I rest my hand on his arm pleadingly. “You don’t want to do this, Freddie.” I say, trying to reason with him. “You and Russell are friends. Russell loves you, I know it,” I beg.

“I’m not so sure about that. I just watched Russell turn on his own soul mate in the parking lot tonight. I doubt Russell loves anything like he does you and yet, he almost smashed your face in,” Freddie says as if this intrigues him. “I didn’t see that coming. It kind of gave Russell a new flavor to me. He can be turned, you know, we could turn him to our side I suspect. Would you like me to see if he’ll go evil?” Freddie asks me, and I feel sick again.

“Leave him alone! He hasn’t done anything to deserve this!” I rasp.

“That’s it, Evie, I knew I could count on you. You’ll do anything to protect him, won’t you? I was hoping that you would. Now, shall we go? I’ve left Russell with some very nasty angels. They’re not good company,” Freddie says, taking my hand and dragging me effortlessly forward toward the 7-Eleven. “Time to save your soul mate.”

He holds the door wide for me, and I recoil from the scene ahead. Placing his hand on the small of my back, Freddie ushers me into the florescent-lighted horror show. Searching for Russell among the desolation and destruction around me, I spot him at the back on the floor. A red-headed angel with the white wings of an Archangel guards Russell. Russell isn’t moving, but he is breathing. He has bruising near his left temple, and the cut above his left eye oozes blood onto the floor. He is unconscious.

Stepping as lightly as I can around the debris littering the ground, I know it really isn’t debris, but pieces of flesh. There is so much of it that it is as if someone had unwittingly stepped on a land mine and was blown to pieces. My foot slips on it once or twice before I even step in a few feet; the vinyl tile on the floor is as slick as an ice rink from the blood covering it.

There are pieces of bodies everywhere I look. Seeing a torso with a red smock covering it, I know that the clerk hasn’t survived the angels’ rampage. Near the dismembered torso, I spy a strikingly handsome angel with olive skin, sitting on the floor. He is holding the hand of a dead girl to his lips, casually ripping the flesh from her fingers with his teeth. Thick mottles of blood run down his chin on either side. Looking up at me, it takes a fraction of a second for his face to be a hair’s breadth from my own. Wincing in terror, I turn my face away from the scent and sight of blood on his face and teeth while he smiles broadly at me. Unbelievable fear makes my insides fall to pieces as I recognize him as the monster from my nightmares.

Freddie puts a restraining hand on his chest. “Gaspard, not yet! She’s not ready for you quite yet,” Freddie says at my side. “Be patient, killa, it will not take long, and then she’ll be yours, like I promised.”

Gaspard speaks to me in Angel, but it is not even remotely compelling when it is delivered with tiny droplets of blood-soaked spittle. I don’t shrug at him when he is done speaking because I’ve learned that they consider that rude, so I whisper in a low tone, “I don’t speak your language.”

Gaspard smiles at me again, showing the flesh that is stuck between his teeth. “That is too bad. It sounds so much better in Angel, than it does in Human. I just told you that the centuries here have been worth every moment that I have suffered, now that I get to desecrate you, my beautiful Seraph,” he breathes, shuddering with delight and pressing his cheek to mine. The blood on his face smears my cheek, delivering its metallic scent to my nostrils.

“I’m sure I won’t enjoy a moment of that, Gaspard,” I whisper back, clenching my teeth so that I won’t gag again. Being near Gaspard has me reeling and off kilter because he is such a strange, even absurd, dichotomy. His black hair is finely groomed and well kept with no stray hair to mar his perfect forehead or the masculine shape of his arching eyebrows. Only an angel could have a straight nose like his is. His mouth is sensual in its shape and fullness, but the gore that covers him and the sadistic twist of his top lip, makes my heart pound with revulsion and ache to get away.

Gaspard smiles angelically. “It could surprise you…you smell so delicious. Fear is just pouring out of you. It smells so…stimulating,” he says, inhaling deeply as he licks the blood from my cheek. I jump and shy back from him as a feral growl rips from his throat. He instantly turns from me to the angel approaching him from behind. He snarls a warning as if he is protecting his kill from another predator——his kill being me.

My legs have gone numb, but I’m not sure if it is with relief or with fear as the other angel says, “She’s not yours, Gaspard. I outrank you in this mission. You must relinquish her to me.” This is the angel with the white wings and the red hair that has been standing by the coffee machines as I entered. He is the angel that was guarding Russell’s limp body.

