by A. G. Howard
“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Jeb says. “And I don’t want to hear her name. I don’t want her haunting my subconscious.” He shoves Morpheus away. “You remember what happened when her face turned up in my paintings. We have to forget her. Just like she’s forgotten us.”
Ex-girlfriend. All warmth inside me snuffs out. He’s never sounded this discouraged, not even after fights with his dad. And it’s because he thinks I’ve abandoned them.
Morpheus swipes the paint from his thumb and finger across one of the dust rags piled next to him on the table. The look he gives Jeb is devilish delight. “A shame you have so little faith in the one you once claimed to love.” He slips his fingers into his jacket pocket and coaxes out Chessie. The furry netherling flitters his wings, rising. He smiles at Jeb, sincerely happy to see him.
Jeb totters back two steps. “Where did . . . how did he get here?”
Morpheus shrugs. “You should be asking who brought him here. That answer is much more interesting.”
Jeb shakes his head as the sprite takes Chessie’s paws in her hands so they’re dancing in midair. “Al would never . . .”
“She would,” Morpheus taunts. “She did. And she’ll soon find a way into our refuge. Unless your untimely retrieval of me caused her to be captured. In which case, she’s in danger, and it’s on your head.”
“No,” Jeb insists. “She doesn’t care enough to come.”
I want to storm inside and prove him wrong. He’s lost all faith in me. And that fact is more excruciating and unbelievable than anything I’ve faced since the time I first fell into the rabbit hole.
My limbs go numb and Dad’s dagger almost slips from my sweaty hand.
Dad! How could I have forgotten him?
A shuffling sound echoes from the darkness further down the corridor. Holding my breath, I tiptoe along the winding hallway. I haven’t made it very far when something clenches my arm from behind. One hand slaps across my mouth and another shoves me against the wall, hard enough my spine grinds into the stone.
My captor’s build is masculine. He grips my wrists with his free hand and holds them at my abdomen. My fingers tighten around Dad’s dagger, the blade pointed toward the ground.
I try to yell, but my attacker’s free hand seals my lips tight. He’s taller than me, head tilted like a curious puppy, as if trying to figure me out. There’s something so familiar about his height and form. When my eyes adjust to the dimness, I almost collapse.
It’s Jeb, from his labret to that body I know so well . . . only now I can see his face.
On the right side, red jeweled dots sparkle in a curved line from his temple to his cheekbone, matching his red labret. A closer look at his ears reveals pointed tips. He resembles an elfin knight of Ivory’s court, if not for his unshaved jaw. Even his eyes, vacant and distant, lack emotion.
A scream struggles to break loose as more gruesome details come to light. The skin under his left eye gapes open. Where there should be tissue and bones showing through, there’s nothing but a void.
My tongue dries, smothered under his palm.
“He’s not the same boy you once knew,” Morpheus warned. This is what he meant. Jeb is mutated, because of me.
I strangle on a sob.
Movement catches my attention in the emptiness where his skin gapes. An eyeball bobs to the surface, veined and backward. I gag, trying to shove him off. He’s too strong and holds me pinned by my own hands.
He bends his face closer. A set of fingers curls from inside the gaping skin above his cheekbone—a hand trying to reach out and touch me. The fingers are shiny and deep red, the color of blood. The detached eyeball rolls to look at the fingertips while Jeb’s other two eyes continue to study me.
I gasp for breath under the unrelenting palm over my mouth. Heat scalds my chest—as electric as a lightning flash—and the diary under my tunic glows once more. It shocks my sense of self-preservation to life. I bare my teeth and bite his fingers, hard enough to break the skin.
With a feral screech, Jeb releases me. I spit out his blood, faintly aware that it tastes like paint.
I fumble for the slippery dagger in my sweaty fingers and catch it at the last minute, accidentally slicing through his jeans and thigh. He howls—a harrowing, animalistic sound—as the skin on his leg peels back in a six-inch gash.
“I’m sorry!” I cry. “I’m sorry for everything!”
Detached eyes and red disembodied hands spill from the opening, riding on slithering crimson vines with mouths that snap like Venus flytraps.
