Untamed

by A. G. Howard

  The steam smells familiar and comforting, but I’ve learned to be cautious with what I eat or drink in Wonderland. “What’s in it?”

  He smirks, that proud glimmer behind his eyes. “You are wise to ask. ’Tis mushroom tea. To truly empathize with Alice’s predicament, you must be the size she was.”

  I study the pocket where he placed the amplifying pastry. “So . . . we’re going to shrink?”

  “Do you know of a better way to fill her shoes?” He clinks his cup to mine, then puts the rim to his lips.

  I take several sips before noticing he’s lowered the cup from his mouth without drinking. He watches me, studiously.

  I’ve been duped.

  “Morpheus,” I warn.

  He grins.

  I’m angry, but not helpless. Even though my muscles jerk and my bones click. Even though every inch of my skin warms and tightens as I grow smaller while Morpheus and the carriage tower around me. I might be the size of a sprite, but after everything I’ve been through this past year, my netherling side is as strong as my human one.

  My wings erupt on instinct. I dart for the amplifying pastry in his pocket so I can return to normal size and clobber him, but Morpheus raises a hand and catches me in a handkerchief, wrapping me inside. I’m blinded and didn’t pay close enough attention to my surroundings earlier. I can’t remember what’s available to use as weapons.

  Cheater.

  “Reminiscent of when you trapped me in a jar in the human realm, yes?” Morpheus whispers, as if hearing my silent accusation.

  Anger boils my neck, face, and ears.

  “Sorry, luv.” My captor’s breath warms the cloth cocooning my body, heating my already simmering nerves. “Can’t let you unleash all that beautiful wrath . . . not just yet.”

  I demand release, struggling to escape the soft folds of licorice-scented fabric, but of course he doesn’t listen. Any more than I did when I’d trapped him.

  “Turnabout’s fair play. Isn’t that a saying in your precious human realm?” he baits.

  Clenching my teeth, I resign myself to wait for an opportunity to escape. My surroundings become snug. That magical magnetic pull calls to my heart and his answering pulse pounds through me like a giant snare drum, confirming he’s placed me inside his jacket pocket.

  Minutes later, I feel the sway of his body as he disembarks from the carriage. His boot soles shuffle against gritty stone.

  He fishes me from his pocket, still wrapped like a mummy. Once the handkerchief loosens, I’m unceremoniously dropped onto something wooden and cool. A stagnant, damp scent surrounds me. I scramble to stand, blinking in the soft blue light given off by the firefly lantern Morpheus brought from the carriage. Hinges squeak but I’m not fast enough, and the cage’s door locks before I can flutter through.

  I buzz about the tightly barred enclosure, cursing Morpheus and his manipulative mind. The sound of ticking clocks accompanies his subsequent laughter, their combined cacophony loud enough to shake my tiny bones. I plug my ears.

  Morpheus’s giant face looms close to the hanging cage, the gems beneath his eyes pink with affection. “Welcome to the highest cliffs of Wonderland’s wilds, my blossom. Perhaps, if you prove cooperative, you might see them from the outside sometime before the next few decades go by.”

  I snarl.

  He mentioned earlier that he had Jebediah paint scenes from the past that are part of the history we share: the cave Alice was held in, birdcage and all . . . and the cocoon from which he was born anew.

  I recognize the dodo’s hideaway by the roughly sketched calendar sheets papering the stone walls. Queen Red, upon imprisoning him here as Alice’s keeper, warned him if he tried to escape, his days were numbered. As a result, the dodo collected days on paper, so he’d have an ample supply. Ticking clocks hang from dripstones upon the ceilings, in an effort to hoard every minute of every hour.

  Which is exactly what Morpheus is planning for me. To hoard me here for all time against my will, unless I give in to his demands. He’s going to bargain another life-magic vow out of me. Something to force me to leave Jeb—so I’ll age alone in the mortal realm, without him.

  If anyone can manage the perfect wording, Morpheus can.

  Growling, I shove a fist through the bars, clipping his nose. “Jerk!”