Hesitating for only a moment, Gaspard stands up, straightening out of the defensive crouch he had adopted. Stepping back from me a fraction, he shrugs passively. A wicked smile crosses the other angel’s face as the red-headed one comes toward me. I brace myself for whatever he might do to me, but I don’t find out. Gaspard reaches out, grabbing him by the throat as he tries to saunter by. Snapping his neck, Gaspard then rips the head of the Archangel right off of his body. He continues dismembering the angel as blood spatters across my face and body. The crunching and grinding sounds are almost unbearable as I close my eyes to block out the horrifying gore in front of me.

“Well, I don’t think Cade saw that coming,” Freddie remarks. He turns to me and says, “Archangels think they own everything; they’re kind of snobs, but they forget that Power angels sometimes don’t play nice. Sucks to be him.”

Gaspard, breathing hard from the exertion of dismembering his partner, doesn’t look a bit remorseful. In fact, he is smiling at me almost tenderly. His twisted sneer is gone, and he is attempting to wipe some of the blood from my face with his hand. It is not working well, since his hands have more blood on them than my face does. “Ah, mon cher,” he says in a seductive tone, “do not worry, he will never have you. You are mine, and I don’t share.”

“Thank you, Gaspard, you’re too good to me,” I reply softly, trying to match his seductive tone. “But, you know, it was probably all for naught, since Freddie plans on taking my soul from me. I doubt that I’ll survive very long without it. You may have just killed your friend for nothing.”

The back of Freddie’s hand cracks across my face in an instant, knocking me into the stacks of shelving. Looking up from the floor where I have landed, I face away from the two angels who are arguing heatedly about what I have just revealed. Gingerly putting my shaking fingers to my cheek, it aches, just like in my nightmares.

Movement in the corner of the store catches my attention. Turning, I see several people huddling there. Horror and bewilderment mar their faces. They are pale and clinging to one another, so I motion for them to run. I don’t think that the angels will pursue them, now that they have me. But I realize after seeing the terror on the face of the girl with the piercing in her brow, that she is the clerk whose torso I had spotted earlier. It will make no difference if they run now, because they are already dead. I have to turn away from their faces. I’ve failed them—I’ve failed to realize that Freddie would be the one to perpetrate this crime, and now they are all just souls, helplessly trapped here with me.

I think that I might go insane in a moment; the fear that has numbed me before is now driving me slowly crazy. Crawling on my hands and knees away from the souls, I try to get to Russell.

I don’t get far. Freddie’s hand on my shoulder lifts me up, dangling me above the ground before him. Rage twists his face as he sneers at me, before throwing me effortlessly backward into the glass door of a refrigerator at the back of the store. Something in one of my wings snaps on impact while the glass cracks like a spider’s web. Sliding to the floor in a heap, I lie there for a moment, entirely still, until my lungs decompress. Wheezing out a cough, I try desperately to get air back into me.

Walking in front of my line of sight, Freddie squats down, bringing his face to where my cheek rests against the floor. “You know,” he growls, “I think I’ve changed my mind, Evie. I think I’ll just go ahead and kill Russell, and then I’ll beat the soul out of you. You’ll give it to me if you’re in enough pain. It really doesn’t matter to me how I get it,” he says as his wings buzz in agitation.

I want to beg him not to hurt us, but all I can do is groan. Grasping me by the arm, he drags me effortlessly across the floor, back toward the coffee machines where Russell is. My body leaves a clean path on the floor, mopping up all of the debris as he sweeps me over it.

Coming to rest right next to Russell’s body, Freddie drops my arm, and it sprawls out limply. I can’t move yet to see Russell next to me, so I watch Gaspard in front of me; he is extremely agitated. He has sprouted dove-gray wings; they’re long and powerful. He is pacing the floor with supernatural speed, and every now and then, he pauses to run his hand through his black hair. He seems like he is torn about something. Maybe he is afraid there isn’t going to be much of me left to play with once Freddie is done with me. Maybe that’s a good thing, I think to myself.

Walking over to the counter by the cash register, Freddie picks up a velvet cloth lying on it. The cloth contains several tools and a few knives. Selecting a thin, sharp knife with a bone-colored handle, he throws the rest aside. Stepping between my body and Russell’s body, Freddie crouches down, showing me the blade of the knife in his hand. Putting his finger to his lips, he giggles before his face twists in a sneer. Then, he turns the knife, plunging it into Russell’s thigh.

