Three Alarm Fury

by Annabel Chase

I climbed down the ladder at the back of the boat. “I can pull him up,” I said. Jana would be too distracted by Hank’s current condition to notice my unusual display of strength.

  The chief turned so that Hank was in front of him and I was able to pull him to safety. I immediately began CPR, but Hank remained unconscious. Chief Fox kneeled beside me, dripping pools of water.

  “He needs a hospital,” I said.

  Behind us, Jana whimpered. “Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay.”

  I craned my neck to see her. “He’s not responsive, Jana, but we’re going to get him to a hospital as quickly as we can.”

  The older woman’s body went limp and she promptly fainted. Thanks to my unnatural speed, I managed to catch her before she hit the deck.

  Terrific. Now we had two unconscious people on the boat. This date was quickly becoming a disaster. It was probably punishment for my secrecy.

  I released Jana and let her roll gently onto the deck.

  “Is she okay?” the chief asked.

  “She fainted, but she’ll be fine in a minute.” Which meant I only had a minute to help Hank before she recovered. “Close your eyes,” I said, rising to a standing position.

  The chief looked at me, his face rippled with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean close your eyes. We’re too far from land. The fastest way to get him help is to fly him there. You can get Jana to shore on the boat and drive her to the hospital. Make up a story as to how we got ahead of you.”

  “Why do I need to close my eyes? Is this about your wings?”

  “I’d rather you not see them.” Unfortunately, I wasn’t wearing the invisibility locket that Neville had created for me. I needed to start wearing it on a daily basis in case of an emergency like this one. At least I’d be camouflaged in the evening. With my dark wings and dark hair, I’d blend into the gloaming.

  “I’ve already seen them, remember?” he said.

  “And I don’t want to remind you how ugly I really am. Please, Sawyer. There isn’t time to argue.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t. The moment he squeezed his eyes closed, I spread my wings, scooped a naked and unconscious Hank off the deck, and launched into the air.

  An hour later the chief and I sat in the waiting room of the hospital while Jana lingered at her husband’s bedside. Apparently, Hank had suffered a heart attack when he’d plunged into the water. We’d decided to wait with Jana until her daughter arrived from Baltimore.

  “I’m going to check and see if she needs anything,” I said. I rose to my feet and walked down the corridor to Hank’s room. “How are you doing, Jana? Can I get you anything?”

  Jana sat beside him, clutching his wrinkled hand. “I can’t think about food right now. All I can think about is Hank.”

  I moved closer to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “The doctor said that Hank is strong and healthy for his age. There’s a good chance he’ll make a full recovery.”

  Tears streamed down Jana’s cheeks. “I waited so long for us to be together. I can’t bear the thought of losing him now.”

  “Didn’t Hank’s wife die two years ago?” I asked. That was what Chip had said on the party bus.

  Jana wiped away a tear. “Yes, but I knew Hank long before that. I’ve always had feelings for him, but I kept a respectful distance from him because of his marriage. When we reconnected after she died, I thought I was finally being rewarded for all the good deeds I’d done in my life.” She brought his hand to her lips. “I can’t lose him. I just can’t.”

  “The two of you seem very happy together,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s been blissful. I admit it, he’s been excitable lately, but I thought it was euphoria over our wedding. Now I’m not so sure.”

  My heart hammered in my chest. “Would you say he’s been acting out of character?”

  Jana twisted to look at me. “Not exactly out of character for Hank. More like too much of Hank. Normally he knows when to draw the line.” She turned back to observe her husband. “Lately he only seems capable of dancing over it.”

  Whatever was happening in Chipping Cheddar, it was now abundantly clear that Hank was a victim too. Fear flooded my system. If I didn’t get to the bottom of this soon, the hospital was going to be overflowing with casualties and I would only have myself to blame.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I awoke the next morning to an urgent text from Corinne, asking me to come to the house. Something must have happened with Rosalie. I changed as quickly as I could and sped across town, hopeful that Deputy Guthrie hadn’t set any speed traps.

