Poltergeists & Change of Life (Mystical Midlife in Maine #15)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T he portal materialized in our living room with a whoosh of hot air that made the hair on my arms stand up. My heart kicked into overdrive, and I prepared to blast whatever Lyra sent this time until I felt my mate’s familiar energy. Mom and Nana looked ready to throw down because they didn’t know it was Aidon. He never returned in the house. His worry for me and the babies was driving him now.

“It’s okay,” I told them. “It’s Aidon.”

He looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a hellhound as he stepped through. His clothes were singed and covered in some kind of glowing ash. His eyes also blazed with triumph as he held up a velvet pouch. "I have everything," he announced as he strode toward me. The relief that flooded through me made my knees weak. Or maybe that was just the dark magic continuing its assault on my spleen. Hard to tell these days.

Persephone appeared beside us in a shower of flower petals. Dramatic entrances ran in the family. She took one look at the ingredients and nodded. "We must begin immediately. The shadow orchid's potency fades quickly once plucked."

They hustled me to my sanctum, where Persephone had already set up what looked like a medieval chemistry lab designed by Tim Burton. She and Mom worked with precise movements. Mom crushed the shadow orchid until it released a smoke that writhed like it was alive. The two of them added other ingredients one by one. There were herbs from Persephone’s garden and ours. The potion started to smell like summer storms.

“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 fully healed. 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 my leg. 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't understand, 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.

Nana snorted and said, “Yeah, if the haystack was actively trying to dismember you.”

Nina’s complexion rivaled that of our ghostly houseguest. "Same story in the Sanctum. Though, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of questionable magazines from the '70s. I don’t know how we missed those in her file cabinets. We should probably have a family meeting about those later. Assuming we survive this little supernatural soiree, of course."

I opened my mouth to reply with something suitably witty and leader-like but was rudely interrupted by a thunderous crash from upstairs. It was followed by more of Hattie's nightmare-fuel laughter. "I suppose it’s too much to hope that our resident poltergeist has simply stubbed her ethereal toe," I muttered.

Because our survival instincts had taken an impromptu vacation, we raced upstairs. The scene that greeted us in the library would have sent Marie Kondo into conniptions. Hattie floated in the center of the room. She was surrounded by a maelstrom of books, lamps, and Binx’s favorite chew toy. It was like a poltergeist yard sale. If yard sales involved mortal peril and the very real possibility of death by literature.

I ducked as a particularly weighty tome of ancient runes whistled past my head. "Hattie!" I shouted. My body didn’t bend anymore so I barely dodged an airborne bookend. "I appreciate your enthusiasm for redecorating, but don't you think this is a tad excessive? If you wanted to rearrange the furniture, you could have just asked!"

"Rearrange?" Hattie's voice crackled through the air. It dripped with enough bitterness to make a lemon seem sweet. "Oh, Phoebe. Sweet, foolish Phoebe. I don't want to rearrange. I want to destroy. I saved you, and this is my reward? Trapped here, bound to this wretched place like a dog on a chain? You took my power, my life, my very essence. And now, I want it back."

Her form swelled and doubled in size. Darkness radiated from her like heat from a furnace. It would have been easier to deal with simple anger. What emanated from her went beyond that. It was deeper and more primal. Lyra's dark magic had tapped into a well of pain and resentment before twisting Hattie into something monstrous.

Guilt clawed at my insides, threatening to consume me. Somehow, I'd allowed this to happen to her. Some capable protégé I turned out to be. Anger rose to meet those emotions fast enough to give me whiplash. Ah, the joys of the emotional rollercoaster created by pregnancy hormones. My rage fluctuated more than my cravings. It was directed at Lyra for this violation, at myself for not protecting Hattie's legacy better, and even at Hattie for allowing herself to be turned into this vengeful specter.

"News flash, Hattie," I snapped in a voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You're not getting it back. And more importantly, you don't want it. That’s Lyra using you. She’s turned you into her personal Casper from hell.

Nana lifted the shoulders of the stylish top she’d taken from Hattie’s closet. “And, let me tell you, it's not a good look on you. You have much better taste."

