by A. G. Howard
At the garden mirror, we nibble the neon-glowing mushrooms to return to regular size. I reabsorb my wings, and we plunge through the portal to Mom’s attic mirror. It’s a little after four in the afternoon. Three hours till prom.
We climb down the ladder into the garage. The overhead door is open and Dad’s truck is in the driveway behind Morpheus’s Mercedes. There will be no pretending we’ve been here all along. Even worse, Gizmo is in its spot, so Dad’s been to Butterfly Threads and knows I was there. I don’t know how he got Gizmo home or who helped him. My pulse slams in my neck, wondering what else he’s discovered and how many people are involved.
Wind carrying the scent of moisture slices through the garage, rattling old newspapers gathered in the corner. Storm clouds are rolling in, making it darker than it should be. I shiver.
Jeb takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “It’ll be okay,” he whispers and sets my backpack outside the door.
Mom steps into the living room with Jeb and me trailing behind her.
Dad’s standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room. The lamp next to his recliner is on, but he’s outside the circle of light. Shadows muddle his features as he holds the phone to his ear. When he sees us, he hangs up and comes all the way in, expression somewhere between relief and anger.
“I’ve been looking for you both for almost two hours,” he half shouts. “I was about to call the police. Where have you been?”
Mom rushes to him. “It’s okay. I found Allie next door.” She takes the phone and gives Jeb a pleading look.
“What?” Dad asks. “How’s that even—”
Jeb steps up. “It’s true. Al’s been with me.”
My dad frowns, giving Jeb’s clothes a once-over. “But I came by your house earlier this afternoon. Your mother said you weren’t there.”
Jeb exchanges glances with me. “We just got in a few minutes ago. Before that, we were hiding at the studio.”
“You hid my daughter?” Dad gives Jeb a look I’ve never seen him use with him—disappointment with an edge of scorn. It’s even worse than the time we got tattoos. “I left all those calls on your cell. You had to know how worried her mom and I were. I thought you’d grown up, Jeb.”
Jeb studies the floor, jaw clenched.
“So,” Dad continues, “lying, evading. Then there’s the vandalism. What’s next, robbing a bank?”
Though he directs the question to Jeb, I shake my head. “What are you talking about? Jeb had nothing to do with school this morning.”
“I’m talking about Butterfly Threads. Someone broke in through the back door. There was stuff all over the merchandise, the floor, and the ceiling. Like Silly String but more damaging. Persephone found Gizmo in the alley. What do you have to say about that?” He’s still speaking to Jeb, as if I’m too far gone to answer for myself.
I move into Dad’s line of sight, forcing him to look at me. “I was too shaky to drive. I called Jeb to pick me up there. But he didn’t set foot inside the shop.” It’s not a lie exactly. Morpheus carried him in.
Dad looks like I punched him in the gut. “Why, Allie? Persephone’s been nothing but good to you. She even helped me drive your car home and offered not to call the police. Are we making it too easy for you to act out?” His left eyelid twitches, sure indication he’s at the end of his rope. “You can forget about graduating with your class tomorrow. You’ll get your diploma in the mail. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you talk to a psychiatrist.”
Mom gasps and I clench my teeth.
“Wait, Mr. Gardner …” Jeb tries to intervene, but I catch his elbow and hold him back.
“I think you should go home, Jebediah,” Dad says, his brown eyes cold. “This concerns my family.”
My chest stings. I know Dad’s just lashing out, but those words are like knives. Jeb is family. He’s always been treated that way.
“Yes, sir,” Jeb says, his voice hoarse. He starts for the front door. Mom follows to let him out, and they talk quietly on the porch while Dad and I glare at each other.
A growl of thunder shakes the room.
Dad leans against the wall, and the wrinkles around his mouth deepen, as if the artist sketching his face went too heavy on the shading. I’ve learned so much about him today—know him better than I ever did, better than he knows himself—yet he’s looking at me as if I’m a complete stranger.
When I can’t take his accusatory stare any longer, I start for my room.
