Chapter Eleven
As much as I wanted to ignore Alice’s suggestion that my family might be to blame for my current condition, the agent in me knew I had to pursue that line of inquiry. Rather than an ugly confrontation that would land one of us in a shallow grave in the backyard, I opted to take advantage of stealth mode. I could do a full sweep of the house without anyone noticing my presence.
I nudged open the back door and entered the main house, fervently hoping none of the animals sniffed me out. The kitchen and family room were clear. I heard a noise in the office and peeked inside. Grandma sat in the swivel chair, hunched over the computer. At first I thought she was reading something on the screen until I drew alongside her and realized both eyes were covered by a virtual reality headset, a birthday gift from Anton and Verity. Anton reasoned that it might keep her out of trouble if she could visit anywhere from the privacy of her own home.
Candy was curled up on the keyboard, her black tail twitching occasionally. As I took a step closer, the cat opened a sleepy eye and I froze. If she hissed, Grandma would know someone was in the room. As I was the only invisible family member, it would be easy enough to identify the culprit.
“Die, dragon!” Grandma yelled, leaping to her feet.
Candy jumped from the desk and bolted from the room. A lucky break. That cat would have no qualms about throwing me under the bus.
Grandma cackled manically and settled back in the chair. “That’s right, baby. It’s a feast of roasted dragon tonight. Tankards of ale are on me.”
Grandma seemed sufficiently wrapped up in an alternate reality to allow me a swift look around the office. I explored the bookshelves to see whether any grimoires had been removed. Nothing seemed out of place. No evidence of recent spell casting or potions or anything else I could attribute to my invisibility.
“Come at me, bro!” Grandma yelled. Her arm swung out and she narrowly missed the computer. “I see you hiding there, you wrinkly weasel monkey.”
Wrinkly weasel monkey was her insult to dragons?
Grandma’s body jerked and the chair rolled back, squashing my big toe. I bit down on my tongue to keep from crying out.
“You want a piece of me, Mr. Potato Head? Go for it,” Grandma said. She thumped her chest. “My skin is thicker than a rhino’s.”
Couldn’t argue with that. The old witch would benefit from a generous dollop of lotion.
I examined the contents of the desk. The only notes were in reference to Little Critters—a reminder about an upcoming Community Day. Ah, to be old and completely free of responsibilities.
“Go cry to your mama,” Grandma said. “Oh, wait. You can’t because I killed her!”
Yikes. I couldn’t decide whether the game channeled Grandma’s aggression or triggered it. I limped out of the room before she caught wind of an intruder and unleashed extreme measures on me.
I hobbled to Aunt Thora’s room next. She was on the bed, slumped against the headboard and intently reading a book by Elin Hildebrand. I didn’t realize Aunt Thora was a fan of beach reads. A cup of tea with a wedge of lemon rested on the bedside table and Charlemagne was coiled on the pillow beside her with a brown teddy bear tucked in the middle. The python didn’t seem to notice me as I inched into the room. I checked the top of the dresser and the bookshelves. The closet door was ajar, so I poked my head in there to see whether anything seemed amiss. A red sweater amidst a row of beige cardigans was the only thing that caught my eye.
I spotted a few jars of herbs on a dresser and crossed the room to investigate. Aunt Thora dabbled in herbal magic more than the other two. Could she be to blame? There were no labels so I bent over to sniff the herbs and see whether I could identify them. The scent of lavender shot straight up my nostrils. A fragment of paper stuck out from beneath one of the jars. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder at Aunt Thora. She was completely absorbed in the book. I carefully shifted the jar to read the note.
For sleep aid spell.
Well, that was a relief. As much as I wanted to get to the bottom of this, I would be thrilled to confirm Aunt Thora wasn’t involved.
“Oh, Elin. You’ve done it again.” Aunt Thora closed the book and reached for a tissue. “Why does everyone have to get cancer, though?” She glanced at Charlemagne. “There are other deadly diseases. Why not yellow fever or typhus or good, old-fashioned cholera?”
Because it isn’t the 1800s, I wanted to say.
Aunt Thora stroked the python’s scales. “You’re such good company, Charlemagne. You mind your forked tongue and you only chew Esther’s socks.”
I slipped into the hall and continued to my mother’s bedroom. Music drifted through the gap in the door and I recognized the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra. Hmm. It was too early for a gentleman caller, unless he called last night and had yet to leave. She did mention Hans from the library.
I drew a courageous breath and peered inside. My mother sat cross-legged on the floor with her eyes closed. At first glance, she seemed to be meditating, until I noticed the copper bowl and the black candle flickering in front of her.
My stomach dropped.
As gently as I could, I pushed the door wide enough to allow me entry. I held my breath and hoped a squeaky hinge didn’t give me away. Thankfully, Sinatra was crooning loud enough to mask any incidental noise.
My mother’s lips were moving and I thought she might be singing along to Sinatra. It was only when I stood directly in front of her that I realized she was chanting. I strained to listen and recognized a few Latin words. A metal blade glinted on the floor beside her and my shoulders tensed.
Why couldn’t it be a letter opener? Or a pair of tweezers?
