The End of Magic (The Witches of Echo Park #3)(37)

       
         
       
        

"She's going to die," Niamh whispered to Evan, who nodded in agreement.

"Is that what I looked like?" he asked. "When I was sick."

Evan had been at death's door, the same as Daniela, and he hadn't looked much better.

"Not too far off the mark," Niamh replied, and heard Evan's sharp intake of breath.

Back at Daniela's bedside, Lyse lifted a hand to touch Daniela's face but then thought better of it. "Daniela?" she murmured.

There was no response.

"Dammit, I hate that I can't touch her!" Her voice was hard and even Niamh, who was not an empath, could feel the bristling of Lyse's anger. Lyse turned away from the bed and began to pace, her frustration an electrical current in the room.

"Isn't there anything you guys can do?" Lyse asked, turning back to face Arrabelle. Lyse was trying not to cry. Niamh could hear the pleading note in the other woman's voice. "You and Evan. You know magic potions. Can't you fix her?"

Arrabelle swallowed hard, tears in her dark eyes. She looked back at Evan, too emotional to speak herself, and he answered for her.

"There are things we can do to prolong life, but she's been so damaged . . . parts of her brain are probably broken beyond repair and it all happened so quickly . . . I don't think it's possible," he said and sighed. "This happens to empaths. Their circuitry just gets blown and there's nothing you can do to fix it. Nothing herbal, at least. Especially once they're this far gone. It's one of the side effects of their kind of magic-and it gets every one of them."

"Come on," Lyse said, her voice a growl. "What the hell is magic good for if it can't save someone you love?"

Niamh had pondered this question more than once in the last twenty-four hours. Her sister had died and magic hadn't been able to save her. In fact, it was precisely because of Laragh's magic that her sister had been tortured and killed.

GO TO HER.

It was the creature-it's voices humming in Niamh's head.

I can't, Niamh thought, her words for the creature in her head. She's an empath. If I touch her, I'll kill her.

GO TO HER.

The creature was insistent.

No, Niamh thought. I'm not a killer.

-Who said you were? This was Laragh getting in on the action. Niamh wished the others could hear the crazy conversation that was going on inside her head: a psychic creature and her dead twin, both arguing with Niamh about killing a woman whom none of them had ever met. 

Well, I will be if I listen to you, Niamh said.

-Nonsense.

Laragh had always been the more dominant twin-she was born first and she'd been given all the gifts: She could bend people to her will, was always getting what she wanted in any situation, and was a clever arguer (as was evidenced in the argument they were having now). She was just the better person overall, and she was the one who should've been there in that hospital room helping to fix things. Boy, had the universe made a stupid mistake when it allowed Niamh to live and Laragh to die.

You should be here, Niamh thought. This should be your fight, not mine.

-You were the one who realized what was happening. I didn't believe you.

Laragh's voice was earnest, and what she said was true. Niamh had seen the future in her cards, in a tarot spread that predicted a horrific future. She'd gone to their coven master, Yesinia, and Yesinia had believed, but the others-Laragh, Evan, and Honey-didn't want to live in a world where witches could be killed without recourse for the crime of being what they were.

I didn't want to be right, Niamh thought. I wish I had been wrong.

-But you weren't. And now we have to step up and do something about it.

Niamh must've nodded because Evan shot her a questioning glance.

"Niamh?" he asked.

"I need to do something," she said, steeling herself for the argument that was about to ensue when she told them what she, Laragh, and the creature had planned.

"What are you talking about?" Evan asked, his voice quiet, trying to keep the conversation between them.

It didn't work.

"Niamh?" Lyse asked-and Niamh saw that her hands were clenched into fists. She'd stopped pacing, was standing by the bed again, her shoulders curved inward, her posture protective.

Arrabelle was looking at her, too.

"What do you need to do, Niamh?" Arrabelle asked, happy to focus on anything but Lyse's anger and what was happening to Daniela in that hospital bed.

TELL THEM.

Niamh swallowed hard, nervous. She'd let the creature and Laragh push her into this, and now she was going to have to own it.

"I need to touch her."