Page 67 of Charmed

The sudden eerie quiet of the room drew her attention to the tub. Red, so much red, tinged the stagnant water. Her aunt's stiff body lay unmoving, eyes closed and lips blue. Her nightgown floated on the surface, pooled around her calves as if a ghostly exclamation point to the haunting image.

Lip quivering, Fiona let out a distressed noise that grated her throat and echoed against the tile. Lashes wet with unshed tears, she cupped Aunt Mara's cheeks in her shaking hands, finding her skin cold. Instinct fought with common sense inside Fiona's mind. A battle between wanting to heal and needing to let things be clanged her skull.

She pressed her palms to the floor, hunching her shoulders. Her lungs rattled as she inhaled, and she hung her head. She could only manage a wheeze exhaling while the room closed in on her. Dots spotted her peripheral.

Get up, get up, get up.

Forcing back a sob, she summoned the will to pull the drain. She couldn't leave her aunt like this. She just...couldn't.

Once the water drained, Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. From her knees, she spread her arms, conjuring wind. She blasted the current toward her aunt until all the moisture from her gown and hair had vanished. Rising on shaky legs, she sent an airstream under her aunt's form, raising her from the tub and floating her across the room. She channeled the element until her aunt was through the doorway, down the hall, and safely in bed.

Fiona lowered herself to the mattress, trembling uncontrollably. It dipped with her weight as she ran her gaze over the deep cuts from elbows to wrists on Aunt Mara's forearms. The wounds were already starting to weave together, the spell curing her, but it still killed Fiona to look at them.

Ceara must've heard Fiona moving around or the floor creaking because her sister's footsteps padded the hallway. She emerged at the threshold with a cup of tea in hand.

Her red-rimmed gaze scanned the bed. "How is she?"

Quickly, Fiona pulled the sheet up to her aunt's chin, covering her arms and the damage. "She’s not awake yet, but I think she's all right."

Nodding, Ceara set the cup on the nightstand and claimed a chair. "And how are you?"

Wrecked. Gutted. Utterly destroyed. "Fine."

"I don't know why you do that." Ceara's soothing voice belied the irritation underneath. "Being honest about your feelings doesn't chip away at your bravery. It adds to it. And you know I can sense your true emotions."

"What do you want me to say? That I'm leveled? That, just like with Kaida's near death, I'll never erase the memory of this for as long as I live?" She still had nightmares about blood gushing from Kaida's abdomen after she'd been stabbed, could still feel the hot stickiness of it between her fingers and smell the coppery scent in her nose. "Is that what you want? Congratulations. There you go. Forgive the hell out of me for trying to save you from hurting any more than you already are."

"I don't need your protection." Sympathy looked at her through Ceara's storm cloud eyes. "Thank you for doing what you did, for being with Aunt Mara when I wasn't able. Like always, you stepped up and did the hard thing when I couldn't. But you're hurting, too, and there's nothing wrong with admitting it. This is me, Fiona. You don't have to be the savior all the time."

Fiona shook her head with a sound of disgust. Who the heck was she if not the fearless witch shielding those she cared about? Charging into battle to defend? Fighting so they didn't have to? That was her place in the world, the hand she was given. Take away the image, and there was no reflection behind it.

"Fiona," Ceara said on a weary sigh. "You love harder than any person I know, but Kaida was right. You insist on doing everything by yourself when proof to the contrary is right in front of you."

The events from the Meath dining room shoved to memory, and Fiona screeched, balling her fists. "Is it National Crap On Fiona Day and no one notified me?" Her baby sister had all but ganged up on her, and it had been Tristan, of all people, who'd tried to douse the fire. Everyone else had just sat there, traps shut, ignoring the tension like it were a pretty mirage. Betrayal coated her tongue all over again. "I've got everything handled."

"Case in point. Do you really?" Ceara lifted her hands to signal peace. "Kaida might've gone about it wrong, but she wasn't totally incorrect on the subject matter. Even Othello had Iago. That's all I'm saying."

Fiona rolled her eyes. Leave it to Ceara to use a Shakespeare reference. "Iago was a villain."

"You're splitting hairs. What I mean is, you have help. People who love you back. We're behind you, each of us." Up went her brows. "Except Riley, of course. He's been right next to you all along."

Casting her gaze at the ceiling, Fiona struggled with patience. It was a losing effort. "I will deal with Riley when I'm good and ready." After a bottle of merlot and several internal pep talks, followed by a handful of antacids.

Ceara opened her mouth, but Aunt Mara moaned and stirred.

Both of them focused on their aunt, conversation forgotten.

The color had returned to Aunt Mara’s cheeks and her chest moved with the act of breathing. She opened her eyes and looked around, confusion evident.

"Thank Goddess, you're awake." Relief swept through Fiona so fast, she nearly collapsed. Carefully, she lifted her aunt's arm, finding the wounds gone. "You look all right."

"Right as rain." Aunt Mara sat up and smoothed her strands. "How'd I get in bed?"

"You floated on a breeze." Ceara smiled and rose from her seat. She passed their aunt the tea and squatted by the bed. "Drink that before you try to get up."

"I saw her," Aunt Mara mumbled, then sipped from the cup. "Celeste was there."

Both anticipating and fearing what her ancestor had said, Fiona leaned forward. "Tell us."

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