Anton straightened. “The carpenter?”
“Yeah.”
Anton swore softly.
The sound of my phone jolted me. “Who changed my ringtone to You Sexy Thing?” I plucked the phone from my pocket.
“I can think of at least two suspects,” Verity said.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Agent Fury. I hope it’s not too late to call.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “No, it’s fine.”
“Not on a date then?”
“I’m in the family room with Anton and Verity, so I’ll let you work that one out.”
“I said I’d let you know when I got the autopsy report.”
“Let me guess. Natural causes,” I said.
“How’d you know?”
“Just a hunch.”
“His medical records were clean, too. His last physical was only three months ago.” The chief sighed. “Sometimes it’s plain bad luck.”
And sometimes there’s an intervening cause that even the most capable humans can’t see. “Thanks for letting me know, Chief.”
“No problem. We’re a team, remember?”
“We’re really not, but I appreciate being kept in the loop.” I clicked off the phone.
“It’s difficult to keep things from him,” Verity said.
“For many reasons,” I replied.
“He could be helpful,” Verity said.
“It’s too dangerous,” I said. “Mick O’Neill was chief for how many years? He never had a clue and he managed just fine.”
“Until he died of supernatural causes,” Verity said.
My head dropped. “Yeah. I made the same point to Neville. Even if Chief O’Neill had known the truth, though, it doesn’t mean that knowledge would have saved him. He never even saw the demon that killed him.”
“He would’ve had a stroke long before that demon killed him,” Anton said. “His job would’ve been exponentially harder with that information. I liked Mick a lot, but I don’t think he could’ve handled the truth.”
Verity looked up at him. “And what about Chief Fox?”
“It’s not for me to say,” Anton said. “I’d leave that one to Eden to decide.”
“The only decision Eden is going to make right now is to go to bed,” I said. I felt exhausted by the day’s events and hoped a good night’s sleep would put me in the right mindset to prevent a few flurries from becoming a storm.
Chapter Nine
“Great balls of a minotaur,” I croaked, opening my eyes—or trying to. They were puffy and crusty. Terrific.
“Oh, Eden, you look…” Alice hovered over my bed. Her concerned expression told me what I needed to know.
“How bad is it?” I asked. I drew myself to a seated position and immediately sneezed. “Ow, my back.”
“You’re far too young to be pulling muscles when you sneeze,” Alice scolded me.
“I’ll be sure to pass the message along to my central control system.” I tapped my head.
“Do you think it’s the deadly disease?” Alice asked.
I swung my legs over the side of the mattress. “It’s not a deadly disease. Not for me.”
“Someone died,” Alice said.
“Someone also died yesterday from falling down the steps,” I said. “I’m not about to declare steps a deadly menace to society.”
“You’re underplaying this so as not to worry,” Alice said.
I fixed her with a resentful stare. “Now you’re a shrink?”
“Maybe you should try your mother’s remedy with the lemon,” Alice said. She paused. “On second thought, don’t. It didn’t help and seemed quite painful.”
I broke into a huge smile. “You saw her?”
“The bathroom door was open and I happened by.” Alice shook her ghostly head. “The scream was enough to pierce my heart.”
I laughed. “I’m so sorry I missed that.” I sneezed again and reached for the tissue box positioned on one of the storage containers. “I guess I’ll carry this with me today. I promised Neville I’d do a training session.”
“Try not to worry,” Alice said. “We suffered through an outbreak or two in my time. There were serious casualties, but many lived.”
I changed out of my pajamas and threw on yoga pants and a T-shirt. “You really need to work on your pep talk.” I sneezed again and howled in pain as I pulled another muscle.
“At least you’re not urinating in your pants,” Alice said. “That’s what happens when your grandmother sneezes.”
My head jerked toward her. “Please say that again.”
“Sneezing seems to trigger her bladder.”
I bolted from the mattress.
“Where are you going?” Alice asked.
A slow smile emerged. “To spend a little quality time with Grandma before I have to leave for work.”
I came downstairs to find the remaining family members gathered in the kitchen, mid-conversation.
“Well, I don’t want to ride over to nurse him back to health,” my mother said.
Grandma arched an eyebrow. “Since when?”
My mother futzed with loose strands of hair around her face. “What if he doesn’t like what he sees?”
“Your face looks back to normal,” I said. “Did you use a spell?”
My mother batted her eyelashes. “A witch never reveals her secrets.”
“Looks like you’re in need of a spell,” Grandma said. She pointed to my face. “I haven’t seen that much crust since Thora volunteered to bake for the pie eating competition.”
“It’s not me I’m concerned about,” I said.
“Mark this day down in history, ladies and gentlemen,” my mother said. “Eden’s not concerned with herself.”
“She means because the infection seems to be supernatural in origin,” Aunt Thora interjected. “Verity told us yesterday.”
“I just knew it was a mystical event,” my mother said. “My body’s felt heavy with magic ever since I started feeling unwell.”
“Those are your boobs,” Grandma said. “They’re more like bags of cement than flotation devices.”
“Better than empty tube socks,” my mother shot back.
