After lowering her to the floor, I hold my hand to the orchids on the table. Kat might weigh nothing, but when she goes limp in my arms the weight brings me to my knees. She’ll freak when she finds them all dead. I once heard her singing to them as she sprayed special water over their leaves. They’re all over the house, and she treats them like babies. It has to be something pure, something with life to purge the death. I rush to her side in time to keep her standing and scan the kitchen for any reagents I can use to stop this. Her pale skin begins to turn blue, which makes the pain in my chest burst into something part agony, part will to survive.
That’s the least I can do to calm her, and I can’t manage it with my stupid voice gone. How simple it is-almost comical in appearance, and yet terrifying in practice. I’ve heard of the spell-it’s an easy combination of fish scales, raven hearts, and dew gathered from tombstones-but I’ve never seen it in action.
No matter how much water Kat wipes away, the bubble stays in place.
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