Grace Under Fury Page 11

  “If it requires a bra or lipstick, I’m out.”

  I stared at her. “What would I ever need from you that requires either of those things?”

  “Maybe you need me to flirt with the chief to keep him distracted while you search his office for a set of keys,” Grandma said.

  “This isn’t The Dukes of Hazzard,” I said. “Besides, I have an invisibility locket for that sort of thing.”

  Grandma eyed me curiously. “That could come in very handy around here.”

  “I won’t be your accomplice in causing trouble,” I said.

  “I don’t need an accomplice,” Grandma said. “I’m perfectly capable of causing trouble all on my own.”

  “I need to know about supernatural infections and diseases,” I said. “Anything that might explain what’s going around here.”

  “And what makes you think I’d know anything about that?” Grandma asked.

  “Because I know the kind of dark arts you used to practice,” I said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you inflicted a few of them.”

  Grandma’s mouth formed a thin line. “Are you accusing me of causing the sniffles?”

  “It’s a little worse than sniffles.”

  Aunt Thora returned with Ryan in the stroller, fast asleep. Anton swooped in. “I’ll carry him to his crib.”

  “If I were responsible for this, trust me, you’d know.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “You’re usually not happy until someone loses an eye.” I immediately regretted putting ideas into her head.

  As I feared, Grandma seemed to take the suggestion under advisement. “You know, Rita Lafferty has been sticking her nose into everyone’s business lately. Maybe I should teach her a lesson.”

  “By removing her eye?” I asked. “How would that teach her a lesson?”

  “She’d be too busy moaning about the loss of her eye to focus on anyone else.” Grandma shrugged. “Problem solved.”

  Aunt Thora poured water into the kettle. “Make sure you take the left eye. Her right eye is the weaker one.”

  “Aunt Thora!” I gasped. She was normally against this sort of behavior.

  My great-aunt looked at me. “She’s awful, Eden. She told everyone about Geoffrey Hatch’s gonorrhea, including his wife.”

  “Wait. How did he get an STI if his wife…?” I trailed off. “Oh.”

  “When I was a young girl, you’d lose a limb for less,” Grandma said. “And a man could lose…”

  “Grandma.” I jabbed my elbow in Olivia’s direction.

  “What? Anatomy is important,” Grandma said. “Maybe we should help Michael Bannon lose an eye, then he’d be less likely to notice damage to his car.”

  Olivia tugged on my sleeve. “Can I please?” She accentuated the word please until my heartstrings were properly plucked.

  Aunt Thora pulled a mug from the cupboard. “I’ve been thinking about him.”

  I kneeled on the floor and let Olivia work her preschool magic on my hair and makeup. “What about him?”

  “He lives alone. Has no family and people started to get sick around the time he moved in,” Aunt Thora said.

  Grandma appeared contemplative. “I don’t sense a demon. Just a jackass.”

  “Could be a glamour,” my mother said, making an appearance. Although there wasn’t a hair out of place, I was pretty sure she’d just woken up from a nap. “Aunt Thora’s right. It’s something to consider.” She laughed when she spotted me on the floor. “Well, that’s a fabulous job, Olivia. Eden looks adorable with corkscrew curls.”

  Olivia smiled proudly. “Like a poodle.”

  “How do you explain that colorful makeup then?” my mother asked.

  “She’s a show poodle,” Olivia corrected herself.

  I peeked at my mother out of the corner of my eye. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

  “I’m simply impressed with how talented my granddaughter is,” my mother said. Her statement was punctuated by a sharp sneeze. “Here I thought she’d be all demon, but there’s definitely a touch of magic in her DNA, too.”

  Anton emerged from the hallway. “Eden, Chief Fox is here to see you.”

  I glanced at Princess Buttercup, still in the wagon. “One makeover and you lose the power to bark?”

  “He can shoot a gun, but he can’t use a phone?” Grandma muttered.

