"I don't know," I mutter, as much to myself as anyone.
The diary has protected me at least twice while I've been inside this mountain. Does it think Jeb is a danger to me, too?
Is he?
"It's just words," I add. "Magical words. Nothing to do with you." I can't be any more specific, or he'll figure out that I'm planning to search for Red while he and Dad are gone.
Jeb narrows his eyes, as if he doesn't buy it. I'm bewildered, wondering once more where all this animosity and suspicion is coming from.
Dad chooses that instant to step back into the room. He notices my half-painted state and quickly looks away. "Everything okay with you two?"
"Never better," Jeb says.
Dad picks up the duffel and carries it to the table to sift through the supplies with his back turned, an obvious ploy to give us privacy.
Not that we need it. Jeb makes additions-a panel of lace flowing out from my T-shirt's hem to cover my navel and lower back, and fingerless gloves that match-so removed from the motions, I feel as if I am a one-dimensional doll after all, and he's folding paper clothes around me.
When he's done, he leads me to the cheval mirror so I can watch as he taps each painted piece with the brush's tip, now lit with violet sorcery.
The golden pigment on my legs transforms to glittery, footless tights that end at my ankles. They bend and stretch, like spandex. The two flaps of red, ivory, and green plaid he painted from my waist to midthigh form a front and back seam on a miniskirt, and the black cropped T-shirt loosens to a comfortable fit. The ivory skull and gold vines on front puff out as if embroidered with metallic thread.
He takes down my hair, then whisks the paintbrush through my platinum blond waves. I reach up to touch a tiara-like headband of white roses and glistening rubies that match my crimson streak.
For the first time in a month, I feel like me again. Part netherling and part human-and a touch regal.
Jeb's reflection appears behind mine, his chin above my head. He drops the diary and key necklaces into place, careful to touch only the strings. "I can't stress this enough," he says. "Don't get the clothes wet."
I turn to thank him for giving me such beautiful things, but he's already across the room, discussing the Wonderland gate mission with Dad.
Back behind my screen, I check under my clothes. The bandages have bonded with the painted outfit, leaving only Morpheus's lacy gifts intact. I pull my Barbie boots over my tights. We decided it was better I have waterproof shoes. As soon as I step out, Dad and Jeb escort me to the lighthouse.
Dad gives me a hug and strict instructions not to budge till they return. Together, they head back to the boat. I'm gloating to myself, laughing at how they've forgotten I can fly, when Jeb stops halfway down the stone stairs, says something to my dad, and returns to where I'm standing.
He grips the doorframe above my head, leaning over me, his strong features lit up by the moon. "I know you're planning to leave," he says.
I stifle a denial, furious he can anticipate my every move when I can't even peel away one layer of his thoughts.
"There are only two ways to get out of this refuge," he continues. "One, the way you came in. I've commanded the graffiti not to hurt you, but also not to let you into that tunnel. You don't have enough rainwater here to erase them all. And if you try to take water from this ocean, it will evaporate as soon as you carry it out of the scene. The other way is the mountain passage, and I'm the only one who controls it."
The netherling in me is impressed by his new role as master manipulator. But the human side, the one who knows this isn't the real Jeb, is afraid of what he's become.
"Take advantage of this time," he insists. "Rest and preserve your strength for Wonderland. It isn't going to be a picnic for you or your dad." The old Jeb flashes into view as he looks hesitant, and I wonder if he's considered what it will mean for us if he stays in AnyElsewhere. That it will be good-bye forever.
He drops his burned hand and squints at the fresh scar. "You never told me what was in that book."
I cradle the diary between my fingers. "I told you it was words."
He huffs. "Well, it looks like words will always stand between us then, huh?" With that, he leaves. "Sometimes words are louder than actions" echoes in the scrape of his boot soles on the stone steps.
What could I have said the last time we were together that was so treasonous it tore his faith in us apart?
Gritting my teeth, I slam the door. Despite what Morpheus would have me believe, there's something other than rage, jealousy, and regret eating away at the Jeb I know. Maybe netherling magic is too much for any mortal to harness without going crazy.
