He scoops his hand inside the bag and lifts out a hummingbird-size ball of orange and gray striped fur. Chessie's teasing smile appears as he unfurls his body and dangles his front feet over the edge of Morpheus's gloved palm. His fluffy tail twitches, a sure indication he's proud of himself.
"Well, look who dragged the cat in," Morpheus says. "Good to see you, old friend." He rubs the feline netherling's tiny head with his thumb.
Chessie arches his back, then turns his impish eyes my way.
"Sneakie-deakie." I can't stop smiling, remembering that moment when Uncle Bernie closed the Gravitron's door and orange sparkles filtered into the chamber. Chessie was planning to hitch a ride all along.
The little netherling attempts to fly, but I stop him, closing my fingers over Morpheus's palm. "Wait. There are rules here. If you use your magic, you'll hurt yourself. It will mutate you…kill you even."
"True for most," Morpheus corrects, and lifts my hand away. "But remember, our Chessie is a rare strain. Both spirit and flesh all at once. He can use his magic. He's the one full-blood netherling who can."
"Other than you, you mean?" I goad.
Morpheus intentionally avoids my stare and concentrates on Chessie. "You should refrain from snapping your head off whilst here. With the way the landscape changes, you might risk it getting lost. Now, do you wish to fly, or would you like to hitch a ride?"
Chessie flutters up to Morpheus's one remaining pocket and deposits himself inside, leaving only his head sticking out.
Before Morpheus can move away, I place a hand on his lapel.
Stretching to the tips of my toes, I nuzzle Chessie's fuzzy nose with mine. "Thanks for healing me earlier," I tell him, "and for keeping my necklace safe." Just as I'm about to kiss his head, he ducks into the pocket.
My lips land in the middle of one of the gaps in Morpheus's shirt, smacking his warm, soft skin.
"Sorry." Blushing, I jerk back and lose balance as the ground beneath me totters.
Morpheus catches me around the waist, affection tinting his jewels a pinkish hue. "No apology necessary."
Dad clears his throat. I swallow, stepping away.
"We need to get a move on." Dad gathers the duffel bag and shoves the map at Morpheus. "Where's Jeb, according to this?"
Still intent on me, Morpheus shoves the parchment away without even looking at it. "That scrap won't get you anywhere. The landscape is unpredictable, if you didn't notice. Whoever provided that map should've told you that. Perhaps, having limited human intellect, they can't comprehend the magnitude of said alterations."
My dad frowns. "We were told that the gates' positions never change. I can see their glow, there and there." He motions to the radioactive green waves on the distant horizon to our right and left.
Sighing, Morpheus turns his attention to Dad. "All right. Riddle me this. Which is north and which is south? Do you know from whence direction you arrived? It is impossible to keep from getting turned around in this world without a compass."
"And you have such a compass?" Dad asks.
"I have my walking stick," Morpheus answers cryptically.
Dad clenches his teeth. "So you expect us to just follow you."
Morpheus's lips curl to a spiteful grin. "Alyssa won't have any trouble keeping up. As for you, I can carry you on my shoulder again if need be."
It's a vicious barb, and I send a scowl Morpheus's way.
"Not necessary," Dad says, unfazed. "You'll lead us to Jeb. I have ways of convincing you." He pats the sheathed dagger slung over his left arm.
"Agreed," Morpheus snips. "It's not as if I have a choice in the matter." His retort is edged with frustration. It's got to be more than Dad's iron dagger persuading him. After all, he can take off and fly anytime he wants.
He turns on his heel and starts picking his way through the small floating islands, using the walking stick to bridge the moats like he did earlier. Dad and I follow.
Balancing on the bobbing ground makes the trek difficult until we learn where to step, and fall into a rhythm. Momentary bouts of activity dot the landscape: packs of fluffy rabbits bounding along in the distance that, upon closer inspection, have the same muzzles and sharp canines as wolves; crocodile-like creatures lifting their heads out of the moats-giant jaws yawning to reveal soft white teeth reminiscent of toothbrush bristles; and centipedes scrambling beneath thorny weeds to protect bodies covered with silvery velvet hides and legs studded with tiny green jewels.
Most of the animals and bugs ignore us, which I prefer. I can't hear them or the flowers. But when my tunic catches on a plant with dangling fruits that look like leathery crimson teacups hung upside down, I consider touching it.
"I would not bother those, were I you," Morpheus calls from in front of me, not even sparing a glance my way.
I jerk my hand back. "Is the fruit poisonous?"
