“Again,” a voice said from the heavens.
There was no chance to react. Between one blink and the next, Oliver and the dreamscape were gone, stolen from me yet again.
I stood there, swaying with confusion and pain. I dimly noted that I was in a bedroom. A yellow bedroom. There was a crib to my left made of white wood. How did I get here? Who had I just been talking to? It felt like I’d left something unfinished. A conversation or a thought, maybe…
At the same moment I comprehended that I was holding something, a cooing sound reached my ears. I looked down slowly, my heartbeat like a drum.
A child rested in my arms, her face pink and scrunched, with surprisingly dark eyelashes. The silky hair on her head was dark, too. She was wrapped in a star-covered blanket that was soft against my skin.
I didn’t have a memory of carrying her, giving birth to her, but love for this tiny person swelled in my breast. A love that had no match, regardless of how fiercely I would fight for all the people back home. I touched her downy skin, seeing Collith in the shape of her mouth, recognizing myself in the beauty mark beneath her left eye. I didn’t even think to question anything else, like why I didn’t remember any events leading up to this moment.
“Christine,” I whispered. “That’s your name. I always said I’d name my first daughter after her grandmother. I’m going to tell you all about her. She—”
The words stuck in my throat as Christine’s mouth opened in a gummy smile. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She reached for my face with one tiny hand, still beaming from ear to ear, and I hurried to lean in.
At the exact instant those small fingers made contact with my cheek, her smile vanished. So did mine. I couldn’t see what was wrong; I just knew something was. “What is it, sweetheart?” I whispered.
Thinking to check her diaper, I reached for the edge of the blanket.
That’s when Christine’s face started to rot.
I bit back a scream, not wanting to hurt her, scare her, but I held the baby tighter. Call 9-1-1, an inner voice commanded. Tearing my horrified gaze from Christine’s misshapen features, I scanned the room. There wasn’t a phone anywhere in sight, and I noticed for the first time that I was wearing a nightgown, which meant no pockets to hold a cell phone. Frantic with terror, I rushed toward the door.
Her cheek caved in.
“No! Stop!” I screamed, falling to my knees. I didn’t know who I was speaking to. God, maybe. My daughter was dying and only a higher power could save her. Magic, I thought desperately. Magic could help Christine.
As if she were a faerie, summoned with a single thought, Mercy appeared in the corner of the room. She wore modern clothes and her long hair was in a ponytail at the base of her neck. She assessed the situation in an instant. “There is a spell I could do. To save her,” the witch said.
No time to question how she’d known to come. I jumped up and fought the instinct to thrust my baby toward Mercy. It seemed possible that she could break or crumble from any sudden movements. “Do it! Please!” I cried.
Mercy didn’t come closer. Her expression was hard. “It requires the blood of a Nightmare.”
Fuck. I could donate every drop in my veins, but it wouldn’t be the blood my baby needed. There was only one person alive who could help her now. “Damon,” I blurted. “We’ll get Damon and—”
She was already shaking her head. “He’s at work. By the time he got here, the child would be dead.”
“He’s the last one. There are no others!”
“Become a Nightmare again, Fortuna.” Mercy said this as if it were obvious, her voice thin with impatience. She gestured roughly at the bundle in my arms. “It’s the only way.”
Fine. Okay. Anything. I nodded so hard that it hurt. “How? Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”
“Pull your power back to you. Reach deep. Release the anger, and fear, and self-loathing. Accept yourself for who you are.”
It felt like small earthquakes were rumbling inside my skull. My stomach churned. What had I been doing before coming into this room? Why couldn’t I remember waking up this morning? Why exactly was my baby rotting in my arms?
A dangerous calm filled me.
Sniffling, I looked back down at that tiny face. She’d gone quiet now. Her fluttering eyelashes were the only indication there was still life inside her body. Blinking rapidly to keep my vision clear, I started singing in a whisper. “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s going to buy you a mockingbird…”
Still singing, I set the baby into her crib as if she were made of something more breakable than glass. She slept on, unperturbed, a tiny fist resting against her cheek. Flakes of her skin fell onto the sheets. It felt like part of my heart rotted, too, as I turned away from her.
Then I took three steps, closing the distance between me and Mercy, and drew back my fist. Her eyes widened just before I rammed it into her face.
A lot of things happened simultaneously after that. First, the stillness detonated with sound. Screaming and shouting from people I couldn’t see, the din so overwhelming that it sent me to my knees, hands clapped over my ears. The second thing that started happening involved the room itself, which was completely empty now. It was like everything had vanished into thin air. Including, I saw with a burst of panic, the crib and the baby inside of it. The floorboards were rising, clacking like teeth. I knelt in the center of the chaos, still incapacitated by the noises that were crushing my bones and boiling my blood.
“Again, goddamnit,” a voice snarled over the sounds of the walls coming apart.
The grip on my mind vanished, and suddenly I knew it was Belanor who’d spoken. The Seelie Prince, soon to be king, who needed a Nightmare for a spell. He’d heard me say Laurie’s words, or Claude had passed them on to him. Don’t you know what strengthens a Nightmare’s power? Unleashed fury. Pain. The things bad dreams are made of. Now he was using my memories, my family, my love against me to do exactly that.
The next time I blinked, I was back in reality. My head was pounding.
Claude stood across the room now, one of his hands splayed over his bleeding nose. He wasn’t wailing anymore, as he’d been doing moments ago, but his shoulders shook with silent sobs.
Belanor looked at him expectantly, and I remembered the order I’d heard him give while I was still trapped in the grip of Claude’s magic. Again, goddamnit. I stiffened.
Seconds ticked by, silent and tense, as Belanor and I waited for the boy’s response. His nose was probably healing already, but his body continued trembling. I watched the young courtier unravel and felt no pity or remorse. I would never apologize for fighting back.
“You can fight back, too, you know,” I told Claude in a voice made of rust. Hearing it made me frown—I must’ve been screaming during the hallucinations. A lot. I met the boy’s gaze and added, “If you don’t like doing the things Belanor tells you to. He’s just a bully. What does your maman have to say about bullies?”
When Claude made a snorting sound, a bubble of snot and blood bursting from between his fingers, Belanor’s eyes rolled heavenward. “Perhaps it’s time to call it a day. Thank you for your assistance, Lord Venhorn. It will not be forgotten.”