Spellbinding Starters

by Annabel Chase

  “I’m asking whether Gustav arrived in town before I did.”

  “Maybe he did,” my dad said. “What of it?”

  Gustav blanched. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I think you know perfectly well what I’m suggesting.”

  My father pointed a menacing finger at me. “Don’t start this, Eden. Just because Gustav is a demon doesn’t mean he’s guilty. Hell, if that’s your attitude, then arrest your whole family. We’re all responsible for Mick’s death…and that other guy.”

  “Not just one other guy,” I said. “Two other guys. Elliott Bradford and Paul Pidcock.”

  Gustav looked blank. “Who are they?”

  “You don’t need to know their names to be responsible for killing them,” I said.

  Gustav’s cheeks turned crimson. “I don’t kill anyone. That’s not the kind of demon I am.” A sheen of sweat formed across his brow. “I reap vengeance.”

  “Killing people using their worst fears against them qualifies as vengeance in my book.”

  “I’m like your dad,” Gustav insisted. “Mine is never deadly.”

  I fixed him with a thousand yard stare. “You mean to tell me your vengeance has never resulted in death?”

  Beads of sweat formed on Gustav’s brow. “I specialize in financial setbacks. Bankruptcies, that sort of thing.”

  “People have killed themselves over less,” I said.

  “You think because he came from Otherworld that he’s automatically a murderer?” my father asked. “What about Sally? Have you forgotten she and I met there?”

  “When you were there on a business trip,” I said. “Doling out revenge.”

  “You sound like your mother,” my father said. “She hated all my traveling.”

  “It isn’t the traveling I object to,” I shot back. “It’s the acts you perform when you get there.”

  “Gustav is not your guy, Eden,” my father said. “No suicides because someone couldn’t make the mortgage payment. You said so yourself. Their worst fears killed them.”

  I searched Gustav’s face for any sign of deceit, but I only saw an anxious demon—one that didn’t want to be accused of a crime he didn’t commit. I was at a loss for words. I believed Gustav and yet…It didn’t make sense. It had to be him. It all fit.

  The vein in my father’s neck began to throb. “I’m tired of this argument, Eden,” he said. “We are who we are.”

  “And I am who I am. That doesn’t stop you from trying to drag me across the evil boundary line kicking and screaming.”

  My father ignored my remark. “Gustav wouldn’t be responsible for the murders even if he was a killer.”

  I folded my arms. “Why not?”

  “Because Chipping Cheddar isn’t his territory.”

  “Why not cross into someone else’s territory?” I said. “Isn’t that a demon thing? Being bad? Breaking the rules?”

  “We stick to a code,” my dad said.

  “You’re demons with scruples now?” I threw up my hands and marched back into the kitchen where Sally was pouring three glasses of wine.

  “Have a drink, Eden, darling.”

  Her perfume hung in the air between us. Sally loved her fragrances.

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “I can understand your desire for closure,” Sally said. “Death is often a motivator for closure.”

  “It’s not just closure, Sally,” I argued. “People are dying. Good people.”

  The vampire put an arm around my shoulders. “You always cared too much. That’s your problem.”

  I bristled. “I don’t consider it a problem.” I happened to think it was one of my better qualities.

  “When I was a vampire back in Primrose Hill, I knew a young vampire named Rupert. Rupert fought his nature at every turn. He wouldn’t drink blood. He tried to protest his family’s feedings.” She shook her head. “Rupert was a laughingstock in Primrose Hill.”

  “I wouldn’t have laughed. He sounds like someone I would’ve liked.”

  “Exactly.” Sally took a sip of wine. “Do you know what happened to Rupert?”

  “He moved away and lived happily ever after?”

  “No, he died of starvation. Do you know how hard it is for a vampire to die of starvation? How painful? The poor boy wasted away, all because he refused to embrace his true nature.”

  I shuddered. “This is a terrible story, Sally.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s the point. Terrible things happen to so-called good people, or vampires in Rupert’s case. Let that be a lesson to you.”

