Fierce gusts rip through our hair. I choke on a puff of blowing sand. Jeb pushes me behind him the instant a bat swoops down. Sleek as crimson leather, the mutant creature lifts off, carrying Jeb into the sky with its talons.
An eagle-faced goon opens the glass window on his helmet and laughs from his seat atop the bat's back. "Easy as catching sunning snails."
"You fool. It's the girl Manti wants!" another one shouts from his winged perch. "And remember, she's to be kept intact!"
"Then I'd say we got here in the nick of time," blurts a chicken-beaked goon crudely. His compatriots howl with laughter before turning their airborne mounts toward me.
"Jeb!" I scream.
"Get to the lighthouse!" he yells from up high as he wrestles the claws curled around him.
No way. I release my wings. As I launch toward Jeb, three bats swoop at me from different directions. So tuned in to their target, their goon riders don't notice each other. The closest bat dips a swanlike neck. The center of its starfish-shaped muzzle opens, thrusting out a cluster of six-foot long, slimy tentacles lined with sharp fangs. One of the teeth snatches my diary necklace and breaks the cord.
Shrieking, I toss out my hand to pry the string off the bat's fanged tongue, but the bat swallows the tiny book. The other two goon birds veer deathly close. I dive at the last minute. The bats collide and plunge into the ocean with their riders. Flattening out my wings along a current of wind, I skim over the water and ascend.
Silhouetted against the starry sky, Jeb breaks free of his captor and hangs on to a talon while calling upon a wave. The water lifts high enough for him to drop into place. He slides down a slanted plane of foam toward me, catches me around the waist, and skates us both to the lighthouse's entrance.
We rush inside and slam the door, locking it behind us.
Upstairs, Dad is still sleeping. Jeb and I inch toward the porthole. Amid screeches and thundering wings, our tower shakes. Bits of the wall crumble away, forming a wide crack. More bats gather at the opening, trying to dig through the rock. The sky thickens as they circle overhead, taking turns attacking our sanctuary.
The beacon flashes across them in intervals, spotlighting hideous tentacles and veined wings. More and more holes appear in the tower as the walls fail to withstand the collisions.
Gusts from giant wings filter through the openings. The curtains swirl around Dad's canopied bed and my bare skin chills.
Another bat hammers the tower. I struggle to keep balance. "We're outnumbered!"
"Not even close," Jeb answers calmly. His eyes sparkle with netherling sorcery. With a sweep of his fingers through the porthole, grainy cyclones stir up from the ground surrounding the lighthouse. "We have regiments as innumerable as the sands."
Inspired by his ingenuity, I try my hand. "And arsenals as uncountable as the stars." Using the trick Morpheus taught me, I reassign Jeb's night sky a new task: guided missiles.
The stars careen in the direction of our attackers like giant flaming rocks, herding them toward Jeb's sand funnels. Several goons avoid the cyclones by diving off their bats. They flap deteriorated wings across the ocean in hopes of escape. My star missiles catch them, ripping through feathered chests and knocking off helmeted heads. All that's left are their corpses-bright orange cinders and black ash afloat atop the frothy waves.
The sand cyclones carry the bats away through the room's exit.
As the dust settles, we survey the mess around us.
I snort, a bemused and nonsensical sound that's completely out of place with what just happened.
Jeb glances over at me, grinning. "We still make a great team," he says, his hair catching a breeze.
"Just like in Wonderland, when you didn't have any magic at all."
He doesn't answer, only studies me thoughtfully. He looks away to wave his hand across the cluttered floor. The tower repairs itself, holes sealing up bit by bit, until only a powdery residue remains.
"Will there be more of those bat things?" I ask.
"They're harmless without their riders," Jeb answers. "I've got to see how the break-in happened. The graffiti army should've stopped it. I also need to make sure the other rooms are okay."
The concern in his voice touches me. He's worried about his creations.
"We should both get some clothes on first," I remind him.
