Whoa, Is Grandma A Ghost? Cool!
You know that saying, “If your kids go quiet, something’s up”? Well, with our two, it’s like that saying is written in stone!
I swear I gained an added sixth sense when Nicki was born. By the time Ella arrived, it had only sharpened. Some mothers get that instinctive feeling that tells them their kid is about to take a tumble off the sofa or cram something unholy up their nose. My version? It wakes me at 1 a.m. because my children are summoning the dead.
I had been happily wrapped around Agatha, snuggled in bed, my arm draped over her waist. She’ll never admit it, but she loves being the little spoon. She says it’s because I’m always warm and she’s naturally cold, but I know that’s just an excuse. I had no reason to wake up. There had been no sound, no thud, no suspicious giggles. And yet, something pulled me from sleep.
Something was off.
I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, my feet light on the wooden floors. I checked the kids’ rooms first, a habit that had become routine at this point. Nicki’s bed was empty. So was Ella’s.
My stomach tightened.
I didn’t panic… not yet. These were our children. I had found them in strange places before. That one time I caught Nicki trying to teach Ella to hold on to the electric garage door as he opened it? A highlight of my parenting career. But something about this was different. The air in the house felt… thicker.
I moved down the stairs, my fingers tingling with magic, just in case.
And there they were.
Cross-legged on the living room rug, a candle flickering between them, a—oh, for the love of magic itself—a Ouija board sat between them.
Ella, four years old and entirely too confident, had her fingers on the planchette, her lips pursed in concentration. Nicki, eight and always the ringleader, was watching intently.
“What,” I said, my voice calm in that deadly parent way, “are you two doing?”
Nicki startles, eyes wide, before his instincts kick in. He moves fast, too fast for an eight-year-old who’s definitely up to something—and tries to cover the Ouija board with his hands like that’ll somehow make it disappear.
Ella, ever the innocent one (relatively speaking), lets out a tiny squeak, fingers flying to her mouth as if she’s just now realizing they might be in trouble.
I narrow my eyes. “Where did you get that?”
Nicki shifts, glancing at his sister like they’ve rehearsed this.
“Uh… the attic.”
I blink. “The attic?”
I was pretty damn sure our attic wasn’t supposed to have haunted paraphernalia lying around for my children to find.
Nicki fidgets, looking at Ella. She looks back at him. They exchange a silent conversation, one of those wordless sibling agreements that I know means I’m about to hear an absolutely ridiculous excuse.
“It was her idea,” Nicki blurts, throwing his little sister directly under the bus. “She said we could contact a pirate and ask him where the buried treasure was!”
I should have expected that. She’s four, which means Ella's current life goal is to experience everything, even the things that should, logically, terrify her.
Ella gasps, scandalized. “Was not!”
Nicki points. “You lit the candle.”
Ella crosses her arms. “But you said we needed it for ‘atmosphere'.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Oh, fantastic. So we’re dabbling in theatrics now, too.”
I shift my gaze to the candle, still flickering innocently between them, and arch my eyebrow.
“Right.” I exhale slowly, because if I don’t, I might actually scream. “And the matches?”
Nicki hesitates. Ella does not.
“I found them in the kitchen drawer,” she announces proudly. “Right next to the spoons.”
Next to the spoons.
I feel my soul leave my body.
Nicki, sensing my reaction, jumps in quickly. “But she was very careful.”
Ella nods enthusiastically. “Very, very careful.”
I stare at them.
They stare back.
I take a long, slow breath. “You both know you’re not supposed to play with matches.”
Nicki folds his arms, trying to look self-important. “Technically, she played with them.”
I point at him. “You don’t get to ‘technically’ your way out of this, Nicholas.”
I hear footsteps come down the stairs and turn just as Agatha materialises in the doorway, wearing my robe, because of course she is. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too entertained by the antics of our mischievous children.
“What’s all the noise? You could wake the dead…”
I glare at her. “Funny you should say that.”
She quirks an eyebrow. I gesture at our children.
