The End of Magic (The Witches of Echo Park #3)(48)

"I'm dead," he said for her.

"Why . . . ?" she moaned. "Why are you dead . . . ?"

She felt disbelief and the realization that she didn't have the power to change any of it.

"I can't . . ." she said, her voice catching in her throat. "You can't. I need you."

He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face up so that he could look into her eyes.

"LB, I am always with you." He placed a finger against her forehead. "Inside here . . . I live on in your heart and your memories."

It was all too much to process. She began to cry, the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

"I have to go now," he said, pulling her to his chest and squeezing her tight. "But I wanted you to know the truth about our family. Let it set you free, my sweet sister."

He released her and took a step back-and she saw that he was crying, too.

"I love you, Weir," she said, the hot tears running down the sides of her face.

"I love you, too, LB."

And then her brother faded away to nothing. 


• • •

She stayed in the loft for a long time, but no one else came to visit her. No images of the past, no ghosts of the present . . . and the future didn't belong here. She felt numb, the cold hardwood biting into the back of her thighs where she sat cross-legged on the floor. The white shift dress she wore left her arms and legs unprotected from the chill.

She loosed her hair, letting the long strands envelop her face, hiding her away. She wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep, but every time she lay down and closed her eyes, an image of Weir's face flashed through her mind. She had to immediately open her eyes again or else give in to the panic that wanted to eat her up.

In order to keep her mind off her grief, she hummed snatches of Korean lullabies that Bit-na had sung to her when she was small and songs she'd heard on the radio . . . anything to make sure her mind stayed blank.

She wove her hair into a long braid, singing as she worked. After a while, she heard the soft rustle of fabric, and she lifted her gaze, not surprised to find that she was no longer alone.





Daniela





Lizbeth's dream was the world's dream. Even as she slipped in and out of this reality, Daniela was not unaware of the changes happening around her. She felt the power of magic as it reentered their world and took hold once more. Things had shifted; a drastic transformation had been wrought with this one act. Where the blood sisters had once been unknown to the world . . . now-for better or for worse-their legacy had been foisted on an unsuspecting humanity.

And then she was alone again. Lost in a sea of sensation and tranquillity. A place from which she did not want to return.

Until the voices came, and then she was forced to listen.


• • •

. . . like swimming in a vat of molasses, everything sticky sweet and sludgy . . . can't open my eyes . . . can't open my mouth . . . can't breathe . . . like a heavy stone pressing on my chest . . . so dark, but not empty . . . lights playing . . . pink, purple, cerulean blue, Day-Glo green . . . like fireworks . . .

WAKE UP.

The voice broke through to her brain-the only thing that had reached her since her coma had begun-and Daniela surfaced. She couldn't feel her body, but she knew she was back in reality, if only for the most fleeting of moments. There were voices, speaking a language she didn't understand, or maybe her brain was garbling their words. She didn't know.

. . . back under . . . floating on the sludge, my body part of it . . . I'm made of the sludge . . . I hear them singing . . . like mermaids singing each to each . . . like a line of poetry I can't remember . . . the colors dancing . . . pink, purple, cerulean blue, Day-Glo green . . . like fireworks . . .

WAKE UP.

The voice was jarring, ripping her back into reality. She was cognizant again. She'd come up from the abyss before, but only for brief bits and pieces of disjointed time. Now it was different. The stone that had been holding her down in the dark place was gone and she felt a lightness in her chest.

But then a slicing pain cut through her body and she cried out in agony. She tried to swallow, the raw skin of her throat dry and cracked, and nausea hit her like a car accident, unexpected and violent. She began to retch, her body doing work she had no control over. But she couldn't move, couldn't turn her head to evacuate the bile that rose up into her mouth.

She began to cough, aspirating liquid and phlegm into her lungs. She heard an alarm go off, the sound piercing. It beat a rhythm of pain into her brain, each note a nail being hammered directly into her central cortex.