But no. It was a dagger and the dagger meant blood magic. Powerful dark magic. The kind of magic that kept her daughter invisible, perhaps?
I surveyed the floor for signs of a grimoire or any other spell book. Her phone was face-down on the bed. Whatever the spell was, she’d done it frequently enough to have it memorized.
I stepped gingerly around the candle, careful not to extinguish the flame. I examined the vanity and the dresser, but I didn’t see anything incriminating there. The vanity was covered in bottles and vials and jars. My mother owned enough products to open her own beauty supply store. Thong underwear and a lacy black bra hung on a small drying rack in the corner and I averted my gaze. I didn’t need any reminders of my mother’s sexuality, thank you very much. The unwelcome and very detailed descriptions of her dates provided enough information to fuel my nightmares for years to come.
“Evanescet.” My mother’s voice rang out.
An icy chill traveled down my spine. Evanescet was the Latin word for ‘disappear.’ I tiptoed back to my mother as she lifted the dagger and sliced through her palm. Blood dripped into the bowl and she continued to chant. The flame grew in size and the orange glow intensified.
“Evanescet,” my mother’s voice rumbled.
My own blood began to simmer. Why would she do this to me? I could have her shipped off to Otherworld with a single phone call to the FBM if I really wanted to—didn’t she realize that?
Maybe she did.
Maybe she was as conflicted about me as I was about her. Then again, my mother had always mocked my goody-two-shoes approach to life and my desire to work against the forces of evil. She never seemed conflicted regarding our different outlooks. She only seemed vaguely irritated.
A puff of black smoke emanated from the bowl and my mother opened her eyes and smiled.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.
The dagger dropped to the floor, spraying droplets of blood in all directions.
“Eden Joy Fury, what do you think you’re doing sneaking up on me like that? I could’ve accidentally cut you.”
I ignored her. My whole body was shaking with anger. “You’re not supposed to do black magic.”
“This is my home and I will do whatever I please. Your badge has no power here.”
My e
yebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You are in my sanctuary and, right now, you’re in here without permission. If you were anyone else, you’d need a warrant.”
I wasn’t in the mood to argue the finer points of supernatural law. On the other hand, I couldn’t let her think she was free to do as she pleased. She wasn’t above the law, no matter what she believed.
“I’m a Federal Bureau of Magic agent, Mom, and my authority extends to this house whether you like it or not.”
She lifted her chin in defiance. I had to admit, even the skin on her neck was tight and smooth. No turkey wattle there.
“You seem to have no problem breaking the law when it suits you. Need I remind you of the many times you’ve enlisted my aid because you couldn’t do your job without the help of black magic?”
“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire,” I said. It was a weak excuse and I knew it.
“I’m surprised you don’t get dizzy from the constant swinging of your moral compass.”
“Is that why you’re doing a spell to make me invisible? To keep my compass pointed in your direction?”
My mother burst into laughter. “What?”
I tapped the bowl with my foot. “This whole ritual that you know by heart. How many times did you perform it before it actually worked?”
“Did you hit your head this morning? You’re the one invisible, not the objects around you.”
“Stop trying to deflect by insulting me. It won’t work.”
My mother shifted to sit on her heels. “You ridiculous child. What makes you think I’m responsible for your misfortune? I thought you stopped blaming me for nonsense in your teen years.”
I waved an angry hand at the bowl. “You’re doing black magic that makes me disappear. I heard you say evanescet.”
My mother continued to smile in a way that made me want to dump the bowl of blood on her head. “I wasn’t trying to make you disappear, misguided daughter of mine. I was doing a monthly spell to get rid of my wrinkles.” She laughed. “Trust me. If I were going to use dark magic to make someone disappear, I would’ve used it on your father years ago.”
I squinted at her smooth brow. “You use dark magic as part of your beauty regime?”
“Well, naturally. All the most beautiful witches do.” She fluffed her hair. “Mark my words. You only have a few good years left with that youthful skin. One day you’ll be begging me for the spell.”
My fingers swept across my brow, feeling for frown lines. Phew. Still smooth.
“Can’t you use Botox like other middle-aged women?”
My mother gasped. “Do you seriously expect me to inject poison in my face?”
I contemplated the dagger and bowl of blood. “You’re right. This is much more civilized.”
“Look what you made me do.” My mother gestured to the blood stains. “You’re going to clean up this mess once I’ve finished here.”
“I’m sorry.” I hated to apologize to my mother but, in this instance, I was in the wrong. I’d burst into her private space and accused her of harming me. Of course, she was using a type of magic that she wasn’t supposed to, but my wrongful actions outweighed hers. For once.
My mother blew out the candle. “Don’t tell your grandmother about this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Why not?” Grandma was the last one who’d care that my mother was practicing the dark arts.
“Because I told her my perfect skin was the result of a cream I bought at the store. I don’t want her to know I lied.”
“Why did you tell her that?”
She snickered. “Because she asked to borrow it, so I made her a jar of mayonnaise and mixed it with some of Aunt Thora’s herbs. You should’ve seen her smearing it on the other night. I had to spell myself to keep from laughing.”
“Fine. I won’t tell.”
One burial this week was enough.
