Lasting Fury (Hexing House Book 2) by Jen Rasmussen Page A

there were acting like they were under the influence of a hex well before that day.”
    Graves’s eyes focused, suddenly sharp. “What do you mean? How?”
    Thea debated whether to trust him, then decided that even if he was somehow getting messages back to Fury Unlimited—and she doubted it, given how bitter he was—she most likely wouldn’t be telling him anything they didn’t already know. She recounted her conversation with the Bowmans.
    By the time she finished, Graves was laughing. Rather hysterically.
    “Want to let me in on the joke?” Thea asked.
    “As a matter of fact, I don’t.” Graves’s smile was gone in an instant, the bitter slur back in his voice. “Hexing House’s treated me every bit as badly as Fury Unlimited has. If not worse. Megaira left me for dead, but it was Alecto who did the killing.”
    “Give us some peace from your drama,” Nana said. “Nobody killed you.”
    Graves showed no sign of hearing his mother. “I can’t think of a single reason I’d help either one of you.”
    Nana stood and crossed her arms. “Graves. This is important. People are dying, and Hexing House is getting the blame for it.”
    Graves scowled at her. “What does that have to do with me?”
    “Graves. I won’t warn you again.”
    He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped and turned to Thea with a wide smile. “You want me to tell you something? Fine. I’ll tell you this.” He pointed a clawed finger at her, coming dangerously close to her nose. Thea forced herself not to flinch.
    “You’re off course,” Graves said. “You need to be thinking bigger than a few experiments. You need to be thinking about what might have gone wrong .”
    After that, he refused to say another word to Thea. Not even goodbye when she left.
    Nana walked her out. “Don’t give too much weight to what he says, for all I did make him say it. He’s not much but an old drunk now.” She sighed and shrugged at Thea. “What can I say? I have to take pity on him, I’m his mother.”
    “Thank you for seeing me, Nana, and for your help,” Thea said.
    Nana nodded. “I’ll think things over. You know. In our way. I’ll let you know if anything comes to me.”
    Thea thought of that old blue sweater hanging over the window latch back at her residence, and nodded in return. “I’ll do the same.”
    She pulled the sweater down as soon as she’d changed into her pajamas, and fed it with several drops of blood from her face.
    And as always, it showed her something.
    There was a clanking of chains. Boyd Lexington wore them, like Jacob Marley in the Scrooge movie Uncle Gary used to make them all watch together every Thanksgiving. And like Marley, Boyd wore a cloth tied around his head, holding his mouth closed.
    “Are you trying to hold in the monster?” Thea tried to ask, but her voice was unintelligible, a series of squeaks and squeals.
    Boyd pointed at something off to her side. Thea moved to look and realized for the first time that she was lying down. Whatever she was on was wet and sticky. She turned back to Boyd to tell him she couldn’t see what he was pointing at, only great folds of some dark cloth all around her.
    He’d turned into Uncle Gary. He was shaking the chains now, his face darkening under the strain of trying to speak, or maybe shout.
    Thea wanted to sit up and help him, to untie the cloth, but when she tried to use her arms to boost herself up, found she had none.
    Uncle Gary was pointing frantically now, jabbing his whole arm toward whatever it was he wanted her to see. Thea squealed and shook her head.
    He lunged at her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and tugged her up. She floated into the air—not like a fury on wings, but like a soul leaving its body. Uncle Gary’s nails dug into her back like claws, and he spun her around, so quickly Thea got dizzy and nearly fell.
    And why was she still Thea? She always took the place of someone else in her visions.
    Her eyes focused again, although her head