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 na**d 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 cl**ax. . . . 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. Something had happened, more specifically someone had happened to her. Just like before. Of course, it all made sense now.
Ingrid got out of bed and put on her robe. She looked at the clock. It was only half past midnight. Freya was still out for the evening, but Ingrid thought she knew just where to find her. The sisters had seen each other briefly when Freya had returned from the hospital. Ingrid was worried about the boy, too, and hoped his flu would not get any worse. She could not imagine otherwise. Even though Freya was not allowed to work at the North Inn anymore, she could not keep away and was now one of their best customers. Ingrid was not a regular patron of the North Inn, but she had nothing against bars and understood the pleasures they provided: convivial company, the comfort of a well-made drink, and the aural excitement of a good jukebox. Once in a while she and the library crew headed there on Friday nights, but since Tabitha had gotten pregnant and Hudson was trying the latest detox diet, they hadn't visited the watering hole in a while. She walked into the crowded hall and nodded to a few familiar faces.
"Can I get you anything, love?" Kristy asked. The gangly bartender threw a rag over her shoulder and waited for Ingrid to order.
"Nothing tonight, thanks. I was just looking for my - "
There was a huge whoop from the other end of the counter and Kristy shrugged. "She's in fine form tonight. I told her if she didn't settle down I was going to cut her off in a bit," she said, making a slashing motion in front of her throat. "She won't tell me what's wrong but she's been hitting the tequila pretty hard."
Ingrid nodded. Tequila was Freya's answer to any emotional upheaval. She looked to where the commotion was and found her sister downing shots and calling out the answers to trivia questions in between sucking lime halves.
"Freya!"
"Inge! What are you doing here?" Freya asked, looking surprised but happy to see her. She grabbed Ingrid in a bear hug, and Ingrid smelled the alcohol on her breath.
Ingrid wasted no time. She leaned close to her sister's ear and whispered angrily, "Are you having an affair with Killian Gardiner?"
Freya sobered up quickly after that.
"Don't deny it," Ingrid warned, as she drove her sister home. Freya had pleaded to be able to finish her drinks but Ingrid was not having it. Now the sisters were sitting in the car, Freya staring pensively out the window, while Ingrid fumed at the steering wheel.
"I'm not," Freya said a tad petulantly. Of course Ingrid was bound to find out about her and Killian. She had been waiting for this to happen; the only surprising thing about this development was how long it took for Ingrid to come to this conclusion. Her sister usually knew all her secrets even before she knew them herself.
Ingrid looked at her sideways. "I felt it."
"Ew! Don't tell me how! You had one of your creepy dreams?"
"Creepy doesn't cut it." Ingrid shuddered, remembering the cold hands around her neck and the way his body had felt on hers. She shook her head. "What are you doing? I thought you were in love with Bran, that you thought he was 'the one.' "
"I know. I told Killian things were over between us this afternoon. I ended it." Freya sighed.
"Good." Ingrid looked at her sister from the corner of her eye, so she could still keep an eye out for oncoming traffic. "It's for the best, Freya. Remember what happened last time you got married."
Freya did not answer and they drove in silence for a while, along the dark and deserted highway. "I'm scared," Ingrid said finally. "I had a horrible day. Someone called me a witch this afternoon, in front of everyone at work."
Freya flinched. "Yikes."
"Corky Hutchinson. I knew I shouldn't have given her that stupid knot. She wasn't going to keep him home. Damnit!" Ingrid never cursed but she was unnerved and upset. "Pardon."
"It's not your fault," Freya soothed. "We all know your magic doesn't work that way. Your knot didn't kill Todd. He killed himself, Ingrid. Who knows why."
"I don't know . . ." Ingrid chewed her bottom lip. "I want to think that I couldn't have done anything, but I was so upset. He's going to tear down the library. . . . What if I didn't mean to do it but it still happened? It's been so long since I've practiced magic, I might be rusty. I could have inadvertently twisted it the wrong way." Ingrid felt a cold dread sinking in her stomach. What if, even if she had not meant to practice black magic, she had done so anyway? There weren't any rules when it came to this sort of thing. Anything could happen. She could have killed Todd. Maybe she did.