Three Alarm Fury

by Annabel Chase

  I adjusted the hem of my top. “Of course I do.”

  Olivia scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure I would wear those shoes. They make your feet look big.”

  “My feet are big,” I said.

  Her blue eyes rounded. “Will my feet be that big when I grow up?”

  “Hard to tell at this point,” I said. “Your mom has petite feet, so maybe you’ll take after her.” Which I refused to resent because Verity couldn’t help her perfect, dainty feet any more than I could help my clodhoppers.

  “Great Nyx, I hope so,” she breathed and disappeared down the steps.

  I turned back to Alice. “You might want to go haunt the town for a couple of hours. Dinner is likely to make your head hurt even worse.”

  “You can’t be serious, dear. I told you I’m looking for entertainment and you’re about to endure a family dinner. I’ll see you downstairs.” She winked and then dissipated.

  I descended the steps, humming Fly Me to the Moon again, and immediately ran into Tomas, Uncle Moyer’s husband, as he returned from the bathroom. With his golden hair and laidback appeal, the angel-human hybrid was like a supernatural surfer.

  “Eden, you darling fury.” He greeted me with a kiss on each cheek. “I was hoping you’d be joining us this evening.”

  “How could I miss it?” Especially when my mother had threatened to hex me with a cold sore on my lip if I didn’t show.

  Everyone was standing around the island in the kitchen, nibbling on raw vegetables that I had no doubt Verity was responsible for. A veggie tray was far too wholesome for my mother.

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” my mother was saying. “If I have a clear vision of how I’d like my funeral to go, why not carry out my wishes?”

  Anton bristled. “I am not hiring strippers to perform at your funeral.”

  “Why ever not?” my mother asked. “You said it yourself—it’s my funeral.”

  “And you will be dead, therefore, not in a position to enjoy the gyrating gentlemen you’ve requested,” Anton said, rather reasonably.

  Olivia tugged on her father’s hand. “What’s a stripper?”

  “Later.” Anton handed her a carrot stick and patted her on the head.

  Verity bit a slice of red pepper in half. “I’d like my family and close friends to say a few kind words and then go back into the world feeling better for having known me.”

  My mother smiled. “Yes, that sounds every bit as boring as I imagined your funeral would be.”

  “I’ve decided I want a Viking funeral,” Grandma announced. She set her phone on the island. “I still want the same playlist. Be sure to blast Immigrant Song for the finale.”

  Anton nodded. “No problem. We can do that from the marina.”

  “No problem?” I elbowed my brother in the ribs. “We cannot set Grandma on fire and push her out into the Chesapeake with heavy metal music blaring. We’d get arrested.”

  “Why?” he asked. “She’d already be dead, plus it’s a good song.”

  “Thank you,” Grandma said. “I figured it would liven things up. Block the sounds of your mother’s wailing cries.”

  Aunt Thora removed a pan from the oven. “I would like to be cremated after my service and my ashes spread under a lemon tree in the yard.”

  “I don’t know,” my mother said, thinking. “Ashes might negatively impact the flavor.”

  Uncle Moyer took a sip of wine. “I’ve been privy to a good many funeral parties in my line of work. More than a few clients throw a party before they go, so they can enjoy it. When you know you’ve already sold your soul, you tend to spare no expense.”

  My mother clapped her hands together. “That’s a wonderful idea, Moyer. I should throw myself a party.”

  “You do that most weekends and the occasional Wednesday,” Grandma said.

  I felt something brush against my shoe and looked down to see Charlemagne slither past me. A shrimp had fallen on the floor and the python was heading straight for it. Unfortunately, Candy must’ve also spotted the shrimp and leaped down from the windowsill with a proprietary hiss. They reached the shrimp at the same time. Charlemagne stabbed one end with a fang and Candy bit down on the other end. Both refused to acquiesce and they each pulled, trying to force their opponent to let go. The black cat’s tail swished in anger and frustration as she struggled to claim the whole shrimp. Finally, the shrimp snapped in half and the animals went flying backward. Candy slid into the kitchen cabinet next to the stove and hissed once she’d gobbled down the half a shrimp. Charlemagne, however, was longer and more unwieldy. The python’s body was like a rubber band, snapping ankles as it shot backward. He made it as far as the coffee table, bouncing off and landing on the floor with a thud.

