Leashing the Tempest Read Online Free PDF

is offline, too.”
    With nothing metaphysical pushing back the storms, the clear skies circling the boat began worsening, and fast. Wind roared against the windows as the water roughened. My stomach lurched as the full brunt of the storm hit the boat.
    â€œTry it again, Jupe,” Lon encouraged after several minutes.
    Still nothing. I glanced at Lon and wondered if he was thinking the same thing that I was, that this was perhaps the limitation on Jupe’s persuasive knack: maybe there were no takesies-backsies. And if that was true, then we’d have to wait it out and hope like hell its duration wasn’t permanent.
    More time passed. I glanced out darkened windows. Nothing but dusky gray and a torrent of rain pummeling the glass, until a flash of lightning zigzagged across the sky. A clap of thunder quickly followed.
    â€œThat was close,” Jupe said nervously. “How far away is the storm, Dad?”
    â€œFive seconds equals a mile. Start counting from the next bolt.”
    When lightning struck again, Jupe began counting out loud, “One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four—”
    Thunder startled all of us.
    â€œJesus!” Jupe said. “It’s less than a mile away. Maybe I should try my knack again on the captain.”
    But before Lon could answer, the boat tilted back and forth like a rocking horse, then pitched to the right. I tumbled off the sofa. Lon snagged me around the hips, saving me before I fell on the floor. The boat pitched wildly in the opposite direction. We shouted in unison as our cooler slid off a table and crashed into the cabin wall. Jumping up to rescue the spilled contents, Jupe momentarily lost his balance and sloppily righted himself.
    But someone else wasn’t able to do the same. The captain lurched like an emotionless rag doll as his body swayed violently toward the corner of a side table near his temple. And when the boat settled, his eyes remained closed, and he didn’t get back up.
    Blood bloomed from a wound on his head.

L on crouched over the captain’s body, checking the wound.
    â€œOh, God,” Jupe whispered. “Is he alive?”
    He had to be: I could still see the man’s halo, though it had shrunk considerably.
    â€œUnconscious, but he’s got a pulse,” Lon confirmed. After the boat rocked again, he said, “No other injuries I can see.”
    I hastily stripped the orange bandana off the man’s head—nearly bald up there, just as I suspected—and pressed it against the wound to stanch the blood. It was bleeding like crazy. “Hey, Captain Christie, wake up,” I shouted into the man’s face, hoping that the bump on his head might’ve cancelled out the effects of Jupe’s knack. No such luck. “Should we slap him? Shake him?”
    â€œIf he’s got a concussion . . .”
    I shook him a little anyway. He didn’t respond.
    â€œOh, God,” Jupe moaned. “This is all my fault. What if he doesn’t wake up—what if he dies? Is it getting worse?”
    I followed his troubled gaze down to the blood staining the bandana. “He’ll be okay, Jupe. Promise. It looks worse than it is.” Surely.
    Thunder rumbled through my bones. Too close. Way too close. The boat swayed, taking my stomach with it. The captain’s body almost rolled away. Lon and I fell over him. I grabbed his legs, and Lon, his shoulders.
    â€œI hate to point out the obvious, but we’re on a boat with no captain in the middle of a storm.”
    â€œTwo storms,” Lon pointed out.
    â€œWhat should we do?” Kar Yee asked, looking at Lon, then me. “Magick?”
    It wasn’t night, so my Moonchild ability was out. “I don’t know any spells that will”—I waved my free hand above the captain’s coma-like face—“bring him back to consciousness.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œI’m not a