Page 181 of Sweet Nightmare

“Something tells me they’ll show back up soon enough,” I answer.

“What’s going on?” Mozart asks.

“This island is finally getting someone with some class, obviously,” Piss Yellow answers, straightening up and smoothing a hand over his shiny, bald head.

“Maybe she brought the profiteroles,” Henri suggests hopefully, but I know better.

Because that very distinctive voice can only belong to one person, and she’s not the profiterole type.

I turn to Clementine. “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

She looks confused. “Sorry for what?” But she squeezes my hand in a very definite I-got-you-no-matter-what gesture. I don’t have a chance to answer before a tall woman in a silver sequin jumpsuit emerges from the portal.

Apparently, she’s currently known as Madame Z. But I used to know her by another name. Zelda, aka Mommy, aka my mother.

The very mother I haven’t seen or heard from even once in the ten years since she dropped me off at this place with the tapestry and instructions not to kill anybody else. It was exactly as awkward—and as awful—as it sounds.

I can’t say that I’ve missed her.

I look her over as she closes the distance between us. Aside from her blond hair going completely silver, she’s exactly the same, right down to the sequins and the self-absorption.

She pauses a few feet from us to get the lay of the land. Her gaze goes from me to Clementine to Henri. And the first thing she says to me in ten years is a very wry, “I didn’t realize it was time for the parents to meet.”

At first, I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. But then Henri sighs and says, “Looks like the cat’s out of the rug.” He throws his arms open. “Come to Papa, my darling Clementine.”

Clementine stiffens against me, her gaze going back and forth between Henri and my mother like she’s watching a ping-pong match.

“What are you talking about?” she finally squeaks out. She’s grabbed onto my hand and is squeezing hard enough to cut off circulation, but I don’t blame her. We thought all the shit ended with the storm, but it looks like we need to brace for another whole round. But then suddenly a look of understanding comes over her eyes. “Wait a minute…”

He sighs heavily. “That’s right, Clementine. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I had planned on being more delicate, but some people”—he shoots my mother a dirty look—“don’t have a delicate bone in their body.”

Henri holds out a hand to Clementine, but instead of moving toward him, she backs up. Not that I blame her. She still hasn’t had time to deal with everything she just figured out about her mom. This is the last thing she needs.

It’s my turn to squeeze her hand. “It’s going to be okay,” I say for her ears only. “We’ll get through this.”

She shakes her head, like she’s not so sure. But she stops retreating.

“How could you possibly be my father?” she asks. But I can tell she believes him—as do I. Being the daughter of an oracle definitely explains her ability to see the past and future.

“It’s pretty simple, really. Your mother—your real mother, not Camilla, obviously—and I had a…” He pauses, at a loss for words.

“Fling,” Puke Green says, taking another sip of his bloody mary. “They had a fling, she got pregnant, it didn’t work out between them. And here we are.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Henri shoots him a dirty look, too. “Once I knew I had a daughter, I came looking for you. Camilla refused to let me see you, and when I told her I would fight for access to you, she imprisoned me. Your mother died giving birth to you because her mind exploded under your power to see the past and the future. Camilla has been terrified ever since that if you left the island and got your powers, the same would happen to you. I’m pretty sure you know the rest.”

Clementine makes a low sound in her throat as she sags against me. I hold her tight, keep her on her feet when I think she might have otherwise gone down.

“Get me out of here,” she whispers to me.

“Already on it,” I answer as I propel her up the beach. Our friends follow, Luis falling into step with us on Clementine’s other side. He looks about as pissed as I feel.

“Aren’t you even going to say hello, Jude?” Madame Z or whatever the fuck she’s calling herself these days yells after us.

I don’t bother to answer. Because fuck her and whatever she hopes to achieve by this little farce.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way, then.” She claps her hands, and the sound of a couple dozen feet hitting the sand echoes down the beach.

We turn around just in time to see more than a dozen fae guards storm out of the portal.

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