I sit on the bed in the tower. Worried about Jeb and Dad's excursion, and disoriented by the perpetual darkness, I leave the canopy curtains open and lie on my side to watch the starry sky through the porthole. I breathe in the salty air, and plan my escape: Once Jeb and Dad have time to leave, I'll seek out Morpheus in the underground rooms. He's bound to know of another exit from the mountain. We'll use the diary to lead us to Red. Although I'm not sure how we'll find our way back afterward.
My eyelids grow heavy and I fall asleep…
Somewhere in my dreams, I see glimpses of Mom. Her hair is long now, far past her shoulders and shimmering with a soft, pinkish tint. She looks healthy, aglow with magic. She's with Grenadine in the Red castle, replacing my substitute queen's whispering ribbons in the absence of Bill the Lizard. Each day, Mom gently reminds Grenadine of the things she needs to remember. For that, she's respected and revered by the court's subjects.
But there's a darkness encroaching that respects no one…a dusky dread that creeps along the castle walls and seeps into the crevices.
Before it can overtake the palace, Ivory and her knights arrive. Ivory blows a silvery mist that freezes everything it touches, including the card guards. Then she leads Mom and Grenadine somewhere safe. A place of light and glistening hope.
The dream ends, leaving their location a mystery. All I know is Mom has found sanctuary.
Unsure how long I slept, I scramble out of bed and sprint through the door. The moment the night air hits me, I free my wings. Half flying and half hopping, I race down the steps toward the shore. I leap at the last minute. My boots skim the water, then I'm airborne.
I'm reminded of how Mom flew alongside me on prom night. Morpheus once told me that she and I have an unusual bond. That he was able to use her dreams as a conduit into mine. Maybe she's found some way to reverse that power and communicate with me. Maybe by having me here in AnyElsewhere, so close to Wonderland, she's able to break through-because the dream I had feels like a premonition.
My body lightens and I rise higher as if the thoughts of her are giving me lift. The waves shrink, farther and farther below. The whitecaps look like foam on a cappuccino, the water as dark as coffee with only the starlight to see by.
Once inside the mountain hallways, I absorb my wings and head straight to Jeb's studio-the only door that's ajar. The sun is shining, so maybe I didn't sleep too long. I glance at the table and paintbrushes. The one he used on my clothes still glimmers with violet magic.
I take the brush and follow the direction Morpheus turned when escorted by the moths. Five doors line the twisting hallway. I jiggle each knob in passing, not surprised to find them locked.
The first door is fashioned entirely of marbles. The next one's wooden face is marred with cigarette burns. Another is crafted of gnarled bark with a draping of willow leaves. Velvety red rose petals form the next to last one. I stroke the soft flowers and breathe in their delicate fragrance, thoughtful.
"Morpheus!" I call out. Hearing nothing, I decide to open them all-find him by process of elimination. There aren't any keyholes. Come to think of it, each time Jeb unlocks the diamond door, he simply commands the ruby knob to open.
"Open," I say to the door of marbles, but nothing happens. I lift the glowing paintbrush and tap the knob with the bristles. Still nothing. Then I notice the diary necklace is glowing. Not only that, it's reaching toward the doorknob, pulling the string tight around my neck, as if magnetized.
Crinkling my brow, I lean down so it can touch the metal handle. There's a spark and a click. Setting the brush aside, I open the door and step into an exact replica of the entryway at Jenara and Jeb's house.
"Al?" Jenara greets me.
I gasp. Her eyes are dull and emotionless, like Jeb's elfin doppelganger. Her pink hair is pulled up and she wears a funky pair of black-and-white checked leggings with a metallic silver tunic.
"What brings you here?" She acts like it's the most natural thing to see me.
Emotions lodge in my throat. I want to throw myself into her arms. But this isn't Jen. She's nothing more than a hollow reflection of my best friend.
"Mom!" Jen calls. "Al's here! Make us some cookies or something equally Martha Stewart-ish." Linking our arms, Jen leads the way into the shadowy living room.
My skin prickles. She sounds like Jenara. She acts like Jenara. But, in my experience with some of Jeb's creations, she's not to be trusted.
