The courtyard has been stripped of the colorful carnival tents, all but an awning of canvas stretched over the stage where the ceremony will take place. The eight-foot stage rises alongside the pool of fears. Thick black ropes drape from the tops of the inwardly slanted castle walls to a wide pole standing in the center. Red ribbons are tied in bows along the ropes, reminiscent of that fool Grenadine's forgetful and traitorous ways.
We bite back a snarl of envy. Soon, We'll have our kingdom once more, and our first order of business will be to banish that faithless wretch into Wonderland's wilds, forever.
The Queen of Hearts waits upon the stage with a shadow box cradled in her arms. She faces a priest in burgundy robes and a tall rectangular hat. His froglike form is secured by a harness to the center pole so he can sleep upright. His fat chins bubble with quiet snores. A small swarm of lightning bugs hovers around his head, waiting.
Behind Hart, at ground level, hundreds of witnesses are seated-those same guests who earlier played sadistic games in hopes of killing themselves. Imbeciles.
We wait behind the audience for Morpheus to arrive and walk us down the aisle. Outside the awning, up high on the skeletal platform where the caucus race commenced, sits one giant sphere. An inferno burns inside, licking the glass in hot oranges, yellows, and reds. At the end of the ceremony, We will walk in the midst of those flames with our groom, initiating our trial by fire. After that, We'll be forever joined to him.
On the far end of the courtyard, the musician drags a bow across a cello. The strings are strung from the eviscerated gut of a half-living beast. The vibrations harmonize with the wounded creature's wails and carry over the expanse to create a morbid wedding march.
Upon the third note, Morpheus steps from the shadows of the far tower. His shoes clomp, a sound barely audible beneath the keening acoustics. His wings drag lower to the ground as he sees our altered appearance.
At his arrival, the audience stands and applauds.
Our vines strike at the tiny sprite and that meddlesome cat where they flutter around Morpheus's head. They cower and dive beneath his hat.
The audience applauds louder.
Jaw clenched, Morpheus offers a palm. Our ivy reaches for him, but he slaps it away.
The guests grow silent. Even the music stalls. Only the priest's snoring, the lightning bugs' buzzing, and the inferno crackling within the sphere can be heard.
Morpheus opens his glove once more. "Give me Alyssa's hand. I will touch only her."
We guide our limp fingers to join with his powerful ones. He bends his head to kiss our knuckles. Warmth sparks at the contact, sending a distantly familiar hum of pleasure through our human body. Our fingers jerk in response.
Morpheus tips his chin up, his jeweled markings a passionate purple. "Alyssa, can you hear me, little plum? She's made you forget your humanness. But I know you're still in there."
"Of course We're in here," We answer. "But there's room for one more." We smile seductively, roaming our leafy tendrils along his black shirt and winding them through the spaces between buttons to stroke his bare chest underneath.
The affection on Morpheus's face shifts to a tortured scowl as he drags our vines from the fabric, pushing them away.
We sneer. His comfort and happiness are irrelevant. He is a means to an end, a beautiful pawn on the chessboard of our life. We will relish using him up.
A tendon in his neck twitches as he starts us down the aisle to the beat of the macabre song that echoes once more in the courtyard. The monarch wings jingle on our dress with our movements.
He squeezes our fingers. "Why aren't you wearing your gloves?" he mumbles from the side of his mouth.
The question is pointless, but his covertness amuses us, so We answer. "We thought you admired our naked palms. The battle scars won for you in our lesser form."
He flashes us a sullen glare, as if We have no right to speak of such things. As if they're sacred somehow.
We savor his torment. Our heart beats in unified vindication. One pulse…one purpose. To give us our vengeance. To at last reap the rewards of the scheme that began so long ago with a curious little girl named Alice.
To the left of the stage, a troop of goons siphons in. Manti appears behind them with the captured human boy. The prisoner wears tuxedo pants and a vest. A black cloth bag covers his head. His hands are bound behind his back with chains wrapped around a large rock. Manti struggles with the rock's weight, carrying it so the boy can walk.
The harlequin doppelganger brings up the rear, wearing a T-shirt and worn jeans. The line of red jewels sparkles on one side of its face. On the other, its heart-shaped eye patch is torn, and there's movement in the black emptiness where the skin gapes. The back of an eyeball bobs to the surface, slimy with veins and optic nerve. It rolls around, then disappears into the hole.