My mother broke into a relieved smile. “I knew you wouldn’t. It goes against your code of honor. Sometimes that straight and narrow stick up your butt actually works in my favor.”
“Lucky you,” I said tersely.
The floor trembled and I grabbed the edge of the dresser to steady myself. My mother picked up the bowl and held it against her chest.
“Another tremor?” my mother said. “If I wanted to subject myself to the whim of tectonic plates, I’d move to L.A. and shack up with Chris, that handsome actor.”
I frowned. “Chris who?”
She flicked a casual finger. “Evans. Hemsworth. Pine. Rock.”
“You forgot Pratt.”
She offered a vague smile. “No, I didn’t.”
“Is everyone okay?” Aunt Thora appeared in the doorway, her face pale.
“Another tremor,” my mother said.
“I thought you and Esther might be fighting again.”
My mother rose to her feet. “No, it seems Eden and I are at odds today. Never a dull moment in this house.”
I stomped out of the room and past Aunt Thora in search of stain remover. I was annoyed with my mother, but I was even more annoyed that I was no closer to figuring out why this happened to me. Fun time was over. Like Scrooge, I no longer wanted to be a spectral resident observing the lives of those around me.
I wanted to be visible again.
Chapter Twelve
By the time I finished cleaning the bloodstains out of the carpet, I was in a foul mood. My mother had insisted on standing over me singing Happy Working Song from the movie Enchanted and it took all my strength not to summon a horde of mice to carry her away and flush her down the toilet.
I fled the house and flew to my office, stewing the entire way. My mother was concerned about being seen with wrinkles whereas I was only concerned about being seen. Although I was glad to rule out my family’s involvement, I was no closer to answers and my conversation with Alice left me feeling anxious.
I flung open the door to the office, ready to launch into research mode.
“Neville, we really need to…” I halted in my tracks. “Why are you attacking a yarn demon with sticks?”
The wizard sat at his desk, stabbing the ball of yarn. “You really should wear a bell so I know when you’re approaching.”
“I believe the use of my voice serves the same purpose.”
“If you must know, I’m not attacking anything. I’m knitting. These are knitting needles.” He tapped the two sticks together.
“Huh. I didn’t realize you knitted more than your eyebrows. Doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
He seemed affronted. “What’s wrong with knitting?”
“Nothing, if you’re an eighty-year-old in a nursing home.”
He clucked his tongue. “Agent Fury, that sounds like something your mother would say.”
I sucked in a breath. “Bite your tongue. That’s basically the worst insult you can possibly hurl at me. It’s the equivalent of a bucket of water on the Wicked Witch.”
“I don’t see you melting.”
“I’m invisible. How can you tell?”
Neville resumed his attack on the blue yarn. “Wilfrieda reminded me what a relaxing activity this can be.”
“Sure, if you find violence relaxing.”
“It helps me maintain my focus. I’m not the expert she is, but I can manage a few basics.”
“When were you hanging out with Wilfrieda?”
“We ran into each other at the coffee shop and she happened to have her bag of knitting.” He paused. “That reminds me. She mentioned you were having stomach issues. Should I sanitize the office after you leave?”
“I’m not having stomach issues. I lied because she came over unexpectedly and, you know, I’m still invisible. Kind of a problem.”
“She expressed concern about your grandmother. Is she…?”
“Grandma’s fine,” I interjected. I didn’t want to talk about my family.
“Well, your loss was my gain. I think I have a new favori
te hobby.”
“Let me guess. You’re making yourself a Ravenclaw scarf for winter because one can never have too many.”
Neville offered a delicate sniff. “If you must know, I’m making a tea cozy.”
“A Ravenclaw tea cozy?” I said.
Two pink spots emerged on his cheeks. “Maybe.”
“Can you stop practicing for your future as a wise old wizard and be present? I have a situation.”
He glanced up. “What’s the situation?”
I grew exasperated. “What do you think? My invisibility. It’s time to categorize this as an emergency. What if I stay invisible so long that it triggers more fury traits?” As the words passed my lips, waves of panic ripped through me. I worked so hard to keep the use of my powers at a minimum and avoid more ‘gifts’ from the gods. Alice might’ve been wrong about my family, but she wasn’t wrong about the danger. The longer I maintained an invisible state, the more traits I might acquire.
“You could become the most powerful fury in history,” Neville said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
My pulse began to race. By the end of the month, I could be a full-blown monster with no way to undo the damage.
“Neville, have you ever known me to want to be the most powerful fury in history?”
“No, but think about the practical advantages.” Neville set down the knitting needles. “You don’t have to fix your hair or match your clothes.” He paused to scratch his cheek. “Then again, I don’t suppose you do those things anyway.”
“Okay, now you sound like my mother. Dropkick that ball of yarn, Neville. It’s time to go keyboard warrior. See what you can find out about my condition.”
He repositioned his keyboard. “Would you like to hear the results of my research on digger demons first?”
“Only if it’s illuminating.”
“There isn’t a tremendous amount of information on them. They seem to be regarded as transient rather than harmless. They’re nomadic creatures that travel together.”
“They don’t pose a threat?” I asked.
Playing With Fury Page 11