"Hey there, Alyssa." A man's voice originates in the darkest corner of the room, from behind a wooden platform designed with wheels and pulleys. "Is Jeb with you?"
"Um…," I answer, recognizing the voice vaguely.
Jenara flicks on a floor lamp, illuminating the wooden contraption and the JABBERLOCKY'S MOUSETRAP painted on front.
"No," I mumble in disbelief. It's the same device that was at the bottom of the rabbit hole when Jeb and I fell inside the first time. The one that opened the doorway to the flower garden and the madness.
The one that started it all…
Jeb's dad stands up behind the wooden maze, tinkering with one of the pulleys. His profile looks young and kind-nothing like the bitter, weathered man he was before he died.
Nausea hits me. Jeb brought him back to life in this kinder version, to relive his ideal family moments. It's sweet, sad, and disturbing.
"Well, he has to be on his way," Mr. Holt says, and faces me full-on. I stifle a moan. His eyes glow orange, flickering like the lit end of a cigarette. When he blinks, ash falls, tumbling down his face and leaving gray streaks. "This is his favorite game, after all." He drops marbles into place on one of the ramps. "And he owes me a rematch."
"You're just hoping he lets you win this time, Dad." Jenara giggles. He winks at her, causing embers to crumble down his cheek.
I shudder. "Uh, I have to go." I back up with both Jen and her dad following.
"But you just got here," Jen says, her voice more threatening than friendly now.
I bump into something soft and mushy and turn on my heel.
"Cookie?" Jeb's plump mom smiles up at me and offers a plate piled with treats. Chocolate chip, bloody razor blade, and broken glass appear to be the flavor of the day.
"I don't belong here," I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from the deadly snacks.
"No, you don't," Mrs. Holt says. "Because we're here to make him happy. And you've made him sad. But we're going to fix that. Eat a cookie."
My gut twists. I sidle toward the center of the room as they surround me, the request becoming a hiss: "Yesssss, we insissst. Jussst one cookie…"
The diary at my neck releases a blazing red light. Jeb's pseudo-family leaps away screaming. They land on the floor, a tangled mess of limbs. Pulse hammering, I exit the room and shut them inside, thankful Jeb painted them in their own setting so they can't cross the threshold.
I press my back against the door. Its glassy chill seeps through the slits in my shirt. The marbles must represent making marble ramps with his father, one of Jeb's happiest memories. If that was a pleasant scene, I'm terrified to find what's behind the cigarette-burned door around the next bend.
I'm not sure if it's determination to find Morpheus or my dark side's desire to delve deeper into Jeb's mind, but I move forward.
Using the diary to trigger the latch, I peek inside. A gym with weights, a stationary bike, and a treadmill sit beneath blinking, dim fluorescent lights. There are no occupants, so I step in. A punching bag shaped like an egg hangs a few feet away from a wall of broken mirrors. The front faces me with painted eyes, round cheeks, and a mouth-a creeped-out, nursery rhyme version of Humpty Dumpty.
A hiss comes from the back of the bag. Trembling, I watch as it makes a slow revolution and somehow locks into place in spite of the twisted ropes that wait to unwind.
My breath gusts out of me. It's Mr. Holt's face on the other side. Not a flat drawing, but a flesh-and-bone, three-dimensional face, snarling. This is the Mr. Holt I knew: his once handsome features sharpened by anger and discontent, his cheeks hollowed out by too much alcohol and lack of proper nutrition.
His eyes, like the other Mr. Holt's, are formed of lit cigarette butts.
He scowls. "Trip me again. I dare you, worthless little punk. Make me spill my beer. That's what you get. Stop crying, dammit. That's what happens when you leave your toys out. No! Your mom shouldn't have to pick them up for you. It only makes her share your punishment. It's your fault she's bleeding. Your fault."
The childhood pictures I've seen of Jeb's agonized gaze burn into my brain. This is what he suffered every day. I'm amazed he survived at all. No wonder he always blamed himself for what happened to his mom and sister.
Mr. Holt's tongue continues to flap, the words degrading and hate-filled.