  “The cause is supernatural,” Adele said, the moment I arrived. “My bones don’t lie.”

  “The cause of what?” I asked. “Did something else happen?”

  “She’s gone blind,” Adele said. “Yesterday.” The older witch’s expression was tired and strained.

  “We’ve tried several spells to help her regain her sight,” Corinne added. “I raided the herb garden and even tried to come up with a mixture on my own. Nothing worked.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “I’m just not sure what’s responsible.”

  Angry heat radiated from Corinne. “Someone’s cursed her obviously. We need to find the party responsible and make them reverse it.”

  “Where is she now?” I asked.

  “Sleeping in the bedroom,” Corinne said. “She doesn’t seem to last more than two hours at a time though. She has to be exhausted.”

  Like the two of you, I wanted to say.

  “Her behavior has been off in the days leading up to this,” I said.

  Adele gave me a sharp look. “And?”

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  “So whoever cursed her used some sort of escalating spell,” Corinne said, as if that solved the matter. “This curse was designed to punish.”

  “Aren’t most curses?” I asked. I still wasn’t convinced a curse was to blame. Maybe if Rosalie’s condition was an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. First Hank’s behavior escalated into a serious physical condition and now Rosalie. I felt confident that the two were connected, as well as the other behavioral issues that manifested this week.

  “We need to find the responsible party,” Adele said. “Someone is out to get my baby girl.”

  “This isn’t a single supernatural’s revenge,” I said.

  Adele lifted a finely plucked eyebrow. “Then what is it?”

  If only I knew. I leaned my back against the countertop and addressed the two witches. “Walk me through Rosalie’s week. Tell me everything you know.”

  Corinne and Adele glanced at each other with uncertainty. “Mom doesn’t share everything. She likes to do her own thing.”

  “Fair enough.” As far as I was concerned, my own mother revealed too many details about her schedule.

  Adele tapped her fingernails on the countertop. “She had a date with a man called Farley earlier this week. As far as I know, it went well.”

  “Plus he’s human,” Corinne added. “He doesn’t know about magic, let alone how to use it.”

  “I told Rosalie it was unfair to date an unsuspecting human,” Adele continued, “but she said it was only a meaningless fling and not to worry.”

  “Any chance she was wrong about him?” I asked. Certain kinds of demons could disguise themselves as human, although that didn’t explain the other affected residents.

  Adele shook her head. “I took the liberty of researching him before the date.” Her lips formed a thin smile. “Old habits die hard, it seems. Farley is a Twisse.”

  Ah. I recognized the name of one of the original Puritan families. Definitely human then.

  “I don’t know why she insists on wasting her time with humans when she knows the relationship can’t go anywhere.” Adele’s gaze was drawn to a portrait on the wall across the room—a drawing of the three LeRoux witches. Corinne was probably six years old with untamed hair and a gap-toothed smile. “I like
to think we’re enough for each other, but I suppose that’s unrealistic.”

  Corinne inched closer to hug her grandmother. “Let’s not focus on that right now. The important thing is to figure out what happened to her so we can fix it.”

  “I don’t think Farley Twisse is a concern, but I’m happy to check him out if it would make you feel better,” I offered. At this point, I couldn’t be too careful. I had no leads and more supernatural-induced issues than I could count.

  Adele nodded gratefully. “Anything you can do, Eden.”

  “What else can you think of?” I prompted. “A new client? Did she mention anything unusual happening to her or around her this past week?”

  “No new clients,” Corinne said. “She read fortunes at a party for the Gunnars earlier in the week, but she’s done work for them before. I’m pretty sure they know my mom’s a fraud, but they eat it up all the same.” She smiled to herself. “Mom does put on quite a performance.”

  “She did say she felt queasy afterward,” Adele said.