“Alyssa,” he says quietly, “your makeup is still a mess. And what happened to your shirt?”
I stall next to my mosaics in the hallway, my back to him. Cool air seeps through the wing slits in the shoulders. I shrug.
“Great. Nice answer.” His voice is frayed, and it presses along my heartstrings like an amateur cellist’s bow. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
I clasp the necklaces at my neck. “It’s okay,” I whisper so he can’t possibly hear. “Because I finally do.”
I shut my bedroom door. I don’t bother to turn on the light as I change into my boxers and a lacy camisole, wishing I could shed everything that’s gone wrong along with my clothes.
There’s enough strained daylight coming through my curtains for me to substitute Jen’s straight pins on my prom gown for safety pins and smooth the pleats in place to cover the metal clasps.
Following a knock at my door, Mom peeks inside.
I motion her in. “Where’s Dad?”
“He went to get some dinner. I suggested he go to cool off. When he comes back, I’ll put the sedatives in his drink.”
I nod, not feeling the least bit hungry, considering what we’re about to do. We’re going to knock out my father for no good reason. It’s the same thing my mother lived through for years at the asylum.
I can tell by her tight lips that she’s as uncomfortable as I am with the idea.
We sit together on my bed with my lights off and the aquarium glowing blue. My eels swim gracefully, like angels under water—a serene counterpoint to the emotional uproar in my head. A thrum of distant thunder echoes my unease.
“I’m sorry.” Mom fluffs my gown’s slip to a cloud of periwinkle netting. “Your father … he’s just out of his mind with worry. Once this is all behind us, he’ll make up with Jeb. I won’t let you go through what I did. He won’t send you to the asylum. Okay?”
I want to believe her, but a soul-deep foreboding is starting to wind through me. “Why can’t we reunite Dad with his memories? He would stop thinking we’re crazy all the time. And we could use his help tonight since Morpheus isn’t here.” My voice falters on Morpheus’s name.
Dad didn’t mention any corpses found wrapped up in the Silly String—large insects or otherwise.
“Sweetie, we can’t bring your dad into this. Those memories would hurt him.”
“More than he’s hurting now?”
Mom looks thoughtful. “I can’t even describe the horrors I saw when I watched his past. Can’t even conceive of what else he must’ve endured.”
I sit quietly, not sure I agree. If he was able to survive the looking-glass world as a child, surely he’s stronger than we’ve ever given him credit for.
I start to point that out, but Mom interrupts me. “Jeb asked to see you. He’s waiting out back under your willow tree.”
My jaw drops. She’s known about our sanctuary all along?
Mom presses her fingertip against my dimple to coax my mouth closed. “Allie, I’m not completely oblivious. I remember what it’s like to be a teenager in love.” She winks, and I smile back. “I’m going to take a shower and get ready. Make sure you don’t get caught in the rain and that you’re inside before Dad gets home.”
I pull on a pair of boots and a hoodie and trek through the garden. The plants and bugs are eerily quiet. The sky swirls overhead—a frothy gray that makes it look like six o’clock instead of four thirty. Cool wind snatches my hair and whips it around my face. The gusts a
re so loud I can’t hear the fountain gurgling.
Jeb’s already waiting for me, wearing a tight T-shirt with jeans, as if he couldn’t wait to shed Morpheus’s jacket.
He holds a fluttery curtain of willow leaves open, and I duck inside under the green canopy.
Crouching, I hug him. “I’m sorry. My dad didn’t mean any of it.”
“I know.” He kisses my temple and rakes away some leaves so I can sit. “I’m not here so you can pat my head and make me feel better.”
I attempt a smile. “Aw, c’mon. You’d like that.”
He grins. “I’d like a kiss more.” Hazy light filters through the leaves and hits his dimples and labret—making him appear boyish and playful, even though his voice is filled with tension.
We’re both pretending like everything’s right with the world, when it couldn’t be more wrong. We’re being delusional. Jeb shouldn’t be involved in this at all. If Sister Two could take Morpheus down, what chance does a human have in this battle?