Something snaps inside me-the part that wants revenge for all he did to the boy I love. I lash out and slap his lips so hard the sound echoes sharply and my hand stings.
The bag spins around slowly. "Hahaha! Was that supposed to hurt? Your baby sister hits harder than you." Mr. Holt spits out a tooth, some blood, and a stream of obscenities.
I can't move. I actually left a mark on him…I cut his lip and broke a tooth. How many times has Jeb been here, pounding his father's face? Judging by the bruises and gashes on this bag, he probably lost count. If he felt as unfulfilled as I do right now, it didn't do him any good.
I rush from the room, my spirit heavy and dismal as I shut the cruel taunts of Mr. Holt behind the door.
Jeb, what have you done to yourself? He's fallen so far into despair and bitterness, it's as if he were dead. A vast hopelessness lodges in my soul and strangles all hope.
Legs heavy, I stumble around another twisting curve in the tunnel and reach the third doorway.
"Morpheus!" I shout again, voice cracking. I don't want to see any more. Jeb's not the boy I once knew, and I don't know how to get him back…
Worse, I don't have time to figure it out.
A motorized sound draws me to the door made of bark and willow leaves.
I hesitate. If each door symbolizes what's behind it, this one has something to do with the willow tree that joins my and Jeb's backyards. We used to play chess under it as kids. Then when we became a couple, we'd go there to be alone.
It doesn't make sense that he'd put Morpheus in here, but the vibrating sound hasn't stopped. "Morpheus?" The hum intensifies. I take a breath, tap the knob with the diary, and peer inside.
Snowflakes fall from the rafters. It smells like real snow, though it's not cold on the skin, only glistening. Black lights and fog complement the dreamy atmosphere. Unlike the other two rooms, this one's not demented or disturbing.
It's beautiful.
I step inside, cautious. The front half is decked out like a prom scene: silver pillars wrapped in greenery, an arch swathed in purple velvet, and white tulle draped around a wicker bench. Shiny Mardi Gras masks hang from rafters on varied lengths of string-purple, black, and silver.
A replica of the dress Jenara made me for prom is arranged atop the bench-white lace, pearls, and airbrushed shadows. I inch closer, intrigued by the wrist corsage in a clear plastic box. Upon spotting the ring nestled inside one of the roses-tiny diamonds forming a heart with wings-I drop to the seat, my body weak. It looks exactly like the one Jeb gave me when he proposed. The one I wore on my neck that fused with my Wonderland key and heart locket beneath the press of Morpheus's magic.
I trace the box's lid where a gold ribbon binds it. With one tug, the bow poofs into a golden, glittering fall of letters that form a message in midair-
Things I once hoped to give you:
1. A magical wedding…
Choking back tears, I take out the ring and loop it onto the string alongside the diary's key at my neck, tucking it under my shirt to keep it safe.
A picnic basket sits at my feet beneath the bench. There's another ribbon, and when I untie it, more letters form a glimmering parade through the air:
2. Picnics at the lake with your mom and dad…
I sniffle and make my way to the middle of the room, where reproductions of my mosaics float next to Sold signs. I tug a ribbon loose and free another message:
3. A lifetime of shared successes and laughter…
Overcome with emotion, I turn toward the humming noise along the back wall. A motorcycle idles high up in the rafters, amid strands of white Christmas lights. A bow is tied on the handlebars. I free my wings and rise. Snowflakes and a soft breeze wind around me as I settle atop the seat, returning me to all the times I rode behind Jeb, my arms wrapped around his sturdy form. Completely at ease, yet so unbalanced. So perfectly, erringly human.
I stiffen my chin against a quiver and slip the ribbon loose from the handlebars:
4. Midnight rides across the stars…
The lovely words glisten all around me, feeding my need for more. There are too many ribbons and objects to count. I fly from one to another, unwinding more wishes: for little girls with my hair and eyes, and boys who have their mother's stubborn streak; for the safety of one another's arms every night; for growing old together and cherishing every wrinkle, age spot, and gray hair; and on and on and on.