  “I’m not going to starve,” I said. Not unless my grandmother was left in charge of the cooking.

  Sally patted my arm. “You’re a Fury, Eden, whether you choose to embrace it or not. Furies have been known to possess incredible powers. You should consider yourself lucky.”

  “Their powers involve the ability to torture. I don’t want that.”

  “We all have the ability to torture, even regular humans. Based on stories your father told me, that Tanner Hughes tortured you. Maybe not physically but emotionally. I don’t think one is much worse than the other.”

  “Tanner is a jackass,” I said. An attractive jackass, but a jackass nonetheless.

  “I think maybe you should focus your efforts elsewhere. This job—it just seems to exacerbate your vendetta against your family. It upsets your father.”

  “I don’t have a vendetta against my family.”

  “Then maybe stop acting like you do. You’re home now, Eden. Try letting go of all that virtue. See how it feels.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.” I went back to the living room with my tail between my legs. “I’m sorry I accused you of murder, Gustav.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge. I’ve been accused of worse.”

  Worse than murder? I decided not to ask.

  “You’re going?” my father said. “No more accusations to throw around?”

  “I promised I’d do bath and bedtime with Olivia and Ryan.”

  My father snorted. “Good luck with that.” His tone was more ominous than I would’ve liked.

  “It’s a bath and then a bedtime story,” I said. “How hard can it be?”

  My father tried to cover his smirk with his cards. “For a talented agent like you, Eden? I’m sure it’ll be a piece of cake.”

  “Olivia, please get in the tub,” I commanded.

  “I am not getting in there with my brother,” she insisted.

  “Duck,” Ryan said. “Quack.”

  “You’re little kids,” I said. “It’s a bath, not a marriage ceremony.”

  Olivia shrieked in protest.

  “Fine,” I huffed. “Give me a minute with Ryan, then you can take your turn.”

  “Quack,” Ryan said.

  “You want a duck?” I scanned the bathwater for a rubber duck but saw only an octopus, a mermaid, and a boat. At least they weren’t encouraging him to drown sailors by using the mermaid as a siren.

  “I want a shower,” Olivia said. “And I can do it myself, thank you very much.”

  I cast a glance over my shoulder. Olivia was naked except for My Little Pony underpants. Her arms were crossed and her chin was lifted in defiance.

  “It’s hard to take you seriously right now,” I said. “But you can have a shower. Satisfied?”

  Olivia snapped the waistband of her underpants. “I hate these. Mommy bought them and says I have to wear them. Friendship and magic? Ugh.”

  I suppressed a smile. “What type of underpants would you rather wear?”

  “Black, like my soul,” she said.

  I turned back to Ryan. “Alrighty then.” Ryan laughed like I’d made the best joke in the world. “You’re a good-natured fella, aren’t you?”

  “He caters to the masses,” Olivia said. “It’s pathetic.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” I felt something against my leg. I assumed it was the rubber duck and reached do
wn to put it in the tub with Ryan.

  It wasn’t a rubber duck.

  My scream pierced the air and Olivia began to laugh hysterically.

  “That’s Charlemagne,” she said.

  I backed against the wall and stared at the enormous snake. “What kind of snake is he?”

  “A Burmese python,” Olivia said. “He’s my best friend.”

  “I can see why Pinky Pie isn’t your idea of a good time.” The snake was easily fourteen feet long with brown blotches and black borders.

  Olivia dropped to her knees and stroked the snake’s body. “He won’t hurt you.” She paused. “Unless you try to hurt me.”

  “You’re my niece,” I said. “I would never try to hurt you.”

  “Anton says you used to hurt him when he was a kid.”

  “That’s a complete lie!” What a rotten brother. “Your dad used to torture me with nightmares.” His demonic powers manifested early and he had no problem using them to practice on his little sister.

  Olivia and Ryan both giggled.