  “He just wants an excuse to see her,” my mother said. “An obvious tactic. I use it myself when I want to make my interest clear.”

  “You make your interest clear by how much cleavage you’re showing,” Grandma said.

  “What’s cleavage?” Olivia asked.

  “You’ll find out when you’re about twelve,” my mother said. “Unless you take after Aunt Eden. Then it’ll be more like sixteen.”

  I glared as I stalked past her and went to the door. It was only when I saw the chief’s expression that I remembered my current state.

  “You…That’s a new look,” Chief Fox said, treading carefully.

  “My niece is sick,” I said. “She needed a project.”

  He burst into a smile. “I think she found one.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I was in the neighborhood, so I came by to update you on the health and safety report for Magic Beans.”

  “You have the report already?” I asked.

  “Mayor Whitehead put a little pressure on some folks,” he said.

  That was understandable. “Wait. You were in this neighborhood?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Chief Fox replied. “I had to stop by your new neighbor’s.”

  “Let me guess—Michael Bannon?”

  The chief smirked. “He seems to be having trouble settling in.”

  “Did he complain about us?” I asked.

  “He complained about a lot of things,” the chief said, “including global warming, taxes, and his rheumatism.”

  “You should’ve sent Deputy Guthrie.”

  “Next time, I intend to.” He suppressed a laugh. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to take you seriously with that…” He pointed to my face.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Artwork?”

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the preliminary report looks good.”

  “So nothing that would cause illness?” I asked.

  “Not so far,” he said. “They’re going to run a few tests on samples they collected and get back to me.”

  “She can’t reopen yet, can she?” I asked.

  “Not until we’re one hundred percent, but if we can rule out Magic Beans, it helps.”

  “Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

  “That was the mayor’s request.” The chief reached for a strand of hair and gently tugged the curl only to watch it bounce back in place. “Next time you’re doing makeovers, will you let me know?”

  “So you can join in?”

  He grinned. “So I can watch. Your family seems much more entertaining than television.”

  I stifled a groan. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I watched Chief Fox drive away and then hurried to the bathroom to clean off Olivia’s artwork. If Magic Beans wasn’t Ground Zero, then maybe it was time to investigate my new neighbor.

  I slipped back out of the house before anyone noticed. I didn’t want any volunteers tagging along. I walked around the cul-de-sac, pretending to be out for an evening stroll. Pretty unlikely without Princess Buttercup, but I didn’t want to risk having the hellhound with me when I was trying to be discreet. I passed Mrs. Paulson’s house, the home of the three Grace sisters, and a couple of others. I only slowed my pace when I came within view of Bannon’s house. The lights were off and the car was gone. Perfect.

  As I rounded the corner to snoop around the backyard, I caught sight of a familiar figure bent over a bush. “Grandma?”

  She turned slowly toward me. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “What are you doing in Mr. Bannon’s bushes?”

  “If
I said peeing, would you believe me?”

  I crossed my arms. “Nope.”

  Grandma tried to distance herself from the bush. “I was curious to see how he was trimming them. The shape is perfect.”

  “That’s not even remotely plausible.” I brushed past her and peered into the bush. “What did you do?” Then I saw it glimmering in the darkness. A tiny golden pouch stuffed into the base of the bush. I reached down and retrieved it. “Really, Grandma?” I didn’t need to open it to know what it was.

  “What’s the big deal? You’ve met him,” Grandma said. “He’s awful.”

  “But you’re even more awful,” I shot back. “You’ve been terrorizing him.”

  “Rightfully so,” she sniffed. “He deserves every difficult night of sleep he gets.”

  I opened the pouch and sniffed. “I don’t know this hex.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she replied. “You never showed an interest.”

  “Because I don’t hex anyone,” I said. “Nor should you.”

  Grandma muttered a response that included several obscenities.

  “You could just declare that I’m not the boss of you and be done with it,” I said. “No need for foul language.”

