“It’s what didn’t happen,” my mother said. She tossed her purse onto the coffee table and it skidded across to rest on the edge.
Personally, I was relieved that something didn’t happen, whatever that something was.
“Care to elaborate?” Grandma asked.
“I simply can’t talk about it.” My mother flopped dramatically on the sofa in a way that suggested we would not be able to leave this space without talking about it.
“I vote for waterboarding,” Grandma said. “That’ll speed things up.”
“Shall I make tea?” Aunt Thora asked. “Or hot water with lemon?”
“And honey,” my mother added. “And a teensy bit of gin.” She held her finger and thumb an inch apart.
Aunt Thora dutifully headed to the stovetop to heat the kettle.
“What happened?” Grandma pressed. I noticed that she kept her eyes locked on the screen.
“I had my date with Fernando tonight, that lovely man from the bakery.” She leaned against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. “He’s absolutely dreamy. His legs are like walking around on two oak trees. You can only imagine what’s between them.”
“A twig and berries?” Grandma suggested.
“Hardly.” My mother cleared her throat, trying to pull herself together. “We went back to his place. Such a tidy little house. I was very impressed. He had these sweet curtains over the window in the kitchen…”
Aunt Thora delivered a steaming mug to the end table. “I don’t think anyone’s interested in the curtains, dear.”
“No, I guess not.” My mother sat up and opened her eyes. “Well, the long and the short of it is that I couldn’t enjoy either the long or the short of it. Believe me, I tried every which way.”
I cringed. “Am I necessary for this conversation?”
“If I have to suffer, then so do you,” Grandma said. “What was the problem? Too much alcohol with dinner?”
“The problem wasn’t him.” My mother shuddered. “The problem was me.” She lifted the mug to her lips and took a careful sip. “That never, ever happens. I mean never.” She looked at me. “You can ask your father.”
I pressed my lips together. “I’d rather not, thanks.”
“Fernando is gorgeous.” My mother grew dewy-eyed just talking about him. “Such a powerful body. And those hands are made for kneading dough. Just think about what they’re capable of on a woman’s body.”
“Okay, we get it,” Grandma said. “What are we supposed to do about it?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” my mother said. “What if this is the end?”
“You’re not going to die without sex,” I said. I knew that for a fact.
“I might,” she shot back. “This might signal the end of my fertility.”
“You passed fertility about a decade ago,” Grandma said. “Your sex drive is another story. That shouldn’t be giving you any grief. It’s not like you’re out of practice.”
“Certainly not,” my mother said. “Anyway, I was so embarrassed that I left Fernando in a hurry. I even left my underpants behind.”
“I’m surprised you bothered to wear any in the first place,” Grandma said.
“I bought a new matching set on Saturday. Aunt Thora was with me.”
I scrunched my nose. “You went shopping with her for sex clothes?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Aunt Thora admitted. “We went into town for the market and ended up passing one of the bars with the nice outdoor patio.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
“It was teeming with older gentlemen,” Aunt Thora said.
“Exactly,” my mother chimed in. “It reminded me that I needed new underpants for my date, so we went to that wonderful boutique off Pimento Plaza.”
“I bought a bra that no one will see,” Aunt Thora said. “It’s pretty though. You can bury me in that one. Makes my boobs look good when I’m lying down.”
My mother stared absently into her mug. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t enjoy sex anymore.” She glanced at Aunt Thora. “What would you do if you couldn’t enjoy lemons anymore?”
My great-aunt contemplated the question. “Grow peaches instead? I mean, it wouldn’t be the same, but I guess I could try.”
“There’s your answer, Beatrice,” Grandma said. “You can become a lesbian.”
“You don’t just become a lesbian,” I said.
“Speak to Moyer,” Grandma said. “He’ll advise you.”
“Uncle Moyer is not a lesbian,” I said tersely. “Nor is he their appointed representative.”
“Well, who is?” my mother asked in earnest. “I should probably arrange a meeting now, just in case.”
I swallowed a cry of frustration. “Mom, maybe you weren’t as into Fernando as you think. Or maybe it was an off night. Everybody has an off night on occasion. Don’t rush to judgment.”
My mother played with her earring. “You’re right. I should give him another try before I make any rash decisions.” She whipped out her phone. “I’m going to text him right now and arrange to collect my underpants.” She smiled as she began tapping the screen and nausea rolled over me. I didn’t want to imagine my mother sexting Fernando, or anyone else for that matter.
“I thought of something else,” Grandma said.
“For what?” my mother asked, still typing.
“My funeral,” Grandma said.
My mother and I exchanged glances. “You really have suggestions?” my mother asked.
“I want to choose the music,” Grandma said. “I’d like to start with Rebel Yell by Billy Idol and end with a real blood pumper like Immigrant Song.”
I balked. “You want us to play Led Zeppelin at your funeral?”
Grandma waved a hand. “Sure. Why not?”
I drank more of my water, but not too much or I’d have to get up for a refill. I didn’t want Aunt Thora to take another opportunity to cheat.
