Ensnared (17 page)

I take a shallow breath, but it chokes me.

“Look at me,” Morpheus presses. I focus on his complexion, the color of snowy shadows beneath the eclipse of his wings, and he begins to sing. Not inside my mind, since the iron dome prevents it, but aloud . . . a simple, sweet lullaby, carried on his beautiful voice.

“Little blossom so filled with dread, clear the nightmares from your head. Let me wipe away your tears, for in this place you have no fears.”

He used to sing those very lyrics when he became a child and took me to Wonderland in my dreams. I would pull one of his satiny wings across me like a blanket, and the scent of licorice and honey, paired with his beautiful lullaby, would lull me to relaxation. As I listen now, his jewels flash a serene blue, like the surface of an ocean.

With a few deep breaths, I suppress the coughing. “Thank you,” I say.

Morpheus squeezes my shoulders over the drop cloth. “The creature out there wasn’t going to hurt you. It was simply intrigued. It’s seen your face before. All the creations down here have.”

Remembering the barbed wire sketches, I shake my head. “No. The graffiti acted like I was a contagion. They tried to kill me.”

He lifts an eyebrow and trails a fingertip along my neck. “Is that how you got these scratches?”

I nod.

He studies the rips in my sleeves and the burn marks from the shooting stars. “How very curious.”

“They’re monsters.” I clutch the cloth tighter around me.

“Not all of them,” Morpheus corrects. “Little Nikki has the same creator and she’s quite pleasant.” As if to prove his point, Nikki lights next to his hand on my shoulder and strokes my hair.

The same creator.
The blood on my tunic’s hem left by the broken-heart sketches . . . the stains look like paint. Just like Jeb’s doppelganger
tasted
like paint.

Sick awareness tightens my windpipe. The fluorescent fairy and graffiti, Jeb’s disfigured elfin look-alike, and the landscapes on his easels—it all reminds me of when I first stumbled upon my powers . . . the time I inadvertently made a mosaic come alive. I animated it on the wall at my house—dead crickets and winterberries dancing and dripping inside their plaster frame.

“Oh, no,” I say, my voice airy. “It isn’t that Nikki is immune to the consequences of using her magic here. She’s
made
of magic. Jeb painted her. He painted his look-alike, too. He’s bringing his artwork to life.” The explanation sounds like fiction in spite of how my gut knows it’s true.

A glint of pride reflects back at me from Morpheus’s black eyes. “Splendid deduction. Yes, Jebediah has tapped into netherling gifts. But there’s more to it than that.”

As if satisfied I’m okay, Chessie prances off my thigh and ducks out from under Morpheus’s tented wings. Nikki follows him.

Once they’re both gone, I turn back to Morpheus. “What do you mean, there’s more?”

“Hmm.” His fingers find their way to my neck again, but this
time, he catches the strings there and drags out the diary and key before I can stop him. “First, you tell me about this little treasure.” The red glow glosses his face. He tries to open the book, but the magic is too powerful and the key’s too big.

I yank the strings away, tucking them under my tunic once more.

Morpheus studies me. “What are you hiding on those tiny pages, Alyssa? And why?”

I look at him dead-on. “I finally have a secret of my own. Not so fun being on the other side of one, is it?”

The slow burn of amusement warms his features. He leans in and whispers, “On the contrary, My Queen. I cannot imagine anything more delicious than peeling away your defenses, layer by layer, and baring your precious . . . secret.”

Heat climbs my chest and fills my neck and cheeks. It’s beyond unsettling, how quickly he can shift between comforter and tormentor.

He watches the blush of my skin, obviously enjoying taunting me. “In fact, I’m willing to bet I get to the bottom of your secret before you do mine. It’s like I’ve always told you: Netherling logic resides between sense and nonsense. When you turn your back on everything that you once thought was real, you will find illumination.” He drops his wings.

Warm sunset pours through the glass ceiling.

“I suppose we’ll see how much you’ve learned to rely on your Wonderland side.” He singles out the red strip of my hair from my braid and holds it up to the light, then tucks it behind my ear. “Netherling intuition can decipher the illogic of everything you’ll encounter while you’re here, which will aid you on your grand quest.”

I sense this “grand quest” he refers to is more than just Dad’s and my attempt to get to Mom.

Dad . . .
I forgot him again! “My dad!”

