"I'm okay," she heard herself saying, though she couldn't feel her lips moving. "I'm all right."
"Don't let her sit up yet," she heard Evan say. "She still looks green around the gills."
Niamh had never understood what people meant when they said they felt close to God. She'd just assumed they were being melodramatic. Now she knew that wasn't true. She'd felt it, knew it, wanted it again.
Was that being dead? she thought, and waited for an answer from the creature or Laragh.
She got no response.
Hello?
Still no answer, not even from her sister. She started to panic. Where was Laragh? She'd lost her once before and she couldn't . . . wouldn't . . . lose her again.
Laragh? Are you there?
But there was nothing-and for the first time in her life, Niamh felt alone. The panic grew inside her; the fear that she was now and forever on her own was becoming a reality. She was terrified that she'd never talk to her twin again.
"Laragh . . . ? Laragh, don't go . . . Laragh . . ." Her sister's name died on her lips and she covered her face with her hands.
"What happened, Niamh?"
She lowered her hands from her eyes and found Lyse kneeling on the ground beside her, a worried expression on her face.
"She's gone. I thought she would stay, but she left me . . ."
All the panic and fear streamed out of her in a flood of words, and with the wound lanced, she began to weep. Lyse helped her sit up, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. She could smell Lyse's spicy perfume, the warmth of the other woman's body, and it made her cry harder, the missing of her twin even more urgent when she was so close to another living person.
"They're not inside you anymore, are they?" Lyse asked, her voice a respectful whisper.
Niamh shook her head.
"They were the ones who wanted you to help Daniela."
It was a statement, not a question. Once again, Niamh nodded.
"Do you want to see what you did?"
From the tone of Lyse's voice, Niamh couldn't tell what she was going to see when she looked in that hospital bed, but she knew she couldn't sit on the cold white floor forever. She reached for Lyse's hand and Lyse, immediately understanding what she wanted, helped Niamh to her feet.
"Look," Lyse said, guiding her over to the bed and placing Niamh's hands on the metal so she could lean her weight against it.
Niamh didn't think Lyse would force her to look at something terrible. She didn't think Lyse was capable of something so cruel. If the laying on of her hands had not healed Daniela, had, in fact, done the opposite, someone would have told her. This knowledge gave her the courage to do as Lyse commanded: to look.
She let her eyes trail up the heavy cotton blanket, past the light cream sheets-where Daniela's hands were balled into fists at her sides-to the deep hollow at Daniela's throat just above the V-neck of her thin hospital gown, and, finally, to her sunken cheeks and eyes . . . only to Niamh's surprise this was no longer the case. Daniela's face had plumped since she'd last seen her; the dark shadows were lighter and the color had returned to her skin. Daniela was breathing easier; the shallow hissing sound that had preceded every inhalation had gone.
Niamh's body began to shake and she felt her knees buckle, but Evan and Lyse were there to hold her up.
"She's better," Niamh murmured.
"Whatever you did," Arrabelle said. "Whatever your sister and that poor trapped creature did . . . all of you saved Daniela."
Niamh nodded, thinking of the sacrifice her sister had made. Then another thought danced through her mind, and suddenly Niamh didn't feel so heartbroken. If she was inside my brain, Niamh thought, then she could be there with Daniela, too.
The thought was enough to give Niamh hope. Maybe she wouldn't be alone, after all. She had something to look forward to now. She would wait and when Daniela woke up-as Niamh knew she would-then they would see. They would see just how much of the creature and of Laragh had fused itself with Daniela's brain in order to save the empath.
"What are you thinking?" Lyse asked, confused by the abrupt change in Niamh's demeanor-and the secret smile that played across her lips. "It's like a light just went on inside your brain."
"It's nothing," Niamh said. "Just something I realized. It's not important."
But that was a lie.
To Niamh, it was the most important thing in the entire world, and, for now, it was her secret-and her secret alone-to pin her hopes on.
Arrabelle
Arrabelle had to sit down. She'd been staring at the television screen too long, her eyes not wanting to believe what they were seeing. Watching the BBC World News, it was easy to decipher what was happening in the world . . . and why.