"It's not fruit," Dad answers from behind. "Those are egg sacs for AnyElsewhere's amphibious genus of bats."
Bats that live on land and in water. Creepy.
I give the plants a wide berth so as not to disturb the teacup-shaped flower pods. The poem from Carroll's story echoes in the back of my mind:
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!
While trying to remember the rest of the words, I stumble into a large shrub. A confused medley of monarch butterflies stirs from the leaves. Their wings are paper-thin and metallic, like a mix between hammered copper and stained glass. I reach to capture one, but my netherling intuition stops my hand midair.
"What about the butterflies?" I ask.
"They're indigenous to this place," Morpheus answers from a few steps ahead, before Dad can. "And by that, you can expect them to be the opposite of what you'd expect. The crocodiles' teeth are as gentle as a brushstroke, and their temperament the same. They're rather like kittens in this world. But butterflies? One sting, and you're turned to stone. Or, they might choose to slice an artery with a razor-sharp wing. The constant changes in scenery serve to keep the wildlife distracted. Ignore them, and they'll show you the same courtesy."
As the graceful butterflies ride away on a current of air, I notice a shiny, sharp needle protruding from each of their thoraxes, curved and poison-tipped like a scorpion's stinger.
Things quiet down as the wildlife moves on to their usual routines. If you could call anything about teacup-eggs and metal-winged scorpions usual…
After discussing a few other weird creatures with Dad, I release my wings and flutter to catch up to Morpheus.
He glances over as I light beside him. A satisfied smile greets me.
"What?" I ask.
"You may not be dressed like royalty, but it's good to see you embrace your netherling side so openly."
I study my red boots, suppressing a rush of pride. He doesn't know the half of how easy it's getting to let the madness have free reign. "So, are you going to tell me who this Manti is? Is he dangerous?"
"Bah. He's an ambitious manticorn who's been a lowly knave for far too long. He craves prestige and power. Nothing to concern you."
The fact that there's a real-life half man/half unicorn running around is enough to concern me, and Morpheus's assurance feels forced at best.
"Don't you think we'd get there faster if we flew?" I ask to suppress my jittery nerves. "Dad can use your griffon. You could let him ride him."
Morpheus returns his attention to the landscape. His bejeweled profile sparkles from red to black. "I don't much feel like sharing with your father. I'm sure you can understand."
"Then wait for us, and I'll go back and get one of the parasols the birds left."
"Don't much feel like waiting, either."
I frown. "Stop being so petty." I look back at Dad, who's keeping us in his sight from a few steps behind. "Put yourself in his place. Can you imagine what he's been through? The nightmares he's had to relive and accept as reality over the past few hours?"
Several steps ahead of me now, Morpheus lifts his head, letting the humid breeze ripple the blue fringe at the edges of his hat. "Yes, poor fellow. Must've been unbearable, realizing how much the woman he adores loves him back."
Flapping my wings, I match his swift pace. "You can't possibly compare their romance to…"
He appraises my face, wearing a wry smirk. "To whose, Alyssa?"
I nibble the inside of my lip, annoyed with myself for almost showing my hand. "Wait." I study him, from head to toe. Yes, he still appears to be the same Morpheus I've always known. But there is one discernible difference: His wings trail behind him like drizzles of ink, whereas mine flap, lifting me inches above the ground. "This isn't you holding a grudge. This is you changing the subject. You're stalling."
Morpheus scoffs as he drags another mat of drifting land close enough for us to step on without getting wet. "Ludicrous. Why would I do that?"
I jump lightly across. "Because you need the griffon. You can't fly any more than my dad can."
While we wait for Dad to catch up, Morpheus holds the adjoining island in place with the walking stick. The only sound is the geysers burbling all around. His silence speaks volumes.
I grasp his hand where he clutches his cane. Through his thin glove, I feel his muscles tense. "I haven't seen you use your wings. Not once since I've been here. That bird thing…he said you have to recharge. You're out of magic. Which means you're not immune to the dome. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
His other hand closes over mine-making me the captive instead of the captor-as he meets my gaze. "Of course. As soon as you tell me what's in the teensy diary around your neck."
My heartbeat hammers the tiny book where it rests atop my sternum. It's still under my tunic, so there's no way he's seen it. "How did you-?"
"Chessie speaks through his eyes. All you have to do is look, and listen."
Chessie's tail slips over the edge of Morpheus's pocket and squirms as if to taunt me.
"Actually," I say, almost to myself, "we have been learning to communicate lately."
"Good." Morpheus nods. "A queen's top priority should be an open rapport with her subjects. Now, back to my question."
