Every Picture Tells A Fury (Federal Bureau of Magic Cozy Mystery Book 8)

by Annabel Chase

  “Do you need to answer that?”

  “No, it’s my mother.” I inclined my head toward the main house. “She’s only a couple hundred feet away. If it’s important, she’ll show up on my doorstep.” The thought jolted me into action. The last thing I wanted was my mother invading my personal space. The barn was meant to represent freedom from more than just my mother’s attic. I typed a quick text that I was occupied with the furniture delivery to keep her at bay. I had no doubt she’d been ogling the deliverymen from the window when they cut through the yard.

  “Your mother has wonderful taste as well, although it’s a bit different from yours,” Foster said.

  “You don’t have to be polite. I know her taste is more of the sacrificial circle variety.”

  “Nonsense. Beatrice has keen artistic sensibilities. Moyer as well. Must run in the family.” He winked.

  My phone started screeching again and I quickly silenced it. Apparently my text response wasn’t good enough for Beatrice Fury.

  “I’d like to see another throw pillow for this sofa,” he said. “Something in a teal, perhaps, to give it that pop of color.”

  “I’d vote for teal.”

  A metallic object swooped toward the barn and banged into the window.

  “What’s that?” Foster asked, alarmed.

  My eyes widened. “I think it’s a drone.” I walked over and tilted the glass so that the drone had enough room to enter.

  “I see you, Eden Joy Fury,” my mother’s voice said. “Your furniture has already been delivered. Now you get over here this instant.” The drone turned and zipped outside to return to the Death Star from whence it came.

  Foster gaped at me. “Perhaps you should have considered moving a little further than the backyard.”

  “I tried that once. Didn’t work.” I’d lived in San Francisco when I worked for the FBI. I would’ve stayed, had it not been for the unfortunate incident where I inadvertently siphoned vampire powers and bit my partner, Fergus. Thankfully, he lived; it was only my career that died.

  “I suppose I should be going now. I have no interest in incurring your mother’s wrath.” Wise man. He knew the evil my witch of a mother was capable of when pushed to her limit.

  I grabbed his shoulder in mock desperation. “Take me with you.”

  Foster smiled. “I have my own family to avoid, thank you very much. I’ll leave you to deal with yours.” He left the barn and I waited a few minutes before venturing to the house, just to bring my mother’s agitation to a fever pitch. It was childish, I realized, but hey, I was her child after all.

  My mother greeted me at the back door, which in itself was odd. She wore a slightly unhinged smile that suggested a problem.

  “What’s the emergency? Did you accidentally schedule two dates for the same day?”

  “That wouldn’t be an emergency, Eden, darling. That would be an opportunity. I can’t open the jar of pickles. I need a set of ugly man hands to do the job.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She continued to linger by the door. “Oh, and your cousin Helena is here.”

  Aha. Now I understood. Helena is Aunt Thora’s granddaughter, a temporal demon with a history of broken relationships and an empty bank account. Last I heard she was living in Denver. Although we spent time together as children, we didn’t keep in touch. Then again, I hadn’t been good about keeping in touch with anybody when I left Chipping Cheddar. I’d intended to distance myself physically and emotionally from anyone in the supernatural world, as well as from Tanner and Sassy.

  I followed my mother into the kitchen where Helena stood at the island with a glass of mud-colored liquid in her hand. Her auburn hair was styled in a pixie cut and both ears were lined with tiny hoops. Although she was only two years older than me, she looked closer to forty.

  “There she is, the golden child.” Helena clapped me on the shoulder. With a few exceptions, we weren’t big huggers in my family.

  “Oh, please. You’re not going to start with that, are you?” Helena had always been envious that I’d arguably won the genetic lottery. Furies were rare and dangerous and coveted among supernatural families and yet I’d still managed to disappoint mine by rejecting my identity.

  Helena smiled. “I couldn’t believe when I heard you were back in Chipping Cheddar. I thought we’d never see you again.”