I drop the dagger. Back pressed to the wall, I slide down to the floor. My screams join his agonized wails. The slimy vines trail around me and I kick at them. Bile gushes into my throat as several constrict my ankle.
The door down the hall flings open. Morpheus rushes out with Nikki and Chessie flying behind.
Salty tears stream down my face—coating my lips as I mutter senseless apologies for so many things. So many irreversible things.
Morpheus peels the vines off and lifts me, cradling me to his chest.
“Get that bloody beast out of here!” he shouts over his shoulder. I look across through blurred eyes to see who he’s talking to.
It’s Jeb. My Jeb. The one who was speaking with Morpheus minutes ago. And the only thing marring his perfect face are spatters of paint.
The other Jeb, the one that attacked me, is crumpled on the floor, wailing—a macabre doppelganger of the human boy I know and trust.
“Why is it wandering around unattended?” Morpheus continues to scold. “I told you . . . you should never have granted it such freedoms.”
Jeb’s gaze passes over me, his green eyes far from the emotionless stare of an elfin knight. They’re rife with shock, bitterness, and agony.
Shivers race from my head to my toes. I need to tell him that I’ve come to save him. That I still love him. That I’m sorry for everything. But my vocal cords stiffen, as if iced over.
My head feels like ice, too. Heavy and deadened. I’m not even sure I’m awake anymore. Maybe this has all been a nightmare. I hold on to the nape of Morpheus’s neck, burying my face in his jacket. Nikki and Chessie burrow into my hair. I inhale Morpheus’s scent. It’s the only thing I recognize, the only thing that’s safe.
He carries me back to the well-lit room and sets me gently on the table. I can’t stop trembling. My throat aches from holding back sobs.
“Calm down, Alyssa.” Morpheus wraps a heavy canvas drop cloth around my shoulders.
Chessie clambers from my shoulder into my lap, his wide emerald eyes asking if I’m okay. Nikki buzzes around my face, patting my temple with her ladybug-size palm—maternal and kind.
My blood flashes hot and cold.
“You look pallid,” Morpheus says, gathering the drop cloth tighter around me. “Are you going to need a bucket?”
I shake my head, fighting off the queasy roil in my gut. “W-w-where’s Jeb? What was that thing—” Shuddering coughs shake my body.
“Shh.” Morpheus places his hands at either side of my hips on the table. His wings enfold us. “Jebediah’s putting it away. He’ll be back shortly. Breathe deeply and concentrate on me. You are safe.”
I take a shallow breath, but it chokes me.
“Look at me,” Morpheus presses. I focus on his complexion, the color of snowy shadows beneath the eclipse of his wings, and he begins to sing. Not inside my mind, since the iron dome prevents it, but aloud . . . a simple, sweet lullaby, carried on his beautiful voice.
“Little blossom so filled with dread, clear the nightmares from your head. Let me wipe away your tears, for in this place you have no fears.”
He used to sing those very lyrics when he became a child and took me to Wonderland in my dreams. I would pull one of his satiny wings across me like a blanket, and the scent of licorice and honey, paired with his beautiful lullaby, would lull me to relaxation. As I listen now, his jewels flash a serene blue, like the surface of an ocean.
&n
bsp; With a few deep breaths, I suppress the coughing. “Thank you,” I say.
Morpheus squeezes my shoulders over the drop cloth. “The creature out there wasn’t going to hurt you. It was simply intrigued. It’s seen your face before. All the creations down here have.”
Remembering the barbed wire sketches, I shake my head. “No. The graffiti acted like I was a contagion. They tried to kill me.”
He lifts an eyebrow and trails a fingertip along my neck. “Is that how you got these scratches?”
I nod.
He studies the rips in my sleeves and the burn marks from the shooting stars. “How very curious.”
“They’re monsters.” I clutch the cloth tighter around me.
“Not all of them,” Morpheus corrects. “Little Nikki has the same creator and she’s quite pleasant.” As if to prove his point, Nikki lights next to his hand on my shoulder and strokes my hair.
The same creator. The blood on my tunic’s hem left by the broken-heart sketches . . . the stains look like paint. Just like Jeb’s doppelganger tasted like paint.