He pauses, his gaze traversing my body. My arms cross self-consciously, though such modesty seems unnecessary after all I've promised him. The key at my neck meets my inner wrist and I remember the lost diary.
As if sensing my thoughts, Jeb frowns. "What happened to the book?"
"One of the bats swallowed it. Red's memories are gone."
He curses.
Dread and nausea make my head swim. I glance over my shoulder at the bed. The curtains are tangled around the posts, exposing Dad's peaceful, sleeping face.
"It's going to be okay, skater girl." Jeb's voice is close and soft. He runs a fingertip along my left wing, sending a thousand titillating sparks through my spine.
"I hope so."
He pulls me into a hug, stroking my frizzed-out hair. "It will. Because you're not just a girl anymore. You're powerful and brave. A better queen than Red could ever hope to be." The heat from his bare torso seeps into my chest, warming me all the way to my toes.
A hissing sound erupts outside the porthole. Jeb breaks our embrace to face the cloud of orange, glittery mist seeping in.
I sigh in relief. "Chessie."
Jeb holds out his hand for the hovering embers.
The little netherling's smile appears, although it's actually a frown because as he materializes on Jeb's palm, he's upside down, his tail skewed like a question mark. Tied to his paw is a corked vial. The label reads Stone Counteractant, just above a black-and-white drawing of a scorpion fly.
"You got the cure," Jeb says, incredulous.
"Thank you!" I take the vial, so relieved I can't contain a smile.
The furry netherling flips upright but his whiskers droop further downward.
"What is it?" I concentrate on his whirling eyes. "Wait. Morpheus got the cure?" I translate for Jeb. "He went into the castle? But he had a plan for tomorrow."
He would never do something so spontaneous. Unless he really was convinced I wouldn't survive another encounter with Red. I'm the only one he would put himself at risk for, because I'm a queen and Wonderland is his utmost priority. But even beyond that…because he loves me.
My soul sinks, acutely aware of how I've hurt him tonight. And he doesn't even know. "Where is he?" I ask.
When the answer surfaces within Chessie's pupils, I drop to my knees.
"Al." Jeb kneels beside me and forces me to look at him. "What did he say?"
I grind my teeth to keep from screaming. "Morpheus has been captured. He's scheduled to be the entertainment at the Hallowed Festival tomorrow. The queen is going to harvest his beating heart."
We pour the curative down Dad's throat and Jeb releases him from his dream state. Then we take turns showering, getting dressed, and explaining to Dad everything that happened while he was out. Neither Jeb nor I mention our engagement. It feels wrong, to give my dad reason to celebrate while Morpheus's life hangs in the balance.
Our plan is back on for first thing in the morning when the gates open. We choose our clothes wisely. It would be a mistake to have the added vulnerability of water-soluble outfits on such a precarious mission.
Dad and I will wear the tunic and trousers from Uncle Bernie, while Jeb dons all that's left of his prom tuxedo: navy blue flocked velvet vest and navy pants. Paired with a navy T-shirt from his painted wardrobe, his outfit is complete.
I've yet to fill Dad in on the small detail of Red's pending possession. Now that I've lost the diary, it's the only way to save Wonderland. He would never go along with the plan if he knew. I'm back to lying to him for his own good.
While Jeb and Chessie search the mountain rooms, Dad soaks in a hot tub. Although the curative dissolved the stone, the muscles and bones in his leg sustained some damage.
He limps out of the bathroom fully dressed, rubbing a towel over his wet hair.
"Anything to eat? I'm starving."
Jeb told me this would happen. It's a side effect of the dream state. I load up a plate with the honeycomb-flower and rabbit jerky and take a couple of pieces for myself. The floating lanterns cast amber light and shadows around us as I silently watch him wolf the rest down. I wonder if he was this ravenous when Mom rescued him from Wonderland. After all, he'd been sleeping for years that time.
Dad has started on his third helping when Chessie and Jeb return.
