Ensnared (33 page)

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?”

The Queen of Hearts’s hair flip-flops from one shade to the other as she accompanies us to a room in the castle. Three of her guards follow behind. It reminds me of when I was forced to stroll down a corridor in the Red castle with Morpheus a year ago, only minutes away from sure death at the snarling mouth of a bandersnatch.

A death he saved me from
, I remind myself.

I clench my jaw as he holds my hand, fingers woven through mine. I’ve postponed unleashing my magic and the deadly dress. I’m going along with the engagement charade for three reasons:

One: Jeb is somewhere in this castle, and I have to keep my cool long enough to locate him.

Two: I’m so relieved that Morpheus’s heart isn’t on the chopping block, I can’t find it in my own heart to strangle him yet.

And three: Morpheus’s expression promises answers and begs cooperation. There’s more to this than he’s letting on.

I’ll finesse the truth out of him once he and I are alone, which must be what he had in mind when he requested we have a moment to ourselves before the ceremony. Red agreed, but each step I take becomes more weighted. I suspect she was compliant because we’re going somewhere private to transfer her spirit.