“Where are Olivia and Ryan?” I asked.
“In bed,” my mother said. “Aunt Thora is going to stay with them, although I’m thinking it’s best if I don’t leave the house like this.”
Finally, my mother made sense.
“Since when do you suffer from a crisis of confidence?” Grandma asked.
My mother pursed her lips. “I know I’m flawed. It’s time to face reality.”
I stared at her, beginning to question my own reality. “This infection is infecting your brain.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Beatrice,” Aunt Thora said.
“No kidding,” Grandma interjected. “You spend the night crumbling men to dust and then sprinkle them on your cereal the next morning for added flavor.”
I cringed at the mental image. “Did something happen to trigger this revelation?”
“Sure something happened,” Grandma said. “She finally cleaned the mirror in her bathroom.”
My mother stared daggers at Grandma. “I have a pimple,” she blurted.
“Where?” I scanned her face for any sign of a red bump.
My mother shied away. “On my buttocks.”
“How would you even know such a thing?” I closed my eyes. “Wait. Please don’t answer that.”
“The carpenter isn’t going to see a zit on your ass,” Grandma said. “You’re delivering soup, not sex.”
Aunt Thora ladled soup from a pot into a container. “My homemade chicken noodle soup is as close to sex as you can get.”
“Wait,” I said. “You’re talking about bringing soup to John? You can’t do that.”
“No need to be jealous,” my mother said.
“I’m not jealous, but you can’t risk making him any sicker,” I said.
“He’s already been exposed,” my mother said. “There’s no harm now.”
“We have no idea how this disease works,” I said. “Do you really want to risk John’s life just so you can play Florence Nightingale?”
My mother admired her reflection in the microwave. “I do look ravishing in a nurse’s uniform. Might be worth it to him.”
Inwardly, I groaned.
“You don’t have time for home deliveries, Eden,” Grandma said. “You need to get to the bottom of this mess. That’s your job.”
“Right now my job is to meet Neville in the park for a training exercise,” I said.
“How can you focus on exercise when there’s an epidemic in the works?” my mother asked.
“We’re not jogging,” I said. “It’s training. It helps me prepare for the next crisis.”
Grandma secured the lid on the soup container. “I don’t see how skipping around in a field prepares you for an outbreak, but what do I know? I’m just an old woman.”
“I’ll drop off the soup,” I said. “I’ll leave it on the front step so I don’t put him at further risk.”
Grandma held the container against her chest. “I’ll take the soup. There’s nothing wrong me.”
“I beg to differ” my mother murmured.
“Fine,” I said. “Just don’t linger in case your symptoms aren’t showing yet.” I grabbed my car keys from the counter. “Try to steer clear of humanity for now.”
“Only for now?” my mother asked.
I flashed an impertinent smile. “One battle at a time.”
Today’s battle was entirely make-believe.
“Are you seriously going to wear that during our entire training session?”
Neville cowered behind an oak tree in Davenport Park, wearing the surgical mask and gloves that had basically become his new uniform.
“What does it matter?” he shouted from behind the mask. “I don’t need my face and hands exposed in order to be effective.”
I cupped my hand to my ear. “What was that? I couldn’t hear your life-or-death instructions because of that piece of fabric in front of your mouth.”
His brow knitted in what I assumed was a scowl—hard to be certain when I couldn’t see his whole face. He pulled down the mask. “You know the drill, Agent Fury.” He quickly replaced the mask over his mouth.
“I’m the one who’s already sick,” I said, coughing for good measure. “If anyone should be skittish right now, it’s me.”
“I won’t object if you want to cancel training today,” Neville said. “Your health is of the upmost importance.”
“Sedentary isn’t my thing.” I spread my arms wide. “We’re in the great outdoors, Neville. Fresh air and sunshine will blow the cobwebs away.”
“I’ll stay here with the mighty oak, thank you.” He dangled a pouch where I could see it. “Are you ready for your opponent?”
“How many more subjects do I need to defeat to reach level five?” I asked.
“Three,” Neville said. “Though I’m not sure you should expend the effort today. Maybe just take on the first one and leave the next two until you’ve fully recovered.”
“You don’t have to baby me.” I anchored my feet and clapped my hands together. “Ready when you are.”
Neville tossed the magic dust into the air, which triggered a succession of sneezes from me. Through my dewy eyes, I saw a demon take shape. I fished a tissue from my pocket and blew my nose.
“He’s pretty,” I said. For once, I wasn’t being sarcastic. The demon reminded me of a tropical fish with brightly colored skin and a Mohawk-like hairdo.
“It’s all well and good to admire him, Agent Fury, but you should really focus on identification and defeat.”
“Right.” I stuffed the tissue back into my pocket and concentrated on the demon. “This one’s easy to remember.”
Neville sighed. “The pretty ones always are.”
I pointed at my new friend. “You’re a discus demon.”
He growled in response and advanced toward me. It was then that I remembered what discus demons are known for.
“You shoot acid!” I ducked just in time as a stream of hissing liquid passed over my head, narrowly missing my scalp. “Your drool is worse than Princess Buttercup’s!”
