“He’s trying to say that you’re not just a manticore,” Jude says, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder before going back to unraveling. “There’s something else going on with you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Remy lifts a brow, a wicked gleam in his forest-green eyes. “Remind me again, Clementine. Who’s your daddy?”
“What the fuck did you just say to her?” The nightmare Jude was in the middle of unraveling suddenly shoots across the room, sending everyone else into duck-and-dive mode. And just when we’d finally gotten Luis out from under the table…
Remy laughs, holding up a hand in a no-offense-meant gesture. “I’m just saying, your DNA comes from two different sources, Clementine. Half is manticore, half is…”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
WEAVE ME
OUT OF IT
My stomach flips over even as I retrieve the nightmare Jude sent flying. Because I don’t even know my father’s name, let alone what kind of paranormal he is. I used to ask about him when I was younger, but no one in the family would tell me anything.
Carolina used to promise we’d figure it out some day, that she’d find a way to get me the answers I needed. But then she was sent away and Jude broke my heart, and for a long time I was too sad to worry about anything but getting through the day.
“Do you really think I broke time?” I ask, reeling under the implications as I hand him a dozen or so more nightmares—including the one Jude set loose after Remy’s daddy comment.
“You didn’t break anything,” he answers, sliding them effortlessly into the tapestry. “But you definitely caused some time slips—you and Jude.”
“Are you talking about time travel?” Mozart asks, eyes wide, and I realize everyone else in the room is as spellbound by this conversation as I am.
Then again, it is pretty wild.
“No.” He pauses for a second, nightmares hanging half in and half out of the tapestry as he contemplates her question. “I mean, there are multiple schools of thought. But that’s not what I think is happening here.”
“So what exactly do you think is happening?” I ask as Jude hands me several more nightmares.
He starts to give me another mysterious look, and something inside me snaps. “Look, enough with this Jedi-master-you-must-figure-it-out-by-yourself bullshit that you’re pulling. My brain feels like it’s about to explode. I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, I’ve spent days seeing triple and being attacked by flickers, two of my best friends have died in the last forty-eight hours, I’m bruised and battered and bitten, and I just mated with the Prince of Nightmares while in the middle of helping unravel a tapestry to save the whole damn island from the most disgusting monsters in existence. So, if you could spell it out, that would be great.”
“Attacked by what?” Luis stage-whispers.
“She said flickers,” Mozart answers the same way. “But I don’t know what those are.”
“Ghosts from the future!” I snap at them just before Jude stops unraveling the tapestry and pulls me into his chest.
And though I want to say I’ve got this on my own—and I probably do—it still feels really nice to rest against his big, solid body for a few seconds and just breathe. Even still wet from the rain, he smells like honey and leather and sweet, sweet spices, and I let myself breathe him in as I listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
The last half hour has been a lot, and I barely keep my thoughts straight. Between the flickers’ bombshell about my mothers and now Remy’s bombshell about time and also the whole mating bond thing, I’m amazed I still remember my name.
Jude gets it, too, because he murmurs, “We’re almost there,” in a voice so low it’s almost inaudible.
I nod against his chest. “I know.”
And take one more deep breath so I can pull his comforting scent all the way inside me before turning back to Remy.
“Sorry,” I mutter begrudgingly.
“Me, too.” He smiles in that way he has that makes you feel better for no reason. “I just feel like you can answer some of these questions better than I can—you just don’t know it yet.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I grumble.
“I am.” He inclines his head. “But—that said—flickers aren’t ghosts from the future. They’re time slips.”
“Okay, I’ve been attacked by time slips.” I throw up my hands in exasperation. “What does that mean?”