Grace Under Fury

by Annabel Chase

  He ignored my jibe. “Is this your new boyfriend?” He gave Neville the once-over. “A little shorter than I’d expect, but I guess a rebound is any port in a storm.”

  I frowned. “A rebound from what?”

  “Chief Fox rejecting your advances. You can hardly blame the guy. He’s new in town and even he knows to steer clear of you and your nutty family.”

  I clenched my hands, fighting the urge to hex him in the middle of the coffee shop. “Chief Fox didn’t reject me. We have a professional relationship and that’s it.”

  Tanner took a sip of his coffee. “I heard you’ve been hounding him so much that he started patrolling with dogs.” His lips curved into a cruel smile. “One bitch at a time.”

  Some people made it very difficult to be good.

  “Chief Fox is making a community-wide effort to help with dog adoption,” Neville said. “And you should watch your tongue when you speak to a federal agent or she may just relieve you of it.”

  I flashed a bright smile and placed a hand on my hip, as though I had a concealed weapon. Unbeknownst to Tanner, my whole body was a weapon in plain sight.

  “If you miss my tongue, Eden, you only have to ask.” Tanner winked. “There’s no need for violence, although I wouldn’t object if you draw a little blood.”

  I fixed him with a steely gaze. “Neither would I.”

  Neville muttered an incantation under his breath.

  Tanner brought the coffee cup back to his lips for another sip, his smirk still evident. I watched with amusement as the cup tipped too far and the contents spilled all over his white shirt. “What the hell?”

  I stroked his arm. “What a pity. Someone’s getting clumsy in his old age.” I linked my arm through my assistant’s. “Come on, Neville. You may be short, but at least you don’t need a sippy cup for your coffee.”

  It was a satisfying exit that made my frappe taste even sweeter.

  Chapter Two

  I arrived home and said a silent prayer that I could zip straight into the shower without being noticed.

  “Eden, is that you?”

  I should’ve known better.

  I sauntered into the kitchen, careful to keep my Magic Beans contraband out of view. If I hadn’t still been steaming from my run-in with Tanner, I would’ve remembered to dispose of it before I got home.

  “Just got back from training,” I said. “I need a quick shower.”

  My one-year-old nephew Ryan sat in the high chair at the island, shoving blueberries into his purple-stained mouth. My mother, grandmother, and great-aunt sat at the dining table and I noticed a bowl between them filled with herbs.

  “What are you up to?” I asked, not bothering to mask my suspicious tone.

  “We’re making an aphrodisiac to sell down at the senior center,” Grandma said.

  My eyes bulged. “You’re what?”

  Grandma cackled. “I figured you’d fall for that. You know, Eden, if you didn’t have a broomstick wedged so firmly up your…”

  “Esther,” Aunt Thora interrupted, with a quick glance at Ryan.

  “What?” Grandma asked. “The kid can’t even say his own name yet. I’ve got months before I need to worry about inappropriate language.”

  Aunt Thora narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Relax, Eden,” my mother said primly. “We’re not doing anything that would set off your Radar of Good and Evil.”

  “It’s a spell for my lemon trees,” Aunt Thora said. “They seem to be under attack.”

  “Some kind of pest?” I asked.

  “Seems to be,” Aunt Thora said. “We’re creating a protective ward around the trees to keep out any bugs and prevent further damage.”

  My mother gave me a haughty look. “See? We’re helping, not hurting.”

  “First time for everything,” I muttered.

  Ryan took a handful of blueberries and chucked them on the floor, laughing maniacally. Three animals came tearing around the corner as though they’d been lying in wait for this very moment.

  “Princess Buttercup,” I said sternly. My hellhound stopped in her tracks and looked at me with a guilty expression. “No blueberries.”

  The black cat and the Burmese python had no such compunction and continued full steam ahead. Candy, my grandmother’s familiar, decided that she’d rather play with the blueberries than eat them and began to bat them around the floor. Charlemagne’s long, slithering body squished as many blueberries as he managed to eat. A trail of purple guts appeared on the kitchen floor.