  He laughs and draws back, tapping his nose with his forefinger as if I were nothing but a gnat. “Tsk. Naughty majesty. That’s no way to win my favor. I’m the one with the upper hand now, aye? Play nice. You wouldn’t wish to repeat the fate of little Alice.”

  My throat tightens as I envision her as a child at the shadowy bottom of the cage. A few stray apple seeds lie abandoned there, the size of ottomans in proportion to me. A bed made out of a matchbox and bits of fabric huddles in the center. How did Alice survive in these conditions for so many decades? Actually growing old in this dark place? It’s no wonder she went mad.

  Claustrophobia niggles at me, but I shut it down. “You can’t keep me here.”

  Morpheus slips off his jacket, arranges it across a wooden chair, and nudges the cage so it swings softly. “I can, and I will.”

  It’s too difficult to hover in place while my surroundings pendulate, so I drop to the tiny bed to ride the rocking sway. My heart glows brighter, a reminder of my one bargaining chip. “I have to divide my time between the human realm and here. To live fulfilled lives in both places. For my heart to mend. Ivory said—”

  “I’m well aware of your physical limitations, plum,” Morpheus interjects. “And I would ne’er risk harming you.” He skims a dusty satin drape from a table nearby and shakes it out. “I believe I’ve proven that tenfold by now. I will sneak you into your other world each and every day. ’Twill be easy to slip past the guards. They’re accustomed to my sojourns in and out of the mortal realm. I often carry pet moths with me, in terrariums cloaked with cloth. They prefer to be covered, you see. They’re nervous travelers otherwise.” I yelp as he drapes the sheet over the cage and ties it around the bottom, sealing me in and cutting off my view of everything.

  “We’ll live out our days somewhere private,” he murmurs. The silhouette of his hand glides across the bars on the other side of the satin. “Somewhere magi-kind friendly. And I guarantee to keep you fulfilled in all the ways that matter.”

  The sensual implication behind his promise heats my skin to a hot blush. So this is why he waited to bring me here until after I fixed the portals. He’s always one step ahead. But not this time.

  I’ve used my powers while blind . . . over a month ago, in a pitch-black gymnasium at school, and again, yesterday, when I was masked with a bloody bag and attacked by a thousand murderous prisoners in AnyElsewhere. It can be done, if I concentrate.

  I temper my erratic pulse, trying to remember how everything looked along the cave’s ceiling and walls before he covered me.

  “You’re wrong.” I attempt to reason with him, buying time so I can feel things out in my mind. “What’s required to fulfill my human heart goes deeper than physical needs. PTA meetings. Cheering for runny-nosed toddlers at soccer games. Helping my kids with homework after school, attending their plays and graduations. Taking care of my parents as they grow old, the way they cared for me when I was young. I’m the only child they have. The only one to step in when they’re feeble. Then there’s welcoming grandchildren of my own, getting age spots . . . and wrinkles. These are the things cherished human memories are made of.”

  Morpheus huffs, as if the notions are ridiculous. “You’re netherling royalty. In little time, I could make you forget those asinine and boring aspirations.”

  “Right, by holding me prisoner.” I grind my teeth. “There’s no such place, you know,” I change tactics. “No other sanctuary where netherlings can hole up in the human realm . . . other than Humphrey’s Inn. And my parents and Jeb will be looking there for me. They’ll never give up.”

  Morpheus laughs, causing the covering on the cage to flutter. “Do you really think
Humphrey’s is the only halfway house for netherlings in the mortal realm? There are hideaways only the solitary of our kind know about. Shady and furtive places. There, we can vanish throughout the day and never be found. Then we’ll return here to spend our nights.” His shadowy outline leans across the cage, arms encircling the bars in a malicious embrace. “And, if you behave, I’ll shrink to your size and we can catch that little matchbox bed of yours on fire. Sans any matches.” His voice hugs my ears like dark velvet—intimate and carnal. It muffles the clocks that are ticking like time bombs along the ceiling.

  Instead of letting his seduction tactics disarm me like they once would’ve, I use them to my advantage. I allow the suggestive, mellifluous cadence of his words to relax me. And that’s all I need to tame my magic.

