“Damn straight,” my dad said, pounding a fist into his open palm. “Time for you to embrace it and act like one.”
Inwardly, I groaned. I was home all of two seconds and my father was already trying to recruit me to the dark side. Subtle he was not.
A knock on the door saved me and did a silent thanks to the gods. My father went to open the door and I heard the familiar voice of Mick O’Neill, the local chief of police. Mick and my dad have been friends since before I was born, although Chief O’Neill doesn’t know the truth about my family. Or, if he does, he never let on.
“Eden!” Chief O’Neill exclaimed. He entered the kitchen with a big smile. “You get prettier every time I see you.”
“Hi, Chief. What brings you here?” I asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sally’s fangs retract and a pop of color appeared on her cheeks.
“I’m dropping off a set of golf clubs I borrowed from your dad,” Chief O’Neill said. “He always has the best toys.”
“At least he’s good about sharing them,” I said.
“Stanley, you should know there’s something strange going on with your seven iron,” the chief said.
My dad’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? You broke it?”
“No, no.” Chief O’Neill chuckled nervously. “Nothing like that. I had to stop using it. Every time I made contact, the ball would fly up in the air and drop straight back down where it was.” He shook his head. “It was the darnedest thing.”
“Hmm,” my dad said. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll have it checked out.”
I choked back laughter. I knew perfectly well what had happened to his seven iron. My mother delighted in using her magic to play pranks on my father ever since the divorce. Having a witch for an ex-wife wasn’t easy. To be fair, having a vengeance demon for an ex-husband was no walk in the park either.
“Maybe have mom look it over,” I said. “You know she has a knack for these things.”
My father shot me a dark look. “Yes, she certainly does.”
“I hear you’re back for good,” the chief said to me. “That’s a surprise.”
“For me, too,” I said.
Chief O’Neill rubbed his hands together. “You and I might get to work together. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“I’d rather she work with me,” my dad said.
“As a traveling salesman?” the chief queried. “Come on, Stanley. A federal agent is pretty darn good compared to that.”
“How often did you work with Paul Pidcock?” I asked.
The chief’s expression clouded over at the mention of my predecessor. “What a loss to the community. Nice guy, Paul. I admit, he kept to himself and we didn’t interact often, but when we did, I liked him.”
Chief O’Neill is a nice guy, too. I’ve always liked him. I figured he kept my dad from being too evil in his daily life. Maybe I could do the same.
“Bees are a terrible way to go,” Sally said with a shudder.
“Buzz,” Ryan said.
“Very good!” My dad looked elated. “He’s going to be a smarty. I can tell.”
Chief O’Neill crossed the room to pat Ryan on the head. “He looks like Anton when Anton was this age.”
I thought he looked like a smushed version of Anton with a sprinkling of Grandma thrown in, but I kept quiet.
“He eats like Anton,” Sally said. “Every time I turn around, the child is hungry again. If only I could pop a vein…”
The chief laughed. “Then men could breastfeed, too.”
“Yes, that’s what she meant,” I said hastily. My family had a tendency to speak freely, even when they shouldn’t.
“Verity sends over all these bottles and jars,” my dad complained. “It has to have the word ‘organic’ on it or we’re not allowed to serve it to him. I mean, kids need to be exposed to garbage to build up their immune systems.”
A horrible thought occurred to me. “You’re not sneaking him actual garbage, are you?” I wouldn’t put it past him. My father could be stubborn.
My father looked horrified. “Would I risk your sister-in-law’s wrath?”
“Verity is…” I nearly said ‘a druid’ until I remembered Chief O’Neill was in the room. “Verity is not exactly known for her temper.” Druids were known for their healing powers, which was the reason Verity had been drawn to a medical career. Of course, her patients often made miraculous recoveries that science could never explain. All in a day’s work.
“Maybe I should take Ryan back to Mom’s in case someone’s looking for him,” I said.
My father chuckled. “No one’s looking for him. I take him all the time.”
“Mom would blow a fuse if she knew.”
He winked. “Why do you think I don’t tell her?”
“I promise not to arrest you for kidnapping,” the chief said, “but you should probably leave a note just in case someone decides to check.”
“He’s my grandson,” my dad said. “I’ll spend time with him whenever I please. I’m certainly not stepping into that house to see him.”
“Good thing you’re home, Eden,” the chief said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on this one. The older he gets, the more ornery he gets.” He gave a wave. “I’ll see you around. I told my deputy I’d patrol downtown so he could go to a concert.”
“You’re a good man, Mick,” my dad said.
“Bye, Chief,” I said.
He left just as my father’s phone rang. The glint in his eye when he answered told me it was an Otherworld job. Chief O’Neill left in the nick of time.
“Has he been working a lot?” I asked my stepmom.
She made a face. “More than I’d like, but you know your father. He loves what he does, so he never works a day in his life.”
I wish my dad didn’t love exacting vengeance so much.
My father exchanged a few harsh words with the caller and hung up. “I’ve got to make a house call.”
“Now?” Sally said. “You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’ll grab something on the road.”
“This is why you can’t lose weight,” Sally admonished him. “You gravitate to junk food when you travel.”
