Fury Godmother

by Annabel Chase

  “Why not?” I asked. “I bet Alice would appreciate the company. It can’t be easy being a ghost.”

  Clara buckled her seatbelt. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  I started the engine. “Nothing new there. I’ve been something else my whole life.” I turned the car around and, with a final glance in the rearview mirror, left Evergreen behind.

  Chapter Eight

  Clara and I agreed to meet for coffee at The Daily Grind the next morning, mostly because she wanted to try the scone I was obsessed with. I’d just parked the car when a text came through from her.

  Meet at Bugle instead. Behind schedule.

  The Buttermilk Bugle office was only a block over from the coffee shop. I entered the small lobby and was nearly mowed down by Gasper Cawdrey. He looked exactly like his photo on the website.

  “Is there breaking news somewhere?” I asked, only half joking.

  “I parked in a handicapped spot and someone spotted Deputy Guthrie giving out parking tickets.”

  I stared at the gangly reporter. “You parked in a handicapped spot?”

  “I hurt my knee playing rugby,” he replied, as though that justified his actions.

  I wasn’t a fan of Sean Guthrie. The deputy and I attended high school together and shared a mutual dislike. That being said, I really hoped he got to Gasper’s car before the reporter did. If I stalled him long enough, maybe I’d get my wish.

  “You play rugby?” I asked. “That’s a great sport. You must be pretty athletic.” I did my best to feign interest.

  “I work out a lot,” Gasper said. He seemed to forget about his parking violation. “I like to keep fit. Don’t want to develop my dad’s beer gut.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Eden Fury.”

  His brow shot up. “The new FBI agent?”

  “That’s right.”

  He shook my hand. “Gasper Cawdrey, the only source for news in Chipping Cheddar. If you ever need…”

  The door flew open and Mitsy Malone strode into the lobby, clutching a rolled-up newspaper under her armpit. “Where’s your boss?”

  Gasper’s mouth dropped open. “Miss Malone, how can we help you?”

  She flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head. “Did I stutter? I need your boss.”

  “He’s…He’s not in right now,” Gasper said. “But I can help you.”

  “My story was supposed to be on the front page,” Mitsy said. She yanked the newspaper out from under arm and opened it. “Where is it?”

  Gasper pointed to a photo of Mitsy on the page. “Right there, Miss Malone.”

  “That’s the bottom page,” Mitsy said, exasperated.

  “No, it’s still the front page,” Gasper said. “It’s just at the bottom.”

  “I’m below the fold,” Mitsy cried. “This is unacceptable.”

  “I’m sure we can make it up to you,” Gasper said.

  Mitsy smacked the paper into his chest and he caught it. “See that you do.” She spun on her heel and marched out.

  “You interviewed her?” I asked.

  “Yes, it was amazing,” Gasper said. “She’s the most famous person I’ve ever met.”

  “Do you know how she became famous?” I asked.

  “Her YouTube channel,” Gasper said. “It’s about books.”

  “And this catapulted her to fame?”

  “You’d have to watch it to understand.”

  I doubted it. There was something going on with Mitsy Malone and it had nothing to do with her YouTube channel.

  “You should probably go move your car,” I said. Deputy Guthrie had probably ticketed him by now.

  “Right. My car.” Gasper dashed out of the lobby with his alleged bad knee. What a jerk.

  I continued into the office to find Clara. Her desk was right in the front. She was just applying a fresh coat of lipstick when I entered.

  “Hey, I was about to leave,” she said.

  “Before we go, can I see the paper?” I asked. “The one with Mitsy Malone.”

  “Sure.” Clara began to rummage around her desk.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Here. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  I turned to see Sassy Persimmons. “As long as it isn’t herpes.”

  She whacked me in the arm with the newspaper. “Here’s the article.”

  I scanned the front page, looking for clues to explain her mysterious rise to fame.

  “You’re a devoted fan, too?” Sassy asked. “I adore her. I was thinking of dying my hair red to look like hers.”

