"People across New England are posting about feeling lighter," Jean-Marc announced as he strode into the room, his usual composed demeanor cracked with barely contained excitement. "There are also reports of withered plants suddenly blooming, polluted streams running clear again."
Thank the goddess for small miracles. Hopefully, this magical spring cleaning was royally screwing with Lyra's twisted plans. "How long until the purification is complete?" I asked, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt.
"At the current rate? Sunset. Possibly sooner if your offspring grow impatient and add more power, which they seem inclined to do,"Tarja reported.
Nina had her nose buried in her phone. Her thumbs were flying across the screen as if her life depended on the latest social media updates. Knowing our luck, it probably did. "Whoa.People are posting videos of aurora-like lights in broad daylight. The cleansing is visible to ordinary humans."
The quiet stretched between us. It was filled only by the soft click of Nina's scrolling and the distant hum of whatever magical chaos we'd unleashed. I was just starting to relax—a rookie mistake if there ever was one—when Mythia appeared at my elbow with a steaming plate of something that smelled like heaven wrapped in bacon.
"Eat," she commanded in that no-nonsense tone that brooked zero argument. "Your babies need the food even if you don’t."
I accepted the food gratefully. My stomach growled loudly as soon as I looked down at it. It was telling me no more running on adrenaline and determination. I ate gratefully and waited for the other shoe to drop.
Minutes ticked by, and nothing new happened. Maybe a half hour later, Jean-Marc's face went three shades paler than his usual color. I couldn’t say how long it was exactly because time had this annoying habit of becoming fluid when the world was ending. Every second felt like an eternity while simultaneously racing toward disaster at light speed.
My son made a noise in the back of his throat—half-strangled curse, half-wounded animal—and lifted horrified eyes from his screen. "Shit. New reports are coming in from all over. Something is triggering a massive destabilization."
"What are people saying is happening?" I asked, my stomach already doing that fun little twist that meant my day was about to get a whole lot worse.
Jean-Marc's expression could've curdled milk. "Lyra's poisoned ley lines are collapsing. They’re taking innocents out as they go down." Well, shit. That wasn't good.
“Phoebe,”Tarja's voice slid into my mind like silk, “you should expect refugees soon.”
I blinked, looking over at her. "Refugees?"
“Magical ones,”she continued telepathically. “They are going to seek a safe place to go. Hattie’s place has always been known as one. It’s why people come to you with their problems.”
“Who are we talking about?” I asked.
Jean-Marc's eyes ran over the screen. "Displaced shifter packs, hedge witches, even some fae are fleeing the areas where the corruption is breaking down."
"Fantastic," I muttered. My life wasn't complicated enough already.
No one had a chance to respond because Vera and Thalia burst through the door mid-conversation, their faces etched with worry. "—can't be right," Vera was saying, shaking her head. "The reports don't make sense."
"They're consistent though," Thalia countered, then noticed us staring. "Oh. Sorry. We were discussing?—"
The sharp rap on the front door cut through whatever Thalia was about to say. We all froze like deer in headlights. "I'll get it," came Nana's voice from downstairs, followed by the sound of her shuffling toward the door.
A moment later, her voice rang out. "Phoebe, honey! Looks like your escapees are here. We don’t have enough guest rooms!"
I groaned. Of course, they were already here. Timing was apparently not a thing the universe believed in. I needed to get up and see what was going on. With a silent prayer, I tried to heave my body off the mattress.
Jean-Marc appeared at my side. His hands were gentle but firm as he helped me to a standing position. I lumbered toward the window. Being pregnant with triplets meant I moved at a snail’s pace.
Through the glass, I could see people approaching our front gate. There was a small group of maybe eight or ten people.Children were clinging to adults and had expressions that screamed 'we've seen some shit’. The first family caught my attention. There was a middle-aged woman with dirt-stained robes and a man whose left arm was wrapped in a bloody towel. Their magical signatures felt like herbs and plants.
“They were Earth witches whose power had been brutally severed from its source,”Tarja said into my mind.
"Holy shit," I murmured as my stomach roiled. "They need help," I said as I turned toward the stairs before anyone could object.
"Mom, we don't know if this is safe," Jean-Marc warned, immediately moving to support my elbow. "This could be an elaborate trap."
"Then we'll deal with it," I replied, gripping his arm and the banister as I carefully navigated the steps. With triplets turning my center of gravity into a cruel joke, stairs had become my nemesis. "But I'm not turning away refugees who are fleeing the same nightmare we're fighting."
Mom met us at the bottom of the stairs. "They're not hostile," she told us. "They’re terrified and exhausted, but not dangerous."
“That’s reassuring,” I replied as I continued my trek.