“You might want to consider skipping the banter if you want to reach level five today,” Neville called.
“I think you might be right about not pushing it.” I tried to remember what I’d read about discus demons. A-ha! “They can dish it out, but they can’t take it.”
Neville appeared confused. “He’s not bantering. You are.”
As the discus demon stalked toward me, I started to cough. I held out a hand to still his movements. “He’s not stopping!”
“I don’t have a remote control for him, Agent Fury,” Neville called. “You’ll have to fight.”
The demon continued toward me as my coughing intensified. I suddenly regretted my need for overachievement. What did I have to prove anyway?
Another stream of acid shot toward me and I dropped to the ground and somersaulted to avoid the scorching liquid.
“There’s something you should know about me,” I said, popping up right in front of him. “I have a lot of experience with acid tongues.” Before he could respond, I placed a hand on his arm and activated my siphoning power. Of course, my stupid cold decided to rear its ugly head again and I sneezed acid right in his face. His colorful skin burned and he staggered backward. I gave him one more hit of acid—not the good kind—and he dissipated.
I dropped to the ground and landed squarely on my bottom. “Ouch! Why do we still have tailbones? What’s the point?”
Neville left the safety of the tree to check on me. He held out a gloved hand and pulled me to my feet. “Are you prepared to call it a day?”
“Fine,” I relented. “This cold is kicking my butt harder than any demon anyway.” My butt vibrated and I pulled out my phone. “Hi, Verity.”
“You need to head over to the nursing home,” the druid said. “There’s a reported case. Henrietta Egerrton.”
My stomach clenched. The elderly would be defenseless against a supernatural strain. “I’m on my way.” I put away the phone and looked at the paranoid wizard. “Hey, Neville. How about I borrow your mask?”
I drove across town to the nursing home, trying to remain calm. My father used to threaten my grandmother with a room here when my parents were still married. In turn, my grandmother threatened him with castration, so they worked out a peaceful coexistence for the most part. When my parents divorced and my father moved out, the stress level definitely decreased. My family never made any effort to hide their discontent. Hexes and vengeance spells were a regular feature of my childhood—and my adulthood.
I parked the car and entered the lobby of the nursing home. I was surprised to see a familiar—and unwelcome—face among the other visitors.
“Eden Fury, what are you doing here?” Tanner’s mother, Gale Hughes, was affixing a name badge to her top.
“Same as you, I expect.”
Her eyebrow arched. “You’re visiting my mother?”
“Patrice is here?” I remembered Tanner’s grandmother as a sweetheart—basically the polar opposite of her daughter.
“We moved her in here last year,” Gale said. “Her dementia became an issue. She almost burned down the house with a tea kettle.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
Gale observed me from head to toe. “You can’t be visiting one of your own relatives. They’d never let a Fury take up residence here. Too much of a liability.” Although Gale didn’t know our true natures, you’d never know it by the way she talked about us. It was as though she had a sixth sense.
“I’m checking on a resident,” I said, in an effort to keep my reason vague. No need to start a stampede out of the nursing home. “Nice to see you again.”
Gale gave me a sour look before disappearing down the corridor
.
I stepped up to the reception desk. “I’m here to see Henrietta Egerrton.”
The young woman behind the desk beamed up at me. “Are you a relative?”
“No.” I whipped out my badge and showed it to her. “Official business.”
The young woman inclined her head, studying the badge. “Cool. I’ve never seen one of these up close. Should I notify the director?”
“That won’t be necessary. I only need to have a conversation with her. I understand she’s unwell.”
The young woman hesitated. “Yeah, there’s something going around.” She opened the drawer and produced a visitor badge. “Wear this. She’s in room 302. Down the hall and to the left.”
I pinned the badge to my shirt. “Thank you.”
I wandered down the corridor, narrowly avoiding getting my toes crushed by a passing wheelchair. For a sick woman, Henrietta certainly seemed spry. She sat up in bed, playing cards with two others—an elderly man with a paunch as round as his bald head and a woman with hair dyed so black, it looked like she’d dumped an inkwell on top of it.
“Whose turn is it?” the old man asked.
“No idea,” the black-haired woman said. “Henrietta?”
“You think I remember?” Henrietta asked. “The only reason I remember we’re playing is because I’m holding cards.”
I knocked gently on the open door. “Excuse me. Are you Henrietta?”
The older woman in bed glanced at me. “Yes. Are you the doctor?”
“No, ma’am. My name is Agent Eden Fury. I’d like to talk to you about your symptoms.”
She shrank back, holding her cards against her chest. “Is this a government conspiracy? I’ve heard all about those and I don’t want any part of it.”
“I’d just like to ask you about your cold,” I said. “I won’t even examine you. Promise.”
“You can examine me,” the elderly man said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’ll make it easy for you and undress myself.”
“Kelvin, with your arthritis, you couldn’t undress yourself if you were in a threesome with Marilyn Monroe and Hedy Lamarr.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t need to. I’d have two women there to do it for me.”
“Such an ape.” Henrietta chucked a card at Kelvin’s head.
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