  That was the plan. “Life’s funny that way. How are your parents? They’re still in Florida, right?”

  “Yep. Mom’s taking a pottery class and Dad’s doing archery. I don’t think it’s such a smart move to let someone with failing eyesight wield a bow and arrow, but what do I know?” She brought the glass to her lips and swilled the liquid.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Kombucha. I swear these humans are getting better and better at concocting potions.”

  “Looks like you’re drinking seaweed,” Grandma said from her place at the table. “I wouldn’t serve it to my worst enemy.”

  I cut a glance at her. “You’d serve a heart and liver on a platter to your worst enemy, so I’m pretty sure kombucha would make the menu.”

  Helena laughed. “Nothing’s changed here, I see.”

  My mother thrust a jar of pickles into my hands.

  “I thought the pickles were a ruse.” I twisted off the lid and handed the jar back to her.

  My mother gave Helena a knowing look. “See? Man hands.”

  “How long are you staying in town?” I asked.

  “Haven’t decided. I figured I’d spend a little quality time with the family until I decide next steps.”

  “In other words, she lost another job,” Grandma said.

  “Now Esther, you know the job market is challenging right now.” Aunt Thora shot her granddaughter a sympathetic look. “Your family should always be a soft place to fall.”

  More like a brick patio.

  “That’s right,” my mother said. “When Eden got fired, we welcomed her back here.”

  I bristled. “I didn’t get fired, Mom. I changed divisions.”

  My mother ignored me. “Helena’s going to take the guest room for now.”

  I balked. “Wait. Helena can have the guest room, but I had to sleep on a mattress in the attic?”

  Helena snorted. “Like I said, nothing’s changed here.”

  “Helena is a guest,” my mother said, as though that explained it.

  “I was a guest.”

  “No, you weren’t. You grew up here.” My mother opened the refrigerator and scoured the shelves. “We need to think about dinner now that we have a guest. How about honey-baked ham and sweet potatoes?”

  “Can’t. I’m doing keto,” Helena said.

  “I thought you were vegan,” Grandma said.

  “That was last year.”

  Aunt Thora nudged my mother out of the way. “I’ll take care of dinner, Beatrice. Helena is my granddaughter, after all.”

  “We haven’t even had lunch yet. Do we need to worry about dinner?” Grandma asked.

  “We do if it takes time to prepare,” Aunt Thora said.

  “You would know that if you ever bothered to cook,” my mother added.

  Grandma narrowed her eyes. “I’m an old woman, Beatrice. “I shouldn’t have to spend my remaining days taking care of everybody else. I’ve earned a rest.”

  “Aunt Thora cooks all the time,” I said.

  “Because she enjoys it,” Grandma shot back. “I’d rather drink kombucha for a month than cook dinner for one night.”

  My mother used a tiny fork to pull pickles out of the jar and place them on a platter. “This reminds me. I’m supposed to go out with Jay from the market tonight.”

  “Don’t stay home on my account,” Helena said. “I can keep myself occupied.”

  My mother contemplated the platter. “If I knew which one of these pickles was the most accurate, it might make my decision easier.”

  “If it’s the gherkin, I vote for s
taying home,” Helena said.

  My mother clicked her French tips on the island. “Eden, why don’t you make yourself invisible and fly over to the market for a peep?”

  Helena’s mouth formed an ‘o.’ “You can do that?”

  “I can, but I won’t,” I said and then added for good measure. “Ever.”

  “You would think she’d want to help us after we’ve supported her through all her ups and downs. That wretched cheating boyfriend. Her failure with the FBI.”

  My blood began to simmer. “I think you need to quit now before you say something you’ll regret.”

  My mother blew a raspberry. “Oh, Eden. You’re so sensitive.”

  I leveled her with a look. “Seriously. Keep it up and I will move far away the moment I give birth and you will never meet your grandchild.”

  Aunt Thora’s head snapped to attention. “You’re pregnant?”

  “No, it was a future threat,” I said.