  From a distant corner of the room, Alice laughed merrily. “I adore slapstick!”

  I ignored the commotion and tried to focus on the conversation.

  “What kind of funeral do I want?” Olivia asked. She looked at her mother with the kind of solemn, thoughtful expression that only young children seemed capable of, where the fate of the world rested on the answer to this single question.

  “It’s really not an appropriate conversation for children,” Verity said. She sat at the table with Ryan while he shoveled handfuls of sliced grapes into his mouth.

  “How is it not appropriate?” Grandma asked. “Death is an inevitable part of life. The yin to the yang. It’s not helpful to pretend otherwise.”

  Olivia’s lower lip began to tremble. “I don’t want to die.”

  My mother bent over to comfort her. “There, there, sweetheart. Only Aunt Eden is lucky enough not to die in this family. Not permanently, anyway. On the downside, that means there will be no one left to host a funeral for her.”

  The reality of the statement slammed into me. Hard.

  “Eden, are you well?” Although I heard Tomas’s voice, he sounded far away.

  “I think she’s in shock,” Verity said. Their voices continued, sounding as they were in a tunnel.

  “Quick, someone fetch me a glass of lemonade,” Aunt Thora urged.

  “Quick, someone slap her,” Grandma said.

  A hand cracked against my cheek, jolting me back to the moment.

  “Eden?” Aunt Thora thrust a cold glass into my hand. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

  My mother flexed her hand. “I don’t know about her, but I already feel better.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know what happened,” I said.

  “I do,” Tomas said, eyeing me sympathetically. “You fully grasped the repercussions of immortality.”

  I blinked rapidly. “I’d rather not think about it right now. Is dinner ready? I’m starving.”

  I made it through the main course by focusing on what I could control—the rate at which I chewed. How much I drank. I strained to listen to the sound that was farthest away, a trick I’d learned from Fergus during our FBI stakeouts. Tonight it was cicadas and, briefly, the rumble of a distant airplane. The noise was both calming and distracting. Maybe John wasn’t wrong about his devotion to meditation.

  I didn’t want to think about immortality. I mean, I already knew I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of my fury traits, no matter how desirable some of them were. I couldn’t imagine who would covet my crown of snakes, though I had no doubt there was someone in the world that would.

  As an immortal, every relationship I had would be temporary. Granted, that was true for everyone to a lesser degree, but for me—it was much worse. How could I dare to give my heart to Chief Fox when I might live dozens—even hundreds—of lifetimes after him? It was too much to contemplate.

  Olivia leaned over and whispered, “Aunt Eden, you look sad.”

  “That’s just her face,” my mother interjected. “You’ll get used to it, though it’s nothing a little Botox and filler can’t fix.”

  “Moyer can give you a referral,” Aunt Thora said. “He goes every three months for Botox. Made a deal with a plastic su
rgeon.”

  “Mother!” Uncle Moyer gasped. “That’s private information.”

  “I knew,” Tomas said. “And you look incredible, by the way. No judgment.”

  Uncle Moyer planted a quick kiss on his husband’s lips. “I’m sorry. I should have told you, but I was embarrassed. You’re so effortlessly youthful and attractive.”

  “See? It all worked out,” Aunt Thora said.

  The doorbell rang and Princess Buttercup bolted for the front door, barking incessantly. I hadn’t even realized she was downstairs until that moment.

  Aunt Thora followed the hellhound to the door. She returned a minute later, her face pale and her body stiff. I didn’t understand the issue until I saw the three women behind her.

  “LeRoux,” Grandma hissed. Candy joined her from the windowsill.

  “We’re not here to cause trouble, Esther,” Adele said. “I apologize for interrupting your family time, but we have a situation.”

