Nora's POV
"You made the right choice calling me." Charlette settles on the edge of my bed, her fingers gently stroking my hair away from my fevered face. "My precious child, we're going to make you well again."
"She looks terrible." Ophelia wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "In all the years I've known her, she's never been sick. Not once."
"I don't recall her getting sick as children either," Lena adds quietly. "Does being a witch make her immune to normal illnesses?"
"No," Ophelia shakes her head. "Witches get sick just like everyone else."
"We need to begin immediately. I'm afraid we've lost precious time already." Charlette places her palm against my burning cheek before standing. I struggle to keep my eyes open and watch my friends bustling around the bedroom. The automatic window shades have been lowered despite the early hour, clearly to prevent anyone from witnessing what's about to happen.