  Corinne shook her head dismissively. “That’s only because the Gunnars hosted their party on a yacht this time. It was Mrs. Gunnar’s sixtieth birthday and she wanted something special.”

  “A yacht?” I repeated.

  “That’s right,” Corinne said. “They don’t own it. They rented it from the marina. Mom doesn’t do well on boats. The pay was too good to pass up, though, and she adores the Gunnars.”

  My brain was stuck on the boat. “Which day was this?”

  Corinne pulled out her phone and checked the calendar. “Friday evening.”

  My breathing hitched. That was the same day that Father Kevin was on the water with the Mastersons.

  “Was anyone else we know at the party?” I asked. If there was another known entity involved where we could establish baseline behavior, that might help me fit the pieces of the supernatural puzzle together. Right now, it seemed more like a Rorschach test.

  Adele snapped her fingers. “Charity Grace.”

  Perfect. I knew all three Graces well enough to determine whether there was something amiss.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’ve given me a lot to work with.” I still wasn’t sure how the Chesapeake Bay figured into any of this, but I had to keep digging.

  “If you need any magical assistance,” Corinne added, “you know where to find me.”

  Adele’s gaze shifted to the closed bedroom door where Rosalie continued to sleep. “I know our families have had their differences, but I believe in you, Eden. I believe in what you’re capable of and I know you’ll do whatever you can to help Rosalie.”

  “I will, Adele. I promise.”

  Farley Twisse owned the miniature golf course that was located on the southern end of town. It was situated nicely with a view of the bay and a fudge shop and ice cream parlor on the next block, which his family also owned. The Twisse family had owned acres of waterfront land at one point and had sold parcels of it to developers over the years.

  I didn’t know Farley, but I recognized him immediately thanks to his resemblance to his father. They both had faded blond hair that looked stark white in the bright sunlight. They also shared the same ‘dad bod’ physique where the gut appeared slightly too large for the chosen trousers. Gilbert Twisse had been friends with Calybute Danforth, the owner of The Buttermilk Bugle, and I still remembered the two of them driving around town in Gilbert’s convertible when I was a kid. I’d fallen in love with the Mustang and had begged each of my parents to buy one as the family vehicle. It was one of the few times I’d tried to use manipulation tactics based on their divorce. I’d overestimated the level of guilt they felt, apparently. Neither parent would even pretend to consider such an impractical car and my father ranted about the cost of filling the gas tank for a solid month. I was only eleven, but I became well-versed in cars after that attempt to persuade them. My father made sure that I understood that cars lost their value the minute you drove them off the lot and I was subjected to discussions about leasing versus owning. Anyone who leased a car, according to my father, failed the idiot test and deserved whatever punishments were handed out to them. It was also the beginning of his lessons on gas prices and oil checks. Ah, memories.

  “Hello Farley,” I said. I approached the counter where he stood in front of rows of clubs and different colored balls.

  “Here to play?” he asked, his tone friendly. “How many will there be in your group?”

  “I’d love to play,” I lied. In truth, I couldn’t handle mini-golf because I knew I’d want to win and that wasn’t really within the spirit of the game. Last time I checked, mini-golf wasn’t a competitive sport. “Unfortunately, I’m here for another reason.”

  His brow lifted. “Are you a lawyer? Because that kid wasn’t looking where he was going. His mom told him to stay away from the edge of the volcano, but he didn’t listen.” His gaze drifted to the eleventh hole where a makeshift volcano flowed with pretend lava.

  “I’m not a lawyer,” I said. I flashed my badge. “My name is Agent Eden Fury. I’m here to ask a few questions about Rosalie LeRoux.”

  He recoiled. “FBI? I knew there was something phony about Rosalie. Is she involved in some kind of catfishing scheme?”

  “No.”

  “Pyramid scheme?”

  “No,” I said.

  He leaned forward. “Did she organize a fake festival and then disappear with the money?”

