Crossing Midlife Demons: A Humorous Paranormal Women’s Midlife Fiction (Adept At Fifty 3)

CROSSING MIDLIFE DEMONS A HUMOROUS PARANORMAL WOMEN’S FICTION ADEPT AT FIFTY BOOK 3 HELOISE HULL Copyright © 2023 by Heloise Hull All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum CONTENTS Crossing Midlife Demons Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Author’s Note Also by Heloise Hull About the Author CROSSING MIDLIFE DEMONS I may have hoped for fireworks when I turned fifty, but lighting up the entire Pyrenees Mountains in France and battling a necromancer wasn’t the type of fanfare I had in mind. Now I’ve been summoned to the headquarters of the shadowy Federation for magical peoples and must rise to the occasion. It's an honor, I'm told, but Romaine begs me not to go. A curse, he calls it, and I won't lie. I have nightmares of adepts in red hoods conducting magical dissections on my body. All around me, ancient forces are awakening, each one more extreme than the last, and all hell bent on establishing a new world order. I’m not sure whose side I’m supposed to be on—only that I will have to choose. Soon. A little snarky, a little epic, and still 100% fun, Cursing Midlife Demons is a PWF adventure novel full of powerful heroines who are aging like a fine wine and finding their place after fifty. Out flew the web and floated wide— The mirror crack’d from side to side; “The curse is come upon me,” cried The Lady of Shalott -Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1 Hatshepsut, Pharaoh Luxor, Egypt. 1470 BCE The hot sun glistened against her oiled skin. Black lines of kohl winged around her eyes, protecting her from the glare of the golden sands, yet nothing could protect her from the heat. And still, she 2 Intellectually, I knew the day was coming. Even the name of my mother’s disease didn’t pull any punches: rapid on-set dementia. My loss was compounded by the many secrets she took to the grave. Secrets she refused to share with me. I