  “Good throw, Ryan,” my mother said. “With an arm like that, you’ll be casting spells in no time.”

  I seized this moment of distraction and slipped the empty cup into the trashcan.

  “Only if he’s a wizard,” Aunt Thora said. “It’s too soon to tell.”

  My family seemed more concerned with Ryan’s nature than the mess he’d made.

  “Ryan, blueberries belong in your mouth, not on the floor,” I said. My nephew showed me his gums in response and I wondered whether he was practicing for a lifetime of evil or simply being a toddler. It was hard to tell.

  “You should make him sit there until he finds a way to clean the squished ones off the floor,” Grandma said. “That’ll teach him not to throw food and it might trigger his supernatural side. A win-win.”

  “What if he’s a druid like his mother?” my mother asked. “There won’t be anything he can do from his high chair.”

  “That’s child abuse,” Aunt Thora said. “I’ll just use a spell to clean it up.”

  Grandma blew a raspberry. “That’s why Moyer is such a soft touch. You were too easy on him.”

  Aunt Thora faced her sister. “Are you saying my son is gay because I didn’t use excessive force?”

  Grandma leaned forward. “I’m saying your son isn’t half the demon he might’ve been because you were too lenient. You used to be fearsome. Motherhood changed you and not for the better.”

  Aunt Thora bristled. “Moyer is one of the top lawyers in his field. You don’t get to the top of that ladder by being too soft.”

  The room sparked with energy. Definitely my cue to leave. “Time for that shower,” I said, and spun on my heel.

  “Wait one second, missy. What was that cup you threw in the trash?” my mother asked.

  Merciful Hecate. I thought I’d gotten away with it. Slowly, I turned back around. “What cup?”

  My mother eyed me. “The one you hid in the trash.”

  “I didn’t hide it,” I said. “It’s empty. That’s what a garbage can is for.”

  My mother wagged a finger. “I know you, Eden Fury. You’re trying to get rid of evidence. It reminds me of that time you stole a jar of my newt eyeballs so you could sell them at school and pretend they were hard candy.”

  “That wasn’t me,” I said. “That was Anton.”

  “A liar and a thief.” My mother clucked her tongue. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  Grandma walked over and popped open the lid of the trashcan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What?” My mother hurried over to investigate. She gasped at the sight of the cup. “Magic Beans? Eden, have you lost your mind?”

  “It’s frozen coffee, not cyanide.”

  She faced me, hands on hips. “I think I would have preferred cyanide to outright treason.”

  “It’s not treason,” I said. “You’re not the head of state.”

  My mother’s nostrils flared. “I beg to differ.”

  “She means treachery,” Aunt Thora said.

  “Yes, that.” My mother slammed the lid closed. “I can’t believe this. After all we’ve done for you.”

  “It’s one drink,” I said.

  “And there are plenty of places to go for that,” my mother replied. “Holes. The Daily Grind. Sweet Nyx, I could’ve made you one here.”

  “Neville wanted to go after our training session,” I said. “I didn’t want to be rude.
”

  “So if Neville wants to jump off a bridge, you’d follow?” my mother asked.

  “Some leader you are,” Grandma said. She looked at my mother. “See what happens when you’re too easy on kids? She isn’t half the fury she could’ve been either.”

  “I blame her father,” my mother said. “He let her read too many books at bedtime.”

  My blood pressure began to rise. “My drink was extraordinary,” I practically shouted. “And it was so good that I’ll be going back tomorrow.”

  “Over my dead body,” my mother yelled.

  “Don’t tempt me,” I shot back.

  I bolted out the back door of the house. My shower would have to wait until the tension had subsided. With the way my mother had looked at me just now, the hot water was guaranteed to turn ice cold—or possibly to tapioca pudding. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  I decided to seek refuge in my future home and went out to the barn to talk to John, the most normal person within a mile radius. The carpenter was hard at work, hammering a nail into a piece of wood.

