Page 177 of Where the Snakes Sleep

The research.

The obsession.

And Henri knows exactly what one sentence can do to him.

“Where?” Camille asks.

Henri’s smile grows. “Help me.”

I want to kill him again, because obviously once was insufficient.

Camille’s fists clench at his sides, a storm of hope, horror, and hatred roiling behind his gaze.

“I can tell you the location,” Henri purrs.

“Where is she?”

Henri shakes his head. “Treat me.”

“Tell me.”

“First you help me.”

Camille’s expression becomes the most naked I have ever seen it, with a desperate, childish need for his mother that no amount of adulthood or education or bitterness ever managed to erase.

I want to go to him.

I don’t.

This one has to belong to Camille.

Henri takes another breath. “There were arrangements made. She was not simply disposed of somewhere random.”

Camille flinches. “Stop.”

“You want to know.”

“Yes.”

“Then save me.”

The word save sounds obscene coming from him.

Camille closes his eyes. “My mother is not yours.”

Henri frowns. “What?”

“She does not belong to you.” His voice trembles, but only slightly. “You cannot offer her to me.”

Henri bristles. “I am offering you the truth.”

“No. You are trying to sell it.”

Henri’s mouth hardens. “You have spent your entire life looking for her.”

“I know.”

“You may never find her without me.”