All of the blood drains from my face, and tears brighten my eyes as a hoarse scream tears from Russell’s throat. “No, Freddie, stop! I’ll do anything you want, I’ll give you anything you want.. just stop, please…stop,” I beg him in a wheeze.

“Oh, I know you will. This is just for fun,” he says, pulling the knife out of Russell’s thigh and wiping the blade on my silk top.

“Son of a…Lord, that sucks! I’m gonna kill ya, Freddie! I promise ya, I will kill ya. I’m gonna squash ya like the bug ya are,” Russell shouts and then groans, writhing in pain next to me. Turning over towards Russell, I can only imagine what a shock it will be to him to see me. I am covered in blood and my red wings are exposed. When Russell notices me, he freezes and all of the blood drains from his face. “Ahh shoot, Red, what are ya doin’ here?” he yells at me, holding his thigh. Then, closing his eyes, he says, “I told ya to leave. I told ya to go and to never come back. I wanted to save ya! I didn’t save ya!” Balling his hands in fists, he brings them to his forehead.

“Russell, what? No…you’ve got it wrong! Freddie is here for me. He wants something I have,” I say, searching his face. “He’s going to let you go when I give it to him, aren’t you, Freddie.”

Freddie’s smile is angelic as he says, “That’s right, Evie. Just give it to me and Russell can go.”

Russell pulls his fists from his eyes. “What’s he want, Red?” Russell asks between panting breaths, trying to control the pain in his leg. He is looking at me now like he is seeing me for the first time, which makes sense, since he has never seen my wings before this moment.

I am cognizant enough to realize that this is the last moment I will ever get to spend with Russell. This is the image of me that he will carry with him for the rest of his life. “Nothing that I’m not willing to give him, right, Freddie?” I say in a soft tone, making sure that Freddie knows I am going to go along with his plan, so that he won’t continue to hurt Russell. “I just want to make sure that Freddie will honor his part of the bargain, when I give him what he wants.”

Russell’s expression turns desperate as he asks, “Red, what does he want?” I don’t answer him. Finding his hand, I hold it in mine.

Freddie frowns, saying, “Evie, you ought to tell him, since it involves him. You see, Russell, Evie is the most extraordinary being we’ve ever seen. She’s an angel who possesses a human soul—a half-breed. She said she’ll give me her soul if I agree not to kill her soul mate, which is you. She can be assured that I won’t be able to kill you after she gives me her soul because I will have to try really hard not to sin so I can get back into Paradise. But, the really interesting part comes after I take her soul from her. Will we, then, be soul mates, you and I? I hope so! I can’t wait to bump into you in your next life. Won’t that be fun?”

“Red, if y’all give yer soul to that devil, I’ll never forgive ya! Never! I’d rather die now than be saddled with him forever,” Russell spits out. “Ya make me attracted to him and…ugh… don’t ya do it,” he pleads with me.

“Shh, Russell, it will be okay. I’m positive that you’ll never be attracted to Freddie, since he’s a sadistic creep. He’ll mess up sooner or later, and then he’ll be sent back to Sheol. You’ll be okay,” I reason in a soothing tone.

“What happens to her if she gives ya her soul?” Russell asks Freddie in despair.

Freddie’s brow wrinkles. “I don’t know for sure, but I think she’ll hang around for a while, waiting, as her body dies slowly, and then she’ll probably go into the dark alone. I suspect that Gaspard will hasten the darkness, since he’s super violent,” Freddie says, sounding giddy as he explains. He is getting what he wants, and it is making him euphoric. Gaspard, showing relief over this pronouncement, slows his pacing to grin in delight.

“Red, c’mon…y’all can’t do this. It’s wrong and ya know it!” he pleads with me. “What am I gonna do here without ya anyway? Ya can’t do it, ya just can’t!”

“I can’t watch him kill you, Russell. You have to live,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine when I see the pain and fear in his brown eyes.

Russell’s voice cracks as he says, “I can’t watch ya die either…”

Freddie snarls in disgust next to us. “Okay, this is making me want to puke. I’m ready for my soul now. Just don’t resist me, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Freddie says, gripping the handle of the knife and straddling my thighs so that I can’t move beneath him.