Jeb carries Dad's duffel and the garment bag that contains my scorpion-winged dress. I can't stop replaying Morpheus's reaction when I loosened the drawstring. How he teased and joked to make light of the incredibly sweet gesture. How he dismissed all the cuts from the razor-sharp edges he must've endured before he finally had the centipede legs sewn in place as protective fringe.
"Are the simulacrum suits in the duffel?" I ask, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.
"We could only find two." Jeb wipes paint from his hands on a towel. "Morpheus's room was a wreck. All of them were. There were a couple of bats tangled in the graffiti. That's how the goons got through the entrance. They came up through the ocean and sacrificed some of their rides for a distraction. I'm not sure how they found their way to the mountain in the first place. I never saw any signs of CC. Also not sure how they knew to use rainwater on the doors and rooms to melt everything away." He tries to appear nonchalant, but his face is pale.
I know too well what it's like to watch something you created die. A month ago, I breathed life into flames, then had to be the one to douse them to save my peers at school. It hurt, like losing a piece of myself.
Maybe it's for the best. Maybe those dark and damaged parts of Jeb's soul will at last be put to rest, and he can abandon this world and all the bitterness and doubts…leave everything behind without a second thought. With the exception of the dreams in the willow room. I hope he holds on to those.
"The only other thing left in Morpheus's room was this garment bag," Jeb says, stirring me from my thoughts. "Do you know about the dress inside?"
"Armor," I whisper, feeling numb as Morpheus's words taunt me: I rather hoped you'd wear it to face Red. It is the only coat of armor worthy of your dangerous beauty.
My netherling intuition rouses, a theory taking shape. It's no coincidence that only one invisible suit is gone, that the goons knew how to destroy Jeb's artwork, or that when everything melted away, the duffel and the garment bag were the two things that remained…because they're real, not painted. It's also no coincidence the goons had been sent for me.
I bite my lip.
"Al, what are you thinking?" Jeb presses.
Dad stands up from the table, favoring his left leg.
I drag my fingers though my damp hair to hide that they're trembling. "Morpheus always has an escape plan. That's why he took a simulacrum suit. For him to be captured, he had to let himself be captured. Something made him alter the original plan. Maybe he even let a few things slip on purpose. Everything that's happened in this mountain tonight has been a strategic move to get us to come after him. For some reason, it's important that we go to that castle tomorrow, and that one of us…me…is fully visible."
Dad slams his fist on the table, rattling the plate. "That's suicide! We should head straight to the Wonderland gate while everyone is preoccupied at this monster fest."
"I'm going." I scoop up the garment bag. "It doesn't matter why he was captured. Intentional or not, he's been captured, which means his suit has been confiscated, too. He's put himself in real danger. I won't leave him there. And he's counting on it."
I don't finish my explanation…that I have to save him because the netherling side of me has fallen in love with him. I don't have time to deal with the fallout of admitting that aloud.
Dad slaps his gimp leg. "We should at least try to get real backup. Without a suit for me, I'm worthless. We weren't able to send the pigeon back, so Bernard is probably halfway here, looking for us. We could find him, enlist his help."
"That could take a full day," Jeb says.
I shake my head. "Morpheus doesn't have that much time."
Dad's eyelid twitches. "You are not putting your neck out for that manipulative-"
"Dad!" I try to overlook his prejudice. He didn't see firsthand how Morpheus assisted when he'd been stung, or any of the other courageous things Morpheus has done in the past-all incredible feats for a solitary, selfish fae.
He also can't see that deep inside, my netherling instincts are telling me the reason Morpheus has arranged this is somehow related to Wonderland's best interests. Though I still don't completely trust his methods, I understand his motives. And one thing I will never doubt is his loyalty to his beloved home.
Our home.
"I agree with Al," Jeb says, shocking me and Dad both. "You know I'm the last person to jump on the Bugs'R'Us bandwagon." He casts me a dark scowl, ensuring me of his everlasting disdain for Morpheus. "I don't like his tactics, but he's protected me while we've been here. He could've exploited me for prestige and power. For whatever reason, he did the right thing. Because of that, we owe it to him to see him back to Wonderland."
