“I did the laundry,” my mother said. “That’s the crime I’m guilty of.”
“You washed a tissue in with my clothes,” Grandma said. “I had to pluck little pieces of snotty white tissue off my good black slacks.”
“Nobody says slacks anymore,” my mother said.
“Nobody says fill me up, buttercup anymore either, yet I’ve heard you say that to more than one date this decade.” Grandma glared at my mother.
“Can we stay focused?” I asked. “How do you even know the tissue is her fault? Maybe someone else left the tissue in a pocket. Just because Mom did the laundry doesn’t mean she left it in there.”
Grandma leveled me with a look. “Look at you. One shiny badge and suddenly you’re sticking your nose in all sorts of places it doesn’t belong.”
My confidence wobbled slightly. I recognized that glint in her eye. She would be more than happy to strike me with an aging hex and I couldn’t afford to fight that battle with the chief in a precarious situation.
“Can you please undo the hex, Grandma?” I asked. “Mom has a date tonight with a human. He can’t see her like this.”
Grandma shrugged. “She should try one of those wrinkle creams she’s so fond of.” She shot a dark look at my mother. “And apply it liberally.”
Hostility rolled off my mother in waves and I blocked her warpath with a well-placed arm. “Grandma, you know that regular wrinkle cream won’t do anything for this.”
Grandma fixated on her phone. “Then I suppose she’ll have to cancel until the wrinkles fade. Could take weeks.”
“Or you can undo the spell before I undo you,” my mother snarled.
I held her back, hoping that my fury strength wouldn’t be required. I shot Aunt Thora a helpless look. I was going to need assistance.
“Ladies, if you can’t work this out, I’m going to lock you in a room together,” Aunt Thora warned.
Grandma appeared unconcerned. “Like your measly magic could keep us contained.”
“Maybe hers can’t, but mine can,” I said. Gods, why did I let myself get dragged into this now? I had far more important things to do.
My mother gave me an anxious look and took a step backward, out of my reach.
Grandma laughed. “Yours only can if you siphon it from one of us. Good luck doing that to me. You’ll be crying blood tears.”
“Is that a spell?” Aunt Thora asked.
“No, it’s from the urban dictionary,” Grandma said. “It means I will aggressively hurt her.”
Yeah, blood tears about summed it up. I couldn’t back down now though. If I showed weakness, I was going to end up buried in the garden and I couldn’t afford that kind of delay.
“I have other powers, Grandma,” I said. “I don’t need to siphon anything to kick your black magic butt.”
Grandma’s expression hardened. “Be careful or I’m going to curse you like Gautama cursed Indra.”
“With a thousand eyes on my body?” I asked.
“No, they were originally a thousand marks of vaginas,” Grandma said. “And if you really piss me off, they’ll all get their periods at the same time.”
Aunt Thora slid back her chair and stood. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”
“Go on then,” Grandma said. “Go to the lighthouse and consort with that human companion of yours.”
“If you weren’t so old already, I’d hex you with an aging spell and see how you like it.” Aunt Thora put her teacup and saucer in the sink before striding from the room.
“You are going to rue the day you decided to hex me, Esther Pritchard.” My mother stomped her foot and whimpered. “Ouch. My brittle bones can’t handle that much impact.”
“Worth it,” Grandma said, and returned her attention to Little Critters on her phone.
I wasn’t going to get anywhere right now. Grandma was clearly set on punishing my mother no matter the consequences. I turned to face my mother.
“Pro tip: the ice cream shop hosts senior Sundays,” I said. “Lots of guys your age.”
“They’re not my age.” She tried to stomp her foot again but found she couldn’t lift her leg high enough for impact. She whirled around and shuffled to her bedroom, whimpering. The bedroom door slammed and I winced at the sound. It reminded me of the fights my parents used to have. For a few seconds, I was six years old and ready to walk on eggshells for the rest of the day.
I drew a deep, calming breath and approached the table. “Grandma, I really don’t think the punishment fits the crime. So you had to pick off pieces of tissue. Big deal. I bet you could’ve conjured a spell to remove the mess instead of kicking up a fuss.”
