I sigh tiredly, rubbing my forehead. “Ugh, there is so much to do. I don’t even know where my books are,” I say unhappily. “I have to do well or I’ll lose my scholarship.”

“Sweetie, you have an angel’s brain. This won’t be that hard,” Buns remarks. “But even if you didn’t do well, you wouldn’t lose your scholarship. Reed is the benefactor of your scholarship fund, and I doubt he’d let them take it from you.”

Dropping my hand from my forehead, my eyebrows rise. “What?” I ask her, and then glare at Reed accusingly. “You mean you could’ve yanked my scholarship at any time and sent me packing?” I ask him incredulously.

“Yes. But that would have been rude,” he smiles at me sweetly.

“How close did you come to doing it?” I ask, not fooled for a minute.

“I filled out the paperwork, but then I talked to you at registration, and I couldn’t go through with it,” he replies, grasping my hand and kissing the back of it.

Abruptly, several thoughts occur to me. “Oh my gosh, Uncle Jim! What in the world am I going to tell him? Has he called? Does he know that I was sick? What happened to the people at the Seven-Eleven? Are the police involved? Where’s Russell? Did he miss finals, too? You didn’t let him go home, did you? He can’t go home, Freddie…Alfred is still out there! I have to get dressed. I have to call my uncle!” I say in rapid succession as questions whirl around in my brain.

“Brownie and I took care of the souls; they’re safe now. You don’t have to worry about them, sweetie,” Buns says simply, watching me close. I don’t know how I know that something is really wrong, but I do.

“You’re not telling me something,” I say, beginning to feel paranoid as I look at their faces, which are suddenly turning grave. “Where’s Russell?” I ask them.

“He’s downstairs in the library, I think, sweetie,” Buns says in a gentle tone. “We wanted to talk to you first, before you talk to Russell.”

A disquieting chill trickles over my skin, raising goose bumps on my arms. Slipping to the edge of the bed, I put my feet on the floor. I feel so weak, I think. I no longer have an IV. Reed had persuaded a cardiac specialist and several members of his staff to come and take care of me when I was first injured. Then he erased every memory of them ever being here from their minds. They are gone now because I am getting better.

Glancing at Buns again, her expression has changed from forced cheerfulness to an ancient, stoic mien. With graceful simplicity, she begins, “Your Uncle Jim, his soul, I am told, is the purest, most gentle and kind that the Reaper who had the honor of transitioning him had ever beheld…”

My heart contorts and my throat constricts tight, “No. Don’t tell me, Buns. I don’t want to know. Please don’t tell me,” I whisper, standing up and trying to take a step toward the bathroom door. I have to get away from them. I can’t hear whatever they are all here to tell me.

A gentle breeze touches my legs, and then Reed lifts me in his arms. “Evie, you have to forgive me. I was so focused on you— on keeping you alive, that nothing else seemed important.”

Tears blind me. “Don’t tell me, Reed,” I say in a tight voice, putting my finger to his mouth to hush him.

“Evie,” Buns says with a note of guilt, “we thought that Alfred would run and hide from us in the deepest hole he could find. We didn’t suspect—we went there, to your uncle’s house, but it was too late. Alfred must’ve gone straight there, so we probably couldn’t have stopped him, even if we knew…” Buns trails off.

“No, Buns!” I scream at her angrily, wiggling and fighting for Reed to put me down. He does, but only because he probably thinks I would hurt myself, not because it has any effect on him whatsoever.

Limping to the bathroom, I close the door. Looking around for somewhere to hide, I choose the shower, shuffling feebly across the floor to it. I turn it on, stepping in with Reed’s white, button-down shirt still on me. I let the water wash away the tears that I feel will never end. I lean up against the wall of the shower, but I can’t hold myself up anymore, so I slide down the wall to the floor. My poor Uncle Jim, what did he do to you? My mind cries in anguish so overwhelming and intense, it makes the pain I had endured to this point seem like nothing.