  She didn’t need to say more for me to know that Rosalie was ‘the situation.’ The witch seemed off kilter, even for Rosalie. Her eyes couldn’t seem to focus and she was muttering to herself.

  “Colors,” Rosalie murmured. “So many colors in one room. So bright.”

  Grandma rose to her feet. “I don’t see how we can help.”

  “I’m not here for your help,” Adele said. “I’m here for hers.” She looked at Verity. “Your neighbor said you might be here.”

  Verity set down her fork. “Of course.” Her gaze swept the room. “We need privacy.”

  “The attic,” I said. “Bring her to my room.” The space was untidy with clothes on the floor and the sheets in a bunch at the bottom of the mattress, but I doubted the witches would care about that right now.

  I hurried ahead of them to lead the way. Adele and Corinne accompanied Rosalie, and Verity brought up the rear.

  “No one else,” I heard Verity say firmly. Good for her. The druid could be forceful when she had to be, which wasn’t surprising. No way would my brother have married a weakling. He was too accustomed to strong women.

  The witches sat Rosalie on my mattress.

  “You don’t even have a bed?” Corinne asked me.

  “It’s only temporary,” I replied. “When I move into the barn, I’ll get a real bed.”

  Her expression suggested that this was unacceptable, even temporarily, but whatever. It wasn’t as though I’d expected to end up here.

  “How can I help?” Verity asked.

  “My daughter has been acting strangely,” Adele said. “In fact, I’d mentioned it to Eden at the council meeting.”

  “You said she was disconnected from reality or something,” I said.

  “Yes,” Adele said. She stroked the pearls around her neck. “It’s getting worse. She keeps talking about seeing colors everywhere. You can’t have a real conversation with her.”

  “Do you read auras?” Verity asked. “Maybe she’s overstimulated on them?”

  “I don’t know,” Adele said. “I can’t seem to have a sensible conversation with her. Believe me, we’ve both tried.”

  “I asked her if she wanted dinner and she started ranting and raving about colors,” Corinne said. “Then she kept shouting ‘the red is too bright’ over and over again.”

  Verity crouched down to address Rosalie. “Hi there, Rosalie. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Dr. Verity. I’d like to examine you, if that’s okay.”

  “You’re not going to undress her, are you?” a voice asked. “Because I can’t unsee that.”

  I whirled around. “Grandma! You don’t need to see anything. You shouldn’t even be up here.”

  “This is my house.”

  “No, this is technically my mother’s house,” I said.

  “Go downstairs and stay there,” Verity warned. Something in her tone made everyone sit up straight and pay attention.

  “Fine,” Grandma huffed, “but you’d better not be leaving any curses behind.” She stomped back downstairs.

  “Ignore her,” I said.

  “I’d like a few minutes alone with Rosalie, if that’s okay,” Verity said.

  I guided Adele and Corinne to the kitchen where Aunt Thora offered them a plate of food.

  “No thank you,” Adele said. “I’m much too anxious to eat.”

  “We haven’t poisoned it,” Grandma said. “Though there was a quick discussion about it.”

  “Grandma, please,” I said. “They’re our guests. Let’s make them feel welcome.”

  “Fine,” Grandma said. “We’re discussing our funeral preferences. What would you like, Adele? I’d be happy to help with the arrangements.”

  To her credit, the witch took the question in stride. “Something tasteful and elegant. A brunch with a champagne toast.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Corinne said.

  “Background music,” Adele continued. “Not too brash. Something like the song you were humming at our meeting, Eden.” She began to hum Fly Me to the Moon.

  “You’ve been humming that a lot lately,” my mother said. “I heard you in the shower.”

  “Frank Sinatra,” Uncle Moyer said approvingly. “I’m surprised you know his work.”

  “It’s called YouTube,” I said. I wasn’t about to credit Chief Fox.

  Verity appeared in the kitchen with Rosalie. “Can I see you witches in private?” She escorted Rosalie to the door and Adele and Corinne followed.

