Three Alarm Fury
Federal Bureau of Magic Cozy Mystery, Book 6
Annabel Chase
Red Palm Press LLC
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Also by Annabel Chase
Chapter One
I examined myself in the full-length mirror set against the wall of the attic. Black wings. Eternal flames in my eyes. Yoga pants. Okay, the yoga pants weren’t a new fury trait, but they seemed to show every sin from my butt to my ankles.
“Come on,” I said, twitching impatiently. “Where are you?”
“Right here.” Alice Wentworth popped up behind me and I jumped forward, nearly falling into the mirror.
“A little warning next time,” I said, and resumed my position.
“I’m so sorry, Eden. I thought you were asking where I was.”
I cast a glance at the ghost over my shoulder. “No. I’m hunting for my new fury trait. There has to be one after this last incident.”
“Incident?” Alice repeated. “You mean when you killed yourself on the Day of Darkness to save the town from a spore demon and your family resurrected you? That incident?”
“Yes, that incident.” I returned my attention to my reflection. “I guess there are some traits that aren’t physical. I can’t see my strength by looking in the mirror. Maybe it’ll be another enhanced ability.” Fingers and toes crossed.
Alice hovered beside me, gazing at my reflection. “Can a fury trait be a perkier bosom?”
I cupped my boobs. “You think they look perkier?”
The ghost scrutinized my chest. “Mmm. Maybe not.”
My arms dropped to my sides. “Fury traits are never attractive qualities. It’s not like I’ll get a rounder bottom or smaller feet.”
“Immortality is pretty attractive,” Alice countered. “Some people would kill for that.”
“But I get eternal flames for that one and not the kind The Bangles sing about,” I said. “Couldn’t my eyes just be a brighter color instead? Less flecks around the iris?”
“Eden…” Alice drifted away from me. If she was any whiter—well, she couldn’t be any whiter. She was already a ghost.
“What’s wrong?”
Alice pointed at my head and released a high-pitched squeal.
I glanced back at my reflection and there it was—or, more accurately, there they were.
Snakes.
I screamed.
Three of them were entwined in my hair. They twisted around long, dark strands, their forked tongues flicking in and out. One of them deposited a stream of venom right into my cleavage. Gross.
“Are they detachable?” Alice asked.
Now wasn’t the time to think practically. “Someone get these melon farming snakes off my melon farming head!” I yelled.
They hissed in response to my tirade.
“Go away!” I commanded. I was suddenly thirteen again and ordering my brother out of my room. When I looked back at my reflection, the snakes were gone. My body sagged with relief. “You saw them, right? I didn’t imagine them?” Though I wished I had.
“On the bright side,” Alice said, “Charlemagne will enjoy his new playmates.” Charlemagne was my niece’s Burmese python that lived full-time in my mother’s house. The enormous snake was more puppy than reptile though. He liked nothing better than to curl up beside you on the sofa with a toy that he could sink his fangs into. He was also a big fan of Cheez-Its. I discovered that the hard way when I left a bowl of them on the end table in the family room.
I stared at my head, now back to its normal inky black with a hint of frizz. “This is a disaster.”
Alice floated over to console me. “Never mind. A brush will fix that.”
“I’m not talking about this hair.” I groaned in exasperation. “I sacrifice myself for the town and this is my reward? Medusa hair?” Life was so unfair.
“Can yours turn people to stone?” Alice asked. “If not, I think you should request an upgrade.”
I glared at her. “The Federal Bureau of Magic would not look kindly upon their agent turning humans into stones.”
“No one will see them unless you choose to uncloak them,” Alice said. “Might be a nice ace in your pocket when someone steals your parking spot at Christmas.”
“Alice! I’m not using my fury powers to frighten humans for petty reasons.”
“You’re right. It’s a terrible suggestion, but I would find it entertaining. Being a ghost can be so boring sometimes.” She coasted across the floor to gaze out the window. One of her favorite spots.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It couldn’t be easy for her. The last Wentworth had owned this property decades ago and Alice had been left behind—in her apparitional form, of course. Now that I was immortal, I’d be ‘left behind’ someday too.
Alice looked at me. “There I go making this about me when it should be about you. I think I’ll make myself scarce. Go downtown to the library and see who’s reading in the ghost section.”
“Please don’t scare anyone.”
“A few books on the floor,” Alice said. “What harm can it do?”
I exhaled, resigned to let her have her fun.
By the time I dragged myself downstairs to the kitchen, my family was assembled around the table, enjoying fresh oatmeal with sliced bananas and cinnamon.
“What’s the matter with you?” my mother asked, the moment she laid eyes on me. The witch seemed to possess psychic abilities when it came to her only daughter. Then again, my entire family seemed to be immune to my poker face.
I took a seat next to Aunt Thora. “Got a little gift from the gods today. Ugliest bow you’ve ever seen.”