  “Oh, now you’re telling me how I can express my displeasure, too? Sheesh. What won’t you criticize, Little Beatrice?”

  I flinched. Was I really becoming like the rest of my family? Like my mother? “We’re taking this pouch home.”

  “You can’t leave now,” Grandma said. “Aren’t you here to investigate him?”

  I shoved the pouch into my pocket. “Fine. You go home and I’ll bring the pouch when I finish here.”

  “I can help,” Grandma said.

  I launched a skeptical eyebrow. “You will?”

  “Sure. If he’s guilty, then I’ll feel free to do worse than hex him.”

  “You will not,” I snapped. “You’ll let me handle it as part of my job.”

  Grandma blew a raspberry. “Yeah, yeah. Your job. Is there no end to referencing it?”

  I studied the back door. “You should probably go home now.”

  Grandma elbowed me out of the way. “And let you break in by yourself? Fat chance. I’m breaking in with you.”

  “Grandma, that isn’t a good idea,” I said. “You’re not an FBM agent.”

  “No, but I’m not a law-abiding citizen either.”

  I held my hands over my ears. “You didn’t just tell that to a federal agent.”

  “Here, I’ll get us in.” Before I could stop her, she touched the sliding glass door and said an incantation. The door slid open far enough that we could enter.

  “You didn’t use black magic, did you?”

  She made a face. “For a simple unlocking spell? I think that cold must’ve gone to your head.”

  I entered the house first and immediately turned around and flicked my fingers, using a barrier spell to block Grandma from following.

  Grandma took a step forward and bounced backward. “Ungrateful spawn! How dare you disrespect your elder.”

  “Sorry, Grandma. Can’t let you break the law. Thanks for unlocking the door, though.” I ignored the stream of curses hurled at me and continued deeper into the house. The layout was completely different from our house, which made sense. Michael Bannon’s house was a suburban, split-level style.

  At a glance, nothing seemed unusual. There were still stacks of boxes pushed against the walls waiting to be unpacked. I peeked in a few random ones to see sports equipment, lesser-used kitchen items like a blender and a crockpot, and framed photographs. I pulled out one of the larger frames for a better look. A younger, tuxedo-clad Michael smiled back at me, next to a blushing bride. She was pretty, with blond hair cut just below her ears and a winning smile. The glass had a diagonal crack from one corner to the other. I wondered whether the damage had been accidental or intentional.

  Carefully, I returned the frame to the box and closed the lid. The downstairs held nothing of interest, so I ventured upstairs. The living room and dining room were mostly bare. There was a weathered recliner in the living room and a television on a console table. No large flat screen on the wall like most men would have, suggesting that television wasn’t his main form of entertainment.

  The kitchen seemed to be in the best shape. Based on the fully stocked cupboards and variety of pots and pans, it appeared that Michael liked to cook. Well, that was one point in his favor.

  I examined the spices for any sign of magical herbs. Tarragon. Salt. Pepper. Cumin. Nothing too out of the realm. I checked the drawers and noted that his junk drawer was already heaving with random items. Nice to know it was a universal thing.

  I headed upstairs to the bedrooms. Two were empty so I went to the master bedroom and padded around the thick carpet. The bedroom furniture was made of a heavy cherry wood. The nicks told me it wasn’t new. The well-worn bedding told me that he’d used it for a long time and that it had probably been chosen by a woman—maybe even the bride in the photograph. Why did a bachelor like Michael buy a house this big when he clearly didn’t need the space? He certainly didn’t strike me as the type of guy who enjoyed neighborhood life. I couldn’t picture him organizing a chili bakeoff or a block party.

  The bedside table only held a lamp and a book about World War II. Well, at least he and my dad would have something to discuss.

  The sound of a car in the driveway sent a shiver down my spine. I dashed to the window of the bedroom to see Michael exiting the car. Oh well. I’d seen enough to be sure he was innocent. I hurried to the stairs and practically skidded all the way to the lower level to avoid being spotted when he entered the house.

