"In the guest rooms upstairs. The ones we’re using for the wounded," I replied, pointing toward the staircase. "Everyone else can head over to Aidon’s house. There’s still a lot of room there."
My bladder chose that moment to remind me it existed. Fantastic timing, as usual. I waddled toward the bathroom and stopped dead in the doorway. Right. The water sprites had claimed the bathtub as their personal healing pool. As badly as I needed to pee, I couldn't help but smile at how much healthier they looked. Their bluish skin practically glowed now that they were immersed in whatever magical concoction Mom had whipped up. I'd have to remember to tell her that her potion was working miracles.
Pivoting with all the grace of a pregnant woman, I shuffled toward the downstairs powder room as fast as my swollen ankles would carry me. The sight of three hedge witches growing medicinal herbs in every available pot and planter made me grin despite my urgent situation. Our house had officially crossed the line from eccentric into completely bonkers territory.
I reached the powder room and rattled the handle. Locked. Of course. "Hey!" I pounded on the door with more force than was probably polite. "Emergency pregnant lady situation here! This is DEFCON 1 bladder alert!"
"Just a second!" came a muffled voice from inside.
Wait. I knew that voice. "Stella? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Come on in." I heard the click of the lock as she spoke.
I pushed open the door to find my best friend pulling up her pants, toilet paper still in hand. She looked up at me and burst into laughter. "Well, this isn't awkward at all," she said, steppingaside as I was already dropping my drawers. “Good thing we love each other.”
"Oh, thank God," I sighed, settling onto the toilet seat without ceremony. "I was about three seconds away from peeing in a plant pot with the hedge witches."
Stella stood there, hands unwashed, watching me with amusement. "You know, most people would be appalled at doing that in front of someone else."
"Most people aren't carrying triplets and dealing with supernatural refugees taking up every other bathroom in the house," I shot back, letting out a relieved sigh. "Besides, we've been through way worse than sharing a bathroom. Remember that time in college when we both had food poisoning from that sketchy taco truck?"
"Don't remind me," Stella laughed, finally moving toward the sink. "Most friendships don't survive that level of bathroom intimacy."
"Most friendships don't survive one person having their arm corrupted by dark magic either, but here we are," I pointed out, reaching for the toilet paper. "If we can handle demonic possession and magical warfare, we can handle a little oversharing."
"True," she agreed, soaping up her hands.
Laughing at her, I finished up and washed my hands. When I was done and we exited, Vera was standing there looking around. "This is incredible," she breathed, watching different magical traditions weave their protections together. "I've never seen this level of cooperation between supernatural communities."
"Shared trauma has a way of breaking down barriers," Stella observed, her corrupted arm finally healed enough for her to help coordinate the relief efforts. "Nothing like a common enemy to make strange bedfellows."
"Speaking of strange bedfellows," Thalia said quietly as she appeared at my elbow with a troubled expression. "Cordelia wants to speak with me privately. She says it's about my family history."
I glanced around the chaos of our makeshift refugee center. Nana was directing traffic flow like a drill sergeant while Mom was somehow keeping everyone fed. Nina and Jean-Marc were establishing communication networks to track down missing people and coordinate with other safe houses. Locations that Lillith was helping secure.
"Go," I told Thalia. "Just stay within the ward boundaries."
She nodded and slipped away with Cordelia toward the quieter back porch. Through the window, I watched them settle into an intense conversation. Cordelia's silver eyes glowed faintly as she spoke. Whatever she was telling Thalia was making our new friend go progressively paler.
"Mom," Nina called out from her communication station at the kitchen island. "Lyra's people are probing the cleansed ley lines and trying to take them back."
"Has she succeeded yet?" I asked, making my way over to where she and Jean-Marc had spread out maps and monitoring equipment.
"Right now, she's testing our work," Jean-Marc explained, pointing to red dots that kept appearing and disappearing on his screen. "Something touches the purified zones and then retreats. She could be having them drop little worms that are working their way into the network. We have no way of knowing. If she is, they haven’t managed anything so far."
"That evil bitch," I muttered. "She's adapting faster than we anticipated."
"There's more," Nina added grimly. "The attacks on other communities aren't random. It seems as if she's targeting specific bloodlines and magical traditions. So far, she’s hitSalem's witches, the oldest shifter packs, and the Fae nobility on this coast."
"Brilliant," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "She's not just stealing magic anymore. She's systematically dismantling the supernatural community's leadership structure."
"That explains why so many people are fleeing to us," Aidon observed as he joined us and settled a protective hand on my waist.
"Phoebe, honey," Mom called from the living room, "we need you over here. We're organizing patrols, and people want to hear from you directly."
I groaned but dutifully waddled toward the crowd of supernatural refugees who had gathered in our living room. The space now looked like the world's craziest town hall meeting. Yet, it was stunning to see them all helping one another.
"Listen up, everyone," I announced, raising my voice to carry over the quiet murmur of conversation. "I know this situation is terrifying. We've all lost homes, communities, and people we care about. But we're not beaten yet."
