Page 6 of Poltergeists & Change of Life

“Add the unicorn tears,” Persephone told Mom. “It’s the last ingredient.” Nina gaped while I was wondering what that would do to me.

"Drink," my mother-in-law commanded. She was holding out a goblet that smoked ominously. "All of it."

Nodding, I took a deep breath. I made the mistake of meeting Aidon's worried gaze. I knocked the potion back like the world's worst shot of tequila. It burned going down. It tasted like lavender honey mixed with black cherries. It was followed by a sharp bite like expensive dark chocolate. It made my tongue tingle and my throat warm. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the pain hit.

It felt like my insides were trying to rearrange themselves into origami. I doubled over and grabbed Aidon's arm so hard I left bruises. The triplets went wild. Their magic flared in response to whatever the potion was doing. Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, the burning sensation centered on my spleen. It eased as quickly as it started and I straightened.

I gasped as the constant ache I'd been living with suddenly diminished to a dull throb. "It worked," I panted. I pressed a hand to my side. "I mean, I feel like I got hit by a truck, but it doesn't hurt as much as before." Aidon pulled me close.

Persephone’s hands hovered over my abdomen. "The dark magic signature is fading," she confirmed. "You're not fullyhealed. You need complete rest for the potion to finish healing you."

"I'll rest once we put Hattie at peace," I said, using Aidon's arm to steady myself. "Let's check the library. I have some books that might help."

Without arguing further, I climbed the stairs and continued to the second floor. Inside the library, I stumbled to a halt. One look at the others and I knew we were all trying to wrap our heads around the Lovecraftian nightmare we'd stumbled into. Lyra, that paragon of mental stability and ethical magic use, had somehow tunneled under our wards like a deranged magical mole. Rather than attacking me directly, she did it to transform Hattie into a revenge-driven poltergeist. I'd dealt with spectral wrecking balls before, but it was different having Hattie out to get me. It preyed on every insecurity I'd had from the moment Hattie had sacrificed herself and given me her magic.

"So, let me get this straight," I said. I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I half expected to leave permanent indentations. "We need to find Hattie's anchor before she goes full Linda Blair on us? You know, my day was missing that special touch of mortal peril and property damage."

Tarja fixed me with a look that could have curdled milk. "Your grasp of the obvious is truly awe-inspiring, Phoebe. Perhaps next, you'd like to point out that water is wet and the sky is, in fact, above us?" The stress of having her former witch haunting us was making her crankier than a toddler on a sugar bender. It was understandable given Tarja had spent ninety years as Hattie’s familiar before becoming mine.

As if on cue, the temperature plummeted. Next. frost began creeping up the windows like icy fingers. Hard to detect, Hattie. It's about as subtle as a mariachi band in a library.

"Right then," I said as I channeled my inner field marshal. "Time for Operation Don't-Get-Murdered-By-Ghost. Aidon,you've got the attic. Nina, take the basement. Mom, you're on library duty. Stella, the kitchen's all yours. I'll handle the office and laundry rooms."

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Aidon snarked before pressing a kiss to my lips. Nina chuckled and then took off when I turned my harshest ‘mom’ look on her.

We scattered like a flock of pigeons faced with an incoming cat. I headed toward the rarely used office with Tarja padding silently at my heels. The hallway stretched before us. Unlike the usual cheery sunshine that flowed into the area, it was darker than the inside of a smoker's lung and twice as ominous. The shadows took on a life of their own, like particularly enthusiastic dancers at a goth nightclub.

"Careful," Tarja's voice echoed in my mind. She was a bastion of calm in the eye of this spectral storm. Exactly what I needed at the moment. "Lyra's tricky. There could be magical traps."

My snort echoed in the oppressive silence. "I'm far more concerned about Hattie deciding to redecorate with our entrails. I hear ghostly viscera is all the rage this season in 'Afterlife Monthly'."

Tarja made a scratchy sound, which I associated with her laughter. “That’s particularly vivid.”

I was hit with a wall of frigid air that would have made an industrial freezer feel positively tropical when I pushed the study door open. Hattie's presence hung in the air like a miasma. It was a pungent cocktail of ozone, decay, and... was that lavender? The incongruity of that familiar, comforting scent amidst the supernatural chaos made my stomach lurch. It was a poignant reminder of the woman I spent months caring for.

Before I could fully process the olfactory whiplash, the room plunged into a darkness so absolute it made a black hole look like a sunny day at the beach. Tarja hissed. Her fur tickled myleg. An image of her back arching like she'd decided to audition for the role of 'terrified cat' in a B-grade horror flick played through my mind.

"Phoebe," Hattie's voice slithered through the darkness. Each syllable dripped with malevolence. "You can't save them. This house is mine. It always has been."

Those words hit me like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. Guilt bloomed in my chest like a poisonous flower. Hattie had sacrificed everything for me. She’d given up her life, her power, and her entire estate. And how had I repaid her? By somehow allowing her spirit to be twisted into this malevolent force. Some gratitude, Phoebe. Really stellar work there. It brought back those feelings of being a shitty Pleaides compared to her.

The part of me that wasn't gibbering in terror or drowning in remorse reminded me that this wasn't Hattie. This was Lyra's handiwork. Her darkness polluted Hattie's once-noble spirit. The real Hattie would sooner have thrown herself into a woodchipper than harm us.

I swallowed hard and tried to summon any scrap of magic I could. My hands trembled as I was ready to defend myself against the ghost of the woman who'd given me everything. If there was a cosmic irony Olympics, this moment would take gold, silver, and bronze.

"You're wrong, Hattie," I managed, my voice steadier than I felt. "This isn't you. Don't let Lyra turn you into her supernatural sock puppet."

Hattie's laughter filled the room. The sound would have sent Pennywise the Clown running for his mommy. I tried not to lose control of my bladder. It wasn’t easy with three babies using it as a trampoline. Her form flickered like a malfunctioning hologram. It grew and shrunk in a dizzying display.

"Oh, Phoebe," she crooned. Her voice was a cruel parody of the warmth it once held. "Sweet, naive Phoebe. You don'tunderstand, do you? This is my house. My power. You're just a squatter. A thief playing dress-up with forces beyond your comprehension."

Each word was a dagger, expertly aimed at my deepest insecurities. Beneath the hurt, anger began to simmer. How dare Lyra do this? How dare she take Hattie's noble sacrifice and twist it into this perversion?

Tarja's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts like a lifeline. "We need to leave. Now. Unless you fancy becoming a permanent resident of this charming little corner of the house?"

I didn't need to be told twice. Scooping her up, I bolted from the room. I slammed the door on my way out with enough force to rattle the hinges and cast a barrier spell at the same time. The wood groaned ominously as Hattie's presence surged against it. The sound of spectral nails scrabbling against the other side sent shivers down my spine. Hopefully, that would hold her long enough to regroup.

My feet carried me to the living room. Within seconds, the others joined us. Aidon shook his head. "There’s nothing up there but dust, cobwebs, and an overwhelming sense of impending doom. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

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