My chest swells-so full it could burst. The room is a shrine to everything I've ever hoped for. Things Jeb wanted to give me. His heart shines in all he created here; his selflessness, his nobility and devotion, the desire to make others happy. His true character hasn't been destroyed. It's just been shelved, suppressed.
My Jeb is alive.
I flutter to the ground and reabsorb my wings. I don't want to leave. But before I can help mend Jeb, find Mom, and fix Wonderland, I have to get Morpheus and face Red.
"I'll be back," I whisper, and lock the door behind me.
Two rooms left to explore.
I stop at the rose-petal door. I don't even hesitate this time. One tap of the diary, and I'm inside.
The walls, also lined with red roses, curl overhead and meet in the middle, forming a dome. Tiny clear globes float above me, tinkling as they bump into one another. They each harbor vivid moving scenes-like miniature silent films.
One in particular catches my attention. Inside, an ashen funnel drops from the sky. Out falls Queen Red in her giant zombie-flower form, along with Jeb and Morpheus. It's the moment they first got to AnyElsewhere. The guys are still wearing their prom clothes, and Jeb has on a half mask.
I capture the globe to watch the scene unfold up close. Red looms over Jeb and Morpheus, casting a long blue shadow. A distorted, snarling mouth widens in the midst of her flowery head, and rows of eyes blink on every petal. Her ivy tangles around the guys as they wrestle, trying to escape. Jeb breaks one arm free and digs in his pants pocket, dragging out a knife. Morpheus distracts Red-strong-arming the vines until she slips several more around him to keep control. Jeb saws through his restraints-just like he did when we faced the garden of monstrous flowers on our trip to Wonderland.
Once he's loose, he grabs the severed ivy, using it to bind Red's other limbs and help Morpheus.
Red teeters, then hits the ground, helpless.
As the dust clears, Jeb and Morpheus glare at each other. Still clutching a vine, Jeb rips off his prom mask, shouts something, then turns to walk away. Morpheus jumps him from behind. They fight on the ground and Morpheus ends up on top, wings enfolding them in a tent. The outline of Jeb's face presses against the black, satiny membrane from the other side. He's suffocating. Anger boils up inside me.
The scene ends. Ivory told me weeks ago that Morpheus's actions are where the truth lies. Last year when he used that smothering trick on Jeb, he was knocking him unconscious to be alone with me. So he had to have a reason to want Jeb unconscious this time. And there's only one way to find out what it was.
The moment I turn to go, the remaining globes drop down, insisting I look inside. An uneasy tremor quakes through me with each glimpse. One is an image of Queen Red's mother when Red was young; there are also moments between Red and both her parents-drinking tea, laughing…planting flowers; and Red dancing with her father as her mother claps from a distance.
These are all things Jeb can't possibly know. Things only Red would know.
Before I can piece together what that means, an image of Charles Dodgson takes shape inside a globe that's floating away. I stretch up to grab it.
He's walking on a flower-strewn path alongside an older, distinguished gentleman. As they stroll beneath some shady trees, the older man's appearance shifts and I see-so clearly-Red wearing the professor's imprint. Just like Hubert said, at the inn.
My heartbeat thunders.
Charles carries a journal filled with handwritten equations and longitude/latitude directions. Together, Charles and Red's professor-imprint step through some shrubbery, coming to stop at the little-boy sundial statue-the gateway to the rabbit hole-that once hid Wonderland's entrance before I destroyed everything.
The image goes dark. I'm about to release the globe when it lights up once more to another scene and a group of people having a picnic. Several children, a mother and a father, and Charles. Alice Liddell's face comes into view. She looks just like the seven-year-old in the picture Mom had hidden in Dad's recliner. This family must be hers…the Liddells, close friends with Charles.
Alice's face is alight with excitement as she scampers alone through a haze of vintage spectators. Scones, teacups on lace doilies, and parasols abound. She circles a familiar set of shrubs. Eyes wide with wonder, she stands head-to-head with the sundial statue. It's been pushed aside, exposing the hole underneath.
Two fuzzy white ears appear from within, and a bunny face complete with wriggling nose and endearing whiskers comes into view. Alice gapes as the bunny motions with a pink, padded paw for her to follow. What she doesn't see is the shift of the imprint, and Rabid White's bony hand, old man's face, and white antlers.
