Page 17 of Poltergeists & Change of Life

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I said with a wince. "The last thing we need is to accidentally turn someone into a magical Godzilla while Mom brews this world-saving potion."

As the group dissolved into a discussion of the possibility of Mom creating a giant lizard, I pondered how I got to this point in my life. I was a pregnant middle-aged woman extraordinaire. I had a penchant for ill-timed quips. With a uterus currently occupied by triplets who seemed to have mistaken my bladder for a soccer ball. I was so different from what I used to be. My entire family had changed as much as I had.

My gaze tracked Persephone. We had an honest-to-goodness goddess in the house. And she was my mother-in-law. The air of someone who'd much rather be smiting mortals than strategizing with them reminded us of her power as much as the power coming off of her.

My eyes moved to Stella when she moved to the island to ask about some of the ingredients being gathered. She had been my best friend since elementary school. She was the human equivalent of a glitter bomb. Her personality was all sparkle and irrepressible cheer. And she had always looked like she'd just stepped off a fashion week runway. I was always jealous of her perfectly coiffed blonde hair and immaculate makeup. Any time I attempted to replicate what she did to my face, I looked like a demented, blind clown.

Our friendship had weathered the storms of time, distance, and life's unpredictable nature. Although our closeness had ebbed and flowed over the years like a magical tide, most of the time, we were as thick as thieves. However, I hate that there were years we were little more than Christmas card acquaintances. Regardless of how often we spoke, I always knew she was there to talk. And I would bury a body if she asked. We were always ready to surge back to full strength when needed.

And boy, had it surged recently. Stella had been there for me when I transitioned from a middle-aged divorcee to a middle-aged witch. Literally overnight thanks to Hattie's life-saving gift of power after that brutal attack by Myrna. I was thrown into a world I never could have imagined existed. Talk about a mid-life crisis with a magical twist. Stella had taken it all in stride, proving that true friendship could handle anything. Even your bestie suddenly developing the ability to turn wine into water. Speaking of which, we still needed to try that party trick.

But the real kicker? When I accidentally passed on a dying witch's powers to Stella. In my defense, it was in a moment of panic. Magic and panic attacks do not mix well. Anyway, she didn't run screaming for the hills when I accidentally gave her the witch’s magic. No. My ever-fabulous friend embraced her new witchy status with the same enthusiasm she brought to everything in life.

Boy, my hormones were making my mind crazier than a roller coaster at an amusement park. Before I could become maudlin over how grateful I was to have Stella at my side throughout these magical cases, I focused on Mom and Persephone. They’d begun their magical mixology while Nana played backseat driver. Snagging a cookie, I moved next to Nina. I was about as useful as a chocolate teapot in a sauna at the moment. I was a fair potion maker, but with my pregnancy brain, I wanted to stay far away from this one.

My breath caught when power crackled around us and made my hair stand on end. My skin even tingled like I'd just participated in a full-contact static electricity competition. Note to self: add ‘literal shock therapy’ to the list of pregnancy no-nos, right after ‘summoning Lyra’s horrors’ and ‘juggling nitroglycerin’. I told you my mind was a mess right now.

"I’m going to add a little more essence of moonlight," Mom announced as she poured what looked like liquid starlight intothe cauldron. The potion hissed and sparkled as if it was taking offense to being awake at this ungodly hour. I could relate. If I could hiss and sparkle at everyone who woke me up these days I'd be giving Tinkerbell a run for her money.

Persephone followed up with a handful of what I sincerely hoped were dried herbs and not, say, powdered unicorn horn. "Let me know when with the whispers of the forgotten," she told Mom as she started adding.

Mom peered into the cauldron and held up a hand less than a second later. “That should do it,” she told the goddess. It was good to see her in her element. Her confidence shone through.

Nana uncrossed her arms and leaned forward with a spark of interest in her eyes. "Now hold on just a minute. Did you say 'whispers of the forgotten'? That's not something you can just pick up at the corner apothecary. Where on earth do you plan to get that? And more importantly, how does one go about collecting whispers, let alone forgotten ones?"

Persephone's eyes glimmered with laughter when she looked at Nana. "The whispers of the forgotten linger where memory fears to tread. In the spaces between what was and what never came to be. They dance on the edges of abandoned dreams and nestle in the hollows of lost hopes."

The goddess raised a graceful hand and traced invisible patterns in the air. "To capture them, one must walk the twilight paths between realms. Where echoes of the past mingle with shadows of futures unmade. Listen for the sighs of regret in the rustling leaves of the pomegranate grove. And catch the murmurs of faded glory in the mist that clings to the banks of the Lethe."

The potion burbled ominously in response to the mind-boggling response. I understood the attitude our magical brew seemed to have. That was a mouthful of nothing. No wonder all prophecies were so cryptic. It was how the gods spoke. Ifstraightforward answers were given, the powers that be wouldn’t understand what their role was supposed to be in making them come to pass.