I press my lips together, not ready to share the diary's secret. Bringing up my plan to vanquish Red will open the subject of the life-magic vow I made to Morpheus a month ago, that I'd spend twenty-four hours with him after I defeated her. This isn't the time or place to discuss that.
Dad crosses to where we are, obviously distracted by our joined hands. "What are we stopping for?"
Morpheus scowls. "Simply waiting for the human to catch up, whilst knowing that he never truly will," he quips, cool as always. Yet there's a worried crease between his eyebrows-a subconscious tic he can't hide from me. He never answered my question about his wings. The invincible Morpheus is crippled. And that saddens me.
We start walking again, Dad trailing behind. I want to press Morpheus more about his weaknesses here, but his pride won't let him answer. So I change the subject. "I'm feeling curious again."
He twirls his walking stick. "Ah, of course. It is your most endearing quality."
I shake my head at his teasing. "The birds mentioned the Queen of Hearts earlier. Is that Red's pseudonym here?"
Morpheus tilts his chin. "The Queen of Hearts is not in fact Queen Red. Your mum often confused them, though I tried to set her straight. Hart was a queen of the Red Court centuries ago. She is distantly related to you. She had barbaric tendencies, murdering her subjects for the most inane reasons. Taking a bite off a tart and leaving it on a plate, or spilling her finger paints. For this, she inherited the sobriquet of Hartless. In a twisted bid for respect, she began to collect the one thing her subjects said she was missing."
"Hearts?" I ask, almost gagging at the thought. "That's what the goon meant earlier, when he said those who don't win the caucus race will lose their beating hearts?"
"Precisely. Netherling hearts are unique. They can be harvested so they continue to beat forever even after their bodily cage is gone. The queen has mastered this technique. She can also sense a heart's quality. She uses the organs for everything from clothing embellishments to paperweights. She was banned from the kingdom for that practice, and sent here after she became too violent and murderous to contain. Unfortunately, now she is harboring Red's spirit. Two queens for the price of one. It's quite a bargain."
My throat clenches. "But you said spirits can't possess other bodies here…"
"Unless said 'body' is willing, and of the same bloodline. In the absence of magic, lineage becomes the strongest bind. The flower fae that Red arrived in was damaged. In fact, when I last saw her, I thought she was as good as dead-fodder for the goon birds. But she convinced them to carry her to Hart's castle and worked out some sort of bargain with her ancestor to share her body. Although I have yet to hear what the terms were."
Dread chills my bones. If Red is inside another queen's body, a queen who is just as malicious and savage as she is, the memories in my diary could be useless. I need something else to bargain with. Maybe if I figure out Red's ultimate plan…"I heard something earlier, from Humphrey's friend, Hubert. We stopped at his inn."
Morpheus practically beams. "Ah, Hubert. How is the old sot?"
"Glittery." I furrow my brow. "And grumpy."
A deep laugh rumbles in Morpheus's chest. "I've always enjoyed his company."
"Yeah." I scowl. "He's a real good egg."
Morpheus laughs again, and I can't contain an answering smirk.
"Anyway," I continue, "he said something unbelievable about Red and Lewis Carroll. That they knew each other before Alice came into the picture." Morpheus looks genuinely surprised but waits for me to finish. "Red wanted Lewis to find Wonderland, according to the egghead. Do you know anything about that?"
Morpheus doesn't have a chance to respond before the sun rips through the clouds overhead, a blinding flash that makes us shield our eyes. The sky fades to a peachy sheen and the ground shakes. Morpheus grabs on to my elbow. Water drains from the moats and the puzzle pieces clack together once more. The barren trees that surround us sprout green shimmery leaves and white flowers; in the same instant, grass forms a fringe around our feet.
When everything stabilizes, including the ground, Morpheus lets me go and Dad catches up to us. I squint. It's bright enough that we each cast a shadow, and the tall, leafy foliage forms dappled shade on the ground. Even the smells have changed, from stagnant and smoky to fragrant and flowery, carried on a temperate breeze. It's like springtime in Texas. A pang of homesickness chases that thought. I'm about to mention it to Dad, when a green-tinged sparkly light-no bigger than a grasshopper-drifts down from the sky.
As it descends, the lima-bean-colored skin, glittery scales curved around breasts and torso, and pointed ears, come into view. The sprite's wings flutter, milky white and furred with fuzz, and her hair glistens like strands of spun brown sugar. She drops onto Morpheus's shoulder, burrowing beneath his hat. As he lifts a pinky to pet her foot, she peeks out from behind his blue curtain of hair, metallic eyes shimmering like copper sunglasses.