  “That’s quite the sweat you’re working up,” I said. “And I mean that in a non-sexual way.” John and I had briefly tried the dating thing, but decided we were better off as friends.

  John stopped hammering and chuckled. “You should’ve seen your mother out here earlier. As hot as I was, I wanted to wrap myself in a parka and a turtleneck.”

  “She does possess one of the most penetrating gazes in the history of eyes.” She’d used it on Anton and I plenty when we were kids, usually to extract information. Did your father adhere to the speed limit the entire way to the mall with you kids in the car? Did you eat the last cookie? Did you commit at least one evil act today? We would squirm and resist, but the gaze always won out.

  “How goes the work?” My father’s paunchy silhouette appeared between the barn doors.

  “Hey, Stan,” John said.

  I shot the carpenter a quizzical look. “Stan?”

  “We’re old friends now,” my father said. “I come out here as part of my daily walk and we have a nice chat.”

  I eyed him curiously. “Since when do you take daily walks?”

  My father patted his rounded stomach as he joined us inside the barn. “Sally’s been pestering me to exercise. She thinks the golf course doesn’t count.”

  “It really doesn’t,” I said. “You ride in a cart between holes.”

  “Pffft. Details,” my father said.

  “What do you two chat about?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine what these two had in common to discuss.

  “Topics of no interest to you. Golf. Tennis. World Wars.”

  “Your father’s diet.” John chuckled. “That tofu recipe was hilarious. I was still laughing about that last night when I ate dinner.”

  “She’s trying to starve me,” my father said. “I told her if she wanted to get rid of me that badly, she should just divorce me.”

  “You complain to John about your wife?”

  My father hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “Both of ‘em, actually.”

  I shook my head. “Sally would be mortified.” My mother, too, considering she had the hots for John.

  “Everybody needs an outlet,” my father said.

  “That seems to be your position on a lot of things,” I said cryptically. As a vengeance demon, my father took jobs in Otherworld where he was able to use his powers more freely.

  “You’re right about her posture, though, Stan,” John said. “I noticed it when she came in.”

  My head swung in the carpenter’s direction. “Excuse me?”

  John made a zigzag motion with the hammer. “Your posture. You should use those core muscles to stand up straight or you could end up with stooped shoulders like some old ladies get.”

  Anger coiled in my stomach. “Are you seriously criticizing my posture?”

  John seemed to realize the error of his ways. “Uh, no. Of course not. What do I know? I’m just a monkey with a hammer.”

  “Keep it up and you will be,” I said.

  John laughed, no clue that I could pull that off if I wanted to.

  “Dad, you should leave John alone and let him work,” I said.

  My father walked around the perimeter of the barn, inspecting the work to date. “Same goes for you, Eden. I’m the one paying the bill.”

  “Half the bill,” I said. My mother had agreed to pay the other half.

  “Fine,” my father said. “So I get to give half an opinion.” He fixed his gaze on John. “You’re doing excellent work. Keep it up.”

  “Thank you, sir,” John said.

  “We’ll talk more about Yalta tomorrow when we don’t have the Greek chorus over here.” My father jabbed a thumb in my direction.

  “Can I shower at your house?” I asked, as we exited the barn.

  “Why? What’d you do?” My father was intimately familiar with the risks involved in annoying my mother.

  “I went to Magic Beans.”

  He recoiled. “Are you trying to get yourself hexed?”

  “I like Corinne.”

  My father chuckled. “Your mother must’ve blown a fuse.”

  We crossed the lawn toward my father’s house and I noticed the sickly lemon trees as we passed by. “Any idea what would cause that?”

  “I turn a blind eye to most of their projects,” my father said.

  “Same.”

  We entered the house through the back door that led straight into the kitchen, where Sally was busy wiping down the countertops. The vampire’s OCD tendencies meant that my father’s house was always sparkling clean, no magic required.

