Great Balls of Fury

by Annabel Chase

  “Good.” My grandmother walked down the steps to the driveway and paused at the passenger-side door of my car.

  “Because she’s sitting in the front.”

  “Well, she’s not sitting on my lap. I’ve already had two hip replacements.”

  “No, you’re sitting in the back or you can stay here.”

  Grandma’s eyes sparked with anger, but she opened the back door without another word. I opened the passenger door and Princess Buttercup came flying. She perched in the seat and hung her head out the window.

  “Watch that slobber of hers,” Grandma said. “She might burn people as we drive by.”

  “Buttercup doesn’t slobber,” I objected.

  “Oh, so she has issues with her sweat glands then? I’m sure Verity can write a prescription for that.”

  I ignored her and focused on the road.

  “Is this car cursed?” Grandma asked.

  I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “No, why?”

  “Then why doesn’t it go over forty miles an hour?”

  “Because I’m in a twenty-five mile an hour zone,” I said.

  “So what? You’re a federal agent. You get special dispensation.”

  “There are families out walking,” I said.

  “Ten points for that kid in the vest.” She clucked her tongue. “No parent in their right mind should dress a kid in a vest.”

  “It’s not the kid’s fault,” I said. “You used to dress Mom in black lace dresses.”

  “And she loved it,” Grandma shot back. “She felt like a Head Priestess in that dress. Maybe if we’d dressed you in more black outfits, you’d have come around.”

  My gaze flicked to the mirror. “You really think my lack of black clothing is what ruined me?”

  “No, I think your parents are what ruined you.”

  “I’ll be sure to let them know you said that.” I turned into the parking lot of the senior center. “We’re here,” I said, happy to change the subject.

  “Use the handicapped spot,” she said.

  “I can’t do that. I don’t have a sticker.”

  “I’m your sticker.”

  “Grandma, you’re not handicapped.”

  “Fine, then get one of your golf clubs out of the trunk.”

  “I don’t have any golf clubs.” I paused, the realization dawning on me. “Why do you need a golf club?”

  “It’ll help with the handicap issue.”

  “I’m not going to whack you in the knees with a club,” I said, exasperated.

  “I wasn’t thinking of whacking me.”

  Argh. “This spot is perfectly fine.”

  “I’m an old woman. I can’t walk all the way to the building from here.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “You can wait in the car with Princess Buttercup.” I exited the car before she could object and ran into the building like it was on fire. Only after exploring every room of the senior center did I discover the gardening club met outside in the garden. Duh.

  “So if you’ll excuse Thora, she needs to come with us due to a family emergency.” Grandma stood in the middle of the gardening circle, authoritative hands on hips.

  Aunt Thora rose to her feet with the help of a friend. “No need to be dramatic, Esther. If you need me at home, just say so.”

  “We need you at home for a very special purpose that only you can…”

  I cleared my throat. “That’s enough, Grandma.”

  The entire gardening club had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at us.

  “Eden Fury, are you back home?” an elderly man asked.

  “Yes, Leroy. I told you she was,” Aunt Thora said gently.

  “It’s nice to see you, Leroy,” I said.

  Grandma ushered Aunt Thora away from the circle. “You can practice being polite another time. We’ve got business to conduct.”

  We walked around the outside of the building and back to the car.

  “What’s the emergency?” Aunt Thora asked. “We were just about to discuss different types of tomatoes. I love tomatoes, not as much as lemons, of course.”

  “We can discuss tomatoes all the way back to the house,” Grandma said. “Now get in the car.”

  Aunt Thora slid in the backseat with Grandma. Princess Buttercup was exactly where we’d left her. I had no fear of anyone trying to take her, not at her size.

  I explained the situation as we drove to the house and Aunt Thora’s expression grew brighter and brighter.

  “We haven’t summoned a ghost in decades,” she said. “Remember the last time, Esther?”

  “I remember,” Grandma said. “We wanted to know where Uncle Amos had left his stash of homemade gin. Supposedly, he had barrels of it hidden somewhere in town.”

  “In Chipping Cheddar?” I asked.

  “No, of course not. Uncle Amos never lived in this world. Otherworld.”

  “And he made gin?” I queried.

  “Nothing like you’ve ever tasted,” Grandma said. “Potent stuff.”

  “And you wanted it?” I asked. Badly enough to summon his ghost?

  Grandma squinted at me. “Maybe you’re not the only one who likes to drink and cozy up to strippers.”

  My face grew warm at the reminder of Chief Fox. “Do you remember how to summon a ghost?”

  “What do you need us for, Eden?” Aunt Thora asked. “Aren’t ghosts one of your specialties?”

  “Not all of them,” I replied. “And Paul wasn’t human. Who knows where his shade ended up?”

  “We can do this,” Grandma said firmly.

  I pulled into the driveway and we hustled into the house. My mother was already in the process of gathering the necessary items.

  “What’s the excitement?” Alice asked, swooping into the kitchen. “I sense a flurry of activity.”

  “We’re summoning a ghost,” I said.

  “One’s not enough?” Alice asked.

  “Ghost,” Ryan repeated. He sat in a highchair at the table, playing with…

  “Ryan!” I snatched the knives off the table. “Mom! Do you not pay attention? Ryan had three knives.”

  My mother looked at me like I was on hallucinogens. “Who do you think gave them to him?”

  “Verity would spit fire if she saw her son playing with knives.”

  “If Verity spit fire, I’d finally be impressed by your brother’s choice in wives.” My mother gave me a pointed look.