Earlier, I explained to Jeb what Morpheus said about him being a vessel, and he's still not backing out. He trusts my strength and judgment that much.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Something flickers in his eyes before he tears his gaze from mine: anguish. It cuts as deftly as a blade. I know it's because of my unspoken feelings for Morpheus. Even with all that's settled between us, I'm starting to understand that asking Jeb to live a life with me, while knowing I'll have a future with another, might be too much for any mortal man to endure. I only hope it doesn't keep him from walking through the Wonderland gate when it's time, no matter what it means for us.
That intense tearing sensation digs deeper into my heart. I turn my back to mask my wince and press my thumb to my sternum, starting toward the stairs.
"You can't be serious about this," Dad says from behind.
I inhale a few shallow breaths. "It's time for me to face Red. No more hiding." I'm resigned to the fight ahead, knowing she's the only one who can fix all the things that are wrong-in me and Wonderland. There's relief in acknowledging that.
"It's a trap!" Dad shouts. I hear him shuffling awkwardly on his wounded leg. "What's your advantage once you're captured?"
I twirl to face him. Jeb has resurrected Dad's shadow. The dark creature cups Dad's elbows from behind to help him balance.
"Our advantage," I answer, "is that Jeb, Chessie, and I are the only three beings in this world who can use magic. Which is the same reason you can't stop me. So you can either go along and hide outside the castle as backup, or wait here until it's over. I love you, Dad, but it's my kingdom at risk, so it's my call as queen."
Jeb studies his boots. Dad clenches his jaw so hard I could swear the scorpion fly's poison has seeped into his chin. Yet he doesn't say another word.
Up in the tower, I take out the gown and admire how the winged tiers shimmer in the soft starlight-the orange, red, and black contrasting like shadows to flames. It almost seems sacrilegious to loosen the glittery green centipede legs so meticulously sewn into place, to leave each fringe weakened. But Morpheus would applaud the choice. In fact, I sense that I'm doing exactly what he expects me to.
Once I'm done, I take the diary key off my neck. It's useless now. I carefully slide the dress into place over my skin. It fits as if painted on, hugging my curves and flaring at my knees. The lining is made of rabbit's fur. I'm wrapped in a shell of comfort, while on the outside, all it will take is my magical coaxing to lift away the centipede hems and expose the wings' razor-sharp edges, rendering me untouchable.
I can't think of a better coat of arms. I won't be standing in the presence of Red or Hart wearing a knight's tunic and baggy pants. In this dress, I'll be playing the part of Medusa, turning my evil ancestors to stone with a brash baring of terrible beauty. If the stingers hadn't been removed, I could change Hart to a literal statue, which would make her surrender of Red's spirit so much simpler. Instead, I have a gown with bite enough to make the heartless queen think twice about dismissing me or my demands.
I slip into my red leathery shoulder gloves to protect my arms, then pull on the leggings and boots-which, of course, are the perfect fit. Perfect for walking straight into the wisdom keeper's web.
I'm not going in blind. I know Morpheus has an agenda. All I can do is hope it's for the greater good, and that his plan is foolproof this time.
Otherwise, I'm the biggest fool of all, for leading the two humans I love most to their deaths.
We decide a few hours of sleep are more important than Jeb altering the landscape to our benefit. When morning arrives, it's cloudy and cold, but at least we're rested and ready for battle.
We fly toward the castle-Jeb and Dad carried by their shadows, and me soaring high on a chilly updraft of wind. Morpheus's shadow follows behind at Jeb's command so we'll all have a way to escape once our business at the castle is done.
Sunrise streaks the horizon in tendrils of bloody red splashed across a stone gray sky; I try to convince myself it's not an omen. Our destination is a cliff far enough from the castle to avoid being seen by the goon birds and their bats patrolling the turrets, yet close enough to scope out the entrance.
We arrive at an outcropping of rocks that form a cave. I land gracefully behind some trees, wishing Morpheus were here to see. "It's all in the ankles," I mumble.
