On the cusp of unconsciousness, Aunt Millie heard the unmistakable aussie twang of Judith’s voice.
“Victoray de reed,” Judith commanded, and the fog receded.
Judith, an Empath, knew the fog wasn’t finished with Mil’s the elder, and she’d trained long and hard to silence the voices screaming in her head. But in that moment, with the sight of her friend lying in a pool of blood, she telepathically reached into the fog, took it by its ethereal throat and squeezed until it retracted in fear.
She knew she’d hurt it; it felt like taking hold of a physical entity, and although the fog retreated, it was still too close to Millie. Having only wounded it, Judith didn’t have time to get Mil’s away.
“Victoray de reed,” she commanded again.