Slippery When Wet

“Oh hell no,” came the bellow from the bathroom. “Nope, not again, no freaking way!”

I tried to look busy, but the French press still had three minutes to go and I sensed we’d need strong coffee as a bath towel-clad Siobhàn charged in.

“A vodyanoy in the bathtub? Dammit, Joan, these things aren’t pets!”

“But the forecast—“

“It survived the winter, it will survive a late-spring blizzard,” she cut in. “We already talked about this with the kelpie last year!”

“No maneating water spirits in the house,” I sighed glumly.

“Or woman-eating. Get it out.”

“Fine.”