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Kissing Edgar had been like opening the magic box from Lumley’s Toy Shop. She’d expected to find all of the restraints, the prohibitions, the guilt of her past. And instead she’d found a heart of velvety darkness that was filled with... everything.
Every longing she’d ever suppressed.
Every word she’d ever swallowed.
And every dream she’d never dared to dream.
A rough, bass voice intruded into Mari’s dreams. “Wake up.”
“Edgar, you’re here.” She reached her arms toward him sleepily. “You came to me.”
“Wake up,” he shook her shoulders gently. “Michel is having a night terror. I need your help.”
Not here to seduce her.
He needed her help.
She bolted upright so swiftly that their foreheads nearly bumped.
He helped her down from the bed, his eyes worried and fearful.
“Has he injured himself?” she asked, as she threw a wrapper over her nightgown and slid her feet into her slippers.
“Not yet,” said Edgar. “But I can’t wake him. And he’s making the eeriest moaning sounds. Adele is beside herself. You said you have experience with night terrors.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “I do. Edgar, look at me. Everything will be all right. Now take me to him.”
Mari had seen night terrors before. Michel sat upright in his cot, his eyes open but staring straight ahead. The expression on his face was one of extreme fear, as if he’d turned inward and was seeing a nightmare inside his head.
“It looks like he’s awake,” Mari said to Adele. “But he’s not. He’s fast asleep. I’ve seen this before.”
Adele hunched her shoulders. “He’ll do this for hours sometimes. I wake up and he’s just... staring like that. Breathing heavily, like an animal. What is he seeing? Why doesn’t he wake up? He never even remembers anything about it in the morning.”
“Wake up, Michel,” said Edgar, shaking his son.
“Shh,” said Mari. “It’s best not to try to wake him. We sit with him. And we make sure he doesn’t hurt himself thrashing about. These terrors usually only last an hour at most.”
“Last time I tried to wake him it didn’t go well,” Edgar agreed. “He hasn’t had one in weeks. Why do you think he’s having one tonight?”
“He could be worried about something,” Mari replied. She turned to Adele. “Did he say anything to you, sweetheart?”
“He was upset about meeting our grandmother. He wanted her to like him.”
“Non.S’il vous plaît,”Michel moaned in French, as if he’d heard her.“Non. Ne partezpassans nous.”
“Sometimes he...” Adele made retching noises.
“Vomits,” supplied Mari. “That’s rather messy.”
“And smelly.” Adele made a face. She was trying to be brave, but Mari could see the toll this took on her, not being able to rouse her brother, or ease his terror.
His limbs were all tangled in the bed sheets and his hands gripped the bedclothes so hard his knuckles were white.
Mari eased one of his hands open and chafed it between her hands.
“Sometimes loosening the bedclothes works. He may feel trapped.” She spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice as she and Edgar loosened the sheets and smoothed them out. “At least he’s not a somnambulist.”
“What’s that?” asked Adele.
