Page 116 of Sweet Nightmare

“He’ll be at the warehouse?”

“Honestly, where else would he be?” She eyes me impatiently.

“I don’t know,” I answer slowly. “I just thought, people are…”

I trail off because I don’t want to say it. I’m not sure I even can say it.

“Dead?” My mother doesn’t shy away from the truth. “Not saying it doesn’t make it not true, Clementine. Just like not saying it doesn’t make it not Jude’s fault. There will be consequences for this—severe consequences. But did you really think I would banish him for one mistake? This school doesn’t work like that, and you should know that. Besides, there’s nowhere else for him to go. We are the last resort.”

The words the Aethereum dance on the edge of my tongue—it’s where I’ve been terrified they would send him from the moment he told me what happened, just like they sent Carolina—but if my mother hasn’t thought of it, I’m certainly not going to bring it up right now. Or ever.

“Now, can you please help me with this?” She thrusts her tablet with its waterproof cover at me. “Christopher was marking people off as we send them through the portal, but now you can do that. And let’s move, shall we? The sooner we get everyone through, the sooner we can go through, too.”

I take the tablet from my mother, and as I do, there’s a strange flicker—half beside her, half on top of her—and then I’m staring at a younger woman who looks a lot like her, but also doesn’t.

At first, I think it’s just her past self, but that doesn’t make any sense. Because her past self is on her other side, right next to her future self. There can’t be four versions of my mother, can there?

Except, when I look closer, I realize the flicker is the same woman that’s been haunting me—same brown hair, same floral nightdress, same pregnant belly.

I try to ignore her as she stares straight at me with big blue eyes the same color as my mother’s—and mine. That’s when I realize that she’s in color. Like full, actual color. Not just her nightdress now, but all of her. Dark brown hair, soft blush lips, freckled ivory skin, nightdress in varying shades of pink.

She reaches for me, her long, skeletal hand flying for my wrist as, instinctively, I flinch away. She cries out then, a long, low wail that turns into a scream just as she morphs into the wild-haired, desperate sunken creature that’s been haunting me since this storm began.

Her fingers wrap around my wrist in an iron grip, and the moment they start to squeeze, pain radiates through me. Sharp, visceral, overwhelming.

Visions engulf me, slamming into me like wild, storm-tossed waves against the shore, before dragging me down into an abyss.

A man—a fae with the same orange eyes as Jean-Luc.

My mother, grabbing onto a wrist stacked with multicolored friendship bands.

Carolina, struggling to free her wrist as tears pour down her face.

My mother looks so angry, Carolina so scared.

Fear swells inside of me, blends with the wild confusion whipping through my mind. But for the first time since these visions began, the fear is nearly drowned by rage.

“Clementine!” My mother’s voice—sharp and impatient—cuts through the fear. “Will you please pull yourself together and help me?”

I blink, and the creature vanishes like mist, though the emotions it invoked take longer to fade.

“Clementine! Are you listening?” my mother demands.

“Yes!” I wave the tablet as I force myself to pay attention to what’s happening right in front of me in the real, corporeal present. “What do I need to do?”

“I just went through the whole thing,” she tells me. “Were you not listening at all?”

I duck my head and mumble, “Sorry.”

She gestures to the tablet. “We’ve got the students divided alphabetically into groups of twenty. Each group is with a teacher that will accompany them through the portal. We mark each student off as they enter the portal, and your aunt Carmen marks them off as soon as they get to the warehouse on the other side of the portal. We are not taking any chances with leaving even one student behind, so you have to do this right. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yeah, of course.” I stare down at the list on the tablet in front of me. Juniors with last names A through C.

“We’ve already got the freshmen and sophomores over, so let’s get the juniors and seniors over now. Then we can finally get out of this hellish storm.”

As if to reinforce her words, the wind chooses that moment to let loose with a long, low, animalistic yowl. It slams into me with the force of a wrecking ball, almost knocking me off my feet.

My mother steadies me, and her face is even more grim, though I didn’t know that was possible. “Let’s get this done,” she tells me.

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