Sick awareness tightens my windpipe. The fluorescent fairy and graffiti, Jeb’s disfigured elfin look-alike, and the landscapes on his easels—it all reminds me of when I first stumbled upon my powers . . . the time I inadvertently made a mosaic come alive. I animated it on the wall at my house—dead crickets and winterberries dancing and dripping inside their plaster frame.
“Oh, no,” I say, my voice airy. “It isn’t that Nikki is immune to the consequences of using her magic here. She’s made of magic. Jeb painted her. He painted his look-alike, too. He’s bringing his artwork to life.” The explanation sounds like fiction in spite of how my gut knows it’s true.
A glint of pride reflects back at me from Morpheus’s black eyes. “Splendid deduction. Yes, Jebediah has tapped into netherling gifts. But there’s more to it than that.”
As if satisfied I’m okay, Chessie prances off my thigh and ducks out from under Morpheus’s tented wings. Nikki follows him.
Once they’re both gone, I turn back to Morpheus. “What do you mean, there’s more?”
“Hmm.” His fingers find their way to my neck again, but this time, he catches the strings there and drags out the diary and key before I can stop him. “First, you tell me about this little treasure.” The red glow glosses his face. He tries to open the book, but the magic is too powerful and the key’s too big.
I yank the strings away, tucking them under my tunic once more.
Morpheus studies me. “What are you hiding on those tiny pages, Alyssa? And why?”
I look at him dead-on. “I finally have a secret of my own. Not so fun being on the other side of one, is it?”
The slow burn of amusement warms his features. He leans in and whispers, “On the contrary, My Queen. I cannot imagine anything more delicious than peeling away your defenses, layer by layer, and baring your precious . . . secret.”
Heat climbs my chest and fills my neck and cheeks. It’s beyond unsettling, how quickly he can shift between comforter and tormentor.
He watches the blush of my skin, obviously enjoying taunting me. “In fact, I’m willing to bet I get to the bottom of your secret before you do mine. It’s like I’ve always told you: Netherling logic resides between sense and nonsense. When you turn your back on everything that you once thought was real, you will find illumination.” He drops his wings.
Warm sunset pours through the glass ceiling.
“I suppose we’ll see how much you’ve learned to rely on your Wonderland side.” He singles out the red strip of my hair from my braid and holds it up to the light, then tucks it behind my ear. “Netherling intuition can decipher the illogic of everything you’ll encounter while you’re here, which will aid you on your grand quest.”
I sense this “grand quest” he refers to is more than just Dad’s and my attempt to get to Mom.
Dad . . . I forgot him again! “My dad!”
“Glad to see you’re concerned,” Jeb says from the doorway, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there. “No worries. I was just with him, and he’s all right.”
A long-sleeved black satin shirt hangs over Jeb’s broad shoulders and arms, unbuttoned and flowing. His eyes glimmer with a disorienting light that confirms there’s something otherworldly flowing through him. Though relieved he hasn’t transformed physically, I’m terrified of what’s happening inside of him.
His labret glints red in the fading light overhead, reminding me of how the elfin knights pricked their skin to mark their faces with gems made of crystallized blood. With his long, wavy hair, Jeb really does favor the ones I met in Wonderland. His stony expression—giving no emotions away—only adds to the illusion.
“Would you take me to him?” I ask about my dad, feeling like I’m talking to a stranger.
“First, answer a question for me,” Jeb says. “If you care so much about him, why would you bring him into the middle of all this?”
Jeb’s accusatory tone stings. I’ve been away from him for weeks and was just attacked by his creatures, yet instead of comforting me or welcoming me, he’s raking me over the coals. “My dad is as much a part of this twisted fairy tale as the rest of us.”
Jeb meets Morpheus’s gaze. “Right. Bug-snot told me all about Thomas’s past. But why would you drag him through that pain again? He’s better off not remembering.”
“I—I had to give him his memories back,” I stammer, shaken at the thought of Jeb and Morpheus sharing confidences. “Do you think you would’ve been better off not getting yours back?”