  “Me, too,” I lied. “What do you know about her? I want to know everything.”

  Clara gave me a funny look but knew me well enough not to question it.

  “Well,” Sassy said, “we have so much in common. We both love chocolate ice cream and turtleneck sweaters.” She gripped my arm excitedly. “Oh, and we both wished to be famous, like, every day since the day we were born.” She swung her blond hair over her shoulder. “My time will come. I just know it.”

  “You should start a YouTube channel,” I said. “About books.”

  “Oh, I could never compete with Mitsy,” Sassy said. “Her channel is golden.”

  “Are you ready to go for coffee?” Clara asked.

  Sassy glanced from Clara to me. “You’re going for coffee without me?”

  I gathered the courage to say a sentence I never thought I’d utter. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  “Awesome, let me grab my purse.” Sassy shot to her desk at the back of the office.

  Clara offered a grateful smile. “What’s with the interest in Mitsy?”

  “There’s something strange about her sudden fame,” I said. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

  Clara lowered her voice. “You think magic might be involved?”

  “It’s possible. This is Chipping Cheddar, after all.” I stopped talking when Sassy returned with her purse slung over her shoulder.

  “Let’s get caffeinated, ladies,” Sassy declared. She turned and bounced out of the office ahead of us.

  “I don’t think she needs caffeine,” I whispered.

  Clara smiled. “You get used to her.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I tucked the newspaper into my handbag and followed my former nemesis out the door.

  When I arrived home after coffee, the house was strangely quiet. I walked through the main rooms downstairs, but they were empty. Even the animals were out of sight.

  “Hello?” I called, but no one answered.

  I decided to try my mother’s bedroom. I turned the knob and poked my head in.

  “Mom?”

  My mother was kneeling on the floor opposite Grandma. She immediately grabbed a nearby blanket and threw it across the floor.

  My hands flew to my hips. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” my mother said quickly and rose to her feet.

  “You look like I just caught you smoking pot,” I said. “What are you up to?” The fact that Aunt Thora wasn’t involved suggested nothing good.

  Grandma deftly hopped to her feet in defiance of her eighty-odd years. “None of your business. You’re an agent out there, not in here.” She pointed to the floor.

  “I’m an agent everywhere.” I approached the blanket and yanked it off. I surveyed the ingredients on the floor—a frameless mirror, a few herbs, and candles. At least it didn’t seem to be dark magic. “What spell are you conjuring?”

  My mother folded her arms. “If you knew more about witchcraft, maybe you’d know without needing to ask.”

  “Seriously. Don’t embarrass yourself, Eden,” Grandma added.

  “I’m going to figure this out.” I took out my phone and snapped photos of the scene.

  “Go ahead, Agent Fury,” my mother smirked. “Give it your best investigative shot.”

  Ooh, now I was definitely going to get to the bottom of this. “You’d better hope it’s nothi
ng I’ll disapprove of.”

  “Of course it’s something you’ll disapprove of,” Grandma said. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t bother hiding it from you.”

  My mother elbowed Grandma. “It’s a spell to make sure that your brother’s renovations pick up speed.”

  “Yeah, we’re tired of sharing the house,” Grandma said.

  I eyed them both suspiciously. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “Because you don’t trust anybody,” Grandma said. “That’s one of your problems.”

  “One of my problems?” I echoed. “Of which I have many, apparently?”

  “That’s right. You think everyone falls short of your impossible standards,” Grandma said.

  “My standards are not impossible,” I said. “You just don’t like them.”

  “We’re just being true to our nature, unlike some people,” my mother said.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”

  “You’re young. There’s still time to turn that around,” Grandma said.

  I groaned. “You’d better watch what you’re doing. If I stumble upon something illegal, I won’t have a choice but to report it.”

  “So you’re a magic Nazi now?” Grandma asked. “We’re allowed to do magic.”

