silver light hanging over my head frequently got me curious looks from Earthbounds—they could see mine, and I could see theirs—but human="B—but s are color-blind, so to speak: they can’t see halos, and most of them are oblivious to demons walking among them.
I’m an exception, having been born with preternatural sight. It’s one of the things Earthbounds and I have in common. My unparalleled ability to bind them with magick is what sets us apart. Just not far enough apart to stop me from falling for a demon almost twice my age, apparently . . .
As we passed the fishing boat and approached our chartered yacht, a middle-aged Earthbound with long blond hair limped across the polished deck and leaned on the rail, looking down at us. I’d never seen anyone so tan. His hair looked a little thin and stringy, but he classed it up with a bright orange bandana wrapped around his crown. He might’ve been David Lee Roth’s shorter, fatter, older cousin. “Afternoon. I’m Captain Christie. You Butler?”
Lon lifted his chin in acknowledgment.
“Dispatcher said you were a famous photographer. I was hoping you might be bringing some models onboard.” He grinned at Lon, then glanced at me. I could almost divine his thoughts: pretty, but not beautiful; average height and weight; long, dark hair spoiled by the rebellious bleached streak at the nape of my neck. Clearly I was no model in his eyes, though I was sure he’d be checking out my ass at his first chance. But for now, all he said was, “Nice halo. Never seen one quite like that before. Where did you—”
Lon, in his economical way of communicating, cut him off midsentence with the facts, and nothing but the facts. “We’ve got one more coming.”