“Fine. Then I won’t eat.”
Sally’s hands flew to her hips. “Nobody is damning anyone’s soul on an empty stomach. We have standards to uphold.” She opened the refrigerator.
“I’m not damning a soul today,” my dad said. “My client wants revenge on a werewolf pack that keeps peeing on his lawn. He’s tried wards and restraining orders, but nothing has worked.”
I gaped at my father. “The whole pack?”
“You know how they are,” my dad said.
Sally handed him a container of food and my father waved his arms dramatically. “Nothing too healthy, Sally. My system can’t tolerate it.”
I arched an eyebrow. “What happens to your system?”
“It breaks down,” he complained. “It’s awful. My stomach doesn’t shut up for hours.”
“That’s because it isn’t used to healthy food,” Sally replied. She pulled another small container from the shelf and handed it to him. “You can eat this on the way.”
He stared at the lid. “What’s in it?”
Sally’s eyes formed slits. “Food.”
“Just take it, Dad,” I encouraged.
My father gripped the container but made it plain he wasn’t happy about it. “I’d rather take the cake.”
Sally kissed him on the cheek. “When you come home, dear.”
My father grumbled as he left via the kitchen door.
“Men,” Sally said with a shake of her head.
From his highchair, Ryan laughed and dumped his food on the floor. “Men,” he said.
Chapter Three
My first night in the attic was fitful at best. I dreamed of Fergus and vampires and, somehow, my grandmother ended up pirouetting around the background in a ballerina costume. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that a family member
had snuck a drop of potion into my evening tea to help me sleep.
My arms were stretched overhead when Anton’s head appeared in the attic opening. “Are you busy?”
I yawned. “Depends on what you want. I have to get ready for work.”
“Listen to this and tell me what you think.”
“Is this a pitch?” Anton works in the creative department for an ad agency.
He stood in front of me and cleared his throat. “Do you have unwanted spirits in your home? Is their constant meddling starting to get you down?”
I interrupted him. “What product is that for?”
“Ghost Away,” he said, and pretended to hold up a spray can.
“What about Giving Up the Ghost?” I suggested. I glanced over at Alice, hovering by the window.
“Or Ghosted,” Alice said helpfully.
How did Alice know about ghosting? Nothing to do here except eavesdrop, I guess.
“Enough customers aren’t going to buy that to make it viable,” I told my brother.
“They will if they have a mischievous ghost.”
“How about it, Alice?” I asked. “Should I splurge on a bottle of Ghost Away?”
My brother surveyed the attic. “Wow. Is Alice still here?”
“Where does he think I would go?” Alice asked, perplexed.
“She’s still here,” I said. “I’m the one who went away.”
Anton came and sat beside me on the mattress. “How are you feeling about all that anyway? Being back?”
“It wasn’t really my choice,” I admitted. “You seem to be settled into your life as a family man and vengeance demon. Just like Dad.”
“Not true,” he said. “Dad never actually had a human world job. He just pretends to. Besides, you know I’m not into it as much as the rest of the family.”
“But you don’t make an effort to rail against it,” I pointed out.
He gave me a blasé look. “Somebody has to bring the funk. Might as well be us.”
“You don’t have to. Nobody wants the funk.”
“They do,” he said. “There’s a whole song dedicated to it. Very popular.”
I smiled. “Bringing the funk is slang,” I said. “It’s a good thing.”
“Doesn’t sound very good. That’s why I bring it.” Anton sighed, seemingly resigned to his fate as a demon. It was a far cry from the boy who used to torture me with the kind of vengeance that only a brother was capable of. Let’s just say I still check under my covers for spiders on occasion.
“Do you have a demonic side hustle?” I asked.
He gave me a pointed look. “What do you think? I have two young kids, a major home remodel happening, and I work in a creative field.”
“Your wife is a doctor.”
“In a small town.” Anton chuckled. “Sickness doesn’t pay as much as you think, not in the human world. Better to use my natural talents.”
I bumped my hip against his. “Admit it, there’s a part of you that enjoys it.”
Anton rested his face in his hands. “There is a certain joy that comes with wreaking vengeance.”
“But you’re conflicted?”
“It’s Verity,” he admitted. “She doesn’t always approve of what I do. She worries about the kids.”
“Any sign of which way Ryan is leaning?” I asked. At only a year old, Ryan was too young to show signs of his nature yet. Olivia favored my brother over her druid mother, but her demonic powers were likely a watered-down version thanks to Verity’s druid genes. Only time would tell.
“No sign yet,” Anton said. “Dad keeps trying to coax the evil out of him.”
“I noticed,” I said. “We should probably try to curtail his influence.”
Anton smiled to himself. “I think he forgets what it’s like to have little ones around.”
“I’ve never had little ones around, so this will be new for me.”
Anton nudged me. “You were the little one.”
“Mom’s been messing with dad’s golf clubs,” I said.
He chuckled. “Better the golf clubs than his car.”
“What did she do to his car?”
“Last month she put a spell on the tires to make them bounce. You should’ve seen Mrs. Paulson’s face when he drove out of the close.”
A cry from downstairs brought Anton to his feet. “That’s my cue to leave.”