The white rabbit disappears back into the hole. Looking around her, Alice hesitates. But the curious light in her eyes burns brighter than her fear, and she plunges in. Queen Red creeps from behind a rosebush and coaxes the sundial statue back into place over the hole, locking it. She's gone before Charles and Alice's father appear, looking for the missing child.
Neither one knows there's a hole beneath the statue, apparent by the bewilderment on their faces. Charles had found the gateway, but never figured out how to open it.
I know the rest of the tale by heart: Alice was missing for days. Then later, after she returned, Charles, a.k.a. Lewis Carroll, wrote her story out on paper. But it wasn't Alice who returned at all. It was Red.
The globe goes dark again and I release it.
I stand in place, numb.
All this time I thought Alice accidentally stumbled into Wonderland. But Red planted the possibility of the nether-realm in Charles Dodgson's mind as his colleague. When Charles found the sundial statue and nothing more, he figured his calculations were wrong. So instead, the tale blossomed to fiction within his storyteller's imagination. He filled Alice and her siblings' heads with fanciful notions and fairy-tale enticements, made the mistake of mentioning the statue, even took the family to see it during a picnic, never realizing the repercussions.
Red wanted Alice to go down the rabbit hole. She arranged for it.
An uncomfortable warmth niggles in my skull-my netherling intuition waking…nudging. Either because Red's spirit once shared my body, or because her memories are still on the back burner of my mind, I know that this epiphany is fact, not speculation.
Hubert said Red wanted to improve the netherling lineage. That she thought the humans were better somehow.
What makes human children better? Why does Sister Two steal them and string them up in the garden of souls?
Dreams and imagination…
The diary wriggles at my neck, further validation. The forgotten memories on these pages shaped Red's motivations long before she chose to forget them. But the problem is, she did choose to forget. She forgot why she wanted to bring dreams into Wonderland.
"I'll bring dreams to our kind, Father. They'll be in abundance everywhere, not just in the cemetery. One day, I'll free the spirits, so they can sleep inside our gardens, brushing our windows at night, and bumping against our feet in the day. I'll bring imagination to our world so everyone might always be with those they treasure."
The only things Red remembered after killing her memories were that she wanted to bring dreams to the nether-realm, and she wanted power and revenge. Somehow, they became one in her mind. After her husband betrayed her, she had nothing to lose by playing the part of a careless queen, to have herself banished from the kingdom so no one would notice when she disappeared into the human realm.
She trapped a human child in Wonderland and wore her imprint as camouflage so she could breed with a mortal and bring back halfling heirs. Those descendants were supposed to introduce dreams and imagination into the netherling world. But how was setting Wonderland to rights supposed to satisfy her need for revenge and power?
My head feels foggy and bloated. I'm still missing something. A crucial part of her plan.
I look around for more scenes. Up at the center of the domed ceiling, the globes are being crafted by a green, leafy vine, just like the one Jeb had in his hand when Morpheus attacked him after they escaped Red. The vine is suspended in midair without anyone guiding it, giving life to each scene with a glimmer of crimson magic that drips from its tip.
Crimson magic. That was the color of Red's magic in her memories. Morpheus's is blue. Jeb's is purple.
I lean against the wall, short of breath from the overpowering scent of roses.
How could I have missed it? When Jeb fell into this world wrapped in those vines, he absorbed a part of Red's magic, along with a part of Morpheus's-who was also trapped. And I'd bet my life Morpheus already knows. It explains why the images in this room belong to Red, and why the graffiti attacked me. It explains why Jeb seems like someone else…and why Red's forgotten memories scorched him through the diary.
The carpet beetle's words echo in my mind: Repudiated memories…want revenge against the one who made and discarded them.
The memories on the diary's pages sensed Red's remnants inside Jeb and his creations, and wanted revenge. It was never about protecting me at all.
Nearly tripping over my boots, I back out of the door. It slams shut behind me.
Red is a part of Jeb. So how can I destroy Red's spirit and end her forever without killing him, too?
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