Chessie tucks himself beneath my loose bun, tickling the nape of my neck. Jeb and Dad alight beside me and we peer through the thickly clustered trunks. In lieu of water, the moat surrounding the outer walls contains ash-the remains of the dead. A school of giant eels, appearing prehistoric with bony obtrusions jutting from their backs like shark fins, swim through the powdered carnage.
They're nothing like my pets at home.
A motley crowd of mutants are gathered on the outer banks of the moat, waiting, just like us, for the drawbridge to drop and invite them in.
Though invite isn't quite the right word. There's nothing welcoming about this place. Giant fanged skulls sit atop the turrets as if in effigy, along with skeletal tails that wind around the towers in coils. It's as if a legion of dragons wrapped around the stone to die, then petrified. The outer walls slump inward on an unnatural slant, giving the impression they could fall and crush everyone inside at any moment.
A loud creaking howl accompanies the lowering drawbridge and tugs at my gut.
"We need to get down there," Jeb says.
I turn to Dad. "Please don't be angry."
He sighs. "How could I be? Your mom would've done the same thing. Sacrificed everything to save someone she cared about. She did, in fact."
I hug him, breathing in all the scents of home. When I was a little girl, snuggled against his shoulder, I always felt safe. That will never change. "Thanks, Dad."
"Sure," he mumbles against my head. "I understand. But I don't have to like it."
He'll like it even less when he sees who I'm bringing back in addition to Morpheus.
"I love you, Butterfly," he whispers.
"I love you, too." He holds me so long, I have to break free.
Sighing, he turns to Jeb to clap his shoulder and hand off his iron dagger. "Take care of my girl."
Jeb secures the weapon. "She's the one with all the moves. I'm hoping she'll take care of me."
Before Dad can delay us another second, we're on our way.
We wind through the trees to the end of the cliff and coast down behind a craggy outcropping. Jeb sends his shadow back to stay with Dad.
While waiting to slip into line, Jeb studies my face, as if memorizing every feature. I glide my gloved fingers across his cheek, brushing aside some dark wavy strands.
His gaze intensifies, full of unnameable emotions. "Let's get you ready, foxy lady."
I manage a grin as he takes out a furry foxlike mask from inside his jacket and slides it into place over my eyes. He painted it for me, custom-designed the eye slits and muzzle to fit the top half of my face. Feathers form the ears, and he even added a butterfly's antennae. With the addition of my wings and dress, I almost look the part of the insects I once killed so thoughtlessly.
I straighten the simulacrum suit over his tux and T-shirt. He has the other suit along with his painting items inside the duffel bag he's slung across his shoulder, ready for Morpheus once he finds him. I know he's secretly hoping to find his doppelganger, too, although he hasn't said it aloud.
"Time to blend in," Jeb says, tucking Chessie's dangling tail into my bun.
I nod, but I'm not ready to stop looking at him yet. He's the only thing giving my legs the strength to stand.
"Just remember," he says. "We stick to the plan. Get Hart alone, convince her to hand Red over, and I'll search the dungeon. Once you get Red, hightail it out. Don't worry about us. We'll be invisible, and you can fly. Everything's going to be all right. Send Chessie if something goes wrong, and we'll find you."
I nod again. There's so much I want to say to him: Thank you for your faith in me, for always putting yourself on the line for this crazy half life of mine-I love you and don't want to lose you…But all I can manage is, "Be safe."
"Back at ya." He tucks the duffel bag under his arm to keep it hidden under the simulacrum and starts to gather the hood over his head.
As if rethinking, he stops and laces his fingertips through my gloved hand, pulling me close. "In case I don't get another chance to tell you…One, you look amazing." He traces my eye markings where they curl out from under the fuzzy edges of my mask. "And two…" He turns my hand to kiss my covered palm. "You got this, fairy queen."
Sucking in a sharp breath, I throw my arms around his neck. He hugs me tight, presses his lips to the top of my head, then steps back and pulls his hood into place, vanishing from sight.