  “No.” I drummed my fingers on the counter. How was I going to phrase this to a human without saying too much? “Rosalie is experiencing some serious issues and we think it’s due to a toxin she may have been exposed to within the last week. We know the two of you went out and I was hoping you could walk me through your time together.”

  Farley’s features were etched with concern. “She’s sick? Like she might die?”

  “Right now she’s blind,” I said.

  A gasp escaped him. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, she can’t see anything, so yeah.”

  He fiddled with a small yellow pencil on the counter. “What kind of toxin? Some secret government one?”

  “No, nothing to do with us. We just know that exposure likely took place sometime between Friday and Wednesday and we’d like to narrow that down to help pinpoint the source.”

  Farley touched his throat. “Do I need to worry about exposure?” He forced a cough. “I have been feeling a little off this week.”

  “Can you describe your symptoms?”

  “Itchy eyes and throat. Fatigue.” He seemed to be trying to conjure up more plausible symptoms.

  “Problems holding the remote?”

  His eyes blazed with possibilities. “Yes, and I’m hungry all the time even though I don’t feel well.”

  “Hmm. I think it’s testosterflu,” I said. Otherwise known as man flu, not that I’d tell him that.

  “Should I see a doctor?”

  “No, my sister-in-law is a doctor in town and she told me for a fact that what you have will clear up within twenty-four hours.”

  He appeared visibly relieved. “That’s good news. But that’s not what Rosalie has?”

  “Sadly not.”

  Farley tapped the end of the pencil on the counter. “Rosalie and I didn’t go anywhere special. I can’t think of anything we did that would result in a…a toxin.” He frowned. “Do bodily fluids count as toxins?”

  I held up a hand. “No, Mr. Twisse. I think we’re good.”

  He squinted at me. “Did you say your name was Fury?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Your family lives on Munster Close, on the old Wentworth farm.”

  And Alice Wentworth’s ghost lives in the attic with me. That’s right. “Yes, I’m in the process of having the barn converted into a small house.”

  “Cool,” Farley said. “My grandfather used to talk about the Wentworths. He talked about a lot of the original families. He was in that club.”

  “What club is that?”
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  “Oh, I guess a Fury wouldn’t know. The original Puritan families that settled Chipping Cheddar have a private club. It’s been around for over a hundred years.”

  “How exclusive. Why aren’t you a member?” I asked.

  Farley shrugged. “Seemed kind of old-fashioned to me. My father didn’t join either. He never liked all the secrecy. He preferred to be inclusive. It was better for business.”

  “Good for him,” I said. It was hard enough growing up as a supernatural in a human town without worrying about the prominence of your family too. I vaguely remembered a pecking order of sorts, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. The descendants of the original families seemed more interested in establishing a hierarchy, obviously because they pictured themselves at the top, not realizing that supernaturals could topple their regime with the sweep of a broomstick.

  “Do you think I should check on Rosalie? I feel bad that I haven’t texted. I’ve been busy.”

  I glanced around the nearly empty golf course. Farley and I seemed to have different ideas about what constituted busy.

  “She can’t read a text, so whatever you send will have to be read to her by someone else.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s such a shock. I like Rosalie. She’s a lot of fun. She even read my fortune earlier this week.” He chuckled to himself. “Told me I’d soon meet a wonderful woman who’d sweep me off my feet.”

  I smiled. “And did she happen to describe this woman?”

  “I’ll put it this way—she has heaps of confidence. I like that in a woman.” He tugged his earlobe. “I sure hope she recovers.”

  “Is there anything unusual you remember about your time with her? Did you see anything out of the ordinary? Smell, taste? Anything at all?”

  Farley contemplated the question. “Nothing comes to mind. I’m sorry. I wish I knew. It was all pretty nice and normal.”

  It struck me as odd to hear that anything associated with Rosalie LeRoux was ‘nice and normal,’ but Farley seemed genuine.

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Twisse. I appreciate it. If you think of anything, please call me.” I scribbled my number on one of the tiny score sheets.