  “Who’s going to watch Ryan while we attempt the summoning?” I asked. Anton and Verity were at work and Olivia was at a play date, not that we’d ask a child to watch a child. Well, my mother would.

  “Ryan is fine,” Grandma said.

  “What about Sally?” I suggested.

  “Sally’s not remotely fine,” Grandma replied.

  I huffed. “To watch Ryan!”

  “I would be happy to keep an eye on the boy.” Alice materialized in the chair next to Ryan.

  “You don’t mind?” I asked.

  Alice gazed fondly at Ryan. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been able to enjoy the company of children.”

  “Just make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble,” I said, “and if he cries, come get me.”

  Alice nodded, but her gaze was planted on my nephew as he babbled to himself and piled his blocks one on top of the other.

  I let my family members amass the rest of the materials they needed and followed them outside to the backyard. I watched as Grandma marched over to the fence and levitated to see over the top.

  “Grandma, what are you doing?”

  “Pipe down,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m making sure that nosy Mrs. Paulson isn’t pretending to weed her flowerbeds.” Grandma returned to the ground and our group.

  “What makes you think she’s only pretending to weed?” I asked.

  “Have you seen her flowerbeds?” Grandma said. “Looks like King Kong and Godzilla used them as a wrestling mat.”

  “They’
re in the privacy of her backyard,” I noted. “How can you see them?”

  Grandma gestured to the fence. “Weren’t you paying attention? I just showed you how I see them.”

  “Right, and Mrs. Paulson’s the nosy one,” I muttered.

  My mother finished lighting the candles. “Now we join hands.”

  “What good are the candles?” Grandma asked. “It’s daylight.”

  “I admit, odds of summoning a ghost is usually best after dark, but we need to act now,” my mother said. “Eden thinks time is of the essence.”

  “A demon has likely murdered three people in town so far,” I said. “Yes, I think time is of the essence.”

  We all stood in a circle and held hands.

  “Repeat after me,” my mother said.

  “Why you?” Grandma asked. “You’re not the oldest. You’re not even the second oldest.”

  My mother looked aggravated. “I’m just trying to get this show on the road. Why are you being difficult?”

  “It’s in my nature,” Grandma replied. “Like excessive body hair is in your nature.”

  My mother’s jaw tensed. “My body hair is perfectly normal.”

  “Now that you apply that special lotion Thora made.” My grandmother smiled. “Don’t think I don’t know about that.”

  “Could we get started?” I asked. “I could really use Paul’s help.”

  “Repeat after me,” my mother said again with a sharp look at Grandma. “Underworlds, hear our call.”

  “Underworlds, hear our call,” we said in unison.

  “Earth, wind, fire, and air. The elements are ours to command,” she said, and we repeated it.

  “We ask that you bring forth the wizard Paul Pidcock.”

  I heard my grandmother emphasize the latter part of Paul’s surname. Very mature.

  “Come into the light,” my mother said.

  “Come into the light,” we said in unison.

  I watched expectantly, but nothing happened. No ghost materialized. The candles continued to burn. The wind didn’t even blow.

  “I feel resistance,” my mother said, confused.

  “You must be doing it wrong,” Grandma told my mother.

  “That’s your answer?” my mother shot back. “It didn’t work, therefore, I must be doing it wrong? When’s the last time you performed a spell like this? Prohibition?”

  Grandma scowled. “When’s the last time you did? When you wanted a date on a Friday night?”

  They locked eyes and Aunt Thora and I released their hands so we could put distance between us. No need to get caught in the crossfire.

  “Maybe it’s not working because the moon isn’t visible,” Aunt Thora said.

  “Maybe it’s not working because Eden isn’t a full witch,” Grandma said.

  I balked. “Now you’re blaming my genetics?”

  Grandma shrugged. “Why not? We blame genetics for your moody disposition.”

  I studied the materials on the ground and contemplated the spell.

  “Uh oh. She’s thinking.” Grandma took a step backward. “Watch out for shrapnel.”

  “What if someone’s blocking our access to Paul’s ghost?” I asked, ignoring her. “Is that possible?”

  My mother frowned. “I guess if the killer knows what we are and that we might try to communicate with the deceased, then they could interfere with contact.”

  “How?” I pressed. “Can any supernatural do that or would it have to be a certain type?” And how would the demon know who we are and what we’re capable of?

  “We should try again tonight,” my mother said. “When the moon is high.”

  “I don’t think the moon is a factor,” I said, understanding settling in. As a matter of fact, there was a demon in town that knew exactly who we are and what we’re capable of. “I think you’re right about the spell being blocked.”

  My mother straightened, pleased to be right.

  “What will you do now, Eden?” Aunt Thora asked.

  I glanced in the direction of my father’s house. “I think it’s time to practice the art of confrontation.” And thanks to my upbringing, there was no magic required for that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I saw Sally through the kitchen window and waved before opening the door.

  “Hello, Eden,” she said. “Care to join us for a drink? I was just opening a bottle of wine.”

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  My father and Gustav were in the living room, playing cards.

  “Eden, you look wiped out,” my dad said.

  “Investigations can be exhausting.”

  “Any progress?” he asked.

  “A bit,” I said. “I’ve narrowed it down to a demon.”

  My father’s curiosity was piqued. “You don’t say.”

  I looked past him for a better view of his guest. “Gustav, how long have you been in town?”

  Gustav hesitated. “A little over a week, I guess.”

  “Before I arrived home from San Francisco?”

  My father’s expression grew tense. “What are you asking, Eden?”

  “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.