  “Those aren’t as effective,” Grandma said. “You need a more immediate threat, like you’ll do a spell that makes her hair resistant to dye.”

  My mother waved a dismissive hand. “Grandma’s right. The likelihood of Eden having a baby is far too remote to inspire action. First of all, she’d need to be having sex in order to produce a child and we all know that isn’t happening.”

  “I opened your jar. Now I’m going home.” I huffed and turned to leave.

  “I’d love to see what you’ve done with the barn,” Helena said. “Want to give me a tour?”

  “Sure.”

  My mother gave a squeak of indignation. “Oh, fine. Helena gets a tour but the rest of us have to peer in through the windows like Peeping Toms.”

  “You know you don’t actually have to do that,” I said. I opened the door and called for Princess Buttercup. The hellhound charged through the open doorway, nearly knocking Helena over in the process.

  Helena laughed and steadied herself. “That’s some dog.” She closed the door behind us and we crossed the yard together. “What’s his name? Or maybe hers?”

  I feigned innocence. “Princess Buttercup?”

  “Okay, play it cool, but I know you’re involved with someone. I sensed it the moment you mentioned a child.”

  I cut her a sideways glance. “You’re psychic now?”

  “We temporal demons have a sixth sense. Don’t you remember the time I found your missing doll? The one that smelled like chemical blueberries?”

  “Blueberry Poppet. And you only found her because you’re the one that took her.”

  Helena threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, yeah. Forgot that minor detail.”

  “You were going to add her to your cauldron for a spell that you said you copied from your grandmother.” The image of Helena poised beside her child-sized cauldron with Blueberry Poppet hanging from a rope over the bubbling liquid was forever seared in my mind.

  “And you saved her.” She patted my back. “Typical Eden. Already playing the role of hero.”

  I unlocked the barn door and pushed it aside. “Home sweet home.”

  “You lock your door?”

  I looked at her askance. “Have you met my family?”

  “It’s not like they can’t get in without a key if they really want to.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  My cousin stopped to admire the high ceilings of the barn. “Wow. Who knew the place where pigs once congregated could look like a showroom?”

  “Thanks, I think.” I showed off the living area before sauntering into the kitchen. I still loved everything about this space and was determined to do it justice by learning how to actually cook.

  Helena’s fingertips skimmed the top of the gleaming countertop. “I’m insanely envious right now.”

  I extended my arms in a V. “Then let me remind you. Dad to the right and Mom to the left.”

  Helena contemplated this additional information. “Fair point. How’s that going anyway? Your dad’s still with Sally, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Those two are together for eternity. A match made in Otherworld.” Which is the demon dimension where Stanley Fury, the vengeance demon, met Sally, the glamorous vampire.

  “Your dad doesn’t meddle the way the witches do though.”

  “No. He has his own special way of annoying me.”

  “I’d like to see Olivia and Ryan while I’m here. I’ve met her, but he wasn’t born yet the last time I visited.”

  “I have no doubt my mother will be planning a family dinner. Always a joy ride.” I forced a smile. “Want to see upstairs? The shower is my favorite part.”

  “Is this how you lure unlucky sailors to their doom?”

  I groaned. “Don’t start. I get enough harassment from everybody else. Stay on my good side. There’s more vacancy there.”

  As we climbed the stairs to my room, she pointed to the blank wall. “You need a painting there. Or maybe a set of giant horns. I know a guy.”

  “A guy who can get me a set of giant horns? No thanks.” We entered the master bedroom and I waved a hand. “This is where no magic of any kind is happening.”

  She dropped onto the edge of my bed and bounced. “I doubt that. You must be using some of your powers now that you’re with the FBM.”

  “Only when absolutely necessary. Otherwise, I still try to avoid using them, unless it’s for training purposes.”

  “Can I see your cool new look?”

  I hesitated. “I assume you mean my fury traits?”

  “Well, I wasn’t talking about your acid wash jeans.”