“Leave?” I said. “Isn’t that one of your kids?”
He held up a finger. “Exactly.”
He disappeared from the attic before I could say another word. I decided to hurry up and get dressed so that I could head to work before anyone saddled me with a crying child.
I wasn’t sure what I expected from my office, but it wasn’t this. In San Francisco, my office was in a large building downtown, filled with federal employees and heavy security. Granted, I worked in the field most of the time, but I still had a decent place to sit down at a desk, fill out paperwork, and drink a decent cup of coffee.
“This can’t be right.” According to the information FBM headquarters gave me, my office was on Asiago Street squeezed between a tattoo parlor called Inkspiration and a donut shop called Holes.
I turned the door handle and was surprised when it opened. Not that I’d miss the daily screening to get into work, but a locked door seemed like a good idea, particularly in this part of town.
A cursory inspection revealed that the office housed two desks, a kitchenette, and a long table at the back of the room. Did Paul hold meetings here sometimes? It seemed unlikely. Who would attend?
The only window was the one at the front of the building and the blinds were drawn. I’d have to do something about the lack of natural light. I hated a dark space.
I walked over to the desk on the left and inhaled sharply. The surface was covered with papers and not in any kind of orderly fashion. No neat stacks. Just scattered papers, Post-It notes, and slips of paper with scribbles on it. A computer hummed in the background.
The door swung open and a short, stocky guy walked in, holding a travel coffee cup. His brown hair looked as though it hadn’t been combed in a week. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed me. “Oh, wow. You must be Agent Fury.”
I squinted at him. “I am. Who are you?”
“Neville Wyman,” he said. “I’m your assistant.”
“I have an assistant?” I surveyed the quiet office. “For what?”
Neville closed the door behind him and peeked through the blinds before responding. “All your magical needs, O angry one. I’m a wizard. It’s my job to create whatever you might need for a successful assignment. Charmed amulet. Cloaking spell. Paul nicknamed me Q, like in James Bond…”
“Angry one?” I interrupted.
Neville lowered his head. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to anger you, angry one. I meant it as a compliment of the highest order.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. “In what universe is that a compliment?”
“I’m told you’re a fury,” he explained. “One of the infernal goddesses. The Erinyes, which translates to the angry ones.”
“Right.” I guess it was intended as a compliment, however weird it was. “Why did Paul need an assistant to do spells for him? He was a wizard.”
“He usually had other priorities,” Neville said. He set the coffee cup on his desk. “I’m so sorry. If I’d realized you were coming in today, I would’ve gotten you one as well.”
“Is it from the Daily Grind?” I asked. Just the thought of their warm, delicious lattes made my stomach yearn for one.
“No, Holes, the donut shop next door,” Neville said. “Paige is a delight. She and her husband Shia own the place, but Paige is the real backbone of the operation.”
I wrinkled my nose at the prospect of drinking donut shop coffee. I’d been spoiled by San Francisco coffee shops. The Daily Grind was the only place that came close in Chipping Cheddar.
Neville took his seat, so I sat in Paul’s chair. Well, my chair.
“Was Paul working on anything before he died? Any cases I should know about?”
“It’s been quiet of late,” Neville replied. He popped the lid off his coffee and slurped. I tried not to react. Slurping was right up there with snoring and foot tapping as far as I was concerned.
“Were you close?” I asked.
Neville raked a hand through his unruly hair. “I suppose. He was often fascinated by my creations. Wanted to know my secrets so he could replicate him.” Neville smiled at the memory.
I hesitated to ask my next question, but what the hell, I was nosy. “Were you with him when he died?”
Neville shook his head and took another drink. “No, but I found him.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I genuinely was. “That must’ve been awful.”
Neville’s expression grew somber. “He was due to meet me here after lunch. When he didn’t turn up, I called him but got no answer, so I activated the locator charm on his phone and found him in the park down the block.”
“Why was he in the park?”
“It wasn’t unusual. He used it as shortcut to get here from his place.” Neville shuddered. “He was covered in bee stings. He was so swollen that I barely recognized him.”
“Did you know he was allergic?” I asked.
Neville nodded. “He mentioned it a couple times in passing. Wanted to know if there was a magical equivalent of epinephrine because the cost of the injectable medication had gone up exponentially.”
“And is there?” I wasn’t allergic to bees, but I was curious.
“Not that I could do,” Neville said. “I suggested he see Dr. Verity. She’s a healer.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Druid powers.”
I broke into a smile. “I’m well acquainted with Verity Fury. She’s my sister-in-law.”
Neville smacked his forehead. “Of course. I knew that. I’m so accustomed to calling her Dr. Verity, I forgot.”
“I didn’t realize she used her first name with patients,” I said. I wondered whether it was a deliberate attempt to distance herself from the Fury name. It wouldn’t surprise me. My family had a certain reputation in Chipping Cheddar. If you were supernatural, you steered clear because you associated them with evil and didn’t want to get caught in their malevolent net. If you were human, you steered clear because they were odd. And loud. And likely to trip you if you cut in line at the supermarket. Was it any wonder I moved three thousand miles away at the first opportunity?
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