"Is it supposed to be that color?" I asked, eyeing the swirling vortex of purples and greens. It looked like a cosmic tie-dye gone horribly wrong. "Because I'm pretty sure Pantone doesn't have a swatch for 'Evil Witch Chic’. Though if they did, I bet it would be a bestseller in certain circles. Lyra’s interior decorators would go wild. We could market it as 'Cthulhu's Boudoir' or 'Void Vomit Velvet’."

Mom shot me a look with a dash of ‘I can't believe I raised you’, a pinch of exasperated pride, and a dollop of ‘what am I going to do with you?’ for flavor. "Phoebe, as much as we appreciate your snark, perhaps you could channel that creative energy into...”

Mom’s comment was cut off when the universe decided we weren't having enough fun. I stumbled and grabbed onto Nina when the house shook a second time. It was not in an 'oops, dropped a mystical ingredient' kind of way. Instead, it was more like a 'surprise earthquake mixed with a poltergeist temper tantrum and a dash of cosmic horror for flavor' way. It was the kind of shake that made you seriously reconsider your life choices. Particularly the ones that led you to stand in a kitchen while your mother brewed cosmic Kool-Aid while the world tries to turn itself inside out.

"Um, guys?" I called out, trying to keep my balance as the floor decided to do its best impression of a ship in a storm. In the Bermuda Triangle. During a hurricane. While being attacked by a kraken. "I don't think that's the potion. Unless we accidentally summoned the ghost of Fred Astaire and he's doing a tap routine in the foundations. In which case, I have several questions. Chief among them being: why Fred Astaire, and can we get him to do 'Puttin' on the Ritz' next?"

Stella laughed while Nana rolled her eyes, and Mom’s eyes flashed red. Nina clung to my arm as a piercing shriek cut through the air. It sent chills down my spine and made the triplets do a synchronized somersault that would have made Olympic gymnasts green with envy.

Hattie had decided to crash our little potion party. And she wasn't bringing a bottle of wine and a cheese plate. No, she was bringing the kind of party favors that made you wish you'd stayed home with a good book and a cup of tea. The lights flickered ominously. In the split second of darkness, I swear I saw faces in the shadows. They were twisted with rage and hunger.

The temperature dropped so fast I half expected to see penguins waddling by, complaining about the commute. Hattie was pissed. Thankfully, the cauldron bubbled away merrily in the center of the island like the world's most ominous hot tub. "Cast a circle around the potion!" Mom yelled over the growing chaos.

Her hands were already moving in complex patterns that looked like a cross between interpretive dance and an aggressive game of cat's cradle. Her eyes also glowed with an otherworldly light. It was a testament to her newfound powers as a tribred witch-vampire-shifter. "If this spills, we're looking at a magical disaster that'll make the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 look like a quaint little oopsie!" She was referring to the molasses disaster that hit Boston. More than two million gallons of thick, hot liquid poured out like a tsunami wave, reaching speeds of up to 35 miles per hour.

"And let me tell you, that was no picnic,” Nana shouted back. “Took weeks to get the molasses out of my unmentionables! Still can't look at a stack of pancakes without getting flashbacks. And don't even get me started on what it did to the local ant population. Those little buggers got a taste for the sweet life, Itell you. Had to fight off sugar-crazed ants the size of chihuahuas for months!" She was ridiculous sometimes. She was a baby when that happened and couldn’t possibly remember any of that.

"Oh, is that all?" I shouted. My hands gripped the counter’s edge for dear life as another tremor shook the house. I was starting to feel like I was starring in a disaster movie. All we needed now was The Rock to show up and start spouting one-liners. "And here, I was worried it might be something serious! Silly me, thinking we might get through this without risking a localized apocalypse in my kitchen. I guess the end of the world waits for no one, not even for me, to finish my decaf."

A vase flew across the room and shattered against the wall inches from my head. I yelped and yanked Nina down. I ducked as low as my pregnant belly would allow, which wasn't very low at all while my teenage daughter’s behind was touching the floor. I felt like a turtle trying to retreat into a shell that was decidedly not built for it. I was a turtle whose belly had been replaced with a beach ball. A very angry, kicky beach ball.

"Hattie! Honey!" Mom called out in a voice filled with authority and compassion, plus a hint of 'I'm too old for this shit' thrown in for good measure. "I know you're here somewhere. This isn't you. Fight Lyra’s influence!" She turned to me with a serious expression. "Phoebe, we need to stabilize the potion. Your connection to Hattie can tie the potion to our target. You need to try to infuse the liquid with it. Or we're all about to become very intimate with what it feels like to be on the wrong end of a supernatural blender."

“Brilliant,” Persephone nodded in agreement. "Focus on your bond with Hattie. Once you imbue the potion, we can have you drink it, and it should affect Hattie through you. I hadn’t worked out how to get a ghost to drink something." That was a huge oversight.

Instead of snarking at her, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my connection to Hattie. It was the least I could do for all Hattie had given me. I thought of card games she and I had played. The bad movies we’d watched. And the shared laughter. I could feel the warmth of our friendship. I even thought about administering the medication to her. And catering to her sensitive stomach when the chemo made her sick. Looking back, it was an honor to bathe her, and help her use the restroom. "Come on, Hattie," I muttered as I pushed the affection for her into the potion.

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