“Glad to see you’re concerned,” Jeb says from the doorway, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there. “No worries. I was just with him, and he’s all right.”

A long-sleeved black satin shirt hangs over Jeb’s broad shoulders and arms, unbuttoned and flowing. His eyes glimmer with a disorienting light that confirms there’s something otherworldly flowing through him. Though relieved he hasn’t transformed physically, I’m terrified of what’s happening inside of him.

His labret glints red in the fading light overhead, reminding me of how the elfin knights pricked their skin to mark their faces with gems made of crystallized blood. With his long, wavy hair, Jeb really does favor the ones I met in Wonderland. His stony expression—giving no emotions away—only adds to the illusion.

“Would you take me to him?” I ask about my dad, feeling like I’m talking to a stranger.

“First, answer a question for me,” Jeb says. “If you care so much about him, why would you bring him into the middle of all this?”

Jeb’s accusatory tone stings. I’ve been away from him for weeks and was just attacked by his creatures, yet instead of comforting me or welcoming me, he’s raking me over the coals. “My dad is as much a part of this twisted fairy tale as the rest of us.”

Jeb meets Morpheus’s gaze. “Right. Bug-snot told me all about Thomas’s past. But why would you drag him through that pain again? He’s better off not remembering.”

“I—I had to give him his memories back,” I stammer, shaken
at the thought of Jeb and Morpheus sharing confidences. “Do you think
you
would’ve been better off not getting yours back?”

Jeb looks down at the floor, a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows. “I think I would’ve been better off not ever making them to begin with.”

I struggle not to cry. As razor-sharp as the confession is, I’d be weeping blood. “I needed Dad’s help to find a way into the looking-glass world. He wanted you and Mom back. It was time for him to know the truth.”

“The truth.” Jeb scrubs at the red stains on his palms. “Surprised you know what that is anymore.”

I whimper before even realizing it.

“It’s not what you think,” Jeb says without looking up. He splays his hands, as if they’re what made me react. “It’s paint. Not blood.”

I shake my head. “I don’t care what’s on your hands. Please look at me. I missed you. I was so worried about you.”

“Really? Which one of us are you talking to?” His attention crosses to Morpheus, who smirks conspiratorially.

Even more unsettling than seeing the guys on the same side of anything is having them gang up on me. That sharp pain tears inside my heart again, as if Red is there, antagonizing it, relishing my misery.

I squeeze my eyelids shut, damming up the tears that knock behind them.
Suck it up, Alyssa. You’re a queen. Act like one.
I stiffen my shoulders and open my eyes.

“I’ll find Dad on my own.” I shrug out of the drop cloth and start to slide down from the table.

Morpheus places a palm at my collarbone. “You’re not ready to be running any marathons, luv. You’re still shaky.”

“I have to find him.”

“He’s already been found, like I said,” Jeb answers, his attention on the hand pressed at my neck. He narrows his eyes, and with a subtle flick of his fingers, Morpheus’s shadow rises from the floor and wrestles Morpheus away from me.

Growling, Morpheus shoves the dark silhouette aside, then glares at Jeb. “Amateur. Cheap parlor tricks.”

Jeb gives him a vicious grin. “A pupil is only as good as his tutor.”

I stare at them both, speechless.

Jeb turns back to me. “Your dad just needs to sleep. He’s tired.”

Morpheus’s creepy shadow sniffs at my tangled hair like a dog. I scoot back as Morpheus forces it behind him.

“I want to see for myself,” I say to Jeb.

Jeb squints. “Why? Don’t you trust me? Do you seriously think I would hurt Thomas? He’s the only real father I’ve ever had. The only one in your family who hasn’t stabbed me in the back.”

I refuse to let him see how deeply he’s cutting me. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s that . . . thing you painted.”

He steps all the way into the room, head cocked. “You told her.”

His gaze and accusation are directed at Morpheus, but I answer. “My dad was captured and dragged away. I’m pretty sure it was that same thing that attacked me in the hallway. Did it show you where it took him? It had to, didn’t it? Because you’re its creator.”

Jeb’s lashes lift my direction and in that moment, I see my best friend again. Weary shadows under his eyes reveal the vulnerability he’s trying to hide. He’s human and unguarded. All I need is to drop to the floor, walk over, and close the space between us. But then he looks away, and I’m hit with the reality that the span of steps from
me to him is nothing compared to the walls I’m going to have to climb to get to his heart.

