Hector is away and . . ."
Freya followed the anxious mother to the cottage. Tyler's room was on the second landing, a cheerful place filled with cartoon imagery on the wallpapers and whose bookshelves were stocked with toys of every shape and size. The toy soldiers were heaped in a pile, the puppets lay still on the footlocker. The train set was silent and waiting. In a bed shaped like a racecar, Tyler was wrapped up in a comforter, like a small turtle. She was shocked to find him so changed from just a few days ago. He had lost a lot of weight, and he had no color in his cheeks.
"Hey, kid," she said gently, putting a hand on his forehead. It was burning. "Yes, let's take him to the hospital now. There's no point in waiting," she said to Gracella. "I can drive."
They bundled the boy in the backseat. "He'll be okay; I'll call Joanna as soon as I drop him off," Freya said, as she drove mother and son through the empty streets of North Hampton to the small county hospital. "I promise," she said, even though she knew she had no right to promise anything. Freya knew as well as her sister the limit to their mother's powers, especially when it came to those she loved.
Chapter thirty-two
Thief in the Night
Later that same evening, Ingrid had a dream. It began when she realized she was not alone in bed. There was a heavy weight on her body, and now there was a tug at her pajama bottoms. She stirred and attempted to pull them back up but she found she could not, and now her top was being unbuttoned, the air cold on her skin, and she was not sure what was happening - where was her blanket? Then there was a hand on her mouth and she was jolted awake but she could not scream. She could not even open her eyes.
There was a man on top of her; his hands were warm and soft and his body lay heavy upon hers, his hands on her chest, and she was naked underneath him; she struggled against his weight but there was nothing she could do, she was immobile and helpless and then he began to push himself into her, and now he was inside and moving so slowly and she wanted to scream but she could not, because he was kissing her so sweetly and her body was responding to his touch and she could not stop herself. She was wet and he was hard and it felt good. It felt so good to be underneath a man, to be taken and loved, although this was not love.
Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she could see him.
The beautiful, elfin face, coal-black hair and blue-green eyes. And he was stronger now. . . . His hands were around her throat, and he was choking her, digging deep into her neck, causing her to gasp as he pushed relentlessly to a climax. . . . This was really happening. . . . Killian was trying to kill her. . . . She could feel her spirit begin to waver and flicker in the glom. . . . She would die - no! - she would not . . . she would not let this happen. . . . With all of her strength Ingrid folded her knee and pushed it against his chest; it was enough to unbalance her intruder, and he released his hold on her neck.
Ingrid opened her mouth to scream . . .
And woke up.
This time she was truly awake.
It was just a dream, after all. Ingrid sat up in her bed, gasping and shaking; she was fully clothed and alone, but the back of her shirt was covered in sweat. Still, it was only a dream. A nightmare. She had dreamed that Killian Gardiner had raped her and tried to kill her, and it had felt so real, she felt sick - aroused and confused and violated at the same time. She had thought she was going to die.
What just happened?
A vision? A sending?
Then she understood.
It all made sense now. Freya's strange, jittery anxiety at her engagement party, the burned flowers, the tousled hair, her long silences and absences with no explanation, her red cheeks and flushed countenance. She thought of the way her sister had acted the entire summer - daydreaming, distracted, confused, and then snappy and curt. That was not like Freya.