Grandma tapped her phone screen repeatedly. “She was already on my bad side. The laundry was the last straw.”
“Okay, fine. Have your fun, but please don’t let it last too long. What if she actually gets hurt in this condition? She could break a hip.”
Grandma’s lips melted into a smile that reminded me of the Grinch. “She could, couldn’t she?”
I groaned. “I wasn’t trying to give you ideas. Please don’t break her hip. We’ll be waiting on her hand and foot for months. We won’t survive.”
“Good point.” Grandma didn’t make eye contact. “I won’t let her twist in the wind too long.”
“Thank you.” I needed some air after that heated standoff. I decided to put a little distance between my bickering family members and me—five hundred yards, to be exact. I opened the back door to my father’s house that he shared with my stepmom, Sally, the most elegant vampire in Chipping Cheddar by a mile. My father met her on a business trip to Otherworld and never looked back. They were much more suited to each other than my mother and father were. There was no door slamming. No children caught in the middle. No yelling. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. My father’s natural volume was set to Extremely Loud and Uncomfortably Close, even when he was engaged in idle chitchat.
“Eden, what a nice surprise.” Sally was bent over the countertop in the kitchen, scrubbing vigorously with a sponge. Did I mention the vampire also has OCD?
“What happened?” I asked.
Sally stopped scrubbing and set the sponge on the edge of the sink. “Nothing major. There’s a fleck of grease that’s being stubborn. You know I can’t abide a filthy kitchen.”
I loved that a single fleck of grease translated to ‘filthy’ in the vampire’s mind. She would die all over again if she saw the state of the attic. My clothes were strewn across the top of cardboard boxes.
“Can I get you a snack, darling?” Sally asked. “I have homemade baclava.” She smiled, showing her fangs. “Your father’s special request.”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” I scanned the living room. “Is he around?”
“He’s around,” a voice bellowed. Stanley Fury rounded the corner, carrying a set of golf clubs. “He’s getting ready to hit the green, though.”
“I won’t be long,” I said. “I just need to ask a question.”
My father set down the bag and regarded me. “Me first. Are you doing those stretches I told you to do?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad,” I lied.
“I don’t think you are.” He circled me. “I can tell by how round your shoulders are. Suck in a breath and tighten your diaphragm.”
It was easier to comply than to argue, especially when I wanted him to answer my question. I inhaled deeply and pressed my palm flat against my abdomen. “Better?”
“Do you feel the difference?” my father asked. “You should. You walk around like Quasimodo for too long and you’ll end up with osteoporosis.”
“That’s not how osteoporosis works, Dad. It’s a calcium or vitamin D deficiency.” It could also be the result of hormonal changes, but there was no way I was saying the word ‘hormones’ to my father. We didn’t have that type of relationship.
He pointed a finger at me. “Are you trying to tell me I’m wrong?”
“Relax, Stanley,�
�� Sally said. “Have a snack. Your blood sugar is probably low.”
My mother’s door slam must have triggered some kind of PTSD because now I was seven years old, listening at my bedroom door as my parents fought. I don’t even remember the substantive part of the argument, only that each one wanted to be right more than they wanted to be married. Stanley and Beatrice Fury were never wrong, which made arguments impossible to resolve. Major or minor, it didn’t matter. They were always right and they never apologized.
“Stanley, she looks nothing like Quasimodo,” Sally said. “Doesn’t he have an eye patch?”
“He has a giant wart that covers his left eye,” I said, my voice even.
“Stay on your mother’s good side or you’ll have one of those too,” my father said.
I debated whether to tell him about her current condition but decided against it. It was always best to err on the side of discretion when it came to my parents’ current affairs. If I told my father, then my mother would accuse me of ‘choosing sides.’
“Clasp your hands behind your back and open up that chest area,” my father urged. “That’s where your problem is. Those muscles shorten up and pull the rest of you forward.” He walked into the kitchen and took a glass from the cabinet.
I performed the stretch while I asked my question because it was the fastest way out of here. “Have you ever exacted revenge by turning your target into an animal?”