"So, my lovely little Nikki," Morpheus says to her tenderly. "I suppose you're here to warn me that my ride is coming."
She speaks so softly into his ear, all I can hear is tinkling music like a wind chime.
"Wait," I say. "Why can she fly without mutating? That doesn't make sense."
"You'll have all the answers you seek soon enough." Morpheus hands me his walking stick. The gesture is mechanical, almost resigned. "And you shall be reunited with Jebediah, as well. But beware. He's not the same boy you once knew."
"Huh?" I ask.
"Simply tell the cane to fly," Morpheus says, sidestepping my question. "Above all, don't get it wet." Then he turns his back on me.
The hair at my nape prickles when I notice his shadow doesn't turn with him. Instead, it faces him head-to-head, more like a blotted reflection than an eclipsed outline on the ground. Sighing, Morpheus grasps hands with the dark silhouette and is lifted into the sky on ghostly echoes of his own wings. The tiny sprite looks me over once before following them.
I gape, unmoving.
Dad places a hand on my back. "We have to go. He's our only ticket to Jeb and out of here." His voice is tremulous, and I know he's as freaked as I am.
I hand him the griffon staff.
Arranging the duffel bag on his shoulder over his dagger, he straddles the cane like a child atop a stick horse. "Fly," he half whispers, and-with a rustle of feathers and fur-the creature comes to life. Its beak opens with a roar. The eaglelike wings thrash, rustling my hair, as the griffon ascends with Dad holding tight to its mane.
I suppress the questions spinning in my head, flap my wings, and soar up-up-up, keeping both Dad and Morpheus in my sights as we cut through fluffy clouds, headed toward the white-capped waves of an ocean that glistens in the distance.
A mountain rises from the water upon our descent as if it were waiting for us. The sprite and Morpheus, along with his shadow, plummet toward the boulders on the slope. The mountain opens and swallows them before the entrance closes again.
The moment Dad hits solid ground, the griffon transforms into the cane. I land beside them. My wings weigh heavy at my shoulder blades, weary from the workout. I wipe sweat from my brow.
"What now?" Dad asks.
I try to find a crevice or crack that might be the key to opening the mountain. "Could I borrow that?" I reach for Morpheus's walking stick and use the talons to dig at some pebbles. When nothing happens, I stomp my feet along jagged outcroppings.
"Stop it!" A voice-grinding, like stones clacking together. "Stop it at once!"
My chin drops.
"That's no way to make a first impression," the voice speaks again.
"Yes, to make an impression, you really should have a chisel," a second, less peevish voice, adds.
Two faces appear on the mountainside, one of them made of soil, the other of stone. The stony face is the cranky one and has large bulging eyes. The other-the dusty face-has a squinty, almost humorous demeanor.
Dad drops the duffel bag and takes a seat on it. His left eyelid is twitching as fast as the second hand on a clock.
"It's okay, Dad. I got this."
Nodding, he rubs a hand through his hair.
Stepping across some loose pebbles, I make my way over to the squinty-eyed face. "We need to get inside."
"Ohhhh, sorry," says the stony, grumpy voice from behind me. "Only the master can open the door."
"Yep, sorry." Squinty-eyes looks at me sympathetically. "So sorry, in fact, my heart sinks for you."
The ground beneath us quakes and we start to sink into the ocean. Dad gathers the duffel bag, and together we climb as fast as the ocean rises around us. All the times I went rock climbing with Jeb come back to me, and I have the added advantage of wings. Dad does, too, with the griffon cane.
"We're going to have to fly!" I yell. "Before the peak is submerged!"
Dad gets knocked off balance when the duffel bag and dagger slide from his shoulder. He catches them at the last minute but loses the cane. It shuttles down the moving mountainside and plops into the rising waves. When it surfaces, it's the griffon. It screeches, wings flapping as it flails, then melts bit by bit until it's an oily puddle of floating colors.
Dad and I stare in disbelief, oblivious to the waves ebbing at our ankles.
"Allie, go!" Dad shouts, the first one to remember that the mountain is dropping.
Climbing in time with him, I try to coax out my magic. My mind is racing so fast, my imagination can't catch up. I draw a blank. "Stop!" I screech to the mountain out of desperation.
The movement pauses. White froth laps my shins. "Your master would want you to help us," I say, hoping to coax the faces back into view.
"Is that so?" The dirt one appears at the mountain's tip. "Well, there is another way in."
Panting, Dad and I exchange hopeful glances.