“Your children—”
“Our children,” she corrects smoothly, smirk firmly in place.
I take a deep, steadying breath and keep my glare level.
“Our children,” I amend begrudgingly, “have decided to do just that and have a séance.”
Agatha tilts her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
“Oh? Any luck?”
“Agatha!”
“What?” She shrugs. “You have to admit, if they managed to actually wake something, that’s pretty impressive.”
I groan, rubbing a hand down my face.
“Do not encourage them.”
Nicki takes this as his moment to jump in.
“We followed the instructions!”
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting for a second.
“…Instructions?”
Nicki nods, completely serious. “Yeah. In the box.”
I blink. “The box - has instructions?”
He nods again.
I turn to Agatha, who is now walking over to a discarded box behind the kids. She picks it up, eyes scanning the front. Then, with an amused snort, she flips it around and holds it up for me to see.
For ages 3+.
I stare at her. She smirks, then turns the box toward the kids.
“Well, that explains it. Clearly, it’s child-friendly necromancy.”
Ella, sitting proudly on her knees, beams up at me.
“See, Mama? I’m old enough to play!”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. “Maiden, Mother, Crone, give me strength.”
And that’s when the planchette moves.
A slow, deliberate slide across the board.
None of them are touching it.
The room goes still. The candle flickers, the air shifts, and I feel that deep, undeniable sensation of something unseen but very much present.
Nicki and Ella stare, eyes wide with pure wonder, not fear. Because of course they aren’t scared. Most kids would be, but not ours.
Agatha watches with a raised brow, then side-eyes me.
“Okay. That’s interesting.”
I exhale through my nose. “I told you.”
Nicki whispers, eyes fixed on the board, “Did you see that?”
Agatha crouches down behind the kids, watching intently as the planchette moves again, slow and deliberate, like it’s savoring every letter.
A.
G.
A.
T.
H.
A.
I exhale sharply, my stomach twisting. “Well, looks like someone wants to talk to you,” I say, my voice steady, but there’s a weight settling in my chest. Apprehension creeps up my spine.
Agatha, ever unfazed, tilts her head, watching the board with an almost lazy curiosity. Then.. because she’s Agatha and handles the paranormal like a Tuesday morning inconvenience… she deadpans, “Well, that’s never a good sign.”
And then, a voice.
A low, whispered voice.
“Agatha.”
The kids freeze. My breath catches.
And Agatha? She goes completely still.
For the first time in a long time, I see something flicker in her expression… something unreadable, something unnerved. The candle flickers violently, a gust of cold air sweeping through the room. Ella grabs my hand, pressing close, and instinct takes over as I move forward, protective mom mode in full force.
“What did you actually say when you started the séance?” I demand, my voice firmer now.
Nicki swallows, looking guilty for the first time.
“Uh… we just followed the instructions. It said to say, ‘We invite you to speak with u'.’”
My stomach drops. Oh, great. An open invitation. Just wonderful.
Agatha doesn’t react to them. Her blue eyes are still locked on the board, something dark swirling in their depths.
“Agatha,” the voice calls again.
And this time, she recognizes it.
I see the exact moment she realizes who it is. She exhales, slow and measured.
“Mom.”
I stiffen. Nicki’s eyes widen. Ella clutches my arm.
Evanora.
The woman Agatha never speaks of. The woman who made Agatha who she is... sharp, untouchable, dangerous when she needs to be. And now, she’s here.
Agatha tilts her head. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is perfectly neutral.
“Well. That’s unexpected.”
I stare at her, incredulous. “Unexpected?”
She flashes me a dry smile. “What? It’s not every day your long-dead mother crashes a family séance.”
The candle flickers again, the flame stretching unnaturally tall before snapping back down.
Ella tugs on my sleeve. “Is Grandma a ghost?”
I tighten my grip on her. “Sweetheart, she’s not the bedtime story kind of grandma.”
Agatha smirks, but it’s thin, distracted. She turns back to the board. “Alright, Mom. You went through all this trouble—what do you want?”
