Visions
Page 102
Gabriel. I saw Gabriel.
I tried to say something, but words wouldn’t come. He scooped me up. Then he lowered me into a tub of cold water. I yelped and flailed. He held me down, and the world threatened to tip into nightmare again, being held in a tub of cold water, drowned in—
“Olivia? Can you hear me?”
He knelt beside the tub, face above mine, hands on my shoulders, holding me in the tub but not pushing me under.
“You have a fever,” he said. “You’re burning up. You were delirious.”
“Where . . . ?” The answer came with a click as I saw the towels again. “Rose.”
“She’s downstairs calling the doctor and getting ice.”
“Ice.” I shivered at the thought of it. “Please. Yes. So . . .” My throat seemed to seize, parched. “So hot.”
“I know.”
His hand brushed sweat-soaked hair from my face. Then he dipped his hand into the water and did it again, the chill so refreshing I sighed.
“Better?”
I nodded.
He leaned over the tub. “You’ll be all right.”
He looked down at me, and all I could see were his eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, sharp with worry, and I swore I could feel their coolness wash over me. I wanted to lose myself in those eyes, just—
“Ice.” Rose strode in, appearing over Gabriel. She looked down at me in the tub. “She’s still dressed.”
“Of course,” Gabriel said.
A strained half smile as she shook her head then bent with the bowl of ice. “Is she lucid?” she asked.
Gabriel nodded as he grabbed the ice and dumped it in. I let out a gasp as the ice hit the water—and me.
“I was asking so I could warn her before doing that,” Rose said. “Can you hear me, Olivia?”
I nodded.
“I’ve called the doctor. She’ll be here soon. You should go to the hospital, but Gabriel said—”
“N-no hospital,” I said, teeth chattering. “Please.”
“I know. Gabriel said you don’t like them, but if this fever doesn’t drop—”
I didn’t hear the rest. The room was tilting, the bright light flickering. My eyelids flagged as I struggled to focus, and then . . . Dark.
—
I surfaced to lucidity a few times. Dr. Webster was there once, while I was still in the tub. She said yes, the fever was dropping. Then I woke again as Rose was stripping me out of my wet clothing and Gabriel was pacing outside the closed door, complaining that it was taking so long, that the doctor said I needed to be in bed, Rose snapping that some idiot put me in a tub while dressed and my clothes were practically glued on now.
Then I woke in bed, Gabriel trying to get me to drink, which he really should have done after I was fully awake, because I was still fevered and thought I was being poisoned, which meant he ended up wearing the water before I drifted off again.
When I woke next, it was to Gabriel and Rose arguing—I was dehydrated and if they couldn’t get fluids into me, I had to go to the hospital. I roused myself enough then to drink a whole glass of water. Then I zonked out, dimly aware of the glass falling from my hand, hearing it shatter as it hit the hardwood—
Darkness.
No matter how deeply my body slept, my fevered brain stayed wide awake, pelting me with nightmares.
I was back in the Tylwyth Teg castle, as Matilda, smiling when the golden-haired man appeared in the doorway. He kissed me, that incredible storybook kiss, desire and lust and love and need, and I clung to him, never wanting it to end. But then I heard the hounds and the horses, and I pulled from his arms and turned to look out—
At a cityscape. I was high above the city, the night bejeweled with lights. Gabriel’s apartment. I gripped the balcony, and when I looked down, I saw my own hands and heard the distant rev of a motorcycle engine.
I turned. Gabriel stood in the open patio doorway, his huge frame filling the space, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
“You don’t want me here,” I said.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It should be.”
I stepped toward Gabriel. He backed up fast, as if I might do something crazy, like touch him. Below, the rev of the engine called to me.
I strode to the apartment door. Gabriel made no move to stop me. I pulled it open.
“Don’t leave.”
I caught the words as I walked out, his voice low, as if he hoped I wouldn’t hear them. I glanced back. The apartment door was open and empty, only darkness and silence beyond. I ran back, heart pounding as I raced over the threshold into—
Into a morgue. A single light illuminated a table. A corpse lay on it. My corpse. Someone was working on it, a slight figure in hospital scrubs and a face mask.
“You’re supposed to be standing watch,” the figure said. It was a woman’s voice. Vaguely familiar but too muffled by the mask to be identifiable.
“I am,” said a man.
I turned to see Tristan sitting on a counter, his legs dangling. He looked amused.
“If anyone catches me here . . .” the woman began.
“They won’t. Now finish.”
At first I thought it was an autopsy, but after a moment I realized she was embalming my corpse, naked on the table. There was a book on a cart. A text. Thanatochemistry. Where had I seen that before?
I remembered where I’d seen the book, and as soon as I did, the woman pulled down her mask.
Macy Shaw.
She turned to Tristan. “If you want the head, you have to do that yourself.”
He sighed and lifted a bone saw. The floor vanished under my feet, sucking me down and spitting me out—
I was lying on the mortuary table. I tried to leap up, but I couldn’t move. Fire rushed through my veins. Fire and poison, and I gasped, but it made no sound. I saw Tristan approaching, the light above the table glinting off the saw blade, and I tried to scream—
He kissed me. I was standing on a balcony again, feeling arms wrapped around me, but it wasn’t the same kiss as in the vision. It was one I knew, one that sparked feelings of grief and nostalgia and anger.
“James,” I whispered as I pushed away.
An engine sounded below. Not the rev of a motorcycle. The purr of a high-performance car. I twisted out of James’s arms. I was at his mother’s house, on the tiny balcony overlooking the driveway. Gabriel was below, standing beside his Jag. It was daytime and he had his shades on. He tugged them off and cast an impatient look up at me.