"Okay. What would that be?" I ask.
"A horse. A special horse. He can get you inside. All you need is to shout his name at the top of your lungs."
Something tells me I'm going to regret asking, but I do anyway. "So…what's his name?"
"I can't say it for you, bony fool."
I scowl, holding back the urge to stomp on the dirt clods making up the face's lips. "Then give me a hint. The letters of the name…an anagram. Something!"
"All's I can say is it's a horse."
The other face appears on the edge of a golf ball-size stone, the features scrunched up to fit the smaller surface. "A horse without legs that can move up and down and forward and backward…A horse without a saddle that can cradle the most fragile rider…A horse without wings that can sail with the grace of a bird."
I slide my palm down my face. "Are you kidding me? Another stupid riddle?"
The stony speaker curls his mouth to a frown. "I'd rather tread water than listen to your bellyaching. You have only one guess, so be sure you're right!" Then, rocking back and forth until his stone loosens, he rolls into the water with a kerplunk.
Squinty-eyes looks up at me and crinkles the sprig of grass that makes up his nose. "Best you figure it out fast. Because your ingratitude has me feeling very low."
The mountain starts to sink again. Within moments, the waves lick our thighs.
I groan. "Dad, what do you think?"
He rubs his twitching eyelid. "Not sure. Maybe a rocking horse?"
I consider the clues. It does seem to match, mostly. "What about the sailing part? Rocking horses don't sail. Maybe a carousel horse. They're suspended on a pole, so that could count. They move up and down. But they don't move back and forth, really. And they have legs…"
The water reaches Dad's abdomen. "Allie." His expression is the one he gives me when he's about to lay down the law. I don't want to hear what he's thinking, because I already know.
"You're going to have to fly," he says as the water laps at my sternum. "Go while we still have ground to stand on."
"No! I'm not going to let you get hurt!" Not like I did Mom.
Her face comes back to me, the desperation in her eyes as the mome wraiths snatched her away and dragged her into the crumbling rabbit hole along with Sister Two and all her soul-filled toys. I couldn't hold on, no matter how I tried. Tears burn along the edges of my lashes.
"Dad, I summoned the creatures that took Mom away. I'm responsible for the danger she's in. If she's gone forev-"
"Alyssa Victoria Gardner." Dad catches my hands in his. "Don't even say it. Whatever you did, it was because you had to. Mom knows that. She's strong, and she's okay. And we're going to find her."
We. I teeter inwardly, my emotions rocking. "You promise you'll be with me?"
"To the very end. You can get us out of this."
"How?" If only I were strong enough to carry him.
"I know how to swim," he answers. "I can backstroke long enough for you to get one of those automated parasols the birds left, or even a piece of driftwood I can cling to."
It's like last year in Wonderland, when I couldn't carry Jeb across the chasm. I was supposed to find a way to come back for him, but I failed him, just like I failed Mom.
My teeth clamp tight. I can't let my doubts win.
I nod to Dad.
He drops the duffel so he can lie back in the water. The bag trails bubbles as it submerges. I scan the distance, unable to see land anywhere. I've no idea how far we've come, or if the parasols disappeared when the landscape changed last.
Still, I have to try.
Hugging Dad tight, I press a kiss to his cheek, tasting salt from the ocean's spray. "I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," he says, and nuzzles the top of my head.
He binds his fingers together for a step to lift me from the water. Taking a deep breath, I push up and spread my wings high, rivulets drizzling from them as I rise.
"When you're ready, I'll launch you." Dad forces his lips into his famous Elvis half smile. His fake confidence has the opposite effect, reminding me of all the times he put up a front when Mom was in the asylum, and during these past weeks she's been gone. He's doing it again, even though he's as confused and scared as I am.
It's time for me to be the strong one.
Preparing for liftoff, I shake my wings. They're heavy on my back, not just from being soaked, but from the moss wrapped around them like sea creatures.
Sea creatures.
The waves creep to Dad's chin. "Allie, hurry." He spouts water from his mouth. His fingers tense under my boot's sole.
"Wait," I plead. A horse without legs that can move up and down, forward and backward…A horse without a saddle that can cradle the most fragile rider…A horse without wings that can sail with the grace of a bird.
"A sea horse…," I whisper. They use their tails to maneuver in any direction, carry their babies in pouches, glide gracefully through the water as if sailing.
"No more time!" Dad yells, and thrusts me up into the sky-just before his head disappears beneath the water.
"Sea horse!" I shout loud enough to make my lungs ache, spreading my wings and flapping so I hover in place.