“I don’t think you should go tonight,” I blurt out. “Call Jenara and keep her from going, too.”
“Are you kidding me? I’d be in more danger standing between Jen and prom than fighting resurrected toys.”
“Stop joking. This isn’t a game.”
Jeb frowns. “Just like it wasn’t a game when you hid the truth from me all those months because you were afraid it would hurt me.”
Ouch. “Or hurt us,” I say.
Grasping my elbows, he drags me closer. He presses our noses and foreheads together. “We’re stronger than that. And we’re so much better as a team, when our heads are together. It’s when one of us is trying to protect the other by taking everything on ourselves, that’s when we mess up. Don’t you think?”
I sigh. “Yeah,” I answer, reluctant.
“So I won’t stand in your way tonight. You do what you have to do. But don’t ask me to do any less. Deal?”
“But the things we’re facing—”
“Are things I’ve already faced. And like you said, I did pretty good, for a human. And don’t worry about Jen. I’ll get her out if we can’t stop Red from coming through.”
I touch his lips. “This is all so messed up. It’s not what prom should’ve been.”
He kisses my fingertip. “The party might be a bust. But once we send all the creepers running, we can still have our prom night.”
His optimism is contagious, even if it’s a transparent ploy to buoy my spirits when he’s as worried as me.
It doesn’t matter if everything somehow works out and we defeat Red. I still can’t be with Jeb tonight. Not with the vow I made to Morpheus. Maybe it would be easier for me if he really was gone, captured by Sister Two and trapped in her web. But I can’t let myself imagine it might be true. I want him to survive.
The leaves rattle around us and thunder shakes the ground.
“We should hurry.” Jeb pulls a plastic box from behind him. Inside is a wrist corsage made of miniature white rosebuds, the tips airbrushed the same periwinkle as the lace gloves I’ll be wearing, all held together with navy blue ribbon and a bow.
I catch my breath as I look at it closer. I knew Jenara was making this. What I didn’t expect was a silver ring pressed into the middle of one of the roses. A dozen tiny diamonds sparkle in the setting: a heart with wings.
My whole body feels at first heavy, then light. “Is this …?”
Jeb looks down, dark lashes cloaking his eyes. “I got the idea for the wings from my paintings of you. Had no clue how spot-on they’ve always been till today.” He swallows. “I was planning to give it to you at the studio after prom tonight. But just in case—” He stops himself, as if speaking the worst might make it materialize.
He pops open the plastic lid and plucks the silver circle free, then lifts me to my knees, so we’re eye to eye. My heart is pounding in my ears. Grass tickles my knees, but I don’t dare scratch the itch because Jeb’s looking me in the eye, and the expression on his face is the most somber I’ve ever seen.
“Alyssa Victoria Gardner.” Hearing him speak my full name makes my toes curl in anticipation. “You once told me on a rowboat in Wonderland that one day you wanted to have two kids and live in the country so you could hear your muse and answer when it called. I’m telling you now, here in our sanctuary, that when you’re ready for that life … I want to be the guy to give it to you.”
He waits, mouth half-open in anticipation, crooked incisor casting a shadow across his straight white teeth. All that’s familiar about him spins around me: the green eyes that know me like no one else’s; the paintings that bare my soul; the arms that promise power and strength each time I’m in them.
Only Jeb, with his human flaws and vulnerabilities, can fit the human side of my heart. He’s been planning to ask me this since before he knew everything, and he still wants it even now.
As for me, I’ve known ever since our first summer years ago how deep my feelings run. Yes, I want to spend a lifetime with him. But I have two possible futures. Two lives to live. Two parts of my heart. How can I commit to either of them until I’ve thought everything through?
Then another doubt surfaces unexpectedly, something I haven’t considered until now. “Wait. Is this how you and Dad worked things out? You caved and told him you’d marry me before we got to London. Is that what’s going on here?”
Jeb’s hopeful expression falls. “No. That’s not—well, yes, it played a part in the timing. But you gotta know, Al. This is what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted. A future with you. A life with you, my fairy bride. Forever.”