  In my mind’s eye, I picture the clocks and their skinny metal hands—tick, tock, turning—left to right, left to right. I imagine their arms bending perpendicular from their flat faces—and the clicking stops short.

  Morpheus’s surprised gasp indents the sheet. Before he can surmise my plan, I envision the calendar pages peeling from the walls, tearing into quarters, and winding themselves into paper chains—much like the ones I made as a child in preschool crafts. Only these are alive and strong as steel.

  I can’t see them, but I hear them: dragging along the floor. I animate them to follow the sound of Morpheus’s footsteps and his flashes of blue magic as he scrambles around the gritty cave in hopes of escape.

  “Dammit, Alyssa!”

  “Bind him tight,” I command my chains.

  Morpheus’s snarls and groans confirm their success.

  While he’s preoccupied, I concentrate on the clocks’ hands once more: bending them back and forth, back and forth, until finally they snap off in a metallic rain to the floor. I coax them up, high enough their skinny shadows line the sheet, lit up by the lantern. In my mind, they’re a swarm of metallic bees. I focus on them, using their pointy ends like knives, to slice through the cloth and pry open the door.

  By the time I flutter out of the cage, Morpheus is pinned to the wall in paper binds, struggling to break free—the proverbial moth in a web. My web.

  As beautiful as he is when he’s alight with power, poise, and potency, there’s something undeniably alluring about him captured and at my mercy.

  The queen in me purrs.

  Leisurely, I fly to the chair where he laid his jacket and search his pocket for the amplifying pastry. After several bites, I return to my natural size and alight on the floor to face him.

  At my command, the chains tighten around his chest and arms. Yes, this scene is familiar. Except last time, I coaxed Red’s vines from within me to hold him prisoner.

  “You said you liked to play rough,” I taunt.

  “I can give as good as I get.” He stares at me, unflinching. “Should I so choose,” he adds, and ignites his magic enough to slice through the chains on one wrist—sure proof that he could cut them all loose if he wanted. Yet he doesn’t. His eye patches glitter in prismatic disarray, hiding whatever it is he’s feeling.

  “Well, I’m in no mood to play anyway,” I answer, angry I can’t read him. Or maybe I’m flustered that he doesn’t break free and fight back . . . that there’s no teasing twitch at his lips or yellow flash through his jeweled markings. “Tell me why I shouldn’t drag you to court. Holding the queen hostage is treason.”

  He growls. Long strands of unruly enchanted blue hair slap across his chin and tease out a grimace. “You’re under a vow to spend twelve hours with me. Back out now, and lose all those pretty powers you so love to flaunt.”

  I force a smile. “Oh, I’m not abandoning my vow. I’ll sit with you in the dungeon for our remaining eight hours while you wait to be sentenced.”

  He grunts. “For your information, I wasn’t hungry . . . nor was I small.”

  I tilt my head. “What are you babbling about?”

  Sighing, he looks down at the chains clamped around his chest. “If I hadn’t wanted you to triumph, I would ne’er have put the pastry in my pocket and brought it in. It certainly wasn’t for me.”

  His logic rings true. I command the chains to release him. They gather in a limp, snaky pile at his feet.

  He stays pressed against the wall as if held in place by the imprints left upon his skin. His wings splay out behind him—majestic and proud—his only cushion against the stone.

  I step up to him. “You’ve always claimed to have faith in me,” I press, sympathy and frustration twisting my insides to a perplexed pretzel. “So why do I have to keep walking over coals for you?”

  He frowns, managing to look both apologetic and haughty at the same time. “I had to trap you. To remind you of your better half. You want so much to be Alice . . . the Alice that could’ve been. I fear you’ll become her in every way. Helpless. Human. Unless you keep your guard up. You must never be a victim like she was. I saw you almost die yesterday. Your heart splitting in twain.” His chin trembles. “I can ne’er face that again. So I will let you go for your own sake, to fulfill your mundane human expectations. At least, since you’re visiting me in dreams each night, I’m fairly certain you won’t forget us like you did as a child.”

  His accusation scores through me. “I didn’t mean to. I was so little . . .”