Evanora materializes in front of us, her form shimmering at the edges, the air is thick with the weight of her presence. The candlelight flickers wildly, casting long, jagged shadows on the walls. A cold prickle runs down my spine, and without thinking, I pull Nicki and Ella in close, wrapping my arms around them.
Agatha stands perfectly still. Not in shock, not in fear, just... watching. Her face is carefully blank, but I know her well enough to see the tightness in her jaw, the sharpness in her blue eyes. This isn’t surprise. This is calculation, and she’s trying to be three steps ahead.
It’s Nicki who speaks first. “Whoa, Is Grandma a ghost? Cool!”
Ella peeks out from behind my arm, eyes wide but more curious than scared. “You look like the princess from the bedtime story mommy told us. The scary princess.”
Evanora shifts her gaze toward them, the smallest hint of amusement flickering in her eerie, pale eyes.
“Ah. My grandchildren.”
Nicki beams. “That’s us!”
I tighten my grip on them.
“Okay, time out,” I say, shooting Agatha a sharp look. “Are we just accepting this? Your mother is dead—she should not be able to stand in our living room like she’s just popped around for a cup of tea.”
Agatha exhales through her nose, rubbing her temple.
“Yeah. I gathered that.”
Evanora turns her attention back to Agatha, her voice cool, smooth.
“It’s been a long time, daughter.”
Agatha crosses her arms. “Not long enough, apparently.”
Evanora hums, tilting her head slightly, like she’s inspecting her.
“You’re just as sharp as ever. And yet… softer.”
Agatha bristles, but her smirk remains in place.
“I hate when people call me that.”
Evanora’s eyes flick to me, then to the children, and something shifts in her expression.
“You have… a family.”
Something dark flashes across Agatha’s face.
“Perceptive as always, Mother.”
I don’t like the way Evanora is looking at us…assessing, measuring. Judging.
I step forward slightly, keeping my hold on the kids.
“Why are you here?”
Evanora’s eyes settle on me, and I swear I feel the weight of her gaze pressing into my skin.
“You should ask them that,” she says smoothly, nodding toward the children. “They were the ones who called me.”
Nicki gasps excitedly. “So the séance did work!”
Agatha groans, pressing a hand to her forehead.
“Of course it worked. Only the two of you could have enough sheer stubbornness to break through the damn veil.”
Nicki beams with pride.
Ella tilts her head. “Did we break it?”
Evanora smirks slightly. “No, little one. But you did… open something.”
I don’t like the sound of that. Not one bit.
I glance at Agatha. “Tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”
Agatha exhales slowly, then looks at Evanora, her smirk fading.
“Alright. Enough with the cryptic bullshit. What did they open?”
Evanora’s expression turns serious.
“A door,” she says simply. “A door that was meant to stay closed.”
Ella gasps dramatically. “Like in The Little Mermaid when she opened the treasure chest and...”
Agatha holds up a finger. “Not helpful, honeybee”
Nicki frowns. “So… can we just close it?”
Evanora’s gaze flickers with something unreadable.
“It’s not that simple.”
Of course it’s not… It never is. I let out a slow breath.
“Okay. Well, let’s make it simple. How do we close it?”
Evanora’s pale eyes settle on Agatha again, almost like she’s waiting for something.
Then, she finally says, “You need me.”
Agatha goes completely still.
I swear, the temperature in the room drops several degrees. Agatha’s voice, when she finally speaks, is carefully measured, edged with something dangerous.
“You expect me to believe that? That we suddenly need you?”
Evanora lifts a brow. “You may not believe it, but it’s true. There are things beyond even your comprehension, Agatha. You were reckless once... your children have inherited that.”
Nicki beams again, completely missing the insult.
Agatha scoffs. “Oh, please. Don’t pretend to care about my parenting skills.”
Evanora sighs, tilting her head again, her gaze flicking briefly to the kids.
“I don’t care about parenting.” She looks back at Agatha, eyes dark. “I care about survival.”
Agatha clenches her jaw. I can see the war in her... every sharp, bitter piece of her past colliding with the present.