“Always said … the boy … was a bloody wordsmith …”
My heart skips as the familiar cockney accent fills my head.
A moth dives into the canopy, surrounded by blue static. It struggles against the wind, and the static spreads, reaching up to the branches, as if to hold it in place. Jeb and I scramble backward as the insect transforms into a man, slumped to his side on the dirt. His breathing is labored and his wings drape across him, hiding his body.
“Son of a—”
“Morpheus.” I interrupt Jeb’s outburst, lifting one of the satiny wings so I can see his face. I’m thrilled he’s alive, but he doesn’t look like he will be for long.
“Hello, luv,” he says through a thick curtain of blue hair. “Hope I’m … interrupting.” He draws his knees to his chest, coughing.
The leaves rattle overhead as the rain begins.
I touch his forehead, shocked at how hot he is. “He’s burning up. We have to get him inside.”
Jeb hesitates, mistrust shadowing his face.
I put my hand on his arm. “We need all the help we can get tonight.” I can’t tell Jeb that I care beyond that. Not yet. We don’t have time to sort through that mess.
Gritting his teeth, Jeb takes the heart pendant from my neck and laces the ring through the chain. He holds it out for me. “Will you hang on to this? Until we can talk later?”
I nod and loop the chain around my neck.
Jeb drags Morpheus out from under the leaves and hoists him onto his shoulder. “Get those, Al.” He gestures to the wings dragging on the ground behind him.
I maneuver Morpheus’s wings, trying to curl them around his body so he won’t get wet. Mom meets us at the back door in her robe. She looks as confused and panicked as I feel but ushers us in.
“Take him to your room. Hurry. Your dad just pulled into the driveway. I’ll get the sedatives in him. Let’s hope they work fast. We only have an hour till we need to go.”
We trudge down the hall, leaving wet prints on the carpet. Morpheus’s wings scrape the walls, knocking a few of my mosaics crooked. Mom follows and shuts the door to my room from the other side. I hear her straightening my mosaics as she heads toward the living room.
I flip on the lamp and move my dress from the bed, laying it over the chair at my desk. Jeb plops Morpheus down. His beautiful wings drape both sides of the mattress, limp. It’
s entirely unsettling to see someone as animated as him be so still and vulnerable.
I kneel next to the bed and push his hair back from his face. He’s shivering. His eyes are closed, and his jewels blink a sickly grayish green—dull instead of glistening—like stagnant, murky water. Black veinlike strands swell and move under his pale skin, as if snakes were writhing inside him. His blue magic pulses around the strands, trying to contain the poison, but the black keeps multiplying.
My stomach turns over. “Did Sister Two do this to you?”
Morpheus squints through one eye and coughs, nodding. He yelps as the black veins tangle and knot at his neck. My body aches, as if I’ve caught the poison. It hurts that much to see him suffering.
“Shh.” I squeeze his hand. His palm feels clammy. “We have to try to keep it down, okay? We don’t want my dad coming in.”
He grits his teeth against more shivers. “Always knew I’d end up in your bed … and hear you say those words one day.” He manages a smirk.
Jeb snarls. “Unbelievable. Even when he’s at death’s door he’s a tool.” He arranges a pillow beneath Morpheus’s neck. “Why don’t you keep your mouth shut while we help you.”
Morpheus laughs weakly, his skin flashing with blue light. “What say Alyssa”—his breath rattles—“gives my mouth something else to do?”
Jeb narrows his eyes. “What say I give you a fist to chew on?”
Morpheus snorts, which triggers several more coughs.
I glare at them both. “Are you guys kidding me right now?” Shaking my head, I roll up Morpheus’s sleeve to expose his birthmark. I cringe as the black snaky veins follow my touch. It’s like they’re drawn to my movements.
Sitting on my bed, I start to work off my boot.
Jeb stops me with a hand on the buckles. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.
“I have to heal him.”
“And what if this poison is contagious?” Rain pounds on the window and roof, as if punctuating Jeb’s concern.
I pause.