Dad resurfaces, doing the backstroke. The water bulges as something giant rises behind him. An armored hump bursts out, covered with bony plates, clear like glass. Water streams off to reveal the curve of a spine beneath the transparent armor. The graceful neck of a sea horse-as big as the Loch Ness Monster's-emerges. Sun glistens off the creature. It's beautiful, and looks more like a glass statue than a living counterpart: a sea horse's body with the head of a wild stallion.
Its belly pouch opens, and a funnel of water drags Dad toward it. I dive to join him. We slip into the translucent pocket. The opening cinches closed before the creature submerges once more. The cavity is damp, but comfortable. Dad and I sit and hold on to one another, watching underwater plants and confused fish dart past as we descend toward the sunken mountain. An entrance appears-just as it did with Morpheus-and held safe within our living submarine, we glide into a dark tunnel as the mountain closes around us, shutting out the light.
9 MIND'S EYE
As we surface, a muted, purplish glow casts shadows all around. The sea horse bends its spine back and forth, squeezing its pouch until we burst free into the shallows.
I cough and shove myself to my hands and knees. Behind me, my wings drape, as soggy and muddy as my clothes. The sea horse snorts, blows froth from its equestrian muzzle, then sinks back into the depths.
Weak from physical exertion, I force myself to stand in the ankle-deep water. Dad gets up, offers his hand, and we wade to a cement embankment to sit and catch our breath.
"Any idea where this is?" I ask, wringing out my tunic. "Did you visit here as a child? Do you remember?"
His brows furrow. "This world is so different than I remember, Allie. It keeps changing. It's as if we're in a picture book and the pages are flipping in the wind."
When I glance over my shoulder for a closer look at the dim tunnel, my breath catches: Graffiti stretches for what seems like miles-words like love, death, anarchy, peace, and pictures of broken hearts, stars, and faces are painted in fluorescent colors.
It's a replica of the storm drain Jeb and I almost drowned in over a month ago, the one we used to go to as kids. It even sounds the same, with water dripping all around. But there's one huge difference: The images on these walls are moving.
The broken hearts stitch themselves together, beat several times, then break and bleed. The stars shoot from one end to the other, leaving sparkles in their wake that catch fire and snuff out with the scent of scorched leaves. And the faces glare at us, as if angry. I muffle a whimper.
"Do you see that?" I ask Dad.
"It's not possible."
"Anything is possible here," I correct, then stand, facing the ultraviolet images. My legs tremble, but I step forward. "You realize what this means?"
Dad doesn't respond.
Of course he doesn't. He can't see inside my past.
"These are from Jeb's memories," I explain. "Our memories." The thought that I'm about to see him makes every muscle in my body leap. I take off for the far end of the tunnel.
"Allie, we need to be careful." Dad catches up, gripping my shoulder.
I shake him off. "We have to find him!" But with each step, the tunnel shrinks, and so do we. Either that, or it's an illusion-because I don't feel like I'm shrinking. I've done that enough to have the sensation memorized.
No. We're not getting smaller. The images are growing, elongating. They lift from their places on the walls and scrape our skin as we pass. The stars singe my sleeves; the hearts drizzle wet blood. The faces nibble at me-their teeth cold and prickly like straight pins.
I shiver as Dad and I move faster.
A sketch stands guard at the tunnel's end-a neon orange fairy whose wings spread behind her in pinks, blues, and whites.
It's me. The one Jeb painted on the tunnel wall in our world. But this is not a part of the wall. She's facing us, an ominous barricade…
"Stay behind me." Dad draws the dagger, waving it as he faces her. Bright colors reflect off the shiny blade and the iron bypasses her lines. Dad steps through without any trouble. "Come on, Butterfly. It's just an illusion." He holds out a hand.
I reach for him, but something jerks his shoulder from the shadows behind. The dagger falls from his grasp and hits the floor with a clang. "Run, Allie!" he yelps as he's dragged away out of my sight.
Terror ices my spine. "Dad!"
My fluorescent double steps back into place, blocking me. "You should be in pieces like the others," she whispers. Her breath smells of sadness, lost dreams, and abandoned hopes-like stale, dust-covered keepsakes in a forgotten attic.
I grit my teeth against revulsion and fear. Dad walked right through her. That's proof she's not real.
I lunge.
My body meets a prickly barrier, each sketched line piercing like barbed wire. I yell and my attacker echoes me. I rip free from her barbs and hit the ground. My bones rattle even with my wings cushioning the impact.
