a late brunch, laughing and catching up.
Bacon sizzled in a cast-iron pan; grits bubbled thickly in a pot, while Mama stirred gravy for the fluffy, towering biscuits in the oven. Eudora sat at the table, sucking on her false teeth, while the men argued about basketball. “We didn’t have basketball in Scotland,” Damon was telling them.
“Hoops after breakfast,” Robbie decided.
Her father wouldn’t hear of letting Damon sneak away to work, and held him captive in the kitchen as if he were already a member of the family. Damon soaked up the noise and laughter. Harmony’s heart squeezed tight when she realized that this was something he’d never had—a family.
This was all going much better than she’d expected. When was the other shoe going to drop?
She straightened, admiring the festive look the fruit and china brought to the table, and was about to tend to the bacon when in the corner of her eye she saw something move.
She blinked. Surely it was lack of sleep playing tricks with her vision.
She waited for more movement. Nothing. She was seeing things. As soon as the food was ready, everyone sat around the table. Damon, bless his sweet heart, pulled out her chair, taking cues from her father and brother Jake, who did the same for Mama and Eudora.
Even though only one-third of the Faithfulls were in attendance, they were a noisy group, and the conversation filled the small kitchen. Dishes were passed around. When everyone’s plates were filled, they joined hands to say grace.
In the hush that came over the room, Harmony’s coffee cup scraped sideways. Her hand shot out, stopping it. “Fly,” she explained urgently, her heart in her mouth. “They’re really in abundance this time of year.”
The moving cups had been no trick of her eyes. She prayed for inspiration, for an excuse, an explanation, anything at all to hop into her head and out her mouth, but the prospect of monsters from Hell appearing while her family was here had all but paralyzed her.
“Hold Great-grandma’s hand, baby,” her mother urged. “Your father wants to say grace.”
Ever so reluctantly, Harmony withdrew her hand from the cup and slid her fingers back into Eudora’s cool, dry palm. As Reverend Faithfull’s resonant voice boomed, everyone’s eyes were closed, except for Harmony’s. Eyes wide open, she stared at the cup. But from across the table, she heard a soft scrape. Heart pounding, she watched three of the cups slide across the table, pushed by the strawberries. Switching positions, the cups moved around in some sort of paranormal shell game. Harmony made a squeak, and both Eudora and Damon squeezed her hands.
“He plays with you because you don’t know how to fight him,” the old woman whispered. Instinctively, Harmony knew her great-grandmother meant the Devil himself. “If you fight his evil with goodness, he’ll lose interest and cease his games. Not forever, mind you, but for now.”
Damon murmured back, “My powers, they are gone.”
Eudora clucked in disapproval. “They’re different now, your powers, not gone, and stronger than ever for the enemy you will face for a lifetime.”
Mama opened an eye. “We will discuss the flies once your father is done speaking.”
They were silent for a moment, then their furtive whispering continued.
“Harmony has never accepted she has powers,” Eudora continued, “but she’s come into them now. It’s what drew you to her, Damon, and her to you. And what still attracts Satan to you both. He feels the power, the power of good, and it threatens him.”
With that scary thought lingering in the air, Harmony’s father finished grace. “Amen,” they all said, and with a clattering of plates, silverware, and voices, the brunch began.
Harmony’s appetite had vanished. Damon sat tense and ready for battle.
“Who moved the strawberries and mugs during grace?” Jake Jr. asked, laughing. “You, Robbie?”
His little brother looked indignant. “It wasn’t me.”
“When we were kids, we used to play pranks when everyone’s eyes were closed during grace,” Harmony explained to Damon. To the others, she said, “I . . . um, thought it’d be fun to take a trip down memory lane.”
Everyone moaned at her. “Harmony . . .”
Her laugh was brittle. “Sorry, it was too much fun to resist,” she said, thankful for the chance at an excuse for the displaced cups.
Then her strawberry bounced into the air. She snatched it. Before she could take a bite out of it and pretend nothing was wrong, she saw a tiny green creature hanging from the stem.
A little green man.
“Ah!” She dropped the berry into her grits with a noisy plop. Her mother glanced at her sharply. “A caterpillar,” she explained breathlessly. “The countryside is full of them.” Where did the green man go? Was it drowning?
Then Damon’s cup jerked forward. His hand slammed over it. “Aye, nothing we do seems to stop them.” Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear. He sounded sick at heart. “Snotlings.”
“What are those?” Her voice sounded strained and shaky, and a little bit crazed. “Wait, it doesn’t matter. How do we get rid of them?” She reached for the pitcher of water, and he caught her hand.
“Water has no effect,” he whispered. Harmony could see her family trying to catch a snatch of their hushed conversation. “They are the smallest of the green-skinned races. The orcs and goblins use them as slaves for simple tasks because they’re not intelligent creatures.”
A snotling peeked out from under her father’s plate. Harmony watched in dread as her father cut into his strawberry with his knife and fork. “They seem smart enough to me.”
“I mean, they are not a threat on their own to other creatures. They form gangs to attack.”
Jake Jr.’s strawberry rolled to the edge of the table. He caught it in his palm before it leaped off the edge. “Your table needs leveling, kiddo,” he informed Harmony. “The food is rolling off.”
She made a weak laugh. “There’s still so much to do around here.” Something green darted across her plate. She squished it under a biscuit. Her mother frowned at her, as if she were a child playing with her food. But that impression was better than the alternative.
The fork on Great-grandma’s plate rattled. Utterly calm, Eudora covered it with her napkin. What if Daddy’s plate was attacked next? Or Mama’s? What if they saw they weren’t caterpillars or flies? Perspiration trickled between Harmony’s breasts. Her heartbeat was erratic. She was never going to make it through this meal without passing out. Short of screaming fire, how was she going to evacuate her family from the kitchen?
“Bullies,” Damon muttered softly. “That’s all they are. Ye canna be afraid. Goodness will always win out. We are stronger than them. Far stronger.”
“Then why do they keep returning?” Harmony whispered.
“Because they can,” Eudora said. “Damon is correct. You have the power to eliminate them.”
“We’ve tried. Nothing works.”
“Call a pest control company,” Jake Jr. suggested, biting into a piece of bacon.
“Monday,” Harmony mumbled. “I’ll give them a call. If I’m not dead by then.”
The old woman frowned. “Satan torments you because your panic makes it fun. Take away the reason for his amusement, and he’ll forget about this place and move on. Not forever, mind you, but for now.”
Harmony tried to read the woman’s mysterious expression. “How do you know so much about Satan?”
Her eyes seemed suddenly ancient. “Oh, we’ve crossed paths before.”
“Grandma . . . please.” Daddy shook his head. “Let’s keep our mealtime conversations on happier things. Heaven, for instance, as opposed to Hell.”
Eudora placed her hands in her lap, primly, but Harmony didn’t buy it for a moment. “It’s always good to be grateful for what we have so much in abundance in this family,” she reminded him. “Our goodness.”
Murmurs of agreement went around the table.
Eudora continued with her little homily, addressing her father, even though Harmony knew the lesson was intended for her and Damon. “Because of your position and power, Jake, Satan toyed with our family more than once. He places temptation in our path, tries to ruin us, but I’m always ready for him. Always ready.”