Jeb looks down at the floor, a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows. “I think I would’ve been better off not ever making them to begin with.”
I struggle not to cry. As razor-sharp as the confession is, I’d be weeping blood. “I needed Dad’s help to find a way into the looking-glass world. He wanted you and Mom back. It was time for him to know the truth.”
“The truth.” Jeb scrubs at the red stains on his palms. “Surprised you know what that is anymore.”
I whimper before even realizing it.
“It’s not what you think,” Jeb says without looking up. He splays his hands, as if they’re what made me react. “It’s paint. Not blood.”
I shake my head. “I don’t care what’s on your hands. Please look at me. I missed you. I was so worried about you.”
“Really? Which one of us are you talking to?” His attention crosses to Morpheus, who smirks conspiratorially.
Even more unsettling than seeing the guys on the same side of anything is having them gang up on me. That sharp pain tears inside my heart again, as if Red is there, antagonizing it, relishing my misery.
I squeeze my eyelids shut, damming up the tears that knock behind them. Suck it up, Alyssa. You’re a queen. Act like one. I stiffen my shoulders and open my eyes.
“I’ll find Dad on my own.” I shrug out of the drop cloth and start to slide down from the table.
Morpheus places a palm at my collarbone. “You’re not ready to be running any marathons, luv. You’re still shaky.”
“I have to find him.”
“He’s already been found, like I said,” Jeb answers, his attention on the hand pressed at my neck. He narrows his eyes, and with a subtle flick of his fingers, Morpheus’s shadow rises from the floor and wrestles Morpheus away from me.
Growling, Morpheus shoves the dark silhouette aside, then glares at Jeb. “Amateur. Cheap parlor tricks.”
Jeb gives him a vicious grin. “A pupil is only as good as his tutor.”
I stare at them both, speechless.
Jeb turns back to me. “Your dad just needs to sleep. He’s tired.”
Morpheus’s creepy shadow sniffs at my tangled hair like a dog. I scoot back as Morpheus forces it behind him.
“I want to see for myself,” I say to Jeb.
Jeb squints. “Why? Don’t you trust me? Do you seriously think I would hurt Thomas? He’s the only real father I’ve ever had. Th
e only one in your family who hasn’t stabbed me in the back.”
I refuse to let him see how deeply he’s cutting me. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s that . . . thing you painted.”
He steps all the way into the room, head cocked. “You told her.”
His gaze and accusation are directed at Morpheus, but I answer. “My dad was captured and dragged away. I’m pretty sure it was that same thing that attacked me in the hallway. Did it show you where it took him? It had to, didn’t it? Because you’re its creator.”
Jeb’s lashes lift my direction and in that moment, I see my best friend again. Weary shadows under his eyes reveal the vulnerability he’s trying to hide. He’s human and unguarded. All I need is to drop to the floor, walk over, and close the space between us. But then he looks away, and I’m hit with the reality that the span of steps from me to him is nothing compared to the walls I’m going to have to climb to get to his heart.
“How does she know so much?” Jeb asks Morpheus. “What have you been telling her?”
Morpheus grimaces. “Put your little novelty away and we’ll talk.”
Jeb tips his head, and the shadow sinks into the floor again, nothing but a dark shape at Morpheus’s feet.
Morpheus leans his hip against the table’s edge and drags a corner of the drop cloth over Chessie and Nikki, who are dozing soundly. “As always, you underestimate our Alyssa’s ingenuity. She figured it out on her own after being attacked by your graffiti army in the entry tunnel.”
Jeb looks my way. “They attacked her?” For an instant, I could swear there’s concern in his eyes. Then it’s gone. “They’re not usually violent toward living things.”
Morpheus purses his lips. “Well, since most of your creations are unequipped to leave this mountain, and since we’ve never had living visitors here, we’ve not exactly tested that theory. Besides, this isn’t just any visitor. Alyssa is the object of your rage.”
“That’s not true,” Jeb murmurs, yet he averts his eyes.
Morpheus sighs. “Much as you’d like to deny it, it’s obvious your creations are retaining your anger toward her. Feeding off those negative feelings.”