“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 doo
r 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?
“Was he meeting you here after lunch to discuss a case?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Neville said. “I’m not aware of one. We’d talked about organizing his desk.” He inclined his head toward me. “As you can see, it’s a bit of a mess.”
“That’s not part of your job as his assistant? To declutter the office?”
“Not really,” Neville said. “Paul didn’t like me to touch anything on his desk. He claimed he had a system that worked for him, but then every so often, he’d ask for my help.”
“Any idea why so many bees went after him?” I asked.
“I found the hive in the park,” Neville said. “It looked like he must’ve disturbed it as he passed and upset the occupants.”
“That’s too bad,” I said.
Neville pressed his lips together in silent agreement.
“So what’s a typical day like for us?” I asked. “Should I be reading through any files?”
“I’d start with the rules of conduct, which I have taken the liberty of dusting off for you.” Neville reached into his drawer and pulled out a binder. “It’s fairly comprehensive, but let me know should you have any questions.”
“Thank you.” I paged through the binder. “There are a lot of rules.”
“Bureaucracy reigns supreme here,” Neville said cheerfully. “We must preserve our secrets from the human population, all the while protecting them from creatures they’re unaware of.”
“Is that why our office is in the worst part of town?” I asked.
“No, that’s for budgetary reasons. The Bureau doesn’t earmark much money for Chipping Cheddar. With the portal here dormant, we don’t have as much need as places like New York and Los Angeles.”
“But the existence of the portal still draws Otherworld beings here,” I said. “Chipping Cheddar’s mystical energy is pretty strong for a small town.”
“Agreed. And that’s why we’re here.” He flashed a smile and I noticed a small gap between his front teeth. It was slightly endearing.
“So do you work regular hours?” I asked.
“I make them regular,” Neville said. “I prefer this place to my apartment.”
I glanced around the cramped office and felt a pang of sympathy for him.
Neville placed a plastic container on my desk. “Here is your FBM badge and your phone.”
I stared at the two objects. “Anything special about them?”
“The FBM badge looks like a normal FBI badge to humans, but our kind can see that it’s the Federal Bureau of Magic.”
I held up the phone. “And this?”
“I’ve fitted it with a locator charm that I can activate,” he said. “That’s standard. My number is programmed in, as well as headquarters and the local chief of police.”
I aimed it at him. “Does it also double as a gun?”
<
br /> He blocked the phone and gently moved my hand aside. “No, but it has other capabilities. Wield it carefully, my infernal goddess.”
“Agent Fury will do.” I hoped Neville got over his shock and awe. I didn’t want to be worshipped, certainly not by a guy I wasn’t sleeping with. I needed a little fresh air and exercise. “I think I’ll take a stroll down the promenade and drop in at The Daily Grind. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” he said. “When you get back, I’ll give you a demonstration of some of my inventions. I have some wonderful creations here just begging for the right opportunity.”
“That sounds great,” I said. I was interested to see what the FBM paid Neville to do. At this rate, I was interested to see what they paid me to do. So far, the office appeared just as sleepy as I imagined it would be. If I didn’t get fresh air now, I’d be ready for a goat nap.
It wasn’t the best route from Asiago Street to the promenade, but at least it meant I’d get more steps in. I tried to log my daily steps and hit at least ten thousand a day. It was easy enough in San Francisco. Lots of hilly streets.
As I walked down Roquefort Road, I admired the row of brightly painted buildings. Chipping Cheddar loved pops of color in unexpected places. In many ways, San Francisco reminded me of a bigger, better version of my hometown. Maybe that was the reason I’d subconsciously chosen it. And here I’d always thought it was because any further would land me in the Pacific Ocean.
I reached the promenade that trailed alongside the Chesapeake Bay. With the warm sunshine and gentle breeze, it was a refreshing walk. The boats beckoned me, so I decided to take a quick detour before heading for coffee. I could never live too far from water. My mother used to accuse me of having mermaid genes, as though I could choose my own DNA. If I could, I wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. I’d be a normal twenty-six year old woman. One hundred percent human, with no obligation to reap vengeance or seek justice. My ancestors lived in the underworld and tortured the souls of the damned. They punished their victims by driving them mad, among other things. That’s not really how I picture my life. It was no wonder my family was so infuriating. They came by it honestly. Unfortunately, I was the only one who inherited the specific fury gene.
Great Balls of Fury Page 3