“Whatever you do for my funeral, please don’t talk about my fury traits,” I said. “It’s bad enough I have to live with them. I don’t want them to be my defining characteristics in death too.”
My mother focused on me. “You don’t appreciate what you have. If it weren’t for those fury traits of yours, you wouldn’t be the agent you are. You’re looking in that glass and seeing it half empty when everyone else sees it as half full.”
“You think my achievements are the result of being a fury?” That was downright insulting. I’d worked hard to get to this point. Well, not this point. I’d worked hard to become an FBI agent. The FBM was basically the consolation prize.
“Your strength, your stamina, your immortality,” my mother said. “You can even fly if you want to, although I know you think those wings are undignified.”
“Invisible snakes now live on my head,” I said. “If you think that somehow makes me better at my job, you don’t really understand what I do.”
Grandma got up from the sofa and wandered into the kitchen. “Let me tell you a little story.” She retrieved a small shot glass from the cabinet and set it on the table next to mine. “Once upon a time there was a girl who viewed the world through black and white glasses.” Grandma dumped the water from my glass into the shot glass. “There, your cup runneth over. Problem solved. Now stop complaining and go do whatever it is you actually do.”
I stared at the full glass of water for a long beat. Finally I picked it up and drained the glass dry. “I’m going to bed, which is what I wanted to do over an hour ago.” I slammed the empty glass back on the table and retreated to the attic without another word.
The next morning, I took Princess Buttercup on a walk through the neighborhood and then circled back to the house to check on John’s progress with the barn. John Maclaren was a carpenter my parents had hired to renovate the barn on the border between their properties so that I had my own place to live. Watching work on the barn was like watching for the kettle to boil. John
never seemed to be working fast enough. Granted, his work had been hampered by supernatural forces along the way, but still. I was starting to feel desperate for my own space. It wasn’t lost on me that the sooner I moved into the barn, the sooner Chief Fox could visit me without fear of running into my mother on the attic steps.
“How’s it going, John?” I asked, as I entered the shell of the barn.
The carpenter stood in the middle staring at the ceiling. “Not very well.”
“What’s the problem now?”
John dropped his gaze to me. “I feel like I’ve lost my vision of what this place can be.”
“That’s why you have plans,” I said. “You can refer to them and remember.”
“I don’t know,” he said, somewhat listless. “I’m not sure they speak to me anymore.”
“Of course they don’t speak to you. They’re on paper,” I said.
“But this is an art form,” he argued. “It’s not like one of those HGTV shows. This barn has history and deserves to have the right vision executed. I’m going to ruin it if I’m not careful.”
“You’re never going to finish it if you’re not careful,” I said.
John scratched his head. “I know I can shape this into something amazing. I just need to refocus. Maybe I should go back to meditation.” He pulled out his phone. “There’s an app I can use to get into the right headspace.”
“I don’t care what it takes,” I said. My impatience was on full display now and I felt a little guilty about it. John was a nice guy.
“I haven’t felt this lost since before I decided to become a carpenter,” he said.
“What about when you won the lottery?” I asked. “You seemed pretty lost then, too.”
“No, this is worse.” He sat on a wooden beam that should have been affixed to the ceiling weeks ago. “I think I’ll dip into my watercolors and see if that inspires me.”
“Do what you have to do, John.” I left the barn and whistled for Princess Buttercup before my temper got the better of me.
I let the hellhound into the house and snuck upstairs to change before anyone spotted me. Chief Fox and I had arranged to meet at the portal and I didn’t want to be late. He was interested in seeing its location so that he could also monitor the area for strange activity. I knew Neville would freak out that I shared confidential information, but I decided it was in the town’s best interest to have multiple sets of eyes watching for trouble. The chief patrolled the park most days, so it made sense to tell him the truth about ‘the mound.’
“So this is the portal?” Chief Fox asked. He stood in front of the sealed entrance and examined it. “Doesn’t look like a barrier between us and an entire supernatural world.”
“I wouldn’t recommend kicking it,” I said. “Those rocks are pretty hard. You might break a toe.”
“And we’re here because a priest doesn’t want to be a priest anymore?”
“It’s not that simple,” I said. “Father Kevin is acting out of character and so is Paul Masterson.”
“And that means there might be demonic leakage from the portal?”
I scrunched my nose. “That sounds gross.”
He chuckled. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“I do a daily check on the portal regardless of what’s going on and log the results for the FBM,” I explained. “When there’s a potential issue like this one, I’ll take a closer look and make sure no energy’s getting through.”
“Has energy ever gotten through before?”
“No, but just because a portal has been dormant for centuries doesn’t mean it will stay that way,” I said. “It pays to be vigilant.” Because the price for not being vigilant would be catastrophic.
“I don’t think Paul Masterson is the only one who’s paranoid,” he teased.
I popped a hand on my hip. “Do you want to learn or not?”
“Teach me your ways, Master Jedi.” He placed his palms together and bowed.
“Trust me, if this force busts open at the seams, you’ll wish it was someone as adorable as Darth Vader.”
His smile dissolved. “But you said guns don’t work on your Otherworld folks, so what else could I do?”