  “Hello, Eden.” She stopped wiping and frowned when she noticed my slightly disheveled state. “You’ve been sweating.” Her tone sounded almost accusatory.

  “I was training earlier. I need to take a shower in the guest bathroom, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay,” my father interjected.

  “What’s wrong with your shower?” Sally asked.

  “Eden went to Corinne LeRoux’s new coffee shop.”

  Sally’s lip curled. “What’s one more place for mediocre coffee?” She sighed. “If there’s one thing I miss in Otherworld, it’s the coffee.”

  “Really?” I perked up. “That’s one of things I miss about San Francisco, but I have to say that Magic Beans is really good.”

  Sally’s expression grew dreamy. “Oh, it can’t be as good as home. Potis coffee beans are unparalleled.”

  My father’s eyes lit up. “That’s the company with the winged monkey logo.”

  I scrunched my nose. “What does a flying monkey have to do with coffee beans?”

  “The CEO is a wicked witch,” Sally said. She smiled at her husband, showing her bright white fangs. “She’s just your type, Stanley.”

  “Not anymore,” my father said. “I prefer sanity to wickedness.”

  “I’ll remember you said that the next time you harass me about my fury powers,” I said.

  “So Eden, what do you think of the neighbor?” Sally asked, smoothly changing the subject before my father and I launched into an argument. She knew us too well.

  “What new neighbor?” I asked. “Who moved?”

  “For an agent, you sure don’t pay much attention,” my father said. “It’s not like Munster Close is very big.”

  “Who’s the neighbor?” I asked, losing patience.

  “His name is Michael Bannon,” Sally said. “Human. He moved into Dudley’s house after Dudley’s family moved him into the nursing home.”

  “Oh. Is he nice?” I vaguely remembered Dudley. He’d been old even when I was a kid. His house was closer to the mouth of the cul-de-sac.

  “He golfs,” my father said, his primary concern when it came to humans.

  “I’m going to bake him cream cheese muffins,” Sally said. “I need a few ingredients from the store first.”

  “That’s kind of you,” I said.

 
; “She has ulterior motive,” my father said.

  Why didn’t that surprise me?

  “Cheese-chella is coming up and I’m considering entering one of the competitions,” Sally said.

  I scratched my head. “What’s Cheese-chella?”

  “FromageFest,” my father said.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize they’d changed the name.” The cheese festival is an annual tradition in town that included dozens of vendors’ stalls downtown and a flood of tourists. Chipping Cheddar, Maryland was settled by English Puritans, many of whom turned to dairy farming and eventually cheesemaking for their livelihoods, and the street names celebrated this history.

  “The town council voted for a new name to make the festival more contemporary,” Sally said. “They’re trying to appeal to a younger crowd.”

  “It’ll always be FromageFest to me,” my father said irritably.

  No matter what its name was, I wasn’t a fan of the festival for reasons I didn’t care to think about. One of the many drawbacks to returning to live in my hometown was a history I couldn’t shake.

  “Eden, dear, why don’t you get that shower now?” Sally suggested. “Your skin looks in need of a good scrub.” Sally thought everything looked in need of a good scrub.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. I headed to the guest bathroom, my mind whirring with memories of FromageFest. If only I could scrub away my family’s past as easily I could scrub away the dirt.

  I heaved a sigh.

  If only.

  Chapter Three

  In order to escape my mother’s wrath, I made plans to meet up with my best friend, Clara Riley. The more time I spent out of the house, the more likely my mother would have moved on to another perceived injustice when I returned. I hoped.

  I pulled into the parking lot of a small yoga and dance studio called Barre None. Clara was convinced that yoga was a critical component missing from my life. Although the gods had blessed me with strength and speed, they were distracted when it came time to hand out flexibility and tranquility.

  I’d barely pushed open the door when an eager voice rang out. “Eden Fury, how wonderful to have you home again!”