My father filled the glass with water and drank. He smacked his lips together once he finished. “That’s pretty specific. Do you have a job you want me to handle? Who is it—that deputy you can’t stand? I can turn him into a weasel for you.” He refilled the glass. “No, something better that goes with red hair. A fox?”
I waved my arms in a panic. “No foxes. And it’s not about Deputy Guthrie,” I said. As much as it pained me to admit it, the town desperately needed him in his human form right now.
Sally found a new flaw on the counter to obsess over. She picked up the sponge and began a fresh round of intense rubbing. “Is it Tanner Hughes? He could definitely stand to spend some time in weasel form. I know he still gives you a hard time when he sees you.”
“How do you know that?” I hated being the object of any gossip in town, although I knew it was all but impossible to prevent.
“I’ve been within earshot on occasion when you’ve run into him.”
Sally’s enchanted vampire hearing allowed her to excel in eavesdropping. Lucky for Chipping Cheddar that she wasn’t a huge gossip.
“It’s not Tanner,” I said. “I don’t want to reap vengeance on anyone. You know how I feel about it.”
My father snorted. “Puritan.”
I glared at him. “Hypothetically, if someone has been turned into an animal, is there any chance it’s the work of a vengeance demon?”
“Is this hypothetical transformation taking place in Chipping Cheddar?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then it’s not a vengeance demon,” he said firmly. “Nobody comes in or out of here without my knowledge.” He paused. “And my blessing.”
Sally looped her arm through his. “He’s like the Godfather of vengeance demons. The others wouldn’t want to mess with him.”
“And no one’s come to town recently?” I asked. For all I knew, Chief Fox had unwittingly made enemies in Iowa with connections to the supernatural world.
“Nope,” my father said. “Whatever’s going on, it’s not due to a vengeance demon.”
On the one hand, his certainty was a relief. On the other hand, I still had no idea how or why this happened to the chief.
“Who’s been turned into an animal?” my father asked. “Anyone I know?”
“It’s hypothetical, remember?” I said with a pointed look. “This conversation is confidential.”
My father waved me off. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep your official FBM secrets.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I started toward the door.
“Where are you going?” my father asked. His tone was so demanding—like I was attempting to walk out of prison before my official release date.
“There’s someone in town I have to see,” I said. Now that I’d ruled out my family and a vengeance demon, I had another cauldron to stir.
“Are you driving?” he asked.
“That’s the plan.” The wings were only for emergency purposes.
“Make sure you go to the gas station on Asiago,” he said. “The one on Mozzarella Street is up two cents a gallon. It’s highway robbery.”
“Technically, it’s not a highway, Stanley,” Sally said.
Although Asiago was out of my way and I didn’t need to fill up my tank, a quick escape was better than an argument. “Okay. Thanks.” I opened the back door.
“And stand up straight,” he bellowed. “Any further forward and you’ll end up in a somersault. You don’t need a head injury.”
In an exaggerated motion, I shoved my shoulders back so far that I was sure my shoulder blades were touching. As I closed the door behind me, I heard my father say, “That’s much better.”
Chapter Seven
I breezed into Magic Beans, the new coffee shop in town, and greeted its owner. “Hey, Corinne.”
The witch stood behind the counter with her back to the room while a barista prepared coffee for customers. Business had to be doing well to justify hiring an employee. I was pleased for her.
Corinne turned and smiled. “How’s it going, Eden?” As delicious as the coffee was, that wasn’t the reason I was here. Corinne happened to be a talented witch and a talented witch was exactly what I needed right now. Our families aren’t what you’d call friendly, although I serve on the supernatural council with Adele, Corinne’s grandmother. The legacy of the LeRoux witches extends back to New Orleans. They don’t practice the same kind of magic as my family members, which was the main reason I decided to come to Corinne for help. I never want to give my family an excuse to practice black magic. Thankfully, Corinne and I seemed to be breaking the cycle of insults and mutual dislike and were developing—dare I say it—an actual friendship.