  The snake’s tongue flicked out and he licked my bare leg. I cringed. “Would you mind steering Charlemagne into a larger room? The bathroom is a bit crowded.”

  “Let’s go, Char,” Olivia said. “Aunt Eden doesn’t want to play with you right now.”

  Charlemagne ducked his head and swiveled around to leave, but not before opening his jaws to grab a squeaky toy that was hidden behind the wastebasket. The little round owl squeaked as the snake carried it out of the bathroom.

  My heartbeat only slowed when Charlemagne was completely out of sight. I looked back at Ryan. “I hope you prefer hamsters when you’re older.”

  “Charlemagne likes hamsters, too,” Olivia said. “As a snack.”

  I choked on my own saliva.

  Ryan spit water into the tub. “Fountain.”

  “Yes, you’re a fountain. Congratulations.”

  “Will you show me your wings, Aunt Eden?” Olivia asked. “Pleeeease.”

  I jerked toward her. “Who told you about my wings?”

  “I heard Great-Grandma and Mom-mom talking about it. They said you were ungrateful.”

  I turned back to shampooing Ryan’s head. “I suppose I am, from their point of view.”

  “I would love wings,” Olivia said. “But no one thinks I’m a fury.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Furies seem to be few and far between.”

  “I’ll trade you,” Olivia offered.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” I said.

  “Well, if you decide to fly one night, can I ride on your back?” Olivia asked. “I’m so small. No one will see me.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. My niece was so young, yet so eager to embrace the supernatural. I had no idea why I was so different, but I was.

  “Sure,” I said. I thought of my effort to rescue Chief O’Neill from the water. “I should probably practice using them anyway, just in case I ever need them in an emergency.”

  Olivia jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “I promise I’ll stay quiet and out of sight.”

  I laughed as I rinsed Ryan’s hair. “We’ll both have to do that. We can’t let humans see me with wings, remember?”

  “If I had wings, I’d wear them for show-and-tell,” Olivia said.

  “You’ll have to settle for a painting you drew over the weekend, I’m afraid.”

  She scrunched her nose, weighing the unfairness of my statement. “My turn for a shower.”

  I leaned over the bath to drain it. “Your sister’s right, little man. Time to dry off.”

  Ryan stood up and by the time I reached for the towel, he was already dry. I blinked.

  “How’d that happen?”

  Olivia giggled. “Just a little magic, Aunt Eden.”

  “You can do that?” Wow. We were going to have to keep an eye on this one.

  “I can do a lot more than that, but Mommy says I need a dope supervision.”

  “Adult,” I corrected her.

  “That’s what I said!”

  I lifted Ryan out of the tub. “Come on, Ryan. Let’s get you dressed and give your sister some privacy.” Something my brother never gave me when I was younger.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Aunt Eden,” Olivia said. “Mom-mom says you’re a crap apple, but I like you.”

  “You mean a crabapple, and I like you, too.” Maybe Clara was right. Maybe part of being here meant I could be a guiding light for my niece and nephew.

  I picked up Ryan and began to exit the bathroom. Olivia swung the door closed too soon and it smacked me on the bottom. From the other side of the door, hysterical laughter erupted.

  “Oops, sorry!” my niece called.

  I rubbed the sore spot on my bottom and kept going. If I had any hope of influencing Olivia, I had a feeling my guiding light was going to need to shine like a supernova.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning I decided to head into the office and discuss my theory with Neville. While we chatted, I set to work trying to tidy Paul’s desk. No easy feat. The place was a mess.

  “What’s this, Neville?” I showed him a long stretch of paper with names, faces, and dates that was buried underneath a few folders.

  Neville peered at the discovery. “The alerts from Otherworld. Our equivalent to the humans’ wanted posters. Be on the lookout for any of those supernaturals. If you see them, you need to arrest them and send them back to Otherworld post haste.”

  I scanned the faces. No one looked familiar. “How often do these come in?”

  “Every morning at ten,” Neville explained. “No one’s looked at them since Paul died, though.”