Aidon made a noise in the back of his throat before he moved with the grace of a dancer. He had the precision of a surgeon when his blade sliced through the air, deflecting the airborne debris. The metal glowed with ethereal light and left trails in the air like the world's most lethal sparkler.

"As riveting as this dialogue is," he shouted over the paranormal pandemonium, "perhaps we could focus on not dying?”

Nana gave him a droll stare. “Why? Because this is escalating faster than a politician's promises during election season?”

Stella dropped to her knees and shouted, “I'd rather not become a permanent fixture on the wall if it's all the same to you guys."

"You’re right,” I told them all. “We have to think.” There had to be a way to stop this. Something occurred to me as I considered the crap we’d been through recently. “Lyra always leaves a trail," I muttered.

Nina snatched something from the floor and shoved it into my hands. “There could be something in these journals. Hattie was brilliant and powerful, and she might have detailed something.”

“You're brilliant,” I smiled at my daughter and moved behind a toppled bookshelf. She had one of them in her hands, and we frantically flipped through the old diaries. The pages were yellowed with age and covered in spidery handwriting that made my eyes cross. There was an elegance in the script of previous generations that was missing today.

"Find anything yet?" Stella called from across the room. Her usually bubbly demeanor was replaced with a look of intense concentration as she poured her magic into a shimmering barrier. "Because I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. But hey, at least it's a great core workout! Who needs Pilates when you've got poltergeists, am I right?"

"There’s hope I might see my feet again after these babies are born,” I quipped as I considered the supernatural chaos we often found ourselves in. “Although, this isn't your average, run-of-the-mill haunting. We're in full-on, batten-down-the-hatches, where's-my-holy-water poltergeist territory. I'm talking 'make Linda Blair look like a choir girl' levels of supernatural shenanigans."

"You don't say?" Stella's question ended with a yelp. She had barely dodged a flying candlestick from our familiar new poltergeist. The stick had embedded itself in the wall with enough force to make a professional darts player weep with envy. "And here I thought we were just filming the world's most interactive episode of 'Extreme Makeover: Home Edition'. Silly me!"

I was about to retort with something suitably snarky when Nana's voice cut through the chaos like a hot knife through butter. "Oh, for the love of all that's unholy and then some!" she barked, brandishing an old leather-bound book that was vibrating with enough energy to power a small city. "You two couldn't find your posteriors with both hands, a map, and a team of bloodhounds. The answer is in here. This appears to be one of Lyra's journals, may she rot in whatever circle of hell is reserved for magical psychopaths."

“It’s the ninth circle,” Aidon supplied with a growl. “My father is building a special kind of hell just for this witch.”

I vaulted, err rolled, over my makeshift barricade. It was thanks to luck that a flying lamp that was auditioning for the role of 'deadly projectile' in Brad Pitt’s next action flick missed my head. “How did her journal get here? I don’t think we can trust this,” I said as I flopped like a beached whale as I tried to get off the back of the bookshelf.

“I’m not sure that’s true.” Aidon stowed his sword and helped me to my feet. “I never met Hattie but this could be her work.”

“ Aidon is right, ” Tarja interjected. “ Hattie would have looked for a way to help us while fighting the Dark magic trying to grab hold of her. I can see her using what power she had to grab this journal and bring it here. ”

“ I bet that’s how Lyra was finally able to turn Hattie ,” Binx, my mom’s familiar, added. “ In fact, I’d say Lyra has been trying to tunnel through and turn Hattie from the moment she gave Phoebe her power. ”

Mom kicked a couple of books away from Nana while nodding her head. “That would fit. Look for an answer in there. We can evaluate the information carefully.”

Nodding, I grabbed the journal from Nana, and a jolt of energy rolled through me. It was so strong it made my teeth rattle like castanets in the hands of an overenthusiastic flamenco dancer. It made me open my magical senses so I could evaluate the book for a hidden spell. Hattie’s hurricane of rage overwhelmed me for a moment, reminding me of when I first got my magic and didn’t know how to filter out input so I wasn’t overtaken. Working around the chaos took longer than I wanted.