“How does she know so much?” Jeb asks Morpheus. “What have you been telling her?”

Morpheus grimaces. “Put your little novelty away and we’ll talk.”

Jeb tips his head, and the shadow sinks into the floor again, nothing but a dark shape at Morpheus’s feet.

Morpheus leans his hip against the table’s edge and drags a corner of the drop cloth over Chessie and Nikki, who are dozing soundly. “As always, you underestimate our Alyssa’s ingenuity. She figured it out on her own after being attacked by your graffiti army in the entry tunnel.”

Jeb looks my way. “They attacked her?” For an instant, I could swear there’s concern in his eyes. Then it’s gone. “They’re not usually violent toward living things.”

Morpheus purses his lips. “Well, since most of your creations are unequipped to leave this mountain, and since we’ve never had living visitors here, we’ve not exactly tested that theory. Besides, this isn’t just any visitor. Alyssa is the object of your rage.”

“That’s not true,” Jeb murmurs, yet he averts his eyes.

Morpheus sighs. “Much as you’d like to deny it, it’s obvious your creations are retaining your anger toward her. Feeding off those negative feelings.”

“Jeb?” I ask on a whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to erase everything and start anew.” Morpheus speaks quietly, gentle helpfulness and measured wisdom, though it’s obvious he’s egging Jeb on.

Jeb meets his gaze. “I think it’s time for
you
to stop talking.”

“Why? Alyssa will figure it all out soon enough.”

I’m feeling nauseated again. “I want you
both
to stop talking about me like I’m not here. What happened to you, Jeb? Was it when you went through the gate? You mutated?”

Morpheus laughs. “‘Mutated.’ The word you’re looking for is
evolved
, luv. He has shed his monkey mortal state and donned the robes of netherling immortality. That’s a step up, not a step down.”

Jeb growls from beside one of his easels. “Just shut it, Morpheus. I’ll decide how much she needs to know and when to tell her.”

“Well, let us hope you decide before she’s torn to bits, aye?”

I gulp.

Jeb tugs a drop cloth into place over a painting and moves to cover another. “Your dad is worried about you.” He addresses me without even a glance in my direction. “I’m going to take you to him . . . so you can rest together.”

It’s Jeb I need to be alone with, even if it’s for a short walk down a corridor. “Thank you.”

Morpheus scoops up Chessie and the sprite and strides across the room. He pauses at the door, his wings and back facing us. “Sleep safely, Alyssa. When you wake, I’ll help you strategize your battle plans. Bear in mind, I haven’t forgotten the vow you made to me. Nor do I intend to let you forget.”

I stare at the empty corridor after he leaves. Help me strategize my battle plans?
He knows I’m going after Red.
His earlier fascination with the diary . . . somehow, he’s figured out that I plan to use what’s on the pages to destroy her. The war’s not even won and he’s already collecting on the spoils.

“So, are you going to tell me what kind of deal you made with the
cockroach?” Jeb watches me as he buttons the black shirt, covering his circular scars before I can count them. I’m tempted to use my magic to impede his progress, to expose his skin to the evening light around us. My fingers itch to seek out the flawed parts of him . . . the damaged, authentic places that prove he’s real—that he’s the boy I’ve trusted and depended on since my fifth-grade summer. That the human I love is still somewhere inside.

After my encounter with his doppelganger and Morpheus’s accusations about his pent-up rage, I need some assurance.

“Al.”

My name on his tongue shifts my eyes to his. What I wouldn’t give to hear him call me skater girl.

“What was Morpheus talking about?” he presses.

“I promised him something,” I answer softly. I don’t want to admit what he already knows. That there’s more going on between me and Morpheus than I ever let on.

“A promise, huh? How romantic.” His words slash like knives. He’s become a master at wielding more than a brush since he’s been here. “So that’s why you’ve crashed our little paradise. To keep your
promise
to Morpheus.”

I wince. “No. I came to rescue you both. You have every right not to believe me . . . to be mad at me. I know this has been hell. This place . . . it’s broken you.”

“I was broken before that.” His tortured expression delivers the allegation—
thanks to you and bug-rot
—better than his voice ever could. “But I’ve taken my life back. I’m the one with magic here. I have the ability to make the world as it should be. As it
always
should’ve been.”