I reach for her and squeeze her arm gently.
“Agatha.”
She exhales, then looks at her mother.
“What’s the catch?”
Evanora smirks. “Oh, there’s always a catch, dear.”
I feel Nicki and Ella press closer to me.
Agatha’s smirk is sharp, but there’s something cold behind it. “Of course there is.”
Evanora’s voice drops to something almost fond.
“You always were the smartest.”
And that is when the candle blows out.
The air shifts, heavy and electric, and I swear I feel something just beyond the veil, waiting.
Watching.
Agatha flicks her wrist, re-lighting the candle. Ella tugs on my sleeve.
“I really, really don’t like this game anymore.”
Nicki, for once, doesn’t argue.
Agatha straightens, rolling her shoulders, and when she speaks again, it’s in that low, dangerous tone she only uses when she realises we are about to go down shitts creek in a canoe… without a paddle.
“Alright, then.” She steps forward, eyes locked on her mother. “Let’s make a deal.”
Evanora watches her, sharp and poised, like a predator sizing up its prey. “Clever girl,” she murmurs. “You always knew there’d be a price.”
I really don’t like where this is going.
I shift slightly, keeping Nicki and Ella tucked close, my body instinctively forming a barrier between them and whatever the hell is unfolding in front of us.
Agatha tilts her head, her smirk thin. “Of course. You don’t do anything for free.”
Evanora smiles, slow and eerie. “You wound me.”
Agatha’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker.
“Doubt it. Now, tell me what we have to do to close this damn door.”
Evanora lifts a hand, lazily gesturing to the air around us.
“It’s already begun,” she says, voice almost amused. “The energy you let in—this house is no longer… safe.”
Nicki perks up. “Wait, like haunted haunted?”
I squeeze his shoulder. “Not the time, bud.”
Evanora continues like she wasn’t interrupted. “The door exists because of them.” Her gaze flicks briefly to the kids. “Because they called it open.”
A sick feeling churns in my stomach. I glance at Agatha. She’s tense, and that does nothing to help the unease causing through me.
“So we close it,” I say, voice firm. “Tell us how.”
Evanora gives me a slow, knowing smile. “It’s not so simple, my dear.”
Of course it’s not.
“The door is tied to their magic,” she explains, gesturing to Nicki and Ella. “Or rather, their potential for magic. It was an invitation, a ripple in the balance. If you want to shut it, you have to do it properly.”
Agatha’s blue eyes darken. “And the price?”
Evanora’s smirk grows. “Ah. There’s the real question.”
I exhale sharply. “Just say it.”
Evanora steps closer, and I instinctively push the kids back a step. She eyes Agatha carefully, then speaks in that smooth, dangerous voice.
“One of them must be bound.”
The room drops into silence.
The candle flickers.
Agatha’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel the way her magic coils around her like a snake ready to strike.
I blink. “I’m sorry. What?”
Evanora tilts her head. “One child must be bound. Their magic—what little of it exists now—must be sealed away. Permanently.”
Nicki stiffens. “Wait, what? Why?”
Agatha’s voice is deadly quiet. “Because she wants to make sure they never become a threat… to her”.
Evanora meets her gaze, unreadable. “Because the balance must be restored.”
Ella clutches my arm, her small voice trembling. “But… but I don’t wanna be bound.”
Fury flares in my chest. “That’s not an option.” I take a step forward, my body taut with pure, protective rage. “You’re seriously standing here, telling us we have to strip our own child of their magic...”
Evanora lifts a hand. “Potential magic. They’re too young for it to manifest fully. If it’s done now, they won’t even know what they’ve lost.”
“That makes it worse,” I snap.
Nicki looks between us, suddenly understanding the weight of it.
“Wait, so… one of us would never have magic?”
Agatha exhales through her nose, slow and dangerous.
“She wants to clip your wings before you even have the chance to fly.”
Evanora sighs, almost bored. “You make it sound so cruel.”
“It is cruel,” I snap. “And it’s not happening.”
Evanora shrugs. “Then the door stays open.”