The gruesome display tickles us and We laugh out loud, shrill and gleeful like a child with a new toy. Our cackle wakes the sleeping priest for all of two seconds before his bulbous eyes grow heavy and he's snoring even louder.
Morpheus dips his head low and pulls us along by our hand. We drift beside him, proud, propelled by our vines.
The doppelganger climbs the stage and takes his place next to the queen. A breeze coaxes its hair away from an ear, revealing the pointed tip. Manti shoves the mortal to his knees on the stage's edge, closest to the pool of fears, and drops the rock beside him with a loud thunk.
We skim up the stairs and observe the human captive with remorse. Not for his life, but for all the delicious sport he could've given us. He's alluring, for a lesser being. We would've enjoyed using him up, too.
We take our spot in front of the priest, our groom to the left between us and the chained mortal; Hart is on the right, holding her box. Manti and the doppelganger stand on her other side.
We're moments from victory. Moments from Wonderland, our crown, and our throne.
Morpheus lifts the bag from the mortal boy's head and steps back, cursing.
A strip of cloth cinches across the human's eyes and another across his mouth. His olive complexion is flawless, aside from fine lines of blood drizzling down his cheeks, bridging the blindfold to the gag. Another line of red runs down his chin.
"Why is he bound like this…and bleeding?" Morpheus demands.
"My question precisely!" Hart grouses from her place between us and Manti. "I want to see the fear in his eyes and hear his screams as we retrieve his life-clock."
"I had no choice, O Majestic One," Manti answers his queen. "I confiscated his paints, but he improvised. He painted in his cell with mud made of dirt and saliva, hid everything he made in the shadows. Forgeries of the walls and prison bars came alive and turned against us as we tried to bring him here. We lost a dozen of your devoted guards to violent deaths at the hands of his creations. The only way to stop his magic was by gouging out his eyes so he could no longer see to bring new things into being…and cutting out his tongue so he could no longer speak to command them."
Morpheus pales, as if even he can't stomach what's become of the mortal.
Something twists in the core of our being, a pricking pain, rousing an unexpected and unwelcome voice…
Jebediah Holt, it sobs.
Our heart skips a beat, then falls back into rhythm. We won't be swayed by a name. We stand taller beside our groom, blotting out everything except the impending triumph flowing through our veins-a high unlike any other.
But there's more…The broken voice won't relent. There's more to him than a name…more to them both.
No. We refuse to listen. They are stepping-stones. And soon, all of Wonderland will be pebbles beneath our feet. We will rule over both kingdoms and everyone will worship us.
"You fools!" Morpheus shouts, reminding us where We are, what's at stake. "I could've convinced the mortal to release Alyssa of the vow. I could've-" His voice cracks.
"Ha." Hart snorts. "Well, he can no longer do that, can he? He's forever lost the ability to speak. Only one way to release it now."
In an explosive flurry of wings and rage, Morpheus lunges at Manti, catching the manticorn by his horn and dragging him to his knees. He holds a knife at the base of Manti's horn. "Stay back," he yells to the guards.
Hart yelps and the audience leaps up and cheers, some climbing into their seats for a better view, the anticipation of bloodshed working them to a frenzy.
Since Morpheus has the upper hand on stage, the guards and goons descend the stairs in an effort to contain the crowd.
Through it all, the priest sleeps beneath the humming lightning-bug cloud.
"You betrayed me," Morpheus seethes next to Manti's humanoid ear. "I gave you his whereabouts with the condition he would not be harmed."
Manti struggles, but his horn is his Achilles' heel, the source of both his strength and weakness. He's at Morpheus's mercy. "I had to prove my loyalty to my queen. To make up for the human knights who escaped the dungeon under my watch."
"Savage!" Morpheus growls and forces the manticorn to stand. The doppelganger rushes forward, breaking them up.
Morpheus loses the knife and Hart grabs it as Manti moves back into place between her and the doppelganger.
"Enough delays," Hart threatens, giving Manti the knife. "The wedding goes on as planned, Morpheus. Try anything else like that, and you'll be swimming with the eels before the day is out."
