Page 36 of Poltergeists & Change of Life

Stella laughed as she brought up the rear and fired off spells like a one-woman magical artillery unit. My heart made a good attempt to leap from my chest when I noted her hair was singed at the edges. There was a manic gleam in her eye that suggested she was having way too much fun with this. "Save the jig for when we're out of here, Pheebs. Though I'd pay good money to see that. Maybe we can schedule a performance for after the babies are born."

Before I could retort with a suitably witty comeback (pregnancy brain be damned, I still had a few good ones up my sleeve) we rounded a corner and found ourselves face-to-face with a dead end. Okay, not so much a dead end as an ornate locked door. The symbols carved into its surface pulsed with an ominous light. It figured that regular doors were too mainstream for ancient magical catacombs.

"Well," I said as I propped my hands on my hips and caught my breath, "unless anyone's hiding a magical skeleton key in their back pocket, I think we might be in trouble. Any chance one of you took 'Lockpicking 101’? The mystical edition, of course."

Stella stepped forward. Her face was scrunched up like she'd just licked a lemon-flavored lightning bolt. She had that look she gets when she's either about to come up with a brilliant solution or accidentally summon a demon made entirely of glitter. Ormaybe both. "It's not a lock," she murmured. "It's a puzzle. We solve it, and we can get through."

I groaned louder than a zombie with indigestion. "A puzzle? Really? What is this, 'Escape Room: Pregnancy Edition’? I’d rather solve a Rubik's Cube and play a game of Twister."

Nana's eyes twinkled with more mischief than a raccoon in a dumpster. "Oh, hush your whining, Phoebe. This is more exciting than that time I sneezed during my baking spell and turned your mother's award-winning apple pies into sentient dust bunnies. Took weeks to vacuum all the little devils out of the house."

Stella put the books down as she translated. Her lips moved faster than a hummingbird's wings after an espresso binge. "Okay, we've got a series of symbols here. Fire, water, earth, air... and is that... a taco?"

"Ooh, don't tease me with tacos right now," I grumbled. My stomach growled in agreement.

Nana squinted at the symbols, then snapped her fingers. "I've got it! We need to press these doohickeys in a particular order. It's like one of those Simon Says games. Instead of colors, we've got elements. And lunch, apparently."

A snort escaped me. "I’d rather play ‘Simon Says: the Armageddon edition’ than continue running. Any idea what the correct sequence is? Or are we gonna poke at it and hope we don't blow ourselves into next week?"

Stella's eyes lit up like she'd just discovered a sale at the local department store. Yeah, she was a clothes whore like Tseki. "Wait. Look at the wear patterns on the symbols. Some are more faded than others. We just need to figure out the order."

We all leaned in, squinting at the ancient puzzle like it was a particularly tricky Where's Waldo page. After a few minutes of debate that involved more hand-waving than an Italian family reunion, we agreed on a sequence. "Alright," I said, cracking myknuckles. "Let's do this. If we end up in another dimension, I'm blaming you all. Especially if it's one without indoor plumbing."

With all the gravity of a bomb disposal expert or a pregnant woman reaching for the last slice of pizza, I started pressing the symbols. Fire, air, earth, and water, in that order. I rounded it out with, yes, the mysterious taco symbol. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wall started to rumble and shake like it was auditioning for a part in ‘San Andreas 2: This Time It's Prehistoric"’

"Um, guys?" I squeaked, backing away as fast as my body would allow. "I don't suppose anyone brought a magical 'Undo' button, did they?"

Before anyone could answer, the wall split open with a dramatic flair worthy of a Beyoncé concert entrance. Beyond the opening lay a chamber vast enough to make Costco feel claustrophobic. It was another room where the walls were lined with ancient texts and artifacts that practically screamed, ‘Touch me and unleash unspeakable horrors upon the world’!

I smirked as we stepped inside. "And they say pregnancy brain is a disadvantage. Ha! Take that, assholes." The wall slammed shut behind us with all the subtlety of a drama queen exiting stage left. It was like the catacombs were auditioning for a role in ‘Indiana Jones and the Temple of Overcompensation.’

We'd just walked into the world's most dangerous library, where checking out a book might result in accidentally summoning a Titan god or turning yourself into a newt. No big deal in the grand scheme of things, right? My attention was snagged by what stood in the center of the room. On a pedestal, bathed in an otherworldly light that would have put any high-end nightclub to shame, sat what looked like a miniature model of the universe. Galaxies swirled, stars pulsed, and at the very center, a heart-shaped object beat with a sinister rhythm.

"The original Heart of the Abyss," Aidon breathed. His voice was filled with awe and dread in equal measure.

Stella was already poring over the texts surrounding the model. She looked like a kid in a candy store. If it sold potentially world-ending artifacts and forbidden knowledge. "This is incredible," she exclaimed. "There’s a guide here. It shows how one makes the Heart and connects it to different realms, and more importantly..."

"How to destroy it?" I finished, hopefully. We already knew Lyra had modified the spell to bind Hattie’s spirit. We needed to undo that before it was too late. "Please tell me it comes with an instruction manual. 'How to Dismantle Cosmic Horrors for Dummies’, perhaps?"

She snort-laughed as she traced lines of ancient text with the kind of focus usually reserved for brain surgery or trying to follow the plot of a Christopher Nolan movie. "According to this, the Heart can only be unmade at the nexus point of all realms.”

Melinoë held up a hand. “Before you ask, it’s a place where the barriers between worlds are at their thinnest."

"And let me guess,” I began, “this nexus point is in some hellish, hard-to-reach place guarded by demons and probably a Tainted witch or two for good measure? They should throw in some lava pits and a Starbucks with baristas who always spell your name wrong, no matter how simple it is."

I rubbed my swollen belly, feeling the triplets doing what felt like a mosh pit of magical sumo wrestlers inside. It was like they were competing in the Otherworldly Olympics, and my uterus was the unfortunate venue. "I can see it now. 'Welcome to the Nexus Point of Doom! Please enjoy our complimentary Wi-Fi and try not to die horribly. Don't forget to visit our gift shop’. You can buy a t-shirt that says, 'I saved the universe and all I got was this lousy shirt... and some PTSD’."

Stella rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "Always with the dramatics, Phoebe. It's not that bad. It's in a place called the Void Between Worlds. And getting there... well, let's just say it's not a trip you book through your local travel agent. We need someone who specializes in potentially fatal excursions to realms beyond mortal comprehension."

"Oh really?" I arched an eyebrow. "Name one time we've gone on a magical quest that didn't end with us running for our lives or facing some catastrophic world-ending event."

She opened her mouth, paused, then closed it again. "Okay, fair point. But look on the bright side. At least this time, you're already pregnant, so we don't have to worry about any surprise magical baby bombshells mid-quest."

"Small mercies," I grumbled, wondering for the umpteenth time how this had become my life.

Stella was about to dive deeper into the ancient text's cryptic instructions. But the chamber shook with the force of an explosion that would have made Michael Bay green with envy. Dust and debris rained down from the ceiling like the world's least appetizing confetti.

"Looks like our shadow friends got tired of knocking politely," I quipped, trying to hide my panic behind sarcasm. "How inconsiderate of them to interrupt our light bedtime reading."

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