I leaned against the counter. “Got a minute?”
She seemed to understand that the ‘minute’ involved a confidential supernatural topic because she wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out from behind the counter. “There’s a quiet table over here.”
I followed Corinne to a table by the window. “I have a situation and could use your help,” I said.
She threaded her fingers together on the table. “Well, that’s cutting to the chase.”
I glanced toward the counter. “I can see you’re busy and I don’t want to interrupt your work here.”
Corinne fixed her dark eyes on me. “If you’re here asking for my help, then it’s more serious than how quickly my customers get their hit of caffeine.”
“It is. It’s about the chief.”
Corinne raised her brow. “What’s wrong?” She and Chief Fox had dated very briefly and I knew she’d be concerned enough to help. That was another reason I opted to come straight to her and not her grandmother. I certainly wasn’t going to start with Rosalie by choice. Corinne’s mother was my least favorite LeRoux. When it came to mothers, I almost felt as sorry for Corinne as I did for myself.
“He’s not himself,” I said. I didn’t know why I was finding it so hard to say the words. If I had to guess, I would say that I was uncomfortable coming to someone for help, especially a LeRoux witch. When you’d spent your entire childhood shielding yourself from evil and negativity, it wasn’t easy to poke a hand through the protective bubble so that someone else could take it.
“Eden, you’re scaring me.” Corinne tugged her phone out of her pocket. “I’m going to call him right now.”
“The chief can’t answer his phone.”
“Has he left it somewhere?”
“No, he’s left his hands somewhere.” I squeezed my eyes closed. Okay, that sounded awful. “I mean he doesn’t have his
hands at the moment.” Not much better. I blew out a frustrated breath. “He’s a fox.”
“I hardly see what his looks have to do with anything,” Corinne said.
I lowered my voice. “No, I mean he is an actual fox. Someone has cast a spell on him or something.”
Corinne gasped and covered her mouth. “What? How?”
“I don’t know. It just happened.” I didn’t want to get into detail and say too much. Although Corinne was aware that the chief and I were interested in each other, I didn’t want to divulge any more information. I trusted Corinne to keep our secret. I did not, however, trust Rosalie. The witch would use it as an opportunity to irritate my family and I couldn’t allow the chief to get caught in a war between two covens.
Corinne tapped her black-painted fingernails on the table. “And you want us to see if we can reverse the spell?”
I nodded. “Deputy Guthrie is in charge right now, and I think we can both agree that the sooner the chief is back in human form, the better.”
“Where is he now?”
“Probably sliding across the floor in the chief’s office in his underwear singing Old Time Rock & Roll.”
Corinne pressed a hand to her forehead. “Not Guthrie. The chief.”
“Oh, he’s in my attic,” I said. “I didn’t want to leave him home alone. It’s too risky.”
“And what about Achilles?”
It made me happy that Corinne showed concern for the dog. I knew she was good people. “He’s safe too.”
Corinne’s gaze darted to the customers at her counter. I could see her assessing the options. “Let me text my family. Can you come to the old mill with the chief in half an hour?”
“Absolutely. Thank you so much.”
Corinne reached forward and clasped my hands in hers. Although my skin always looked pale, next to Corinne’s dark skin I looked more translucent than Alice.
“I’m so glad you came to me for help,” Corinne said. “No matter how our families behave, I think it’s important to rely on each other, especially in a small town like this one.”
I knew what she meant. We supernaturals had to stick together in the human world. I didn’t disagree, as much as I’d tried to distance myself from my supernatural nature in the past. I never imagined myself working for the Federal Bureau of Magic. I’d wanted a normal life, one without magical influences or my family. One that didn’t involve my fury powers. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Occasionally, I wondered what my life would be like if I hadn’t siphoned a vampire’s power and tried to bite Fergus, my FBI partner. I wouldn’t have returned to Chipping Cheddar and my old life. I’d be in San Francisco, thousands of miles from my family, enjoying excellent Chinese food and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. On the other hand, if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have met Chief Fox. It was hard to imagine that now.
Hell Hath No Fury Page 6