We wrap our vines around Morpheus's arm and pull him toward us as Manti and Hart turn to the audience, calling out commands to silence them.
Morpheus studies the mutilated mortal. Profound misery darkens his features. He peels our tendrils away, curses under his breath, and throws down his hat.
The little sprite and Chessie flitter out, carrying a miniature hookah. We watch them, suspicious.
As if spurred by the activity, the human prisoner contracts his muscles in a futile effort to break free of his chains. He makes a guttural choking sound-animalistic and gut-wrenching without his tongue.
His agony fascinates us, demands our attention. That sense of knowing twists inside, sharper this time, like a knife. The unwelcome voice revisits:
This isn't the first time he's bled for you, it prods. And he has painted with more than mud. How could you forget the room of starlight and snow, ribbons, wishes, and dreams? How could you forget all he's sacrificed for you?
Chessie appears in front of our face. He sucks on the hookah pipe and blows a puff of smoke. The scented cloud permeates the air and coats our tongue, triggering images: licorice tobacco and a seductive fae with an agenda, ocean salt and a mortal boy's sweat, maple syrup and a father's love, a mother's sacrifice and a lunar garden rich with lilies and honeysuckle.
The human within us dances for an instant, awakened by her senses. Her emotions are overwhelming…frightening.
We writhe in place, our vines whipping out to chase Chessie away. But it's too late. The knife of knowing saws back and forth across the tethers We've secured around our heart.
We won't allow it. It will hurt if the seams are broken.
Concentrate. Concentrate only on the man who will be our king.
Our attention shifts to Morpheus, then to Hart as she and Manti face the priest once more, having placated the bloodthirsty guests. The guards and goons barricade the stairs, forming a line between the wedding party and the audience.
"Wake up, you buffoon," Hart says to the priest, and the lightning bugs strike him with electrical charges until he giggles so hard his bulging eyes open. "Begin the ceremony."
The priest smacks his fat, slimy lips. "Do you come into this union free of all binds?" The croaking question bulges from his greenish throat.
Morpheus's head hangs so low his hair cascades across the left side of his face. His bejeweled profile fades to the color of tears through spaces in the blue curtain. "A life-magic vow stands between us."
"Then it must be broken, or forfeit the union," the frogman says, and yawns loudly.
Silence wreathes the courtyard. We look at the flames in the sphere overhead. The brightness burns an imprint on our mind, cauterizing the human emotions trying to weaken us.
"It is time, Morpheus," Hart presses. "Prove your loyalty to your brides and your world, and you will be rewarded with the key to the gate. Bring me the boy's heart."
Morpheus snarls. "First, you show me the medallion. I want to see it."
Hart offers the shadow box to Manti. She opens the lid to reveal five pulsing life-clocks. With a squishing sound, Hart plunges her fingers into the fattest one, then drags out the medallion. She lays it across her palm, dripping with blood. "Proof enough? Now kill him."
Morpheus takes our unresponsive hand and holds it close to his lips. His breath cloaks our fingertips, another disarming sensation. "Remember: Memories are your greatest weapons," he whispers.
We turn back to the suffering mortal. Pictures blink through our mind: the same boy in cargo shorts and a dark tee beneath his Underland vest, black lights highlighting his toned arms with bluish flashes; the boy in his feather-duster mask for the junior prom masquerade; Jeb sand surfing with me on tea carts, then pouring out his blood to save my life over and over and over; Jeb kissing me after I broke his heart, and fighting at prom for me and every other human.
One of the threads on our heart breaks loose with a visceral twang, reviving the voice:
His tongue said beautiful words to you…His eyes held you in their gentle gaze. Never again. Unless you stop this. He might still be healed with magic, just as he once healed Morpheus.
It's my voice-my reasoning-quiet and still, desperate to be heard. But my vocal cords lie dormant as if I've swallowed the black mist outside of AnyElsewhere's gate. Like my body, my words are held captive by Red's vines.
Still, she can hear my liberated thoughts.
Jeb is wounded…but he can be saved. Morpheus will do the right thing.
Morpheus will show no mercy, Red contradicts in my mind. He'll do anything for Wonderland. That is his priority. That is why I chose him to be our king. That, and the fact that because of his childhood with you, he can father a dream-child. What a profoundly perfect twist of fate that turned out to be.