His invisible fingertips touch my leather ones, leading me out to follow the current of creatures great and small. With the comforting pressure of his hand driving me, I trail the end of the line.
My dress jangles softly as we tromp across the wooden bridge, a mellifluous undercurrent at odds with the ominous swishing of the eels some twenty feet beneath us. A shiver races through my spine as Chessie burrows deeper into my hair.
Gurgles, snorts, and murmurs drift from the guests, shifting my attention from what's below to what's ahead. In appearance, they're similar to the netherlings I encountered in Wonderland at the Feast of Beasts a year ago…more bestial than humanoid, some with living plants growing out of their skin. Though these creatures are twisted and gnarled, mutated from using their magic.
It's a hard habit to break, as proven by Jeb's struggle to walk away from the power. Maybe that's an upside to my letting Red possess me. It will give Jeb even more incentive to leave, in case my vow for a future isn't enough.
As we step off the bridge, we filter through a small covered portico, then the courtyard opens up-some three acres wide. Rising high in the center are two thirty-story skeletal frames, tall and loopy, like twin roller coasters made of giant bones, eerily similar to the petrified dragon remnants on the castle towers. So mesmerized by the sight, I nearly trip over a reptilian tail in front of me. A snarling mouth travels along its scales, sliding from the creature's face to the end of its tail, and yaps at me like a disgruntled puppy.
Apologizing, I take a few steps back.
Jeb steadies me from behind and I focus on our surroundings again.
When I was ten, Dad and I went to a circus in the human realm. Ultraviolet settings, disturbing neon costumes-a black-light nightmare so rich with atmosphere and characters, it took on a life of its own. I didn't understand at the time why I felt so comfortable amid the bizarre grandeur of it all. Not until last year, when I started remembering that Wonderland's landscapes have the same qualities and how many dreams I spent there with Morpheus.
Now, surrounded by the denizens of AnyElsewhere inside the courtyard, I can't help but fall back into those memories. With the overcast sky and low-hanging walls folded in on us, the darkened background magnifies the fluorescent color scheme of water fountains, festival tents, and statues.
Jeb squeezes my hand three times, our signal. Since I can't watch him go, I glance across the way where several reptilian guards escort a mutant with a grizzly's head and a monkey's body off the grounds in cuffs. They start down some stone steps set into the wall of the castle. It's a safe bet they're going to the dungeon.
"Be careful," I whisper, though I know he's already gone. Chessie's warmth under my hair offers a small comfort.
I pass a cluster of fountains. An odd assortment of creatures play handcrafted musical instruments, composing haunting songs on pumpkin drums, celery guitars, and flutes made of river reeds. Glowing sprites spin in the air and perform aerial ballets, using the spouting water to propel them upward. They screech as the water changes to a haze of steam that boils their bare flesh. Breaking free, they scramble for the edges of the fountains and whimper, nursing their blisters. The bestial spectators beside me laugh and shout slurred encouragements, as if intoxicated by the violence. The steam turns back to liquid, and the sprites mount the water sprays once more. The tiny netherlings must be driven by a compulsion to seek out pain, for they continue until their bodies are so damaged, they die and turn to piles of ash.
I fight my fascination and turn away.
Everywhere I look, similar gruesome sports and sadistic games take place. In one corner, inside an open tent, feline creatures covered in scales with serpentine faces and forked tongues walk on all fours along high wires strung over a flaming pit. Their tender paws sizzle across the searing metal and the noxious scent of scorched scales fills the air. Again, I notice piles of ash where prior participants died.
"Faster!" a woolly creature with moss sprouting from his ears yells from below. "No pussyfooting! Give us a show!" The participants yowl and cry, yet still limp back into line to go again as soon as they leap down.
Inside another tent, contenders take turns crawling through a trench filled with beetles whose exoskeletons are shiny, silver, and as sharp as double-edged razor blades. Though each player is sliced and bleeding by the end, they don't hesitate to return for another bout.