“You’d report it to me,” I said. “And then you’d get yourself somewhere safe. The FBM would take care of it.”
“What about the vortex? Should I be able to feel the energy there if it’s that powerful?”
“I don’t think you would,” I said. “You’re not tuned to it. If you did feel something, you wouldn’t recognize it for what it was. Humans aren’t designed that way.”
The chief surveyed the space. “I can’t believe this place is basically hidden in plain sight of the whole town.”
“It’s not just the portal,” I said. “All supernaturals are basically hidden in plain sight.”
The chief sauntered around the interior of the mound, tapping on the rocky walls and pressing his ear to one of the larger boulders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I just want to see if I can hear anything happening in Otherworld.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello from the other side!”
I shook my head. “You’re not going to burst into an Adele song, are you?”
He turned to face me, his expression serious. “If I did, would you dance with me?” Before I could react, his arm was around my waist and he pulled me taut against his body. His hand slid into mine. “How about it, Agent Fury? Do you dance?”
“I don’t really get the chance.” It felt strangely intimate to be in his arms in the privacy of the hillside. No one could see us. Most residents didn’t know this place existed.
“You look deep in thought,” the chief remarked. “I didn’t expect my question to provoke such a look of consternation.”
“Is that what I have right now?” I asked.
He touched the spot between my eyebrows. “Yep. Right there. Deep thinking happening.”
I was acutely aware of the proximity of our bodies. Of his sea-colored eyes burning into mine. The intensity of his gaze told me exactly what he was thinking. I smiled. “Kissing is the same as dancing, right? The tongue tango?”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t object to giving my tongue a little exercise. It gets tired of the same routine day in and day out.”
I laughed and pulled away slightly. “What kind of routine is that?”
“Eating, of course. What did you think, pervert?”
Instead of kissing him, I rested my head on his shoulder and let him sway me in a slow circle. He started to hum the melody to Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra.
“If any demons are watching from the other side, I guess they’ll think this is odd,” he said. “That a human is dancing with a fury.”
“They’ll assume it’s a mating ritual that ends with one of us getting our head bitten off.”
“Sexy and dangerous, my favorite combination.”
“That explains a lot.” My hands slipped from around his neck to rest on his chest. “We should probably go.”
He lifted one of my hands and kissed it. “How about we finish the song first? It’s an oldie but goodie.”
“As long as you don’t need me to sing.”
“Nope. Just rest your weary head here and I’ll do the rest.”
I snuggled against him, enjoying the way his chest vibrated as he hummed. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe Grandma was right. Maybe my cup runneth over after all.
Chapter Eight
By the time I arrived in the small room at the back of Chophouse, my cousin Rafael’s restaurant, for the supernatural council meeting, I was still humming Fly Me to the Moon. Earlier, Neville had heard me humming it in the office and bombarded me with more Frank Sinatra facts than one wizard had any right to know.
Aggie Grace greeted me with a warm smile. As one of my neighbors on Munster Close, I’d known Aggie and her sisters my whole life but not in a professional capacity until my return to town. Once I’d assumed Pa
ul Pidcock’s role as the local FBM agent, I’d also assumed his position on the council. The members kept tabs on the supernatural community-at-large and discussed any pressing issues, like the fairies’ petition to keep drones on the ground. Apparently, more than one fairy had collided in midair with a human’s Christmas or birthday present and the fairies had banded together to request a ban.
“Evenin’, Eden.” Husbourne Crawley played with a toothpick in his mouth. He wore one of his signature pale linen suits. His complementary hat rested on the back of the chair. Although I knew he was a wizard, in my mind he would always be Foghorn Leghorn. Husbourne was another neighbor on Munster Close, and I’d spent years of adolescence picturing the rooster from the cartoons whenever I passed him on the street.
“Good to see you,” I said, taking a seat next to him at the round table. “Your garden is thriving. That crape myrtle is gorgeous.”
“Surprised you noticed,” he drawled. “If I recall correctly, nature isn’t really your thing.”
My cheeks flamed. “Okay, maybe I didn’t. Aunt Thora mentioned it when we went for a drive and I seconded her opinion.”
“Never you mind,” said Aggie. “It was sweet of you to pay him the compliment.”
Adele LeRoux looked effortlessly chic in a beautiful silk headscarf and a crisp white blouse. The witch leaned forward to examine me. “Are you wearing earrings, Eden?”
My fingers brushed against the silver hoop. “My ears have been pierced since high school. I figured I should wear them more often so the holes don’t close up.” And maybe because Chief Fox mentioned in passing that he liked them.
Adele continued to observe me for an extended moment, as though she sensed the sudden appearance of earrings was significant. As my grandmother’s witchy rival, Adele would love to know information about me that my own family didn’t. Like Grandma, Adele was the powerful matriarch of her magical family, except her coven hailed from Louisiana and they were among the first black families in Chipping Cheddar.
“Shame about Corinne and Chief Fox,” Adele said idly. “I thought they made a fine couple.”
I swallowed hard. Had Corinne told her grandmother the reason she broke up with the chief? “These things happen,” I said, noncommittal.
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