Another thread snaps loose from my heart, the pain precise and acute. I embrace it, because it reminds me I'm still here. I'm alive. I'm empowered.
Determination boils in my blood, scalding my skin. I concentrate on my fingers, forcing them to squeeze Morpheus's hand.
His eyes widen. He looks from me to the medallion Hart's holding. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
"Make a choice," Hart seethes. "Either the human gives his life, or Wonderland belongs to the denizens of the looking-glass world."
Morpheus looks at the crowd of deranged guests salivating and brutal, then down at Jeb's kneeling form. The blood on Jeb's chin has dribbled to the T-shirt under his tuxedo vest, bright red against the white fabric.
My feet twitch…My legs ache…My stomach knots. Every part of me slowly wakes, but my vocal cords shrivel under Red's clutches. I fight for the use of my limbs. Her vines hold me too high; I can't get my feet on the ground. A grinding sensation shuttles through my bones as punishment for even trying. Red winds my arms within her ivy and pins them to my sides.
A whimper dies in my throat.
Memory nudges beneath the pain. A reminder that I overpowered her once before. I move, ignoring the splitting sensation inside me, and clamp my fingers around a vine. I tug it. Rivulets of blood spurt from where the ivy stretches my skin.
Another one of my heart's seams snap…then another and another. I yelp from the excruciating burn. I can't tear her out without ripping my own heart in half.
Defeated, I go limp.
"Hurry," Red says aloud, using me as her mouthpiece, desperate now. "Kill the boy, and she'll be your queen forever, Morpheus. Simple as that."
"Give me his life-clock!" Hart shouts to Morpheus. She holds the medallion high, swinging it like a pendulum to tempt him.
Morpheus grips Jeb's vest and forces him to stand. Jeb wavers, unbalanced by the inability to see. He strains against the cuffs binding his hands. He kicks his legs blindly in self-defense.
Morpheus turns his gaze to me, the black depths filled with so much remorse I know what he's going to say before he even says it. "Alyssa, forgive me. But I will always do what's best for Wonderland."
"No!" I shout, freeing my vocal cords at last.
The crowd surges, provoking the guards and goon birds to strengthen their barricade.
Still holding Jeb's vest, Morpheus glances over his shoulder at the chaos. "Now!" he shouts.
Chessie and Nikki appear from out of nowhere, hovering over Hart. Nikki distracts the queen as Chessie dips down and snags the medallion, taking off toward the gate. Manti sends the doppelganger after the feline fae. The crowd's fervor reaches manic intensity as they turn on the royal party and the stage.
Hart screams and Manti drags her toward the castle for safety.
Red screeches in my head. The sound guts my inner ears like a chain saw set loose, sending me in a vertigo tailspin.
The surroundings blur as if I were riding a spinning top. I can make out snippets: Red's vines whipping out and slapping Morpheus and Jeb off balance; Morpheus tumbling over his wings and hitting his head, his eyes lolling shut; Jeb, tripping over the rock behind him and sending it over the edge.
The chains attached to the rock jerk his body from the stage. He plummets toward the pool. Nikki dives after him, trying to wrangle the chains, then plunges into the water behind him.
My twirling vision comes to a stop as Jeb flails at the surface. The depths suck him down, swallowing him-my best friend, my devoted love, the guy who has given up everything for me, more times than I can count.
The water churns with acidic, red bubbles.
I look away, sobbing, too weak to watch what's left of him rise to the top. I keep hearing his voice in my head from a year ago, the first time we kissed. We were in Wonderland and I asked him not to break my heart. And his answer was, "I'd cut mine out first."
He can't be gone. This can't be real. This is all a nightmare.
Everything moves around me in slow motion: Morpheus lying unconscious on the stage, the crazed guests closing in, overpowering the guards and goons.
All the good in me dies. All the compassion and mercy sink into the darkest part of my soul. The color of blood replaces them, a swirling, snarling tide I want to swim in forever.
The guests press through to the stage and the guards and goon birds retreat.
Cowards…
In a surge of drooling, vicious single-mindedness, the mutants pass over Morpheus's unconscious form without touching him, their sights set on me, drawn by my royal heritage.