The witches stared at me expectantly as Princess Buttercup, my hellhound, came loping into the kitchen.
“Hang on. She needs to go out.” I scraped back my chair.
“Not until you tell us about your gift,” my mother said.
I stood. “I’ll tell you when I come back, unless you want her to pee on your favorite rug.”
My mother’s eyes flicked to the hellhound. “Her pee is acidic. Last time she had an accident it burned a hole straight through to the hardwood floor.”
“I rest my case.”
“You don’t need to go out with her,” Grandma said. “That’s what the fence is for. Open the door and let her out, then come back and tell us before I hex it out of you.”
Why had I opened my big mouth? I could’ve kept it a secret. Well, I could’ve tried. It wasn’t easy to keep a secret from my nosy family and I already had a more important one to keep.
“No need for hexes, Grandma.” I escorted Princess Buttercup to the back door. “No digging or jumping over the fence. Just come straight back and bark.”
The hellhound darted outside and I returned to the table.
My mother straightened, her eyes sparkling with the kind of enthusiasm she usually reserved for delivery men. “This is so exciting. I feel like I’ve won a prize.”
“That’s how you felt when you and Stanley realized you’d given birth to a fury, remember?” Grandma asked. She tipped back her head, enjoying the memory.
“We thought we’d won the supernatural lottery,” my mother confirmed. “Anton was wonderful, of course, but we knew he was a vengean
ce demon like Stanley. Then came our infernal bundle of joy.” She smiled at me in a rare moment of maternal adoration. “And then she grew old enough to speak and demonstrate free will.” Her adoring smile faded from her coral-stained lips.
“And she was forever a disappointment, yada yada,” I said. “I know the rest of the story.” I lived it every day in fact.
“Go on, show us,” my mother urged.
“Yeah, hurry up. It’s Little Critters community day,” Grandma said. “I need to go downtown for a few challenges.” Grandma had become obsessed with the game on her phone and was routinely upsetting every kid with a Little Critters account in Chipping Cheddar.
I rolled my neck and uncloaked my new trait. I heard the hiss of the snakes and shuddered. Charlemagne heard them, too, because he came slithering into the room in search of his new friends.
Grandma whistled. “That’s quite a unique look you’re adopting.”
“You’re hideous,” my mother breathed.
“Gee, thanks.” I cloaked the snakes and Charlemagne dropped his head back to the floor in disappointment.
“Furies were frightful creatures back in the day,” Aunt Thora said. “They weren’t beautiful but deadly like sirens and mermaids. They were simply ugly, birdlike goddesses that tortured men.”
“In other words, my soul sisters,” Grandma said.
“At least Eden is able to wear her human skin most of the time,” Aunt Thora added.
I cut a glance at my great-aunt. “When you say it like that, I sound like a serial killer.”
“Be grateful, dear. Your ancestors didn’t have the ability to cloak their appearance,” Aunt Thora said. “They had to endure it day in and day out.”
“They also spent their days pursuing the wicked around the world and exacting punishments,” I said. “A lot has changed.”
My mother gave me a pointed look. “Has it though?”
“If I were pursuing the wicked to punish them, this house would be empty,” I said.
“Can I see them again?” Grandma asked. “Let me take a photo with my phone for posterity. I want to use portrait mode and brighten the green of their scales.”
“So you can post it on social media?” I asked. “No thanks.”
“What?” Grandma asked. “Just last week, Ginny Featherstone posted a photo of her grandson. The kid had a forked tongue. Do you know how many likes it got?” She pointed to my head. “Snake hair will trump that kid’s forked tongue by at least a hundred likes.”
“You’re not memorializing my snake hair to ‘win’ on social media,” I insisted.
“And here I thought you were competitive,” Grandma grumbled.
“Not when it comes to that.” I started for the back door.
“Aren’t you going to eat the oatmeal?” Aunt Thora asked.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I said. “I’m going to find Princess Buttercup. She probably wandered over to Dad and Sally’s hoping for a treat.” Despite my protestations, my father spoiled the hellhound with food she shouldn’t eat.
“Oh, sure,” my mother muttered. “Go show off to your father and his emotional vampire.”
“Actual vampire,” I called over my shoulder. I shut the door behind me and whistled for Princess Buttercup. When she didn’t come running, I walked the five hundred yards across the property to my father’s house. My parents divorced when I was ten and, as part of the settlement, they split the land in half. My mother kept the original farmhouse that had once belonged to Alice’s family and my father built a new house on his lot. I’d spent a good portion of my childhood running back and forth between the houses and acting as an emissary between two adults who despised each other. It was no wonder I escaped Chipping Cheddar the moment I got the chance.
I banged once on the kitchen door of my father’s house before waltzing in. My father stood at the kitchen counter, about to give Princess Buttercup his Belgian waffle.
I folded my arms. “Are you seriously feeding my hellhound human food at the kitchen counter?”
