Page 66 of Charmed

They had to know if the hypothesis was true. Really, this discussion was speculation at best. But why would Celeste tell Aunt Mara where her and Finn were if she hadn't been trying to warn her sister? Logically, the theory held merit.

"Is there any way to figure out if we're right?" Fiona leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Celeste came to Kaida and me in a dream. We didn't summon her."

Aunt Mara swallowed, obviously shaken. "I don't believe she can be summoned since she's not truly dead. Or not on the other side." She expelled a ragged exhale. "The only method I'm familiar with is for me to die. I'll come back, of course, but the temporary stasis will put me on her plane."

"No." Ceara adamantly shook her head. "We can't ask you to do that."

"You're not askin', lass. Fiona's correct. We need answers." She set her wrinkled hands on the table and rose, brooking no argument. "Come, upstairs with the lot of us."

"I..." Ceara pressed her lips together, shaking her head in a fiercer denial.

"I'll go." Fiona squeezed her sister's shoulder. "You stay. With your empath gift, this'll be too hard on you to watch." She wasn't sure she could do it herself and looked at Aunt Mara. "How, uh...?" Dang it. Were they really having this conversation?

Their aunt made a slashing motion across her wrists as if not saying the deed aloud made it better.

Oh, Goddess. Fiona froze, unable to move or think beyond the visual that sprang to mind. She pressed a hand to her belly to calm the riot. It didn't help. Icy fingers of dread wrapped around her heart.

Ceara covered her face, tears leaking through her fingers.

If they were going to do this, Fiona just wanted it over. Dragging it out would only make things worse.

Dropping a kiss on the top of her sister's head, she sighed. "It'll be okay. I promise." Actually, this was going to suck, but someone had to step up, be the strong one. Fiona had always been that person. Their aunt shouldn't be alone, and they needed intel. It had felt like they'd been two paces behind from the start. "I'll check on you in a bit."

Her stomach in knots, Fiona followed her aunt upstairs and into the bathroom, shutting the door. She watched in numb disassociation as Aunt Mara started bathwater and changed into a loose white nightgown. Straight razor in hand, she settled in the bath and shut off the faucet.

Fiona knelt by the side of the tub and cleared her throat. Despite the humidity and steam, a narcissistic cold settled inside her bones. "How does this work? What will happen?"

"Once my heart stops, my body will be here, but my spirit will go to the other plane. Hopefully, I'll see Celeste. My wounds will heal, and I'll awaken."

She made it sound so simple. Perhaps, for her, it was.

But, to Fiona, it meant watching someone she loved die. Right in front of her. Regardless of knowing her aunt would come back, that the act wasn't permanent, it still tore a fissure through her midsection. This was the woman who'd raised her. She'd taught Fiona how to wield magick, control her gifts, and kept her mother alive with stories. She'd tended to scraped knees and gotten her through breakups and never let her believe that love wouldn't triumph someday.

Fiona set her forearm on the tub edge, resting her chin on top. "How many times have you done this?" Judging by her aunt's calm resignation, she wasn't nervous in the slightest.

"A few." Aunt Mara ran her fingers through the water, creating ripples, gaze on the motion. "At my two-hundredth year, I lost it, you could say. Everything felt empty and pointless. I just couldn't take it anymore. I jumped off the cliffs, hung myself, and anything I could think of to end it all. After awhile, I think I kept doing it to see her."

She looked at Fiona, gaze unwavering. "We were so close, Celeste and me. She was more than my sister. She was my best friend. You understand, don't you, lass? You feel the same about your sisters. We played together in our homeland and ventured to America side-by-side. Even losing Ma and Da on the voyage, hard as it had been, wasn't so scary because I had her." Swallowing, she stared at the water again. "I miss her terribly. There's this hole in me that never fills."

Fiona couldn't imagine. She'd be devastated if anything happened to her sisters or if they were somehow separated. And to live that existence for three centuries? The very thought stole her breath and had pain searing her insides, shredding organs.

She clutched her aunt's hand. "You'll get peace. I swear, you will." If she had to sacrifice herself to make it so, Fiona would.

Aunt Mara smiled, but it was fleeting. "You don't have to stay. I can do this on my own."

"I'm not leaving you." Not a chance. Fiona imagined all the times her aunt had done this alone, and her throat closed.

Yet, against her insistent declaration to stay, as Aunt Mara placed the razor against her wrist, Fiona had to look away.

Trying to breathe, to focus on something else, she glared at the tile wall and studied its imperfections. A small chip marred one yellow square, a hairline crack in another. Time had dulled the white grout to a dark ivory, but it was clean considering the age. As long as she'd been alive, the bathroom hadn't been remodeled. Claw-foot tub, pedestal sink, ancient black and white checkered flooring.

The ping of the razor dropping on porcelain indicated her aunt had finished, but Fiona kept her eyes averted. Absently, she ran her fingers through Aunt Mara's hair, attempting to offer comfort while her ribcage felt like it had been pried open. Tears clogged her throat and burned her eyes.

She refused to let them fall. This very second, blood hemorrhaged from the woman who'd shown her how to persevere in chaos and use her anger for purpose. She'd demonstrated what strength looked like every day, so Fiona would return that gift now. She wouldn't be weak and cry like a coward. She absolutely wouldn't fall apart. She'd suck it up, be tough, letting her aunt know she wasn't alone, and that Fiona would be there when she woke. That it was okay to lean on her.

But, as her aunt's respirations grew more shallow, Fiona's thoughts shot right to Riley like they wanted to contradict her feeble attempt at bravery. Crazy as it sounded, she wished he was here. He'd understand her upheaval, would know how to alleviate the pain. She'd been a pillar for so long, she didn't know how to accept help or acknowledge when she needed it.

That hadn't mattered to him, though. Riley never asked. He systematically, instinctually acted like he could read her moods. Without her realizing it, and regardless of her stance, he'd become an invisible crutch. A man she could depend on who knew her better than most. And for some unfathomable reason, he liked her anyway.

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