The drawing drifts toward me, her body and face warping as she gets closer. Her mouth stretches cavernously wide and she screeches, "Shred her!"
Her thorny fingers scrape my neck. I shield my face, trying to use magic to recruit the other graffiti along the walls to help. Either I'm too panicked or they're under someone else's spell, because they refuse to obey.
I roll and snatch the dagger Dad dropped in the adjoining passage. In the same move, I whip the blade through the fairy's fluorescent lines, but it has no effect. She attacks again, along with the other graffiti now pulled away from the walls. They surround me: glowing, barbed wire artwork.
I toss away the dagger and hold my hands over my head like we did in school during tornado drills. The diary at my neck trembles and shakes. I brave a look at the sensation of warmth at my chest. Light radiates from under my tunic, as if the words on the pages are infrared.
The drawings shudder and back up, each of them whimpering, even the fairy sketch. They reattach to the walls and settle into place, leaving the adjoining tunnel unguarded.
I scoop up Dad's dagger and plunge after him, using the red glow from the diary to guide me. It's the first time I've seen the tiny book react in such a way, as if the magic inside is burning to come out. I'm not sure what caused it, but I'm grateful. It saved my life.
Absorbing my wet, weighted wings into my skin, I maneuver down the narrow corridors. The sound of dripping water fades. My plastic boots splat on the stone floor. Every nerve in my body skitters at what the sketches planned to do to me and what might be happening to my dad.
You should be in pieces like the others…Shred her!
What did the fairy sketch mean, the others? I squirm in my damp clothes.
The ceiling drops gradually, as if I'm growing again. The sensation is dizzying, but also gives me a sense of security. The bigger I am, the stronger I feel.
Masculine voices echo through the corridor and lure me to a passageway on my right, where soft slivers of light filter from behind a heavy-looking door that's ajar. I sneak toward it, in hopes one of the voices belongs to Dad.
"You've no inkling what you've done in your desperation to keep me under your thumb." It's Morpheus. "No idea what you caused me to leave behind."
"It wasn't desperation," Jeb answers.
An all-encompassing relief swarms through me at the sound of his voice. I inch closer to the door's opening.
"The sprites told me Manti was after you," Jeb continues from the other side. "That he'd sent some goon birds your way. And this is the thanks I get. For saving your ass for the thousandth time since we've been here."
"Bloody hell, my arse," Morpheus speaks. "Your arse is on a blasted power trip, as always. But you crossed a line. And once I tell you what you've done, you'll never forgive yourself."
Jeb huffs. "Uh-huh. Sit up here so I can fix your ear. I have a painting to finish."
The domestic undertone of their interaction is so fascinating it makes me pause. I wonder how long they've been holed up here together. For the entire time they've been trapped in this realm? I peer inside.
My breath hitches as I see Jeb's back. He's shirtless, wearing faded, ripped jeans in a room lit with a pinkish-orange sunset. The light streams through a glass ceiling. It's like a greenhouse-a carbon copy of the art studio in the human realm where he was trapped a month ago. There's the pattern again: Everything here is born and built of Jeb's memories.
Paint glistens in wet smudges on his toned arms. I hold my breath, wishing for a glimpse of his face, but he won't turn. His hair is longer now, the dark, unkempt waves just shy of touching his shoulders.
Morpheus misled me. Jeb hasn't changed. He even has the same passions.
There are easels everywhere. Some untouched, others filled with landscapes, a few of which match the changing terrains we experienced in the midst of the looking-glass world. My brow crinkles as I try to make sense of it all.
Morpheus sits on a table in front of Jeb, dark wings draped forward and dragging on the floor. His discarded gloves lie in his lap, and he picks at one of the holes in his pant leg.
His little sprite companion, Nikki, flutters around both guys as if unsure where to perch.
Jeb lifts a paintbrush to Morpheus's ear, accidentally stepping on the tip of a wing.
Morpheus winces and slaps Jeb's hand away. "Ouch! Your bedside manner is sorely lacking, pseudo elf."
Nikki hovers at the tip of Jeb's nose, shaking a finger. After gently shooing the sprite away, he leans over Morpheus and lifts his brush again. "If you'd keep those things up on the table, there wouldn't be an issue. Now hold still and stop acting like a little girl."
A pulse of violet light passes from the wet bristles to Morpheus's ear. Like magic, the wound heals. I stifle a surprised moan.
Back still turned, Jeb straightens to appraise his handiwork.
Morpheus smirks-a practiced, acerbic twist of lips. "So, is there any particular girl I remind you of?"
