The old woman Agatha gently stroked the black cat in her arms. "I know. I've always known. She went mad, and that madness drove her to a dead end. But she was still my sister. When we were little, she looked after me—you have no idea how the world treated women back then. It's something your generation simply cannot comprehend." She paused. "Young lady, take your companions and leave. Don't concern yourself with matters here any further."
Bella shook her head.
The old woman shot her a sidelong glance, her words pointed. "You're not about to lecture me about harboring ghosts and summoning demons, are you? How much better are you, really?"
Mystic sigils flared to life across Bella's body. Psionic energy surged from her Mind Lake, and the dilapidated house was instantly sheathed in ice.
"I can keep them in line. You clearly have no such intention."
Agatha Harkness had no desire to fight—none whatsoever. But as a spellcaster, she refused to cede control of the battlefield.
For a mage, battlefield control was everything. Every advantage gained on one side was an advantage lost on the other.
The old woman flicked her right middle finger. Three tiny flames materialized within the frozen world, and her form began flickering between them at blistering speed—so fast it seemed as though dozens of copies of her had appeared around Bella simultaneously.
The sight quickened Bella's pulse. She'd genuinely never fought an opponent at this level before. Being killed and burned alive by a mob of witch hunters and civilians did prove that Salem witches were generally unimpressive, but there were always exceptions. Give a third-rate swordsman three hundred years to hone his blade, and he just might cut down a grandmaster.
Bella studied the characteristics of her opponent's magic carefully.
"Teleportation, Pyrokinesis—I've seen those," she said casually. "The Seven Wonders you Salem witches inherited from that African slave woman Tituba—what are the other five again? Telekinesis, mind control?"
"Divination, Vitalum Vitalis, and Astral Projection." The old witch's tone was perfectly conversational, as if she didn't mind the idle chatter one bit.
In truth, both of them were quietly marshaling their magical reserves, each building toward a decisive blow.
Both were women of unyielding conviction. Words wouldn't change the other's mind. At times like this, the one with the bigger fist made the rules.
Bella deployed Mirror Image as well. Dozens of ice-forged duplicates provided cover while her true body hid in the shadows, stealthily channeling psionic energy to interfere with the old witch's personal timestream.
Agatha detected the disturbance almost immediately. She attempted mind control, trying to disrupt Bella's spellcasting.
Her mental assault slammed headlong into Bella's ironclad Mind Shield. Three consecutive full-force strikes failed to breach it.
"Mrs. Harkness, I've found your weakness. You've lost!" Without the New York Sanctum's boundless magical reserves to draw upon, without the Time Stone as a conduit, Bella had only herself to rely on. It took some effort, but she located the old witch's trace in the river of time.
Three hundred years of life had left Agatha's imprint in the timestream several times deeper than an ordinary person's.
Eat more, take more—eventually, a price must be paid.
A surge of temporal turbulence swept backward through the timestream. Shards of time rained down like meteors, striking every corner of the room. The chronal distortion punched dark, empty voids throughout the room—matter within those zones simply ceased to exist. At the center of the maelstrom, the old witch's composure finally cracked. What kind of magic was this? She'd never seen anything like it.
Still, three centuries of survival counted for something. Calm under pressure was second nature. She combined her Pyrokinesis, Astral Projection, and Teleportation—three bloodline abilities working in concert. In an instant, she transmuted her physical body into flame, let her astral form steer the fire clear of the temporal turbulence's epicenter, then channeled her life force back to reconstitute her body.
Bella's control over time was weak. Once unleashed, she couldn't recall it, let alone fine-tune it.
That single attack had consumed nearly half her psionic reserves. Agatha had been rattled, but she'd escaped.
Bella's remaining energy was dangerously low. The old witch's reconstructed body had cost an enormous amount of life force. After that exchange, neither attacked again. The fight was a draw.
Pyrokinesis, Telekinesis, Teleportation, Astral Projection, mind control, divination, and Vitalum Vitalis—the witchcraft the Salem witches had inherited from Africa was remarkably comprehensive. Offense, defense, escape, combat, and healing, all covered.
But that very breadth was also a limitation. With mind control unable to breach Bella's Mind Shield, the old witch's divination was neutralized by Bella's own, and Pyrokinesis plus Teleportation alone simply couldn't overpower her.
"Let's call it here. I have no wish to fight you," the old witch said. She'd spent all these years in hiding, barely clinging to life. Whatever fighting spirit she'd once possessed was long gone.
Bella conceded a step as well. "Agreed. There's no point. Take your sister's soul and go."
Agatha Harkness departed with the dazed and bewildered witch ghost in tow. The haunted house—which had been on the verge of evolving into something far more dangerous—lost its core in an instant and began to crumble.
Pyramid Head, the Demon Nun, and the rest of the ghosts divided the house's remaining energy among themselves. The ball ghost and the closet ghost dissolved into ash.
"Professor! Mr. Russell!" Bella's voice rang out at just the right moment. The trapped survivors scrambled to shout back.
"Help!"
"We're over here!"
"Save the children first!"
A crowd of people emerged from the ruins, looked up at the sun overhead, and breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Bella called two ambulances. The children were all severely weakened and would need time in the hospital. She also purchased a homeowner's insurance policy for the Perrons, the house's unfortunate current owners.
The payout wouldn't be enormous, but it would be enough to keep the ordinary family going. On Mr. Perron's electrician salary alone, supporting a wife and five daughters was a brutal proposition.
With the insurance money, getting rich was out of the question, but renting a new place and resettling the children was manageable.
"That thing is still there! A black nun's habit, a pale face—do you see it?" Emma Russell suddenly pointed at the demolished house.
Bella followed her gesture. Nothing. The Demon Nun, Jason, and the others had already been sent back.
The ruined house held no supernatural presence whatsoever.
In Bella's estimation, this was simply Emma's brain generating residual hallucinations after prolonged ghost exposure and the loss of her Spirit Vision.
She shook her head along with the others, indicating she hadn't seen any ghost in a nun's habit.
Apart from Professor Serizawa, who insisted he was perfectly healthy, the entire group was admitted to the hospital.
While recovering, the Russells—apparently bored out of their minds—collaborated on a pencil sketch of the Demon Nun, which thoroughly spooked the patients, nurses, and doctors in the neighboring wards.