Freddie speaks in Angel; his voice is so musical that it’s calming me, lulling me as I stare up at him. Closing his eyes, he concentrates hard, making arching symbols in the air with his knife. A pulling sensation erupts in the core of my body when he draws the knife over me, inches from my flesh. As his knife passes downward again, my eyes widen, and a harrowing gasp comes from me. Clutching my chest, I attempt to hold myself together, while something tears inside of me. But it is no use; I am ripping apart from the inside out.

“Alfred, you stupid, evil parasite! Get off of Evie before I knock your nasty head off of your shoulders!” Brownie calls from the doorway of the store. Inching in the door, Brownie growls as she sizes up Gaspard, who has stilled his pacing and is crouching to attack.

“Sweetie, you can’t give Alfred your soul; he will ruin Paradise,” Buns chimes in, coming to stand next to Brownie. With her eyes never leaving Gaspard, she hands something to Brownie; it is a stick that resembles field hockey equipment, but it is crafted of shiny gold metal with a deadly blade curving wickedly at the end.

I’m not sure if I gasped from the pain in my chest or from the shock of seeing Brownie and Buns with butterfly wings. Buns looks just like a faerie; she has delicate-looking, golden butterfly wings that shimmer in the florescent lighting. Brownie’s wings are more bronze with bold, russet accents. Their wings float effortlessly as their eyes hone in on Gaspard in front of them.

Momentarily distracted from his task, Freddie loses some focus, allowing me to breathe again. Swallowing deep, heavy gulps of air, I crane my neck to better see what is happening. The girls are fanning out, both eyeing Gaspard, looking for a weakness in his defenses. I notice their subtle signal to each other just before they attack Gaspard in synchronization.

Seeing that the girls have distracted Freddie, Russell wastes no time. He sits up quickly; pulling his arm back, he punches Freddie in the face using all of his strength. Freddie hardly moves at all when Russell hits him, proving to us both just how much of an angel Freddie really is. Scowling blackly at Russell for just an instant, Freddie takes his bony knife and plunges it into Russell’s chest; it makes a sickening, sucking sound as he twists it a couple of times before pulling it back out. Russell’s blood instantly gushes from the wound, wetting his shirt in a ring of scarlet.

“Ouch,” Freddie chuckles, watching Russell with amusement.

Russell puts one hand to his chest briefly, looking down at the gaping hole that Freddie’s knife had made, and then he slumps back on one elbow. He can’t hold himself up for long. Collapsing to the floor, he lies staring at the ceiling, panting in pain and shock. Horror and rage spur me, and I sit up instantly, grabbing the knife from Freddie’s hand. Turning the handle of the wicked-sharp blade, I plunge it into Freddie’s side, knocking him back off of me in one fluid movement.

“Ouch!” he shouts for real this time as the slice I made in his side bleeds in earnest. “You stabbed me, Evie!” he snaps incredulously, glowering at his side, and then at me. I don’t reply. Getting to my knees, I swing the knife again, trying to cut him, trying to make sure he stays back. Instantly, he scuttles away from me out of my reach. I will have to try to get up if I want to stab him again, and I am not sure I can do it.

The noises behind us are growing wilder. Buns and Brownie are taking turns carving little pieces out of Gaspard and then dancing away before he can return the favor. I can’t give their fight much of my attention, focusing instead on Freddie in front of me.

“You can’t win, Evie, no matter what you do. One of us is going to kill you sooner or later. You may as well give me your soul now, since I can purify it. Otherwise, you die with that soul, and you’re going straight to Sheol because it’s pure evil,” he smiles at me. “Give me the knife, and I’ll spare you that. I’ll spare you the fires of Hell,” he says soothingly, holding out his hand for the knife.

My determination falters while my eyes well up with tears. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “My soul is evil…I’m from Hell?” I ask him, staring into his eyes. Freddie smiles at me, nodding. Slowly, I draw the knife up and begin to hand it to him. At the last second, I turn the blade on him, scoring it over the palm and drawing his blood from a deep wound. I shiver, watching the blood drip down his arm while he cradles his hand to his chest. “You’re a liar, Alfred. I’m not going to trust you.”

“That was a mistake, Evie. I’m going to bring you so much pain you’ll beg me to take your soul,” he promises evenly as bitterness seeps into his tone.

“Don’t, Freddie…” I beg with my voice shaking. “You can just leave…please…leave us alone…” Holding the knife tight in my hand, I swipe it at him in desperation, but he is no longer listening to me. He is watching the fight behind me between Gaspard and the girls. The frown on his face tells me what I want to know: Gaspard is losing.

