Page 24 of Poltergeists & Change of Life

The stairs materialized as we descended from the attic, our clothes still damp from our otherworldly encounter. I had a fleeting moment of optimism as we reached the second floor. Maybe, just maybe, we were finally getting ahead of this apocalyptic mess. I should have known better by now. Optimism in our line of work was about as useful as a chocolate teapot in a volcano.

The moment we stepped into the living room, Stella's eyes lit up with an almost manic glee. "Ooh, shiny!" she exclaimed as she reached for the locket in Nana's hand with all the restraint of a kid in a candy store.

In my defense, I did try to stop her. But have you ever tried to come between a witch and a sparkly magical object? It's about as effective as trying to stop a tidal wave with a paper umbrella. "Stella, wait-" I shouted, but it was too late.

The second her fingers touched the locket, a light flashed so bright it made the sun look like a particularly underwhelming firefly. When my vision finally cleared, Stella was frozen in place. Her hand was still outstretched, and her face locked in an expression of gleeful curiosity that was becoming more unsettling by the second.

"Uh, guys?" I said, waving a hand in front of Stella's unblinking eyes. "I think we might have a problem. How did this happen? The necklace didn't hurt Nana."

“It's a temporal distortion,”Tarja's voice echoed in our minds, making us collectively flinch. Despite having her speak to me like that consistently for the past year, it was always a surprise when you weren’t expecting it. “The locket has trapped Stella in a time loop. This isn't your run-of-the-mill curse we're dealing with.”

I watched in horrified fascination as Stella continued to repeat the same five-second sequence over and over. "How long do you think this will last?" I asked as a note of panic crept into my voice.

“Without knowing the exact nature of the curse on the locket,”Tarja mused, her mental voice tinged with concern, “it's hard to say. It could be minutes, hours... or potentially indefinite. Time magic is notoriously unstable and unpredictable.”

"Indefinitely?" I squeaked. "We can't leave Stella like this! Her family is going to miss her at some point. She wants to be there when Nina gets ready for prom. She'll miss the birth of the triplets. Hell, at this rate, she'll miss their college graduation!"

"Calm down, Phoebe," Mom said, placing a hand on my shoulder. Her familiar Binx was pressed against her legs. His blue eyes darted between us all. "We'll figure this out. We always do."

I shrugged off her hand, suddenly irritated. "Calm down? Mom, in case you haven't noticed, we're neck-deep in curses, Dark magic, and now time loops. Our friend is stuck reliving the same five seconds over and over. Oh, and let's not forget, I'm still pregnant with magical triplets who seem to think my uterus is a bouncy castle. So, excuse me if I'm not exactly the picture of calm right now!"

“As understandable as your frustration is,”Tarja interjected in a mental voice that was soothing despite the gravity of the situation, “we need to approach this logically. Panicking won't help Stella or solve our problem.”

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. "You're right. Sorry, everyone. My hormones are all over the place on top of everything else. What do you suggest, Tarja?"

“Well, first things first,”Tarja responded, “we need more information about this locket and any other cursed objects it might be connected to. Curses this powerful rarely exist in isolation. I believe I know someone who might be able to help us understand what we're dealing with.”

And that's how we found ourselves standing outside the most stereotypical haunted house I've ever seen thirty minutes later. It was the kind of place that would make the Addams Family say, ‘Nah, too creepy.’

"Are you sure about this, Tarja?" I asked, eyeing the cobweb-covered porch warily.

“As sure as I can be,”she replied. “Marlowe might be difficult to deal with, but he knows more about cursed objects than anyone alive. Or dead, for that matter.”

Before I could ask what she meant by that last part, Nana was already pounding on the door with enough force to wake the dead. Which, given the nature of our lives lately, was a very real possibility. The door creaked open and revealed a man who looked like he'd been around since the dawn of time and wasn't too happy about it. His eyes were magnified by thick glasses. They narrowed as they landed on us. His gaze paused on Layla, and a flicker of recognition crossed his features.

"Hattie's wolf," he grunted as his eyes darted around, searching for something else. "I assume that infernal cat of hers is lurking about as well."

“Charming as ever, Marlowe,”Tarja's voice echoed in our heads, causing Marlowe to twitch slightly.

"Ah, there you are," he muttered. "And who are these other miscreants you've dragged into whatever mess you've concocted this time?"

Nana stepped forward, raising her chin defiantly. "Friends of Hattie. We've got bigger fish to fry than introductions, Marlowe. Can we come in? Or would you prefer we discuss matters of world-ending importance out here where any passing demon could eavesdrop?"

Marlowe's eyes narrowed further, clearly unhappy about the prospect of letting strangers into his domain. He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "I'd prefer the demons," but stepped aside to let us in. He eyed each of us warily as we filed past him. "Don't touch anything," he barked. "Some of these artifacts are older than your entire bloodline and twice as temperamental."

Layla rolled her eyes as she passed him. "Your hospitality is as warm as ever, Marlowe."

"Hospitality is for guests," he retorted. "You lot are more like a plague of locusts descending on my peaceful existence."

Despite his gruff demeanor, I noticed how his eyes kept darting to Layla and Tarja. Whatever history they shared with Hattie, it was clear that Marlowe held a grudging respect for them. Even if he'd rather eat his glasses than admit it. The inside of the house was... well, imagine if a library had a torrid love affair with an antique shop, and their child rebelled by becoming a hoarder. Books were stacked everywhere, interspersed with artifacts that looked older than civilization itself.

Binx prowled around the edges of the room with his tail twitching nervously while we settled in. After completing a circuit, he finally settled next to Mom. However, his eyes never left Marlowe.

"So," Marlowe said, settling into a chair that had seen better days a century ago, "what mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"

As Tarja and Layla filled Marlowe in on our situation, I found my eyes drawn to a particularly dusty tome on a nearby shelf. The title was barely visible under years of grime."Cursed Objects and Where to Shove Them: A Comprehensive Guide."

"Ah," Marlowe's voice snapped me back to attention. "The Locket of Lyra. Haven't heard of that infernal thing in a dog's age." Interesting nickname for the charm.

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