Alfred had promised to bring me so much pain that I would beg him to take my soul. He is delivering on that promise. I would’ve given my soul to save Uncle Jim, but he hadn’t given me the option.

The door of the shower opens. Reed turns off the water before picking me up off the wet floor. He cradles me in his arms. “He’s dead?” I ask in an anguished whisper, but I already know the answer.

“Yes.” Reed answers, not giving me any details. Walking to the vanity, he sits me down on the counter. He wraps a thick, warm robe around me.

“Funeral?” I ask in a hush tone, because this had happened almost three weeks ago. I sag against Reed limply.

“There was one. The Reapers made the arrangements. You were too sick to go. It wouldn’t have been a good idea for you to be there anyway because of Alfred. We can go there, to the cemetery, when it’s safe,” he says quietly, smoothing my wet hair away from my face.

“Did the police investigate?” I ask him numbly. It is strange how my brain still works, even when I feel dead inside. Reed finishes tying the belt on the robe before lifting me off the counter. He carries me back into the bedroom to my bed. Everyone had gone back downstairs, so we are alone.

“Yes. They came here to speak to you, but they believe that you had been in a car accident. Zee and I destroyed your car. I will buy you another one. We needed to make it look like that is how you got hurt,” he says. “The police, investigating your uncle’s murder, believe that he was probably killed by one of the angry spouses that your uncle investigated.”

“Why do they think that?” I ask him quietly.

Reed’s brows draw together in concern as he reluctantly says, “They think that because of the violence employed in the crime.”

“How did he die?” I ask as I hold my breath, waiting for Reed’s response.

Reed doesn’t say anything at first, until I turn and look at his eyes. “Badly,” Reed replies, not saying anymore. I nod my head, acknowledging what he is telling me. He is saying that I don’t want to know, and I believe him. He nudges me to lie in the bed, covering me with the blankets.

“I should’ve given him what he wanted. I shouldn’t have resisted…why did I resist?” I whisper wretchedly.

“No, Evie, don’t say that. I will take care of it. Alfred doesn’t understand what pain is…not yet, but he will, I promise you,” Reed says. “I will define the word ‘suffering’ for him.”

Reed’s words are meant to comfort me, but avenging my uncle hardly matters to me at this moment. Uncle Jim is dead and nothing will change that fact, not even Alfred’s pain. I close my eyes. I want nothing more than to go to sleep and never wake up. Tears run down my cheeks again, but I am too tired to wipe them away.

I awaken to find someone holding my hand, and I look over to see Russell staring at me sadly from a chair he had pulled up to my bed. “Hey, there ya are, Red,” he says with a softening of his eyes as he bends over my hand, placing a kiss upon it.

“Russell, are you…okay?” I ask him groggily, trying to sit up in bed. I still feel weak, but I don’t want him to see that. He notices anyway, and he gently helps me to sit up. Looking him over to see if he has any outward injuries, he looks to be in perfect health.

“I’m sorry, Red,” Russell says bluntly, peering down at my small hand in his enormous one. “I tried to make ya go away. I’d been havin’ these nightmares for days, ‘bout the Seven-Eleven. I knew somethin’ bad was gonna happen, and I didn’t want ya involved, so I tried to make ya go away. But yer stubborn, and I should’ve known y’all would never give up on me,” he says, looking up at my eyes again and grimacing. “I didn’t understand what was happenin’.”

“You were having dreams, just like I was?” I ask him, stunned.

“I wouldn’t say just like ya ‘cuz I was never hit by a light, or given a necklace in my nightmares,” he states emphatically, and I realize that Reed, or someone, had filled Russell in on some of the details that he was kept in the dark about before now. “Y’all should never have gone with Freddie. Y’all should’ve gone for help…found Zephyr,” he says, scolding me while he shakes his head.

“Russell, I had to go, you’re my soul mate,” I say plainly, and I know that he understands what I am saying because I’m his soul mate, too.

“Yeah, I am, so ya know how I feel ‘bout y’all tryin’ to give up yer soul for me. Don’t ya ever do anythin’ like that again, do ya understand?” he says with heat in his tone.