The candle flickers violently, a gust of wind sweeping through the room. Shadows stretch unnaturally along the walls, and the house groans, like something deep within it is waking up.
Nicki looks at Agatha, eyes wide. “But if we leave it open—”
“Something else will come through,” Agatha mutters.
A chill runs through me.
Evanora smiles. “You see the dilemma.”
Agatha’s jaw clenches. Her whole body is taut, coiled, a blade on the verge of striking.
I know her. I know how she works. She’s running through every possible scenario, every loophole, every way out of this.
I step closer to her. “There has to be another way.”
Evanora tilts her head. “There is another way.”
Agatha’s eyes narrow. “Spit it out.”
Evanora’s smirk is slow and knowing. “You take the binding.”
I freeze.
Nicki inhales sharply. Ella’s grip on me tightens.
Agatha just watches her mother, unmoving.
“You want me to strip my own power?”
Evanora lifts a brow. “Yes, your power is already controlled, is it not? You barely use it to its full potential anymore. What difference would it make?”
Agatha doesn’t move.
I do.
“Absolutely not.” I step in front of her, my voice sharp as a knife. “She’s not doing that.”
Evanora exhales, almost exasperated. “Such dramatics.”
“Go to hell.”
She smiles. “Already there, my girl .”
Agatha places a gentle hand on my back. When she speaks, her voice is steady, but low.
“No.”
Evanora blinks. “No?”
Agatha tilts her head, her smirk dangerous. “You heard me.”
Evanora watches her for a long moment. Then she laughs, shaking her head.“Oh, Agatha.” She sighs, almost fondly. “You always did have a problem with authority.”
Agatha’s smirk doesn’t waver. “Guess I got that from you.”
Evanora hums. “Very well. If you refuse to bind the children, and you refuse to bind yourself… then the only other option is to force the door closed.”
I hesitate. “What does that mean?”
Evanora’s expression turns serious. “It means power. More than either of you may be able to handle.”
I glance at Agatha. She meets my gaze, and I see it—the fire, the certainty.
I exhale. “What do we have to do?”
Evanora smiles, slow and knowing, like she’s enjoying the fact that we’re backed into a corner. Of course she is.
“You must sever the connection,” she says smoothly, as if this is just a casual conversation and not a crisis. “You and Agatha must direct your magic to force the door closed. But—” she tilts her head, her gaze piercing, manipulative, “—you will have to balance each other. Too much force, and you may tear something worse open.”
My stomach twists. “And if we don’t use enough force?”
Evanora smirks. “Then it stays open. And they will come through.”
Nicki swallows hard. “Who’s they?”
Evanora simply smiles.
Yeah. Not ominous at all.
I turn to the kids, my voice firm. “Okay. Nicki, Ella—go stand in the far corner. Stay together. No moving until I say.”
Nicki frowns, looking like he wants to argue, but one look at my face and he thinks better of it.
Ella, ever the curious one, tilts her head. “But I wanna watch—"
“Corner. Now.” Agatha says backing me up.
Nicki grabs Ella’s hand and drags her back.
I take a breath and rub my temple.
“Why… why couldn’t we just have one normal, quiet night at home?”
Agatha snorts. “You married me. That ship sailed long ago.”
I shoot her a look, but she just grins. Then, without even trying, she conjures a swirling ball of purple energy in her palm, the familiar electric crackle of her magic filling the air.
Show-off.
My own fingers tingle with power, and I feel the magic pulse at my fingertips, building. It’s been a while since I’ve used it for anything remotely interesting. The occasional floating object? Sure. The rare accidental spell when one of the kids has pushed me to my limit? Absolutely. But this…this is powerful. This is something I haven’t done in years.
Agatha glances at me, smirking. “Need a minute, hon?”
I huff. “Oh, please.”
I flex my hands, and with a deep inhale, I let the magic flow... gold and deep, curling from my fingertips, lighting up the space between us. The house hums in response, the weight of power filling the air.