"You've lost everything," Red prods from somewhere in my head. " Your memories failed because you belong to me now. Surrender to my control, and I'll save us both."
But it wasn't only my memories that Morpheus wanted me to use.
"Take her apart! Show us the heart!" the mutant mob chants as it closes in. Red's tentacle-like vines multiply, holding them all at bay.
I let her defend us, let her distraction serve as my opportunity. I dig inside myself, in search of the crimson-stained moments the diary helped me suppress. I drag them to the surface: Red's flushed young face as a child when she tried to hold on to her mother's spirit, the ruby shimmer of her stepsister's hair during a painful croquet lesson as she felt her father slip away, and the deep crimson hue of whispering ribbons heralding Red's most devastating mistake, when she sent her husband into another woman's arms through her own selfish insecurities.
Red shrieks, defenseless against the shock of her regrets. Her vengeful memories hone in and impale her. Her vines withdraw into me, my skin closing up around them as if they were never there. My feet meet the stage.
I conjure my imagination, picturing her as a spider pierced through the thorax with a pin, until she curls up in my chest, helpless as a bug nailed to a plaster backing. Pain spears through me, ripping me down the middle as she succumbs to her sorrow and my heart begins to split in two. I strangle on the taste of copper.
But I won't die. Not until I've dealt out revenge.
Concentrating on Red's listless tendrils inside me, I coax them to cinch the organ back together.
She no longer owns me. I own her.
The mutant mob overpowers me in a surge of fur, drool, and claws. They rip at my hair, snarl in my ears, and tie my arms back. Then they lift me, carrying me toward the edge of the stage where Jeb fell.
"Take her apart! Show us the heart!" The morbid chanting grows frenetic.
I'm passed overhead from creature to creature, crowd surfing toward the pool of fears. Rage rises in me, fiery hot and blistering. It strips the color from my hair and twists it into platinum dreadlocks, alive with fierce magic-feeding my own dark power.
The flaming sphere on the track catches my eye. I envision the skeletal platform as a centipede, the track becoming the exoskeleton and the support structure the legs. With little coaxing, it rearranges its position. The inclines click open and release the massive inferno of glass. It thunders along the twisted run, then leaps off, flying toward the pool. It lands in place and plugs up the opening, preventing the creatures from tossing me in.
The track continues to move, snakelike, tangling in the ropes and the awning attached to the pole at the center of the stage. The awning rips in half and the ropes draw tighter and tighter until the castle's outside walls fall inward, crushing half the crowd. Ash puffs out as the stone hits the courtyard.
What's left of the mob drops me in their midst, as if stunned by my magic. They grunt, growl, and mumble among themselves. Gathering my bearings, I stand, my arms still bound at my back.
"Cover her eyes!" an apish beast shouts. "Her magic is limited to her vision!" One of them drops the bag Jeb was wearing over my head, ties it in place, and shoves me to the ground, knocking the wind from my lungs.
"Now, burn her to ash!"
I inhale, hungry for air, swept under by the smells of paint and citrus soap. The scent of Jeb.
His death replays in my mind. He'll never see his family, never hold me, never call me skater girl again. His beautiful art will live on in the human realm, yet he'll never see how it touches people's lives, or realize he was already the man he always tried so hard to be.
The creatures snarl and paw at my prone form-hot breath and ripping claws-as they scoot me toward the inferno in the ball.
I'm too deep in the mire of emotions to look for a way out, slammed with the idea of Jeb's heart floating in the pool, somewhere beneath the flaming sphere.
Desolation gouges me, harsher than the punches and fists jarring my bones as I'm dragged toward a flaming death. I curl into a fetal position.
Tears singe my eyes and I scream until my lungs draw up inside me like dried rosebuds, small and useless.
Then, beneath the echo of my despair, the small and quiet jingle of butterfly wings makes me remember: Morpheus's armor.
I have to live…I will live. For my loved ones and for Wonderland. And to avenge Jeb's death.
All it takes is one thought, and the protective fringe releases from my dress's razor-sharp tiers. Too many claws hold me down, so I wiggle like a worm. Warm wetness splatters my skin, followed by the scent of blood as the winged blades slice my captors, one by one. Even in my blindness, I can sense them pulling back, though they won't retreat, too excited by the prospect of watching one another get mutilated.