  “Hello?” Michael called. “Is someone here?”

  Flaming bag of minotaur shit! His hearing was much better than it should be for a man his age. Whatever vitamins this guy takes, I should buy them for my father.

  “I know you’re in here. Is this the same ghost that’s been ringing my bell?” His voice trembled with both fear and rage. He was angry that he felt scared, apparently.

  I made it to the sliding glass door just as his footsteps thudded down the steps. Ha! See you later…

  The door refused to budge. What in Hecate’s name? I glanced outside to see Grandma standing in the backyard. She smiled and waved.

  Oh no.

  I placed my hand on the door and tried to use a release spell. Nothing happened. Grandma must’ve conjured some type of spell to prevent me from leaving.

  “Hello?” Michael called again, his voice getting closer.

  I gestured violently to Grandma, who cupped her hand to her ear and feigned ignorance. She was going to pay for this. Right now I was so incensed that I’d even consider killing her traitorous butt and leaving my mother to revive her.

  I had to override Grandma’s spell, which meant tapping into magic more potent than the kind she used. Argh! I focused my will on the door. Nothing.

  I turned around to see Michael’s shadow heading toward me, so I did the only thing I could think of. I used the locket Neville made for me and turned myself invisible.

  “Will you please answer me?” Michael asked. He looked more tired than angry now.

  “Woooo,” I said, making the first ghostly noise that sprang to mind.

  He staggered backward. “Nina?”

  “Michael,” I said in my best spooky voice.

  He dropped onto the bottom step, seemingly unafraid. “I thought it might be you. Why have you been haunting me?”

  “Bad deeds.” I stretched out the words as long as I could, taking care to alter my voice.

  Michael covered his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose the house. I wanted to stay there forever. It’s where all the memories of us are.” He started to weep.

  Great Goddess. This wasn’t what I expected to happen. What did I do now? Comfort him? Glide past him and sprint out the front door?

  “I was able to get this house cheap,” he continued. “The guy’s fam
ily didn’t want to put it on the market—too much of a hassle—so there wasn’t much negotiation. It was the closest house I could get to ours in my price range.” He sniffed. “I had to pay cash, you know. I can’t get a mortgage anymore, not with my credit history.”

  “It’s okay,” I said in my spooky voice.

  “It’s not okay,” he said. “I let you down. Even in death, I let you down.”

  I said the only words that I thought could possibly help—“I forgive you.”

  He cried openly now, his shoulders heaving. I didn’t waste the opportunity to escape. I slipped past him and climbed the steps until I reached the front door. Fingers crossed that Grandma only hexed the sliding glass door.

  I held my breath as I gripped the handle and the door opened. Thank the gods. I slithered out the door, careful to close the door behind me so that he didn’t hear the click. I bolted from the house and ran all the way home, making sure to stay invisible until I was safely in the attic.

  “Michael Bannon is a regular human,” I announced the next morning. “He has nothing to do with the outbreak and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop hexing him.”

  My mother and grandmother stared at me.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” my mother said, lowering her eyelids.

  Aunt Thora glanced up from her recipe book. “We’ve been hexing the new neighbor?”

  “That’s terrible,” my mother said.

  “Don’t let her fool you. She knows,” Grandma told me. “Who do you think put together that pouch you caught me with?”

  “I’m not giving that back to you, by the way,” I said. “That’s your punishment for locking me inside the house.”

  Grandma blinked innocently. “I thought you locked yourself in there. My apologies if I misinterpreted the situation.”

  I folded my arms. “Nice try.”

  My mother remained focused on Grandma. “Why would you throw me off the broom like that after everything I do for you?”

  “Like what?” Grandma scoffed.

  “I put a roof over your head,” my mother said. “I feed you…”

  “My sister feeds me,” Grandma countered. “You complain about the way I eat.”

  “Only because you chew so loudly,” my mother said.