Glancing over at Russell, Freddie smirks, “You lose, Evie. Your soul mate is dying. Sucks to be human. I’ll be back when it’s your turn,” he snarls quickly. Then, in the time it takes me to exhale, he circumvents the girls and Gaspard and is gone from the store.

Hearing Russell gasping, I turn back to see his still body lying on the floor. Crawling on my hands and knees to his side, I clutch the knife in a death grip. Russell’s face is pale as I put my hand on his cheek. He looks at me then; his brown eyes are dilated so that most of the brown is obscured by the blackness of his pupils.

“Russell!” I say in misery, dropping the knife and searching for his hand. Finding it, I squeeze it firmly. He coughs, and blood runs from his mouth. Alfred is right, Russell’s dying.

“Please don’t die, Russell,” I beg, “please…”

Hot tears slide from my eyes down my cheeks as I panic, looking around for something that I can do to help him. I put my hand on his wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood as it pumps out of him. God, please help me! I beg in my mind.

All of the fluorescent lights in the building flicker as my hand on Russell’s wound begins to heat up and glow; it is as if my hand is being lit from inside of me. Crying out in agony, I try to pull my hand away from Russell because the intense heat is turning to fire. We are both burning from the searing inferno of energy pulsing out of me. Screaming in pain, I can’t lift my hand from him. We are welded together like scalding hot metal.

Other pain registers in my mind, too. A throbbing ache, building in my thigh, finally breaks over me in a crescendo of pain. Putting my other hand to my thigh, I attempt to ease the white-hot ache. A sob twists from me before my chest breaks open, and I sag to the floor. Feeling something warm and wet pooling on my stomach, I look down listlessly; a growing blotch of red spreads over my blouse as my blood seeps out from my chest. The heat in my hand lessens, but I hardly realize it because of the stabbing pain near my heart. Tasting blood in my mouth, blackness obscures my vision. Waves of energy are flowing out of me to slip away into the air, like the scent of a flower drifting in the breeze. I can rest now,.. so tired, I think as I begin to float away….

“You promised me,” a whispering voice says in my mind, its tone caressing me. Light dances in my eyes as I try very hard to see the lovely one speaking to me in such a graceful voice. Images fracture and obscure as colors meander and bleed together in a distorted kaleidoscope of pain. The darkness is so cool…soothing; it floats and sways around me, wrapping me in a blanket of nothingness, away from the pain that torments me.

“Fight…” the voice whispers to me, but it no longer sounds lovely—it sounds taut and filled with an urgency that I don’t understand. I have to find him—tell him not to be sad. As I struggle, the darkness recedes; searing, ragged pain replaces it, making me want to go back into the darkness.

I can’t find him, I think, disoriented. Trying to move my ear closer to his voice, my head lolls as I search for him. Reed’s voice sounds broken—hushed—speaking to me in Angel— compelling me to find him.

Another voice interrupts the steady stream of musical words that have me clinging to the clouds they create in my mind. It is a deep, commanding voice that I think I recognize, but I just can’t think…

“Reed,” the commanding voice says, “you have to let us help. We have to stop the bleeding…”

Another, much softer voice adds, “Sweetie, give Evie to Zee. He’s going to bind her wounds so that you can move her. We’ll give her right back to you,” it says plaintively. My heart races painfully. “Sweetie, here…you can put her down here, and then you can hold her hand.”

A low, growling snarl rumbles from Reed. “Don’t touch her…”

“Sweetie, please…” comes the soft voice. A moment passes, and then every cell in my body begins objecting to the fact that I am being moved.

The commanding voice says, “You can hold her hand while I wrap her chest.” I think I cry out as sheer pain collapses in on me like an avalanche of snow, covering me beneath its depths, and I surrender to it.

CHAPTER 20

Revelations

My head hurts… no, scratch that… my entire body hurts. Even my eyelashes are aching, I think, struggling to open my eyes. The light in the room is dim, but it feels blinding, bringing tears to my eyes. The white curtains, hanging in my room in Reed’s house, are closed, so I shouldn’t have this problem.