Across the room, I catch Ella’s face—her wide, amazed eyes locked on Agatha’s magic, on mine, absolute awe written across her tiny features.
Oh, great. She’s already a mini Agatha, and now I can see her tiny brain whirring, probably dreaming up all the chaos she’ll cause when she’s older. I dread to think what her magic will be like when it finally manifests. She’s enough of a challenge at this age without it.
Nicki watches too, but he looks more cautious, like he’s analyzing how it works. Typical. He’s always been the thinker.
Agatha glances at them, then back at me. “You ready, Y/N?”
I take another breath, steadying myself. “As I’ll ever be.”
Evanora watches, her expression unreadable. “
Then begin.”
Agatha doesn’t hesitate. She raises her hands, magic crackling like wildfire, her signature purple energy sparking in the air.
I follow suit, my own magic flaring gold, the two forces surging toward the damn Ouija board sitting smugly in the center of our living room rug.
The moment the magic collides, the board erupts in flames, burning unnaturally hot, the fire licking up the edges in deep, curling tendrils. The room hums, the air vibrating as the energy from the séance is ripped apart.
For a second, I think it worked.
Then I hear the unmistakable sizzle of fabric, followed by the distinct, horrifying pop of something catching.
The flames die as fast as they came, leaving behind nothing but a gaping, charred hole right through the damn rug.
I stare.
Agatha tilts her head, assessing the damage. Then, with all the grace and calm in the world, she hums.
“Well...That could’ve gone worse.”
I whip my head toward her.
“Agatha.”
She shrugs. “I mean, the house is still standing, so I’d call that a win.”
I rub my temple, breathing through my nose.
“That rug cost a fortune.”
She smirks. “I told you not to buy something so expensive when you live in a house full of chaos gremlins.”
Ella peeks out from behind me. “We are gremlins.”
Nicki nods solemnly. “We really are.”
I sigh, but before I can respond, I realize something... Evanora is still here.
She hasn’t vanished, hasn’t flickered away with the last remnants of the séance. She stands, watching the charred remains of the board, her face unreadable.
Then, to my absolute shock, she looks back at Agatha… and she almost—almost—looks proud.
“It’s done,” she says simply.
Agatha crosses her arms, unimpressed.
“Yet you’re still here.”
Evanora tilts her head, her eerie smirk returning.
“Disappointed?”
I fold my arms. “Are you going, or have you decided to haunt us?”
Evanora’s smirk widens, like she enjoys the idea far too much. But then she exhales, casting one last glance at Agatha, something strange in her gaze... something that looks almost… soft.
She steps back, and her form begins to fade, the edges of her body dissolving like mist.
Ella grabs my hand. “Bye, Grandma.”
Nicki lifts a hand in a little wave. “Uh… yeah. Bye, Grandma.”
Evanora’s eyes flick to them, and...for the briefest moment... her smirk turns into something almost resembling a real smile.
Then, with a final look at Agatha, she vanishes completely.
The air settles. The room feels lighter.
The séance is over.
For a moment, none of us move.
Then, Agatha lets out a sharp breath, turning to me with a grin. “So, hon… shall we make this a new family tradition?”
I stare at her.
I grab the nearest throw pillow and chuck it at her head.
She barely flinches, catching it midair with that damn smirk that makes me hot under the collar, still plastered across her face.
“Not even funny!” I snap, though the way she’s looking at me—like she’s thoroughly entertained by my frustration—makes it very clear she thinks it is.
She tosses the pillow onto the couch, utterly unbothered.
“Oh, I disagree.”
I exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Right. You two...” I turn to our tiny chaos-makers, who are still standing between us, “... get up those stairs. Now.”
Nicki hesitates. “Are we in trouble?”
Agatha snorts. “So much trouble.”
I cross my arms. “You’re lucky you’re not being grounded until your 18th birthday’s.”
Ella gasps dramatically. “That’s so long!”
Nicki, ever the negotiator, tilts his head. “Can we at least still have pancakes in the morning?”
I level them with a look. “Move.”