Nikki flutters between them, her hands clasped and head tilted in a dramatic gesture. She bats her lashes.
"You're right, Nikki." Dragging a fingertip through the paint on Jeb's chest, Morpheus rubs the smudge between his thumb and finger. "He must be thinking of his girlfriend. Though I daresay, if I were Alyssa, his bedside manner would improve tremendously."
Jeb throws his brush down and grips Morpheus by his holey lapel, every muscle in his back taut. Nikki hovers, her tinkling voice scolding them both.
"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.
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. The 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."
"Jeb?" I ask on a whisper.
He doesn't answer.
"Perhaps it's time for you to erase everything and start anew." Morpheus speaks quietly, gentle helpfulness and measured wisdom, though it's obvious he's egging Jeb on.
Jeb meets his gaze. "I think it's time for you to stop talking."
"Why? Alyssa will figure it all out soon enough."
I'm feeling nauseated again. "I want you both to stop talking about me like I'm not here. What happened to you, Jeb? Was it when you went through the gate? You mutated?"
Morpheus laughs. "'Mutated.' The word you're looking for is evolved, luv. He has shed his monkey mortal state and donned the robes of netherling immortality. That's a step up, not a step down."
Jeb growls from beside one of his easels. "Just shut it, Morpheus. I'll decide how much she needs to know and when to tell her."
"Well, let us hope you decide before she's torn to bits, aye?"
I gulp.
Jeb tugs a drop cloth into place over a painting and moves to cover another. "Your dad is worried about you." He addresses me without even a glance in my direction. "I'm going to take you to him…so you can rest together."
It's Jeb I need to be alone with, even if it's for a short walk down a corridor. "Thank you."
Morpheus scoops up Chessie and the sprite and strides across the room. He pauses at the door, his wings and back facing us. "Sleep safely, Alyssa. When you wake, I'll help you strategize your battle plans. Bear in mind, I haven't forgotten the vow you made to me. Nor do I intend to let you forget."
I stare at the empty corridor after he leaves. Help me strategize my battle plans? He knows I'm going after Red. His earlier fascination with the diary…somehow, he's figured out that I plan to use what's on the pages to destroy her. The war's not even won and he's already collecting on the spoils.
"So, are you going to tell me what kind of deal you made with the cockroach?" Jeb watches me as he buttons the black shirt, covering his circular scars before I can count them. I'm tempted to use my magic to impede his progress, to expose his skin to the evening light around us. My fingers itch to seek out the flawed parts of him…the damaged, authentic places that prove he's real-that he's the boy I've trusted and depended on since my fifth-grade summer. That the human I love is still somewhere inside.
After my encounter with his doppelganger and Morpheus's accusations about his pent-up rage, I need some assurance.
"Al."
My name on his tongue shifts my eyes to his. What I wouldn't give to hear him call me skater girl.
"What was Morpheus talking about?" he presses.
"I promised him something," I answer softly. I don't want to admit what he already knows. That there's more going on between me and Morpheus than I ever let on.
"A promise, huh? How romantic." His words slash like knives. He's become a master at wielding more than a brush since he's been here. "So that's why you've crashed our little paradise. To keep your promise to Morpheus."
I wince. "No. I came to rescue you both. You have every right not to believe me…to be mad at me. I know this has been hell. This place…it's broken you."
"I was broken before that." His tortured expression delivers the allegation-thanks to you and bug-rot-better than his voice ever could. "But I've taken my life back. I'm the one with magic here. I have the ability to make the world as it should be. As it always should've been."
He lifts his right hand, and rolls his sleeve cuff so the tattoo shows on his inner wrist. The Latin words Vivat Musa aren't black anymore. They glow with the same violet magic as his brush did earlier, giving new meaning to their translation: Long live the muse.
"I understand now," he murmurs. "Why the power seduced you. With just a turn of my hand I can create, kill, maim, and heal." There's a dreamlike quality to his movements and words, as if he's in a trance. Blinking, he drops his arm to his side again. "No one can ever make me, or anyone I care about, a victim again. This place isn't hell. It's heaven. And I…I am a god."
The ominous declaration hangs between us. My chest caves in, as if someone punched me.
Jeb's shimmery gaze treks across my face, then he steps out the door.
The moon appears outside the glass ceiling, gilding the surroundings with a silvery haze. Rustles erupt under the drop cloths as the paintings begin to move. They jab at the heavy covers as if trying to break free.
Biting my tongue to keep from screaming, I leap from the table and follow the man responsible for the monsters…the man dangerously close to becoming one himself.
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