  “I’m not blaming you, Alyssa. It was unavoidable. You would not have been the same person, capable of compassion and imagination, without those uninterrupted human experiences. You couldn’t have functioned in the mortal world and learned what you needed to if you were constantly yearning to stir up trouble with me in Wonderland. After seeing the destruction that Red’s single-minded cruelty and lack of compassion had wrought, I knew something had to change in the royal bloodline.”

  “Even if it took you stepping back to make it happen.” Once again, I’m floored by the scope of his machinations. By his love for our world. I slide my hand along the buttons of his shirt. “All you need to know now is that I will never forget you again, or my feelings for you. Never. Even if I weren’t spending my dreams in Wonderland.” My fingers stop at the satiny fabric over his heartbeat.

  His lashes flutter closed. He presses his hand over mine. “I need to know more than that. You must survive each day we aren’t together, so you can come back—come back to take your place upon the Red throne in reality, forever. I need that assurance, or I can’t . . . won’t . . . let you out of my sight.”

  “I’m immortal. I have crown magic in my blood.”

  His lashes lift and he meets my gaze. “As indicated by your vulnerable heart, your body is not indestructible. Especially in the mortal realm. You will age there. And if your shell is destroyed or dies, your eternal spirit will be left an orphan. Unless you can find a new vessel, it will wither away. A netherling spirit cannot exist for more than a few hours without being housed within a body, or tucked safely within the cemetery, tended by Sister One or Sister Two’s magic. So do not make me find a new home for your life essence. You must come back to this world, whole. Yourself, in every way.”

  Even without his gems revealing his moods, I see it so clearly: the raw vulnerability he’s been hiding behind smoke and illusion all night. There’s so much more he’s afraid of losing than Wonderland’s Red Queen. His childhood friend, his future bride . . . their dream-child. These are the fears that cast shadows behind his plea.

  “I promised you once that I would come back to you,” I assure him. “Trust in that. In my strength. You’ve taught me well. Will you ever be convinced I’m worthy of your faith? Worthy enough to stop testing me?”

  “I’ve always had faith in you, blossom. It’s putting the future in someone’s hands other than my own that I’m having difficulty with. But I will try.” He draws me into a hug, his fingers bunching inside the long strands of hair at my nape. “No more tricks tonight.”

  I snuggle against his chest, dragging in a breath to saturate myself in his scent. My heart tugs toward him, a powerful, invigorating hum be
hind my sternum.

  “You win.” His muffled admission stirs the hair at the top of my head, so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

  My pulse jumps. I win. After all these years, I finally bettered my playmate on his own turf. But any gratification eludes me, because I also left him a little broken.

  There’s no satisfaction in tonight’s victory. It’s never been about my being stronger or more manipulative than him . . . it was about making him happy and proud by proving I was his equal. It was about wanting to see him smile. The way he did when we were children—carefree, and unkempt.

  Only I’d forgotten that, until just now.

  MEMORY THREE: IN WHICH I HEALED WONDERLAND

  The damp incense of fungus mingles with an earthy, grassy scent. Mushrooms loom overhead, their caps the size of truck tires. I half flutter, half run behind Morpheus through the tall, fluorescent grass. My dress’s long skirt snags on the grass in intervals, eliciting tiny popping sounds. But that’s the only thing I hear. Wonderland is quiet tonight, due to almost all the citizens attending the ball at Ivory’s.

  Morpheus is pensive and quiet. His wings drape from his shoulders at the back of his jacket, his stride long and purposeful. I’m having trouble keeping up, even though I clear the ground every four steps or so. Other than assuring me the tricks were behind us, he’s barely spoken since we left the dodo’s cave. He didn’t tell me where we were going, but I already knew.

  Since we’d visited Alice’s prison, we had to visit his next. Our tour wouldn’t be complete without stopping here. This is the last place he saw young Alice, the last place she was free before the card guards captured her. The place where the Caterpillar once sat to offer advice and friendship, and where Chessie’s decapitated head floated by, just as Alice found the Caterpillar mummified in a cocoon, unable to help her as he transformed into a beautiful, alluring humanoid fae.