Clenching my teeth against an unsettling urge to walk barefoot through the trench myself, I make my way toward the center of the yard, where reptilian guards roll in two clear, glassy balls-each one big enough to house a garden shed-and hoist them with ropes and pulleys onto the skeletal roller-coaster frames I saw earlier. The guards lock them in place on steep inclines that will launch the spheres into the thirty-story drops. The image reminds me of the marble runs Jeb used to make with his dad, only these are to scale.
A crowd gathers and grows restless for the event. I stay in the back, curious, but keep my eyes open for any sign of the Queen of Hearts. With a glance to assure no one's looking, I tug on Chessie's tail, the signal for him to set off on his search for Nikki. He's supposed to find her and come back to me. He flitters away, using the shadows for cover.
A tall man, built like a Greek god and wearing only black satiny pants that hug every muscle, climbs a ladder to the top of the wooden incline. He steps to the edge of the giant frame. Instead of bare feet, he has silvery hooves, although his hands are humanoid.
His smooth skin shines like copper-a severe contrast to his pale blue eyes. Thick white hair grows from his head, along the nape of his neck, and down between his shoulder blades like a horse's mane. A swirling nine-inch silver horn curves out above the bridge of his aquiline nose, centered between white eyebrows.
He's gorgeous. And he's obviously in charge.
Manti. I edge closer to the noisy crowd. He's the best lead to find Hart and Red.
"Any one of you who wishes to challenge me for the king's throne…" His voice, deep and dulcet, silences the murmurings. "This is your chance." He holds up a golden crown and smiles, teeth canine-sharp and blinding white.
Someone stirs in the crowd. A lion creature, walking on two legs like a man, raises his fisted paw in the air. "I challenge thee!" he roars. His golden fur glistens in the soft light as two lantern-bearing guards escort him toward the ladder.
Once they've scaled to the top, the guards snap open transparent doors on the glass orbs so Manti and his opponent can climb into their spheres. Each guard drops in a small, fluffy creature from a box.
Although the animals look as adorable and benign as Pomeranian puppies, manticorn and lion alike bristle and back up, keeping a wary eye on their companions.
"Let the caucus race begin!" one of the guards shouts as the doors slam shut.
The crowd howls as the ramps click open, propelling the balls into play along the twisted run with a sound as loud as thunder. It doesn't take long to realize why Manti and his opponent feared the addition of the tiny animals. The creatures have the ability to turn themselves wrong-side out and become nothing but teeth. Spatters of red appear on the insides of the orb, smearing as the occupants try to avoid the snapping torture. They're stuck in a rotary fish tank with furry piranhas.
My netherling sensibility holds me captive, makes me hungry to watch. Each participant tries to stay balanced enough-in spite of being eaten alive and slipping in his own blood-to increase the momentum of his rolling ball and be the first to the end of the run.
Manti's orb reaches the finish line, and he's quickly dragged free while the still snapping inside-out puppy-saturated with blood-is shoved back into its box. Two guards help Manti stand, pouring something down his throat from a bottle. The gouges in his skin miraculously heal, leaving no scars.
The lion's sphere comes to a stop and two other guards drag him free. He's been gnawed so much, his fur is gone-leaving his whole body a raw gaping wound.
The spectators start to chant: "Take him apart! Show us the heart!"
With a fluid stride, Manti leads the way. The guards drag the unconscious lion fae to a round, deep puddle of water, set into the ground and edged by flat stones.
"Into the pool of fears!" Manti shouts.
The guards dump the lion in. He awakens and flails at the surface, howling in terror as bubbles churn and the water runs red. What's left of his skin is eaten away by an acidic reaction until something drags him down inside the depths. A few seconds later, a meaty object bobs to the surface. Manti picks it up tenderly and lays it on a gold, satin pillow, showcasing the still-beating heart for all to see.
I should be terrified. Instead, I'm furious. The thought that the queen plans to do the same to Morpheus's heart triggers a murderous compulsion inside me. Wonderland is violent and bizarre, but charming in its way. AnyElsewhere is a whole new level of cruelty. Bedlam on steroids.