The moment there's room enough I roll, around and around. Agonized cries intersperse with dark laughter as the creatures keep coming back for more.
Rolling, faster and faster, I coax the wind to pick me up and rise like a cyclone. I plow blindly through everyone around me, shredding everything to pieces.
I am wind.
I am fury.
I am pandemonium.
I spin and spin and spin like the Gravitron ride, until no more sound is left. Until every last cry and sick cackle is silenced.
When my revolutions slow, I land lightly on my feet, head still cloaked and arms tied. I stand in place as the sound of footsteps sloughing through sediment stirs behind me. I know who it is, even before his gentle fingers, now free of gloves, work at the bindings on my wrists and lift the bag from my head.
Morpheus stays at my back, as if giving me time to absorb the destruction my madness has wrought.
A soft mist coats the air, a precursor to a storm. I blink in the gray light. Nothing and no one is left standing in the courtyard. No walls, no stage, not even the skeletal track. Morpheus must've roused in time to seek shelter in one of the towers during my rampage, because only the castle itself still stands, along with the covered portico that opens to the drawbridge. I've leveled everything else to ash and dust.
Hart peers out from one of the tower's highest windows.
I glare up at her. "I am the reigning Red Queen!" I shout. "You are a has-been. And you'll be a dead one, if I ever see you again!" It's a promise and a dare.
She lets a curtain fall, retreating behind its black folds.
Manti and the guards and goon birds look out from other openings to survey the damage, but it's obvious they want nothing to do with me or my rage.
As Morpheus turns me to face him, my attackers' powdery remains swallow my boots and sift on the wind. Bright red streaks cover my arms, but it's not the blood of my victims. It's mine.
I realize now why he asked where my gloves were earlier. He knew it would come to this.
So many emotions flicker over him-astonishment, concern, remorse…and the always-present adoration. I raise my hand toward his face and he winces, as if anticipating a slap. Instead, I stroke his cheek and those beautifully expressive jewels under his eyes, then lift to my toes and press my lips to his. His flavor and warmth envelop me. He moans and cups my face on either side, kissing me deeper, but I pull back.
"I love you," I whisper, because he has a right to know the truth before I kill him.
His jaw goes slack, delicate features sparkling with the mist and the reflection of the soft blue glow of his hair. The fathoms of his eyes open to me, maelstroms of passion and hope and unbridled happiness. I see Wonderland's wilds in them…a panoramic view of the kingdom I was born to rule. Another time, I would have been drawn inside those mesmerizing depths, set adrift with him. Now, those tender emotions are out of my reach.
When he opens his mouth to speak, I place a finger on his lips.
"It's my love for you that makes this hurt so much," I say, my voice strong and resolved. "I had faith in you and you betrayed me."
His face falls and indignation courses through my body, so overpowering I can't contain it. I siphon off of Red's dormant state, conjuring her vines out from my skin, commanding they obey me now.
I snap a tendril out and catch Morpheus by his throat, lifting him high. His legs swing and his wings flap helplessly. "I was gullible enough to tell you where he was."
"Alyssa, wait." He hisses and struggles to loosen the vine wrapped around his windpipe and carotid artery.
"You just handed him over. You knew better than to trust them. You gambled with his life, after he put it on the line to save yours." My tears start anew-angry and anguished. As if sympathizing, the sky opens and a cold rain sweeps in to wash the hot saltiness down my face. I lick it from my lips.
I waver, thrown off balance by Morpheus's weight. My pulse separates into two distinctive strains and it hurts to breathe. Red's temporary hold on my dual heart is as fragile as she is now, the strands stretching because I'm usurping her power.
I ignore the physical warnings, tighten my noose until Morpheus's throat bulges and he claws at the ivy strangling him, desperate to breathe. I see our son in his eyes and my compassion surfaces, threatening to soften me, but the queen has tasted vengeance and is intoxicated.
"There's nothing you can say to fix this," I murmur darkly. "Not one thing that will merit my mercy."
Morpheus's fingernails gouge at the vine and he sips enough air to rasp three words: "You…are…Wonderland."
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