Grace Under Fury

by Annabel Chase

  My mouth tightened. “The original signmaker was illiterate and no one had the heart to correct him.” I’d heard the story from Alice because it happened before my time. The Wentworths were one of the original Puritan families in Chipping Cheddar and this house was once part of their farm, so Alice was full of local knowledge. “Anyway, Princess Buttercup isn’t an attack dog,” I said.

  He peered around me. “I have eyes. That’s a Great Dane.”

  And if he had the Sight, he’d see Princess Buttercup was actually a hellhound—which would probably escalate the situation.

  “Who is this?” My mother pushed her way forward. “I am Beatrice Fury, the owner of this house. Is there a problem?”

  The new neighbor seemed taken aback by my mother’s appearance. “You should really see someone about your face.”

  If my mother could have smited him right there on the front porch and gotten away with it, I think she would have.

  “There is nothing wrong with my face,” my mother said tersely. “I’m sick.”

  “This is Michael Bannon,” I said. “He moved into Dudley’s house. Someone allegedly swiped the side of his car and he seeks recompense.”

  “Don’t you use those big words with me, young lady,” Michael said. “I know what you’re up to.”

  My mother waved a dismissive hand. “Eden’s always like that. Showing off her vocabulary. That’s what happens when your looks aren’t your best feature.”

  “Yes, it’s tragic when a woman is forced to engage her brain,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

  My mother’s laugh tinkled. “Mr. Bannon, I’m sorry about your car, but I’m afraid we don’t know anything about it.”

  “And I suggest you don’t go around accusing your new neighbors of property damage,” Grandma chimed in from behind us. “It’s a surefire way of alienating everyone.”

  Michael looked over our heads at her. “And you look like an expert on alienating people, at least the male half of the population.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath and realized it was mine. No one insulted Grandma and got away with it. I braced myself for payback, but Grandma remained surprisingly quiet. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing either.

  “I’m going to set up a security camera,” Michael continued. “If I see anyone on this street near my property, I’m calling the police.”

  “Go ahead, honey,” my mother said. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”

  To be fair, we had an awful lot to hide, but damage to Michael Bannon’s car wasn’t on the list.

  “Go knock next door,” Grandma urged. “I bet it was Mrs. Paulson. When she drives, it’s like Miss Daisy decided to swipe the keys and go for a joyride.”

  Michael scowled one last time before stomping off in the direction of the neighbor’s house.

  “Grandma, you shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “He’ll frighten her.”

  “Only if we’re lucky,” Grandma said.

  “I can’t believe how rude he was,” my mother said, as we returned to the kitchen. “Can you imagine moving into a new neighborhood and treating others like that?”

  “We ought to teach him a lesson,” Grandma said.

  “No,” I said quickly. “No lessons.”

  “Why not?” Grandma asked. “When I was a young witch, if somebody got out of line, we made sure to help them with an attitude adjustment.”

  “I think Eden could use one of those,” my mother said.

  I cut her a quick glance. “Hey!” I objected.

  “Your ego has gotten out of control,” my mother said.

  “My ego?” I repeated, gobsmacked.

  “You defeat one measly demon and it’s like you’ve invented Crest Whitestrips,” my mother continued.

  “One demon?” I asked. “I think this cold has infected your brain.”

  “Is there a problem?” Uncle Moyer asked. “I heard angry voices, but I know you can handle yourselves.”

  “No problem at all,” I said. “And no one will be adjusting anyone’s attitude or I’ll be forced to file an FBM report. Am I clear?” I leveled a gaze at my mother and grandmother.

  My mother patted my shoulder. “That’s my girl. Always sucking the fun out of every occasion.”

  “Better than sucking the blood out of your ex-husband,” Grandma said.

  “Yes, I’ll leave that to that Sally,” my mother said. “Although bleeding him dry has a certain appeal.”

  “Mom,” I said.

  My mother heaved a sigh. “Censorship in my own home. Whatever next?”

  I waved to Uncle Moyer and Tomas. “It was great to see you. Feel free to rake my father over the coals in about ten minutes.”

  My mother tapped her nail against her chin. “Now there’s one I haven’t tried.”

  I hurried up to the attic to change before I gave my mother any more ideas.

  Chapter Seven

  It was still early, so I decided to drop in at my dad and Sally’s before I headed downtown to the office. It was a childhood habit that started after my parents divorced and my dad built the house next door. Anytime one parent spoke ill of the other one, I’d feel compelled to play the role of good daughter to the “victim.” I’d bounce between houses, trying to assuage guilt that I shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

  “Sally, can I please come in?” I banged on the kitchen door at the back of the house.

  Sally’s wrinkle-free face appeared behind the beveled glass of the door. “Are you sick?”

  “No. I’m heading to work soon and wanted to say hi to my dad.”

  Sally appeared unconvinced. “I heard about the epidemic that’s sweeping this town. Someone died.”

  “What does it matter?” I asked. “You’re already dead.” Not that it mattered. Sally was a neat freak and a germaphobe. Her undead status was secondary.