I gaze around in confusion because this doesn’t resemble the room I’ve been staying in for the last few weeks. It has hospital equipment in it. There are carts in here with machinery that I can’t even begin to name. Noticing an IV stand next to my bed, my eyes follow the plastic tubing down to my wrist where it is sticking out of my hand uncomfortably. I want to pull it out, but I am distracted from the discomfort by the angry, whispering voices just outside my door.

“You need to let the humans go home now—her fever has broken—you cannot persuade them to stay any longer,” Zephyr whispers tensely.

Reed’s voice, barely more than a growl, whispers, “I will tell the nurses to go, but I am keeping the doctor.”

“He is not necessary…” Zephyr begins to argue again, but Reed cuts him off.

“I will persuade the doctor into thinking that he has been at a medical conference when this is all over…” Reed argues in a low tone.

I am not sure what they are talking about, but it doesn’t sound good, and Reed doesn’t sound right either. He sounds irritable and unreasonable, which is not what is abnormal. What I find abnormal is that he sounds desperately so.

Zephyr starts to argue further, whispering harshly, “It is an unnecessary risk for them to remain.”

Feeling anxious about their argument, I say feebly, “Zee, leave Reed alone. He doesn’t sound right.” But, it is my voice that doesn’t sound right; it sounds weak and raspy. Am I sick? I wonder, not understanding what is going on.

There is a quiet pause from the hall, and then the door of my room crashes open. Instantly, Reed is in front of me. Smiling at him cautiously, I am overwhelmed by how he can look so good when he looks so bad. Although he is still breath-takingly handsome, he is uncharacteristically disheveled; his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is tussled. He also looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He is pale and drawn.

“Hi,” I say in a croak that doesn’t sound like me. He doesn’t say anything, so I ask, “Are you okay?” Staring at me, Reed does not respond to my question either as his eyes search my face. “Here sit down next to me,” I manage to say with my gravelly voice, patting the empty space beside me on the large bed. He crawls up on the bed next to me, snuggling in close to my side. Resting his head on my pillow, his hair falls down over his eyebrow, so I lift my hand to his brow to brush it back from his face. My arm feels heavy, and I am having trouble keeping it from falling listlessly back onto the bed. “What’s wrong with me?” I ask Reed warily.

Tight, grim lines form at the corners of Reed’s mouth. “You have been ill…” Reed replies in a hush tone, his voice trailing off.

My eyebrows rise. “I have? Huh. Have you been sick, too?” I ask him sympathetically, because he looks really tired. He nods at my question, and when I put my hand on his cheek, he turns his lips to kiss my palm. “Stay here with me. You should rest…” I whisper. Reed inhales deeply, closing his eyes tight. I am startled by his reaction to my words. He looks very sad. “Reed, what’s wrong?” I ask him, dreading his response.

“Nothing is wrong, Evie. You are alive,” he replies in a hoarse tone.

“Oh…” I say, not really getting what he is saying. I must’ve been very sick. I can hardly move, and my chest feels like someone drilled a hole in it.. I inhale a sharp breath.

As I bring my hand to my chest, my fingers skim over the over-sized white button-down shirt I have on. A flood of reality hits me all at once. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m panicking I have to… what? I have to stop him… I have to stop Freddie. He’s going to kill Russell!

“Reed!” I whisper urgently, in a voice that is so thin and breathless that I am not even sure he can understand me. “Freddie is bad—he wants to hurt me—he wants to hurt Russell—he killed Russell! Oh my God, Reed!” I rasp in horror, “He killed Russell—and I couldn’t—and I tried, but he just wouldn’t stop…”

Reed reaches over, pulling me into his arms. He strokes my hair as he says in a gentle, soothing tone, “Russell isn’t dead, Evie. You saved him.”

Weeping against his chest, I shake my head. “No” I sob, “Freddie stabbed him here, in the chest,” I say in denial, touching my own chest and wincing as if I have a wound there.

Reed’s arms tighten around me. “I know. You healed Russell. You took his wounds from him—you took them into your own body,” he says the last part angrily, like he doesn’t approve at all.

My breath hitches in my chest. “I healed…Russell? That’s… how could I have done that?” I whisper skeptically, still mourning Russell.

Reed’s lips brush the top of my head. “Evie, how do you even exist? It all makes no sense, but here you are, and Russell is downstairs, and I thought that I had lost you…” he stops talking then. He just strokes my hair gently as if I am as fragile as glass. After a few moments, he says, “You were the conduit to heal him at the very least. It was your hand that touched him, your body that absorbed his wounds.”