Page 73 of Claim the Light
Her knees buckle and she falls forward into my arms.
Micah is suddenly at my back, supporting me so I don’t tip down the steps under Beatrix’s weight and momentum, but it’s Isaac who scoops her out of my arms.
He lifts her close to his chest, where her head rests against his shoulder, and then he rushes up the stairs with her.
With a brief, worried glance at Micah, I follow Isaac to the infirmary, where he lays Beatrix down onto one of the feathery beds.
Both of her cheeks are gray now, and so is the skin down her entire left arm where it’s visible around her short sleeve.
“We need to get her warm,” I say urgently, tapping into the only solution I know. “Isaac, can you heat these beds somehow?”
“I can do better than that.” Isaac hurries to the cupboards at the side of the room. He plants his palm against the front of one of them and waits a few seconds until the door clicks open on its own.
Heat rushes from the cupboard across the air and Isaac turns back a moment later, holding multiple white blankets. The sweat beading on his brow tells me they must be incredibly warm.
Carefully, he lays the first one across Beatrix’s unconscious form and then the second blanket on top of that.
Meanwhile, Micah pulls up a chair for me and I slip my forearm under the warm material to hold Beatrix’s hand. She’s as cold as Micah was when he collapsed yesterday.
“Damn,” I whisper. “It’s happening to Beatrix too.”
Isaac’s voice is sharp, his worry palpable as he hurries to cover Beatrix from her neck to her feet. “Micah, how did you know her heart was cold?”
Micah exhales heavily. “Because I’ve been experiencing the same thing.”
Isaac glances at me. “And you, Sophia?”
I shake my head. “My heart is fine.”
Isaac finishes positioning the blankets and then he studies the feathers at the edge of the bed for a long moment. “The feathers are telling me…” The furrow in his brow deepens. “But this shouldn’t be possible.”
“What is it, Isaac?”
He gestures at the way the feathers around Beatrix’s head are alternating between pure white—the color they were before he laid Beatrix down—and dark gray.
“White indicates good health,” he says, his shoulders stiff. “Gray indicates death.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Ican hardly breathe, my voice choking up. “How can Beatrix be near death one moment and completely healthy the next?”
Isaac shakes his head before he runs his hand over his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Damn. I was hoping Isaac might have answers for us—some knowledge that might help—but it’s clear he doesn’t.
I consider Beatrix… proud, cunning, quick-witted Beatrix… who now lies helpless beneath heated blankets.
My hand moves from her hand to her chest.
I press my palm over her heart, sensing the flow of blood through her body and the stilted beats of her heart.
The slowing of beats happens in time with the feathers turning gray.
My declaration is quiet, but I feel it in my bones, the same way I can sense the chill of death in the air. “She’s walking a path between life and death.”
“Then I will keep her on the side of life!” Isaac snaps, a sudden, vehement declaration. “I will not lose her.” His soul light begins to glow around his hands. “You said she needed warmth. What else can I do to help her? Tell me what to do next.”
The sudden helplessness in his eyes hurts my heart. “Warmth helps, and your soul light might help too, but…”
