Trent’s attention flicked to me, his worried frown becoming one of shock. “A tailor. They were the only men who could order my father around. Rachel, listen to me.”

“I think I’m dying,” I whispered, and Trent shifted my weight closer to him.

“You are,” he said, no emotion at all in his words.

Heavy and hot, the tears slid down my face. “I know,” I said. For all the agony, for all the heartache, I wasn’t ready to go yet. But I couldn’t stop it. There was just nothing left to hold me together. Trent’s aura wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry,” Trent was saying, but I wasn’t really listening, I was trying to blink the tears away enough so that I could see the wind moving the fabric of the sun shelter hanging between me and the sky. “I can’t fix you. Not like this. Your soul isn’t sending out enough of an aura to convince your mind that you are still alive, and mine isn’t making enough of an impression. Your body is shutting down.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said breathily, staring up at the blue and white. My God, it was beautiful, those colors up there.

Bis was crying, I could hear him, and I pulled my attention from the sky, wanting to tell him it was okay. My gaze found Trent’s instead, and he grimaced, grabbing my chin with a hand and forcing me to look at him when my focus slid away. “Pay attention,” he said, and I thought it rather rude. “I’m going to put your soul in a bottle until it heals.”

Bis’s sobs hesitated, and I blinked. With that little hat and ribbon around his neck, he looked vulnerable and scholarly. Like a priest and a rabbi all mixed up and all the better for it. It was kind of cute. “Whhaaat?” I slurred, and then fear hit me as his words took on meaning. He wanted to put my soul in a bottle. Like the one Al had. The soul had been in there so long, it had gone insane. Elves could do that, too? Why not? They would have to be smart to survive a war with the demons, even if they were almost extinct. The demons were on the verge of extinction themselves.

Trent turned away, watching his hand as he dumped the milk out of a nearby baby bottle. His head lifted as the door opened. Someone gasped, and Trent’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Get out!” he shouted, then, “Wait! Call 911. Tell them she’s gone into cardiac arrest and isn’t breathing.”

“Yes, sir,” the cool, masculine voice said, and the door shut. A baby was crying in the distance. Or maybe that was me. At least the burning had stopped. I couldn’t feel a thing.

“But I’m still breathing,” I said. It was taking forever for anything to make sense.

I winced as Trent shifted me farther up into his arms so he could see the little book he was holding in front of us. “You won’t be in a minute,” he said, and Bis took a breath in alarm. “As soon as your soul leaves it, your body is going to shut down.”