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “I don’t feel like going full fury right now, Helena.”

  She rose to her feet and began examining the items on my dresser. “Why not?”

  “Why not? Because I’m the same Eden you remember from childhood, Helena, only taller and with slightly bigger boobs.”

  “Come on,” she urged. “Just one freaky trait. The wings. Pretty please.” She batted her thick eyelashes.

  “Fine, if only to shut you up.”

  I inhaled deeply and unfurled a set of enormous black wings as I exhaled.

  Helena gulped. “Wow. Even the wings I wore for Halloween didn’t look that good.”

  “Hard to compete with natural ones.”

  She reached out to touch the feathers. “How often do you fly?”

  “As little as possible.”

  “Sweet Hecate, fury traits are wasted on you.”

  “I wholeheartedly agree.” I returned to my normal human look.

  “Now that I’ve seen your sexy wings, you might as well share a little more. Who’s the guy?”

  I smiled. “Nice try.”

  “Come on, Eden. Spill it. You can’t tell me you’ve been spending night after night in the attic since you’ve been home.”

  I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Ooh, you just reminded me of something.” I typed in ‘art gallery’ and ‘Nari’ to find the schedule for the monthly event. “Tonight? Are you serious?”

  Helena perked up. “What’s tonight? More importantly, does it involve booze?”

  I glanced up at her. “Booze and art, as a matter of fact.”

  My cousin’s bright pink lips curved into a smile. “Awesome. Can I borrow a dress?”

  Chapter Three

  Helena and I walked along the sidewalk to the art gallery, which my internet search revealed was called simply Nari’s.

  “Which walk do you think I should enter with if I want to make an impression?” Helena asked. She demonstrated a strut, a saunter, and a hip shake.

  “Depends on the impression you’re trying to make. If you want to draw the attention of a physical therapist or a yoga instructor, I’d go with the hip shake. It makes your hip flexors look tight.”

  Helena glared at me over her shoulder as she yanked open the door to the gallery and the sound of pop music poured out of the building. When Foster had mentioned wine and cheese, I’d assumed it would be a stodgy affair, b
ut this seemed more like a party with paintings.

  The energy in the gallery was as upbeat as the music. Dozens of people were clustered around the room. Some were chatting amongst themselves while others were admiring the artwork on the walls. I spotted Chief Fox in the mix and my heart jumped. I’d warned him in advance that my cousin would be with me and to keep the conversation above board. As much as I loved Helena, she’d throw me under the broomstick in a heartbeat if it meant saving her own skin. She was family, after all.

  “I’m going to hit up the bar and mingle,” Helena said. “Want anything?”

  “Not yet, thanks. I’m going to stay here.”

  “Find me if you get bored.” She made a beeline for a small group closest to the bar.

  Chief Fox broke into a broad smile when he realized I’d been abandoned and I casually made my way over to him.

  “Your hand looks lonely,” he said, and passed over a glass of red wine.

  “You know me too well.” I brought the glass to my lips and sipped.

  “Nari sure likes cheese,” he said. “I’ve never seen so many options outside of the cheese festival or a shop.”

  “This is Chipping Cheddar. We bleed cheese the way Eagles’ fans bleed green.” I scanned the gallery for the cheese trays and spotted at least three servers circulating the room. “There’s a waiter heading straight for us, so if we don’t move, we’re right in his trajectory.”

  “What do you think of this painting behind us?” the chief asked.

  I turned to examine it more closely. “For my wall?”

  “Sure. Why not? It’s got the colors you like, plus you’d be supporting a local business.”

  He was right. The painting was beautiful and the colors were exactly right for the barn. “You never cease to amaze me, Sawyer Fox.”

  “What? Just because I grew up near cornfields doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art that isn’t a homemade wreath.”

  “I like homemade wreaths too, but not for a statement wall.”

  He leaned over and whispered, “Just out of curiosity, are those meant to be actual owls or owl shifters?”

  I laughed. “I’m pretty sure they’re just owls.”