"Lyra bound Hattie to this house," I said as I flipped through the pages. The words writhed on the paper like literary snakes. "She used some kind of dark artifact to amp up Hattie's power and keep her tied to the place she died. I guess a pissed-off ghost wasn't dangerous enough on its own. No, she needed the magical equivalent of a triple espresso and a bag of pixie dust."

"That’s the icing on this crap cake," Nana drawled in a voice dripping with enough sarcasm to fill the Mariana Trench. "We need to find that artifact and skip the whole 'saving Hattie' schtick. We can't let sentiment stop us from doing what’s necessary."

"Nana!" I gasped, momentarily shocked out of my panic. "That's..."

"What?" she cut me off. "I'm not getting any younger. Unlike some people in this room. Now, are we going to stand around clutching our pearls, or are we going to do something about this spectral pain in the ass?"

"Right," I muttered, refocusing on the journal. "The artifact. As cliche as it seems, Lyra used a dark amulet to twist Hattie's spirit into a weapon. Who walks around thinking, 'You know what would really spice things up? A homicidal ghost with a power boost!'? Honestly, where do these megalomaniacs get their ideas?"

Hattie's ghostly form flickered, and her features morphed into something more monster than human. Her eyes blazed with an unholy fire. When she spoke, her voice shook the very foundations of the house. "You'll never find it," she hissed. Her words echoed from every corner of the room as if we'd suddenly been transported into the world's most terrifying surround sound system. "You'll never stop what Lyra has started. This house, this power, it's mine. As it has been for ninety years."

"We've stopped her before," I shot back, injecting more confidence into my voice than I felt, "and we'll stop her again. Sorry to rain on your parade, but your little reign of terror here is about to get canceled faster than a sitcom with bad ratings."

Nana snorted, rolling her eyes so hard I was half-afraid they'd get stuck that way. "Oh yes, antagonize the homicidal ghost. Brilliant strategy. Did you pick that up from the 'How to Get Yourself Killed in Ten Easy Steps' handbook?"

Ignoring her (a survival skill I'd perfected over the years), I focused on the journal, trying to make sense of Lyra's cryptic scribblings. "The amulet," I muttered, "it's hidden somewhere in the house, or close to it, and tied to the foundation. It's the only way to keep Hattie bound here. I have no idea how she managed that, but the ritual she used is outlined here."

"That should be easy enough to find," Stella chirped as she reinforced her magical barrier. A chair bounced off it, splintering into kindling. "Think of it as a scavenger hunt! We used to love those when we were kids. Finding the cursed amulet before the ghost kills us all beats a boring night of Netflix and trying not to set the kitchen on fire while making popcorn."

I couldn't quite suppress a smile at her brand of humor. Leave it to Stella to find the silver lining in a cloud that was actively trying to electrocute us. "Your optimism is truly a wonder to behold, Stella. Remind me to nominate you for sainthood if we survive this."

"Where would Lyra hide something like that? It's got to be somewhere significant. Somewhere with a connection to Hattie,” Mom suggested as she looked over the cacophony of destruction. I could tell by the look on her face she was pissed about Lyra redecorating our home in Early American Disaster.

Aidon's eyes narrowed as he deflected another projectile with his glowing blade. He looked for all the world like he was playing the most dangerous game of baseball ever conceived. "Someplace close to where Hattie died, perhaps? Her bedroom? Or maybe..."

A chill ran down my spine as realization hit, making my blood run colder than a penguin's pedicure. "The sanctum," I breathed, the words barely audible over the supernatural chaos surrounding us. "That's where Hattie died – where she passed her magic to me."

The same place where Hattie had saved me could now hold the key to stopping her. If that wasn't the universe's idea of a cosmic joke, I didn't know what was. I half expected to hear a rimshot echoing through the ether.

"Well, ain't that just the maraschino cherry atop this sundae of suck," Nana growled. "You better pray to whatever deities might be listening that we find that amulet, girlie. Because if we don't, I swear I'll find a way to haunt your ass myself. I’ll make this little spectral temper tantrum look like a day at Disneyland."

"I know you will," I said. If anyone could, it was Nana. She was something else, and I loved her dearly. "All we have to do is find the amulet, break the curse, and put Hattie to rest once and for all. Who's with me?"