I tried to say something, but words wouldn’t come. He scooped me up. Then he lowered me into a tub of cold water. I yelped and flailed. He held me down, and the world threatened to tip into nightmare again, being held in a tub of cold water, drowned in—
“Olivia? Can you hear me?”
He knelt beside the tub, face above mine, hands on my shoulders, holding me in the tub but not pushing me under.
“You have a fever,” he said. “You’re burning up. You were delirious.”
“Where . . . ?” The answer came with a click as I saw the towels again. “Rose.”
“She’s downstairs calling the doctor and getting ice.”
“Ice.” I shivered at the thought of it. “Please. Yes. So . . .” My throat seemed to seize, parched. “So hot.”
“I know.”
His hand brushed sweat-soaked hair from my face. Then he dipped his hand into the water and did it again, the chill so refreshing I sighed.
“Better?”
I nodded.
He leaned over the tub. “You’ll be all right.”
He looked down at me, and all I could see were his eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes, sharp with worry, and I swore I could feel their coolness wash over me. I wanted to lose myself in those eyes, just—
“Ice.” Rose strode in, appearing over Gabriel. She looked down at me in the tub. “She’s still dressed.”
“Of course,” Gabriel said.
A strained half smile as she shook her head then bent with the bowl of ice. “Is she lucid?” she asked.
Gabriel nodded as he grabbed the ice and dumped it in. I let out a gasp as the ice hit the water—and me.
“I was asking so I could warn her before doing that,” Rose said. “Can you hear me, Olivia?”
I nodded.
“I’ve called the doctor. She’ll be here soon. You should go to the hospital, but Gabriel said—”
“N-no hospital,” I said, teeth chattering. “Please.”
“I know. Gabriel said you don’t like them, but if this fever doesn’t drop—”
I didn’t hear the rest. The room was tilting, the bright light flickering. My eyelids flagged as I struggled to focus, and then . . . Dark.
—
I surfaced to lucidity a few times. Dr. Webster was there once, while I was still in the tub. She said yes, the fever was dropping. Then I woke again as Rose was stripping me out of my wet clothing and Gabriel was pacing outside the closed door, complaining that it was taking so long, that the doctor said I needed to be in bed, Rose snapping that some idiot put me in a tub while dressed and my clothes were practically glued on now.
Then I woke in bed, Gabriel trying to get me to drink, which he really should have done after I was fully awake, because I was still fevered and thought I was being poisoned, which meant he ended up wearing the water before I drifted off again.
When I woke next, it was to Gabriel and Rose arguing—I was dehydrated and if they couldn’t get fluids into me, I had to go to the hospital. I roused myself enough then to drink a whole glass of water. Then I zonked out, dimly aware of the glass falling from my hand, hearing it shatter as it hit the hardwood—
Darkness.
No matter how deeply my body slept, my fevered brain stayed wide awake, pelting me with nightmares.
I was back in the Tylwyth Teg castle, as Matilda, smiling when the golden-haired man appeared in the doorway. He kissed me, that incredible storybook kiss, desire and lust and love and need, and I clung to him, never wanting it to end. But then I heard the hounds and the horses, and I pulled from his arms and turned to look out—
At a cityscape. I was high above the city, the night bejeweled with lights. Gabriel’s apartment. I gripped the balcony, and when I looked down, I saw my own hands and heard the distant rev of a motorcycle engine.
I turned. Gabriel stood in the open patio doorway, his huge frame filling the space, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
“You don’t want me here,” I said.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It should be.”
I stepped toward Gabriel. He backed up fast, as if I might do something crazy, like touch him. Below, the rev of the engine called to me.
I strode to the apartment door. Gabriel made no move to stop me. I pulled it open.
“Don’t leave.”
I caught the words as I walked out, his voice low, as if he hoped I wouldn’t hear them. I glanced back. The apartment door was open and empty, only darkness and silence beyond. I ran back, heart pounding as I raced over the threshold into—
Into a morgue. A single light illuminated a table. A corpse lay on it. My corpse. Someone was working on it, a slight figure in hospital scrubs and a face mask.
“You’re supposed to be standing watch,” the figure said. It was a woman’s voice. Vaguely familiar but too muffled by the mask to be identifiable.
“I am,” said a man.
I turned to see Tristan sitting on a counter, his legs dangling. He looked amused.
“If anyone catches me here . . .” the woman began.
“They won’t. Now finish.”
At first I thought it was an autopsy, but after a moment I realized she was embalming my corpse, naked on the table. There was a book on a cart. A text. Thanatochemistry. Where had I seen that before?
I remembered where I’d seen the book, and as soon as I did, the woman pulled down her mask.
Macy Shaw.
She turned to Tristan. “If you want the head, you have to do that yourself.”
He sighed and lifted a bone saw. The floor vanished under my feet, sucking me down and spitting me out—
I was lying on the mortuary table. I tried to leap up, but I couldn’t move. Fire rushed through my veins. Fire and poison, and I gasped, but it made no sound. I saw Tristan approaching, the light above the table glinting off the saw blade, and I tried to scream—
He kissed me. I was standing on a balcony again, feeling arms wrapped around me, but it wasn’t the same kiss as in the vision. It was one I knew, one that sparked feelings of grief and nostalgia and anger.
“James,” I whispered as I pushed away.
An engine sounded below. Not the rev of a motorcycle. The purr of a high-performance car. I twisted out of James’s arms. I was at his mother’s house, on the tiny balcony overlooking the driveway. Gabriel was below, standing beside his Jag. It was daytime and he had his shades on. He tugged them off and cast an impatient look up at me.