  My mother was aghast. “You would turn in members of your own family? The woman who gave birth to you?”

  “And the woman who gave birth to her?” Grandma pointed at my mother.

  “I take my job seriously,” I began.

  “That’s another one of your problems,” Grandma interrupted. “You take everything seriously. You’re as tight as Adele LeRoux’s skin after a facelift spell.”

  “Why are you in my room anyway?” my mother asked. “This is my private oasis.”

  “I need a grimoire and I can’t find the one I want,” I said.

  “Which one?” my mother asked. “I told you I use the internet.”

  “I want to look up spells that involve wishes,” I replied.

  My mother looked relieved. “Are you finally going to wish for clearer skin? I don’t blame you, sweetheart. I’m surprised you put up with it for this long.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my skin,” I said tersely. “I want to see what the spells involve.”

  My mother regarded me. “How badly do you want this?”

  Uh oh. “Why?”

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” she said.

  “I am not going out with Hugh Phelps. He only wants to marry a werewolf,” I said.

  My mother smiled. “Forget about Hugh. Show me your wings and I’ll get you the book.”

  I gasped. “You’re blackmailing your only daughter?”

  “It’s not blackmail,” Grandma said. “It’s a deal. You both get what you want.”

  I hesitated. “No tricks? I show you my wings and you’ll give me the grimoire?”

  “I’ll even let you keep it in the attic,” my mother said. “Tuck it under your pillow and maybe you’ll learn by osmosis.”

  “Fine.” I took a deep breath and willed my wings to appear. Large black feathers unfurled from my back.

  My mother’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “They’re gorgeous.”

  I peered over my shoulder to see them. “They’re hideous.”

  “They match your hair,” Grandma said. That was the closest thing to a compliment I’d get from her.

  “Can I put them away now?” I asked.

  My mother sighed contentedly. “If you must. I’ll get the book.” She went to her closet and reached for the top shelf, removing a large, leather-bound grimoire. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” I took the book and began to flip through it. “They really should include an index in a book this thick.”

  “It was written before an index was a thing,” my mother said. “But all the wish spells will be in the same section.”

  “Who wants tea?” Grandma asked.

  “You’re offering to make tea?” I asked.

  “No, but Thora makes it every day around now,” Grandma said. “I’m going to go put my order in.”

  Sure enough, we moved our party to the kitchen where Aunt Thora had just warmed the kettle. I sat at the table and continued to peruse the grimoire. I found the section I needed smack in the middle.

  “There are a lot of different wish spells,” I said.

  Aunt Thora filled the teapot with water and put the teabags inside. “You want to do a wish spell, dear? Did that carpenter’s winning the lottery inspire you?”

  “No, it’s this girl who’s suddenly become famous.” I stopped to look at her. “Winning the lottery is kind of a common wish, isn’t it?”

  “I would think so,” my great-aunt replied.

  “There’s enough tea for me, right?” Grandma asked.

  “There’s always enough for you, Esther,” Aunt Thora said.

  I rested my hand on my chin. “What are the odds that more than one person had a wish spell cast at the same time?” It was unlikely enough that a human discovered magic. It was even more unlikely that multiple humans did within a five-mile radius.

  “I bet it’s that Rosalie LeRoux,” Grandma said. “She likes to throw her magic around.”

  “She can’t do that,” I said. “These are humans with no knowledge of us.”

  “She acts like some kind of voodoo priestess who can get rid of curses,” Grandma said. “She rents a place over on Asiago Street now.”

  “That’s the same street as my office,” I said.

  “You’re next to Holes, aren’t you?” my mother asked. “Rosalie’s place is three blocks south. You can’t miss it. There’s a tacky crystal ball in the window.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Brings down the whole neighborhood.”

  “Yes, it really dulls the shine of that tattoo parlor and the dollar store,” I said. I glanced over the spells in the grimoire. “Do you really think she might be performing wish spells for people?”

