The End of Magic (The Witches of Echo Park #3)(38)
Arrabelle immediately stepped between Niamh and the bed.
"No way. You'll kill her-"
"Arrabelle-" Evan was trying to calm her down, but Arrabelle was fierce and immovable, her expression that of a mama bear protecting her cubs.
"If you come anywhere near this bed-" Arrabelle continued, her voice rising.
"Stop!"
The word rang in the air with the clarity of a silver bell, the sound cutting through the chaos and bringing silence in its wake. Everyone turned to look at Lyse, who had shut them all up with one word. She, in turn, looked at each of them, establishing her leadership with a fierce glare.
She saved Niamh for last.
"You want to touch her," Lyse said, "because you think you can save her?"
YES.
The creature spoke in Niamh's mind, but from the funny expression on Lyse's face, Niamh was pretty sure Lyse had heard it, too.
WE CAN SAVE HER. LET US TRY. THIS IS WHY WE ARE HERE.
Niamh saw Lyse blink, the passion in the creature's words washing over them both. Lyse swallowed hard, fixing her attention on Niamh. Though she was physically speaking to Niamh, Niamh knew that Lyse's words were meant for the creature.
"Go ahead," she said. "I trust you. All of you. Do it."
Niamh nodded-this was all the go-ahead she was going to get-and started to move closer to the bed, but Arrabelle blocked her path.
"If you kill her, or hurt her any more than she already is," Arrabelle said, her voice as low and dangerous as a leopard's growl. "I'll kill you."
The look Arrabelle gave Niamh was deadly. Niamh believed Arrabelle would do exactly as she said.
"Bell," Evan said, drawing Arrabelle's gaze away from Niamh. "Come stand by me."
With a final look at Niamh, Arrabelle stepped out of her way.
"You better fix her, dammit," Arrabelle murmured as she passed Niamh, the emotion in her voice palpable. She might have just threatened her life, but Niamh knew Arrabelle wanted this to work, too.
As she neared Daniela's hospital bed, she felt like one of those old-time faith healers that practiced the laying on of hands. She wasn't sure where she was supposed to touch Daniela-the head, the shoulders, the arm-so she decided to just go for it and let the voices in her head direct her if she guessed wrong.
The head, she thought. That's where the damage is and that's where I should go.
She raised her hands, her fingers trembling, and kept walking until she hit the metal guardrail with her hip. Daniela's eyelashes fluttered as Niamh's body connected with the bed, but they didn't open.
"Daniela, my name is Niamh," Niamh said, feeling silly talking to someone who appeared comatose. "I'm gonna work on making you better. So try not to worry too much and we'll get you all fixed up, if we can."
She didn't know why she was saying all this, trying to reassure a person who couldn't hear her. Maybe all the babbling was just her nervousness coming out. It was a trial by fire-and she hoped she didn't fail.
"Okay, I'm gonna touch your head now. Don't be scared."
She placed her hands on Daniela's temples, and, at first, she felt nothing.
It's not working, she thought.
WE ARE HERE.
Niamh realized this was the creature's way of reassuring her. She wondered if-
And then she lost control of her thoughts as it began . . .
• • •
. . . a rectangular prism of polished crystal dipped into Niamh's field of view, dangling as if it were hanging on a piece of invisible filament. It began to spin, moving slowly . . . slowly . . . slowly . . . making lazy circles that caught the light from an open window-she didn't know where this window was, or if she was only imagining that the window existed and the light was actually coming from some artificial place. Heck, she didn't know where she was, or even if she was . . . she felt weightless, bodiless, cut loose from the bindings of corporeal reality-maybe she was even a freewheeling spirit now.
But then the prism drew her attention again, filling every corner of her vision with halos of concentrated rainbow-hued light. She was fascinated by the richness of the colors: the drenched-in-blood-reds, the newborn-springtime-violets, the salty-ocean-blues, the sunburst-summer-yellows. It was a kaleidoscope of beauty so powerful and full of life that Niamh ached with want as she experienced it. Every molecule that existed-and didn't exist-thrummed with the need to create. It was being as close to God as Niamh could imagine . . .
• • •
Arrabelle's dulcet tones were the first thing she heard.
"She's coming around."
Niamh opened her eyes and found industrial-grade ceiling tile staring back at her. Lots of big, square acoustical tiles with a smattering of little brown holes in them . . . holes to fixate on and count and see imaginary animals in when you looked at them. She felt woozy, felt the room spinning around her, but she just stayed focused on those holes and they kept her anchored to reality.