  I returned to the table for more food, anxiously awaiting the diagnosis. Verity came back alone a few minutes later.

  “Is she sick, Mommy?” Olivia asked. “Will we need to plan her funeral?”

  Verity ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Not at all, sweetheart. She just needs rest and a calm environment.”

  “Well, that rules out staying here,” Anton said.

  Verity passed the potatoes. “I’ve seen a few patients like her this week. Delusional. Disconnected. I recommended a potion that Adele can make at home. If that doesn’t help, then we’ll have to move on to the next step.”

  “What’s the next step?” I asked.

  “There are places that will look after witches in Rosalie’s condition,” Verity said matter-of-factly.

  “A supernatural psych ward?” I asked, aghast.

  “I always knew she was crazy,” my mother said. “It was only a matter of time.”

  I chewed my potatoes in stunned silence. With everything else going on in Chipping Cheddar right now, I wasn’t so sure. Rosalie’s situation was far worse than an irritable Paul Masterson or wayward Father Kevin, though. It was time to kick this investigation into high gear.

  Chapter Eleven

  I struggled to open the door to my office so as not to spill my coffee. In the end, it was like fighting my way through a wind tunnel and I ended up with a scrape on my arm and a splash of coffee on my white T-shirt.

  “That problem could have been easily avoided by setting the cup down in order to open the door,” Neville said. He stood at the table in the back of the room, hunched over an object I couldn’t see.

  “You look busy,” I said. I dropped my bag onto my desk and proceeded to the back of the room to be nosy. “What are you working on?”

  “Mrs. Huntington’s issue with the wolves,” he said. “I’m creating a device that can be used to detect whether werewolves are, indeed, violating her garden.”

  “Isn’t that just called a surveillance camera?”

  Neville clucked his tongue. “O ye of little magical knowledge. This device will be much more effective. A human security camera will only confirm the existence of a wolf. My device will also identify which werewolf it is, as long as it’s someone resident in Chipping Cheddar. I’ve programmed it with a roster of every werewolf in town.”

  “Even Julie and Meg?” I asked. Not that either one of them would be responsible. They took a potion once a month to avoid shifting.

  “I have to be comprehensive,” Neville said.

  I drank m
y coffee, observing his handiwork. The device was the size of a cufflink. “Where will you put it?”

  “You said it’s the side garden, yes? I’ll affix it to the house just above the garden. Mrs. Huntington won’t even know it’s there.”

  “Her cats will probably tell her.”

  He smiled and continued tinkering. “If this works as it should, we should be able to identify the culprit and handle the situation quietly.”

  “You’re an absolute treasure, Neville.”

  He bowed his head. “I live to serve, O infernal one.”

  “Good, because we seem to have a more serious situation on our hands.”

  Neville’s head jerked to attention. “More serious than a disgruntled gnome?”

  “Rosalie LeRoux.” I filled him in on Verity’s diagnosis. “I think it’s connected to some of the other issues that have cropped up this week.”

  “But it sounds as though Rosalie is suffering a psychotic break,” Neville said. “There are physical symptoms as well. Father Kevin simply wants to change careers.”

  “Julie,” I said. “She was also acting out of character. I thought it was some kind of reverse psychology, but now I’m not so sure.” My thoughts turned to my mother and her…issue. “Oh no.”

  “What is it?” Neville asked.

  “I don’t think it’s another chaos demon, but there’s definitely a supernatural influence at work.” Aunt Thora has been right all along, and here I’d only been trying to placate her. Come to think of it, even Aunt Thora had been acting out of character lately, oversharing and revealing secrets.

  “How can I help?” Neville asked, ever the good assistant.

  A knock at the door startled both of us. We weren’t exactly used to visitors dropping by the office. Most people in town thought that we sat at a computer checking for hackers.

  I opened the door to reveal Chief Fox. I could tell by the expression on his face that it wasn’t a social call. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  My heart thumped. Did he know about my family? Was he here to tell me it was over and that he was turning me in for harboring supernatural criminals?