  “Rosalie would do anything for the right price,” Grandma said. “I once saw her conjure a toupee for a guy in exchange for a taco.”

  Aunt Thora rolled her eyes. “Esther, that was his toupee that had blown into the street. Ernesto. He owns the taco truck by the promenade.”

  “Whatever,” Grandma said. “All I’m saying is the witch likes her greenbacks. She’s turned more tricks than a Vegas hooker.”

  I buried my face in my hands. “Nice analogy, Grandma.” I closed the book and slid back my chair.

  “No tea?” Aunt Thora asked.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “I’m going to see a voodoo priestess about a wish.” I glanced at Grandma as I passed by. “And I might just request a custom curse while I’m there.”

  “Go ahead,” Grandma said, raising her chin in defiance. “That’ll bring you one step closer to our side. I know how appealing that is to you.”

  I grabbed my handbag and headed to Asiago Street. Instead of one step closer to Team Dark and Demented, I needed to be one step closer to figuring out the cause of these fortunate events—and, if I got my wish, Rosalie LeRoux just might have the answers.

  Chapter Nine

  Rosalie’s place was easy to spot thanks to the crystal ball in the window. Unlike my mother, I didn’t find the display tacky. It was pure kitsch.

  A little bell jingled when I opened the door.

  “Twenty dollars,” Rosalie said, not bothering to look up from her phone. Two tight braids peeked out from the bottom of her headscarf and she wore a purple kaftan. She looked like a younger version of Adele.

  “Twenty dollars for what?” I asked.

  She glanced up from the phone. “Eden Fury? For you, it’ll be thirty.”

  I sat down across from her. “I think you swiped left twenty times since I walked in here. If you don’t swipe right occasionally, you’ll never meet anyone.”

  Rosalie set her phone facedown on the table. “I’m coming to the conclusion that meeting a man is a lost cause.”

  I snorted. “You
should hang out with my mother. She’s elevated it to an art form.”

  Rosalie leveled me with a look. “I think we both know that will never happen.”

  “I don’t know,” I said airily. “You both have a lot in common. No husbands. Over fifty. Overachieving daughters to moan about.”

  “Corinne is an accomplished witch,” Rosalie said, a note of pride slipping into her voice. “So what brings you to see me? I seriously doubt this is a social call.” Her eyes narrowed. “Your mother hasn’t sent you here to hex me, has she?”

  “Would I ever do my mother’s bidding?”

  Rosalie straightened. “I guess not. You always were more like a LeRoux than a Fury.” She smiled. “Something that no doubt rankled your family to no end.”

  I ignored her remark. “Do you know who Mitsy Malone is?” I asked.

  “Do I look like I’ve been living underground? Of course I do.”

  “Ever met her?”

  Rosalie scrutinized me. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering if she’s ever been in here to see you.”

  Rosalie pinned her penetrating gaze on me. “You’re here on FBM business, aren’t you?”

  She’d always been sharp—a LeRoux family trait. “I’m just asking a simple question about Mitsy Malone,” I said.

  “Why? You think I made her famous?” She threw her head back and cackled. “You think I’d waste my magic on something as frivolous as that?”

  “Get real, Rosalie,” I said. “I’ve seen you use magic to cut in line at the supermarket.”

  Rosalie blew a pouty breath. “If you really want to get into what’s petty, we can talk about your precious grandmother’s use of magic to cheat at bridge down at the senior center.”

  “Precious is not the word I’d use to describe Grandma,” I said. “But at least she doesn’t con unsuspecting humans out of money.”

  “I’m not conning anybody, sugar. It’s a simple case of supply and demand. Those who desire my services know where to find me. I’m word-of-mouth only.”

  “How can you run a business like this with your mother on the supernatural council?” I asked.

  Rosalie lifted a finely sculpted eyebrow. “There’s not a total ban on magic in this town, Eden Fury. I don’t flaunt it and I don’t cause anyone harm.”