  “Did you touch Ryan today?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “He was in a protective bubble most of the morning.” I decided to keep my mother’s condition to myself.

  My father’s face appeared beside Sally’s. “When’s the last time you checked the oil in your car?”

  I frowned. “What does that have to do with being sick?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I just thought of it and didn’t want to forget to remind you.”

  I leaned my forehead against the glass. “I don’t need to check the oil.”

  “Listen here, young lady. Just because you’re immortal now doesn’t mean you don’t check your own oil. It’s only a dipstick.”

  I stared back at him. “It sure is.”

  Sally knocked on the glass. “You’re leaving smudges.”

  “Then let me in,” I said. “I have a tongue and I’m not afraid to use it.” I pretended to lick the glass.

  My father jerked open the door. “Come in, but don’t touch any of the food. Sally’s practicing for FromageFest.”

  I strode into the kitchen and inhaled the divine scent of baked cheese. “You mean Cheese-chella.”

  My father banged his fist into his open palm. “It’s FromageFest and don’t you forget it.”

  “You seem a little touchy about a festival of cheese.”

  “It’s those millennials and they’re trendy names,” my father said. “They’re taking over.”

  “Well, they are the rising generation,” I said. “I think that makes a takeover inevitable.” I sniffed the air. “Gruyere?”

  “You always had a nose for cheese,” my father said with a grunt of approval.

  “It’s baked caramelized onion dip with gruyere,” Sally said. “I’m entering it in the cheese dip competition.”

  My stomach rumbled. “That sounds as wonderful as it smells.”

  “It’s in the oven now,” Sally said.

  You’d never know the vampire had been baking—the kitchen was already spotless.

  “How long until it’s finished?” I asked. “I’m happy to test it out before I go to work if you need feedback
.”

  “No, thank you,” Sally said. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “It’s for a contest, right? Don’t you want to know what other people think?”

  Something unspoken passed between them.

  “What?” I asked.

  My father sighed. “Sally doesn’t want your germs in her dip.”

  “I already told you I’m not sick,” I said, exasperated. Did I need to offer blood test results?

  “It’s not because you might be sick,” my father said. “It’s because you double dip.”

  I sucked in air. “I do not!”

  “Yes, you do,” Sally said. “I’ve seen you do it with the artichoke dip and that hummus I served at game night.”

  “Even your nephew knows better than to double dip,” my father pointed out.

  “My nephew doesn’t even know how to use a toilet,” I snapped. “I seriously doubt he’s mastered the art of appetizers.”

  “Why are you here?” my father asked.

  “Why am I ever here?”

  He looked at me askance. “Hiding from your mother again?”

  “She woke up…” I nearly said “sick,” but caught myself. “In a bad mood and then we had a run-in with the new neighbor.”

  “What kind of run-in?” my father asked.

  “Michael Bannon came by because someone side-swiped his car,” I said. “He wasn’t very nice about it.”

  “I wouldn’t be nice about it either,” my father said.

  “That’s the vengeance demon I know and love,” Sally cooed.

  “But he doesn’t know who’s responsible,” I said. “He was pretty rude. He insulted Grandma.”

  My father snorted. “He’s living the dream.”

  “He’ll be living a nightmare if he doesn’t calm down,” I said. “I still can’t believe she let it slide.”

  My father gaped at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she didn’t react,” I said.

  Sally clutched her pearl necklace. “That can’t be good.”

  “I think she was probably distracted. Uncle Moyer and Tomas are there, plus my mother’s…bad mood. There was a lot going on.”

  “For his sake, I hope you’re right,” my father said.

  I glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I should go if I want to stop for coffee first. Duty calls.”

  “As long as it’s not diaper duty,” my father said. “Ryan’s not allowed over here until he’s back to normal. It’s a shame, too. We were making real progress.”

  I cocked my head. “Progress on what?”

  My father couldn’t resist a proud smile. “Last week, I saw him playing with his Lego figures and they were attacking each other.”

  I frowned. “Which ones?”

  My father blew a dismissive raspberry. “Who knows? It’s not like they have names.”

  “One wore all black with a matching helmet and the other one was all in white,” Sally said.

  “Sounds like Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker,” I said. “They’re supposed to fight each other.”

  “Yes, but the black helmet guy won,” my father said. “It was a fierce battle, too, let me tell you. The kid has a strategic eye.”

  Sally stroked his arm. “He may have had a bit of help.”

  “Only a little,” my father said. “I showed him how to take off the head, but the rest he did by himself.”

  I didn’t want to know what “the rest” entailed. “He’s a prodigy in the making,” I said.

  “I hope so, because it seems to have skipped a generation,” my father said.

  On that note… “Good luck with the cheese dip, Sally,” I said. “I’ll see you both later.” I headed for the door.

  “Just FYI, I’ll be out of town for a day or so,” my father said.

  I stopped short. “Business or pleasure?”

  “You know it’s both for me,” my father said. “When you love what you do, you never work a day in your life.”

  How anyone could love exacting revenge on someone else’s enemy, I’d never understand.

  “Safe travels,” I said, because anything else would morph into an argument.

