Leashing the Tempest

Page 19

“In other words, never tell someone they’re brainless when I’m using my knack.”
“No,” Lon corrected. “Never use it in anger.”
“Or carelessly,” I added.
“Just don’t use it at all,” Lon said gruffly.
Jupe grimaced. “I’m actually okay with that. But I do have one request.”
“What’s that?” Lon asked.
“Let’s forget about buying a boat.”
“Forgotten.”
Jupe stuck his head between our seats. “Instead, I think we should bring the water to us. How ’bout a swimming pool in the backyard? You know, like Jack’s? An infinity pool.”
“Not a chance,” Lon said.
“Hot tub?”
“How about we just go home, light a fire in the fireplace, and watch a movie?” I said.
“Wine,” Lon added. “Lots and lots of wine.”
Jupe raised his hand. “Only if I can pick the movie.”
“Fine,” I said, reaching back to twine my fingers around his. “Which movie?”
“It’s an Italian horror flick from 1973. It’s about a photographer who falls under the spell of a witch.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Sounds familiar,” Lon said, darting his eyes toward mine.
“What’s it called?” I asked.
“Baba Yaga,” Jupe said with a grin.
I groaned as Lon slowly shook his head at Jupe in the rearview mirror. “I should’ve sold you to the Russians when I had the chance.”