Chapter 20
I don't know how long I was in that fugue state. But when I came out of it the page under my blackened fingers was all heavy, dark lines, overlapping again and again. I could barely make out the shape of the whistle at all. It was like something a kid possessed by a malign spirit would draw.
"Ingrid?" Thorbjorn asked softly, as if not sure if he should disturb me.
"I'm okay," I told him, brushing sweat-soaked hair off my cheek, then realizing belatedly I had probably just left a streak of graphite all over my face.
"Something happened?" he guessed. He was looking at me with a mixture of awe and fear. But surely that had to be fear for me. Thorbjorn wasn't afraid of anything, least of all me.
"I didn't think anything would, but I guess it did," I said. "Wow. Imagine if I had