  Half an hour later, I entered the office, clutching a large latte from Magic Beans, and stopped short when I noticed Neville at his desk.

  “Are you preparing to scrub in, Doctor?” I asked.

  Neville typed away on his computer, wearing a surgical mask and gloves. He removed the mask to speak. “I have a delicate system. I can’t afford to be exposed to whatever’s going around.”

  “I’ll do my best to cough into my elbow.”

  “I’m not sure that will be enough for this potent infection.”

  “We don’t know what killed him yet,” I said. “It could be an overdose of medicine or drugs. Could be a preexisting condition.” I sat in my chair and switched on the computer.

  “Could be the next bubonic plague,” Neville said.

  “There’s looking on the bright side,” I said. “Did you hear about the singer on the police scanner?” The “police scanner” is actually a magical listening device he’d installed in the police chief’s office to stay on top of crimes and investigations.

  “Only this morning,” Neville said. “I played back the recording when I got here. According to the report, you called it in.”

  “Sure did,” I said. “That’s what happens when I try to have a normal night, Neville. Someone dies.”

  “Someone else died,” he said.

  I spun around in my chair to face him. “What?”

  “A car accident early this morning on the outskirts of town.”

  “How is this connected to the singer’s death? Did someone sneeze and accidentally drive into a tree?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” he said.

  “Well, does it have a supernatural connection?”

  “Not unless the deer that ran out in front of the car was actually a werewolf.”

  I stiffened. “Is there any way to know for sure?”

  “I believe the deer carcass on the side of the road tells us for sure.”

  I turned back to my computer. “Then why are you telling me about it? I don’t get involved in routine deaths.” Gods, that sounded horrible, even to my own ears.

  “You got involved last night,” Neville said.

  “Only because I happened to be there.”

  “And because a certain police chief would be coming to the scene to file a report?”

  I glared at him over my shoulder. “It wasn’t a date, Neville. It was a death.” I didn’t dare mention our detour afterward and risk the gentle clucking of the wizard’s disapproving tongue.

  I decided to be productive in order to force thoughts of Chief Fox out of my head.

  “Are today’s reports in from Otherworld?”

  “No escaped or missing demons today,” Neville replied.

  “Well, that’s a plus.” I sneezed and grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk in the nick of time. “Fast reflexes are good for something.”

  Neville quickly replaced his mask.

  “It was one sneeze, Neville. Probably seasonal allergies.”

  “I’d rather take precautions,” came his muffled reply.

  My phone began to play the Exorcist theme song.

  “That sounds scary,” Neville said.

  “Because it is.” I stared at the screen for another beat before deciding to answer. “What is it, Mom? You know I’m at work.”

  “Can you please bring home some medicine from the drugstore?”

  “You want human medicine?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Because our potions aren’t working and the only thing Verity’s lemon remedy did was burn the hell out of me,” she complained.

  I had a feeling that was exactly the outcome Verity expected.

  “I still feel awful. Bring me every bottle in the cold and flu aisle.”

  “It’s only been a few hours,” I said. “These things can take time.”

&n
bsp; “I don’t have time,” my mother said. “I’m supposed to go out with Jeremiah tonight.”

  I didn’t bother to ask who Jeremiah was. It was doubtful I’d ever hear the name again anyway.

  “I don’t think you should go out with anyone until you’re better,” I said.

  “You just don’t want me to enjoy myself,” my mother snapped. “After everything I’ve done for you.”

  “Do you really want Jeremiah to see you like this?” I asked. “Remember Michael Bannon’s reaction when he saw you.” It was a low blow, but I knew it would pack the necessary punch.

  My mother hesitated. “I’m sure I could do a spell…”

  “Cancel the date,” I said. “And I’ll bring you medicine when I come home later.”

  “This is extortion,” my mother huffed.

  I blew a breath. “It’s nothing like extortion.”

  “Eden Joy Fury…”

  I hung up before she could finish her sentence.

  “Exactly how sick is your mother?” Neville asked.

  “She’s a drama queen so it’s hard to judge,” I said.

  “Isn’t your nephew sick as well?”

  I cut him a quick glance. “Relax, Neville. It’s nothing to get worked up about. Verity is running blood tests. If it’s anything serious, I’ll let you know.”

  “Perhaps we should review our demon summaries from last week,” Neville suggested. “Keep our minds occupied while we wait.”

  “I don’t need to keep my mind occupied,” I said.

  “But you do need to review,” Neville said. “We promised Agent Redmond that we’d continue practical exercises. The demon summaries are part of that.”

  “And I intend to keep that promise,” I said. “As soon as I finish rearranging my sock drawer.”

  “Agent Fury, you were highly regarded by the FBI. Why do you resist applying the same work ethic to the FBM?”

  I refused to look at him. “You know why.”

  “The fact is that you’re here now and you’ve already managed to have an impact,” the wizard said. “Why not fully embrace it?”

  I swiveled around in my chair to face him. “I guess I keep hoping that the FBI will change their mind and ask me to come back. That I won’t have to stay.”

  Neville frowned. “You realize that’s completely unrealistic at this point, don’t you?”