“What? She loves it. Watch.” He tossed the waffle into the air and she snatched it into her powerful jaws like a shark latching onto a seal.
“I know she loves it,” I said. “That doesn’t mean she’s allowed to have it. No more.”
“You’re so restrictive,” my father complained. He turned to look at me. “Why are you wearing that shirt?”
I glanced down at my T-shirt that read—when life hands you lemons, make a gin and tonic. There was an image of fresh lemons next to a tall glass.
“What? Aunt Thora bought it for me. It’s cute.”
He turned his attention back to the other waffle on his plate. “Makes you look like an alcoholic. You don’t want to turn into your mother.”
I groaned. “Mom is a lot of things, but an alcoholic isn’t one of them.” Narcissistic. Evil. Oversexed. There was a definite list.
“Well, don’t wear it to work,” he said. “It’s unprofessional.”
“My office is comprised of Neville and me and it’s situated between a donut shop and a tattoo parlor,” I said. “The shirt is fine.”
Sally swept into the kitchen, slipping a pearl earring through her lobe. “I thought I heard you, Eden. What brings you here at this hour?”
“She was here to snatch a single moment of joy from Princess Buttercup,” my father said.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Speaking of ridiculous,” my father began, “Sally said she saw you filling up your car at the place on Mozzarella Street the other day. How much did you pay?”
“I don’t know,” I said, as casually as I could. I already knew that was the wrong answer.
My father narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t know? You’re so wealthy on that public servant salary that you can afford to play Russian roulette with gas prices?”
“It’s hardly roulette. There’s a certain range of reasonableness and I’m well within it.”
“How do you know if you don’t check?”
“Because no one is evacuating from a hurricane and Jimmy Carter isn’t president,” I said.
“Why didn’t you go to that place on Asiago? It’s two cents cheaper.”
“Because that’s in the opposite direction,” I said.
“But it’s two cents cheaper.”
“And I’ll spend that two cents driving out of my way to get the cheaper gas.”
“Stanley, give it a rest,” Sally said. “Not everyone obsesses about the price of gas.” She looked at me. “You know your father. He doesn’t want to be taken advantage of.”
I laughed at the thought of someone taking advantage of my family members. That was basically taking your life in your hands.
“I need to show you something,” I said. Now that I’d shown the other half of my family, I knew I had to reveal the latest trait to my dad and Sally or there’d be hell to pay. The rivalry was too great to ignore.
“An engagement ring?” Sally asked hopefully.
“Who would she be engaged to?” my father boomed. His voice was always ten decibels louder than it needed to be. “She’s not even dating anyone.”
“That’s right,” I said quickly. “Not dating at all. Much too busy.” I couldn’t possibly tell them that I was dating Chief Sawyer Fox. They’d never approve of a human and the chief would never approve of my ethically and morally bankrupt family.
“Well, you’re immortal now,” Sally said. “Plenty of time for dating.”
“I doubt anyone would be interested in dating me like this.” I uncloaked my head and the snakes wriggled on my head. One slid down to rest on my shoulder, peering back at their audience. With their open mouths and round eyes, my father and Sally were clearly stunned.
“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” my father said in a reverential tone.
“Mom called me hideous.”
“I’m sure she meant it lovingly,” Sally said, knowing perfectly well that Beatrice Fury
meant nothing lovingly ever.
“This is because you killed yourself?” my father asked.
“Use power, get ugly,” I said with a shrug. “That’s the fury way.”
Sally reached toward me. “Would you mind if I touched them? Their fangs are exquisite.” She showed her own set to the snakes and they quickly settled.
“They’re pumped full of venom,” I said. “One of them burned my boobs earlier.”
Sally stroked one of their heads. “Such divine creatures. You’re very lucky, Eden.”
“Yes, lucky,” I said in a small voice. I could only imagine Chief Fox waking up next to me when I’d accidentally uncloaked my traits. He’d leave a man-shaped hole in the door on the way out.
“Stop hunching over,” my father scolded me. “Stand up straight. By the devil, you have a crown of snakes. Wear them with pride.”
With pride? Inwardly, I sighed. Only my family.
“Come on, Buttercup,” I said. “Let’s go home.” I needed to head into town sooner rather than later.
The hellhound looked from me to the counter. She seemed reluctant to leave the waffles behind.
“No waffles,” I said. “They’re not good for you.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you want some,” my father said.
“They’re not good for you either, Stanley,” Sally said. “It’s not on your list of approved breakfast options.”
“I hate smoothies,” he bellowed. “The seeds get stuck in my teeth. I should reap vengeance on whoever invented seeds!”
Sally looked at me. “Yesterday he wanted to exact revenge on the creator of broccoli because it gave him gas.”
“I would think that’s a good thing,” I said. “Save yourself the trouble of driving all the way to Asiago Street to fill up.” With Princess Buttercup in tow, I hurried out the back door before Mount Stanley Fury could erupt.
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