Ella lets out a little whimper but scurries toward the stairs. Nicki follows, pausing only to cast one last, longing glance at the burnt patch on the rug.
“Man… I really wanted to know if the pirate had treasure.”
Agatha chuckles under her breath.
I glare at her. “Do not laugh at this.”
She holds up her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk is still there, full of mischief.
We get the kids upstairs, the tension from earlier slowly easing, but the exhaustion settling in like a weight.
Nicki trudges ahead, Ella clinging to my hand, her little legs working twice as hard to keep up. Agatha, ever the troublemaker, trails behind, her amusement barely masked beneath the surface.
By the time we get Ella into bed, she’s already yawning, but her mind is still buzzing with questions. She clutches her stuffed rabbit tightly, looking up at me with wide, curious eyes as I tuck the duvet around her.
“Do you think we’ll see Grandma again?” she asks, her voice small, unsure.
At the doorway, Nicki lingers, his hands gripping the frame like he’s not sure if he wants to step in or stay safely outside. His face is unreadable—thoughtful, maybe even a little wary.
I exchange a glance with Agatha, who sits on the edge of Ella’s bed, smoothing her daughter’s hair back with gentle fingers.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Agatha murmurs, and for once, her voice is free of sarcasm, of teasing. It’s just honest.
Ella frowns, chewing on the edge of her bunny’s ear.
“She wasn’t scary.”
Nicki scoffs from the doorway. “She kinda was.”
Ella shakes her head stubbornly. “Not like a bad scary. Like… like a big storm. You don’t know if it’s gonna be fun to watch or if it’s gonna break stuff.”
Agatha raises a brow, impressed. “Well, aren’t you poetic.”
Ella beams sleepily. “I’m very smart.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “That, you are.”
Nicki still hasn’t moved from the doorway. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He’s thinking. Hard.
I straighten, tilting my head. “What is it, bud?”
He hesitates, then asks, “Did she open the door… or did we?”
Agatha’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel the way she stiffens slightly beside me.
Ella, unfazed, snuggles deeper under the duvet. “We did. But she didn’t try to hurt us.”
Nicki bites his lip, clearly unsure about that answer.
I sigh, gesturing for him to come close, so I can reach over to ruffle his hair. “It’s over now. And that means bed.”
He frowns but doesn’t argue, stepping back toward his own room.
Agatha leans over, whispering conspiratorially to Ella, “I’m still voting for a pirate next time.”
I give her a sharp look, and she grins, slipping off the bed.
Ella giggles. “Me too.”
“No one is summoning anything,” I warn. “Now sleep.”
Ella hums, already drifting off, her tiny fingers curled around her stuffed bunny.
Nicki lingers for one more second. “Do you promise it’s over?”
I meet his gaze, then glance at Agatha.
She doesn’t lie to him. She just walks over, and pulls him into her side, and says, “It’s over for tonight.”
Nicki doesn’t look thrilled with that answer, but he nods anyway and disappears into his room.
Once the kids had finally fallen alseep, we headed back downstairs and I turn to Agatha arms crossed.
“Well? Are you going to help me figure out what to do about this?” I gesture at the scorched rug.
Agatha hums, stepping closer, eyeing the damage with a critical expression. Then, ever so casually, she flicks her wrist.
A small surge of magic pulses through the air, and the rug, still visibly burned but now sporting more of a stylised distressed look rather than a gaping hole...smooths out slightly.
She grins. “There. Rustic charm.”
I stare at her. “I hate you.”
She slides her arms around my waist, pulling me close.
“No, you don’t.”
I sigh, letting my forehead drop against her shoulder.
“Our kids just summoned your dead mother, nearly ripped a hole in reality, and I now have one less expensive rug than I started the evening with.”
She hums, pressing a kiss against my temple.
“All true.”
I lift my head to glare at her. “And you think this is funny.”
Her smirk widens. “I think this is our life.”
I groan, but even as I do, I let her pull me in. Because, honestly? She’s right.
And knowing our children, this won’t even be the tip of the iceberg of what havoc they’re going to cause us.