"Oh, is that all?" Stella asked as she ducked. A vase exploded over her head in a shower of porcelain shrapnel, yet her smile never faltered. Though, it did take on a slightly manic edge. "And here I was worried we might have to do something difficult."

"Not really," I admitted, allowing myself a wry smile. "But I thought it sounded more heroic that way. You know, for posterity. Assuming we live long enough for there to be any posterity to speak of."

"Oh, for the love of all that's unholy," Nana grumbled, her tone suggesting she was thoroughly done with our antics. "Less talking, more moving. These old bones ain't getting any younger, and I'd rather not have my epitaph read 'Died Surrounded by Flying Furniture and Bad Puns’. Now move it!"

With Hattie's raucous cackling echoing in our ears like the world's most terrifying laugh track, we made a break for the door. As I raced down the hallway with all the grace of a drunken ballet troupe, I marveled at the absurdity of our situation. I was, pregnant with triplets and trying to balance running a magical household with solving all the problems of the supernatural world. Today, I was trying not to get murdered by the ghost of my mentor. If there was a 'Witches' Guide to Adulting', I was pretty sure I was failing spectacularly at every single step.

"Phoebe!" Aidon's voice cut through my introspection like a hot knife through butter.

I was frozen in place and turning my head to look at why he called my name when he picked me up and swung me around. "Thanks, babe," I gasped. "Remind me to thank Hattie for the impromptu redecorating when this is all over. I've always wanted to try the 'post-apocalyptic chic' look."

"Good idea," Nana snorted. "Gratitude is exactly what homicidal ghosts are looking for." I couldn’t argue with that.

“I’m going to call my mom and see if she can help,” Aidon interjected.

I nodded. “We could use all the help we can get,” I told him. He pressed a kiss to my lips before heading out the back door.

“Famous last words,” Nana muttered as she descended the stairs to the basement where our Sanctum was.

As we descended into the darkness, the air grew thick with malevolent energy. It made each step feel like wading through molasses. "Stay close," I warned the others as I summoned a ball of witch fire on my palm. Its soft glow did little to dispel the oppressive darkness. It barely illuminated more than a few feet in any direction but it was something.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sanctum spread out before us like a nightmare made manifest. It was a disaster area of overturned furniture, scattered magical implements, and swirling dark energy. The hair on the back of my neck stood up like it was auditioning for a role in a heavy metal band. And there, hovering in the center of it all like the world's most terrifying centerpiece, was Hattie.

The whiplash of seeing her there already was like being on the tilt-a-whirl sent to hyper-drive. I was being jerked around. My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes widened. “Mom, take Nina and Nana out of here. Distracting us might be Lyra’s main goal. Keep an eye out for anything sketchy.”

Nina opened her mouth, but Nana grabbed her collar and hauled her back up the stairs. She was telling her how we all had roles to play, and they had to protect the rest of the house. I was busy wondering why Hattie looked more solid down there. Was it because of her proximity to the source of her binding? Had it given her form more substance? "Welcome home, Phoebe," Hattie snarled. The twisted smile that spread across her face would have sent the Cheshire Cat running for the hills. "Ready to give back what you stole?"

I squared my shoulders, trying to ignore the fear churning in my gut like a particularly vigorous washing machine on spin cycle. "Sorry, Hattie, but I'm fresh out of stolen goods. How about we talk this out instead? Maybe over a nice cup of tea? Do ghosts drink tea, or is that too mundane for your new edgy, poltergeist lifestyle?"

Hattie's response was a wave of energy that sent us all flying like we'd suddenly decided to audition for a very violent production of Peter Pan. My babies erected a protective shield before I crashed into a shelf of ancient texts. It kept the worst of the injury at bay, but my back still protested the rough treatment with a chorus of aches. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I should work on my negotiation skills. Or at the very least, invest in some full-body padding.

"Well, that went about as well as a lead balloon in a thunderstorm," Stella snarled as she pulled herself up from a pile of scattered grimoires. Her usual cheerfulness was frayed around the edges, like a favorite sweater that had seen better days. "At least we all got to fly for free. Though I have to say, the landing could use some work."

“Another thing we can add to the list Hades is creating for Lyra’s new home,” I replied. At this rate, her indiscretions would wrap around the Earth a second time.