  “You didn’t think this was important to mention?” It seemed like a necessary part of the job.

  “I mentioned it now,” Neville said.

  I began tracking them back to the week of Paul’s death. “Are you sure they come every day?”

  “Yes, like clockwork. Sometimes Paul used the latest one as a dartboard. Chipping Cheddar isn’t exactly a haven for demon fugitives. They’re more likely to go somewhere they can blend, like a large city. Here, they would undoubtedly stand out.”

  Neville made a good point. “There’s a date missing,” I said. “The fifth. Any reason why it wouldn’t be here?”

  Neville’s face turned ashen. “That’s the day before Paul died.”

  I double-checked the stash of papers. Yep, the fifth was definitely missing. “I don’t suppose you have any kind of security cameras set up in here?” Whichever demon was responsible, they knew enough to track down this office and hide evidence of their existence. Someone with a criminal track record made sense.

  “No, infernal goddess,” he said. “My surveillance is used on others, not us.”

  “You really ought to start locking the front door,” I said, though a demon with the right skills could easily bypass a human lock. “Or maybe add a protective ward.”

  “I’ll create one this instant.” He moved to stand in front of the door and began to chant.

  “Can we call a contact at Otherworld and get a copy of the missing alert?”

  He stopped chanting and turned. “That should be easy enough,” Neville said. “I’m happy to oblige you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “There.” He dusted off his hands. “That should be sufficient.” He headed back to his desk and the sound of a whistle set my teeth on edge.

  “What’s that, Neville?”

  “I do believe the ward has been breached, darkest one,” he replied sheepishly.

  I bristled. “Will you please stop calling me names like that? I’m Eden or Agent Fury, if you want to be formal about it.”

  “But you’re a rare and wondrous fury,” Neville said, his voice a reverential whisper. “One that deserves the proper respect.”

  “I’m not dark. I’m not infernal. I’m certainly not wondrous.” I clenched my fists. “I’m just a normal agent.”

  “And a pretty lousy one at that
.” My mother burst through the front door. “I breezed straight through your ward and nothing happened to me. Not even a little pinch.”

  My jaw unhinged. “Mom! What are you doing here?”

  Neville held up a finger. “I’ll make that call now.” He took out his phone and moved to the back of the office.

  “Your brother is at work and your father is out of town on a vengeance request, not that I dare ask that man for anything except a divorce,” my mother said. “Anyway, I wanted to make tuna sandwiches for lunch.”

  “So make tuna sandwiches.”

  She thrust out a jar of mayonnaise. “I couldn't open this.”

  I gaped at the sealed jar. “You came all the way to my office so I can open a jar?”

  “Who else? The rest of the family lacks your oversized hands.”

  “Mom, you can't just show up here. I don't work in retail. I'm an agent.”

  “I didn’t come all the way here. I was planning to have a picnic nearby.”

  “In the park across the street?”

  “Of course not. In the cemetery around the corner. Ryan is in the car.”

  My eyes popped. “You left a one year old unattended in the car?”

  She waved a hand airily. “I put a ward on the car.” She glanced back at Neville. “And it’s a lot stronger than the one you had here.”

  I groaned. “Mom. You can’t take Ryan on a picnic in the cemetery. People will notice.”

  “What do I care what people think? I used to bring you and your brother there all the time. You loved talking to the ghosts.”

  That was before I knew how weird it was for other people to see me talking to the air.

  I opened the jar and handed it back to her. “Don’t do this again. I’m very busy.”

  “Yes, yes. You and your important work eradicating evil.” She continued to stand there, holding the jar.

  “What?”

  My mother bit her lip. “You can’t date him.”

  “Who?”

  “The new chief.”

  “Who says I want to date him?” I asked.

  “Oh, please. I want to date him and he’s not even my type.”

  “Handsome and funny isn’t your type?”

  “Well, you’ve seen your father,” she replied.

  “Not saying that I want to, but why would you possibly disapprove of the chief of police?”