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I close my eyes, wishing I could turn to dust right now. When I open them again, she’s leaning on him. Too close. Too messy.

I’m fifteen all over again, watching Mom crash through a glass table, laughing hysterically as Agnetha and Frida sing “Dancing Queen” on the record player. I’m fifteen again, frozen in horror while the girls in my class giggle—delighted, scandalized.

I’m sixteen again, watching Mom stagger around the château, leering at Raphael’s posh friends.

I’m fourteen, trying to convince a cop at our door that the screaming was just a game.

My stomach clenches, and I bolt down the stairs. Frantically, I push the door open and run into the courtyard.

She’s clutching Raphael, breathing on his neck. It’s unbearable—like she’s about to kiss him or something. He’s leaning away from her, his expression horrified. She doesn’t seem to register his revulsion. To this day, she thinks every man is in love with her.

I hurry closer to them, my cheeks burning. “Mom,” I call out, struggling to keep my voice steady.

She doesn’t seem to hear me, but Raphael’s silver eyes lock onto mine. I can read the pity there, which makes all this so much worse.

Fury bubbles in my chest as I close the distance between us. Gently, I grab my mom’s arm.

Surprised, she blinks at me. Her roots have grown in, dark gray sliding into blond. Her red lipstick utterly disregards the boundaries of her lips, wandering onto her chin. “Nia! Where did you come from? I just met a lovely young man,” she slurs, swaying slightly. “He’s going to take me out.”

For fuck’s sake. This isn’t even the first time she’s met him.

Raphael shoots me a look that clearly says he has no idea what she’s talking about. “She seemed to need help.”

“I don’t need help. He and I are going for drinks. Do you want to come?” she asks.

“You’re not going for drinks with him,” I say as calmly as I can. “You need to go to bed.”

“But I was just about to ask him for drinks,” she protests, giggling. “I think he likes me. Don’t be jealous, Nia. It’s unbecoming.”

I want the ground to swallow me whole. “Mom, no. You need water. You need sleep and lots of water.”

She sways again, her eyelids drooping.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been in this same situation with her, a record on repeat. She’s still slumping into Raphael. It’s hard to remember a time when I thought she was glamorous.

“Raphael,” I say, turning to him, “can you get her to the inn? She’s staying at Bran’s or maybe Bronwyn’s Inn in town.”

He shrugs. “She can sleep in my room for the night. I’ll keep an eye on her. But I want you to promise me something, Nia. If you insist on going back to that evil place, don’t wait for Avalon Tower to give you the order. When it comes to the Dream Stalker, you take your chance when you get it. Kill him the moment you can, then get the fuck out of there. Do you understand? Don’t worry about Auberon.”

“I can’t talk about this right now,” I hiss.

“I want to go out,” Mom mutters, jerking her arm away from me.

A storm brews in my chest, but I try to calm the raging seas. “You need water and sleep, Mom,” I say slowly. “You need someone to help you get to bed. Mom? You need to go to bed. You cannot drink anymore. It’s poison. You are poisoning yourself.”

She points at Raphael without looking at me. “He’ll take me to bed with him. You know what I mean? I like him. This one.”

Something inside me snaps. The storm erupts, lightning striking my ribs, clouds roiling.

“Shut the fuck up!” I shout. “He’s not taking you to bed. He’s making sure you get to sleep because you can’t take care of yourself. You’re fifty years old. You need togrow up.”

She stares at me, mouth open, and then her expression crumples. Tears spill from her unfocused eyes. “No one loves me.”

My body shakes with adrenaline, the kind I haven’t felt even in the heat of battle. Dragons, arrows, and fleeing through a tower window are nothing compared to this. The thought of Raphael taking her back to his room, knowing she’ll probably try to crawl into his bed, fuels a fury that makes my body shake. I want to keep screaming at her and never stop, to let every ounce of anger pour out, but with an iron will, I force it down.

“Sorry, Mom. I do love you. But your night is over.” I glance at Raphael. “Let’s take her to my room. She can stay in my bed. Tana will look after her for the night.”

My mom slumps against Raphael, mumbling, “Are we going out now?”