The cheers grow deafening as an exquisite woman strides gracefully onto the scene. Her hair is parted down the middle, one side dark burgundy and the other a fiery crimson. Her dress is at once startling and beautiful, just like her. Red and burgundy ruffles cascade over a black tulle underskirt. It creates the effect of zebra stripes, flaring out to a full, lovely shape that drags on the floor. Pulsing, shimmery red beads the size of lima beans embellish the elbow-length sleeves. But they aren't beads at all. She's wearing the hearts of sprites on her sleeves.
Her wings mirror mine: opaque and jeweled. That, with the addition of matching eye patches, glistening skin, and a small gold tiara, leaves no question as to her identity. She might be centuries old, but she looks young enough to be my mom's sister.
Manti holds up the pillow for Hart and kneels on one knee. "For you, O Majestic One."
She places a gold crown on his head and takes the heart. Blood drizzles between her fingers as she holds the throbbing organ high.
"Any other challengers feeling lionhearted today?" she asks, her melodious voice a blend of two octaves, as if she were singing a duet with herself. Or maybe it's her voice combined with Red's.
I waver in midair, reminded of how Red used me for a mouthpiece a year ago, how it felt to have her vines burrow through my blood veins and manipulate me like a puppet.
"Any of you wish to challenge the king?" the queen taunts once more.
My throat dries. It's now or never. Grimacing, I slip off my fox mask and drop it. I flap my wings to lift myself above the crowd, high enough to be seen in the lantern lights yet out of reach of any hands or claws.
"I wish to challenge the queen!" I shout.
The Queen of Hearts places her bleeding, macabre prize on the pillow, frowning up at me as she wipes the blood from her hands onto Manti's white mane. Several of the guards shove aside the spectators below me and aim arrows at my wings.
The burgundy side of the queen's hair turns crimson, strand by strand. "Weapons down! I command you." Red's voice breaks from Hart's mouth on a gust of air. A vinelike appendage unfurls from the queen's forearm-a physical manifestation of Red's possession. The ivy snaps at the guards. "I said weapons down!"
They lower their bows and back up.
"No! I am the one in charge," Hart shouts, her voice rising an octave. She wrestles Red's tentacle protrusion, her burgundy locks overtaking once more. "Capture the girl and bring me her life-clock! It is special. It will be the pride of my collection."
Confused by her command, I beat my wings harder to stay adrift and out of reach.
The queen motions to her guards. Two new ivy appendages slip free from her sleeves and latch onto both her wrists.
"The girl is to be left intact," Red hisses, wrapping her vines around Hart's arms until they're bound to her waist.
The queen fights with the vines and her hair flashes-from bright red to burgundy. The guards shuffle their feet, unsure which queen to listen to. Even Manti appears confused. It's as if they've learned the hard way that whichever queen gains control of the body should have their loyalty.
"The girl came of her own volition," Red reasons, "just as Morpheus predicted she would. Her body is not to be harmed. She's here for the ceremony, and this grim assemblage will serve as witnesses." At this, all of the queen's hair changes to crimson.
Ceremony. Morpheus must've laid out our proposition for Red to inhabit my body and leave this world. I'm assuming they've talked Hart into it somehow.
But what's a ceremony have to do with it?
"I wasn't aware we'd need witnesses," I shout, hovering higher.
Movement stirs behind the queen. Her subjects and attendants part to make way and Morpheus steps through. At first glance, I'm thrilled to see him unchained and unhurt. Then I notice how he's dressed, and how at home he seems standing in the midst of the royal party.
Looking up at me, he takes off a tall, checkered red and burgundy top hat that complements his burgundy pinstriped suit, black shirt, and red tie. His jeweled eye markings blink darkest purple, and he offers his most scintillating smile. "Come down, luv. Don't be shy. Every wedding ceremony needs witnesses. Why should mine and yours be any different?"
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