Ensnared (34 page)

Without the lifeline of the diary, I may as well be drowning. I tighten my fingers through Morpheus’s as waves of insecurity roll over me. Holding my gaze, he lifts my hand and kisses my gloved knuckles. He’s genuinely glad to see me.

That would change in a blink, were he to hear about my life-magic vow to Jeb. Even though the human side of me has always belonged to Jeb, even though somewhere in Morpheus’s heart he’s always known it, he’s going to be furious. Both guys may have learned to coexist in this world, but if Jeb stands in the way of some master plan, things could change in a heartbeat. I won’t tell Morpheus while we’re in this castle. His jealous, feral side is too unpredictable when it comes to Wonderland or me.

After climbing two flights of winding stairs, we walk through a marble hallway. Hundreds of shadow boxes line the walls, boasting a selection of hearts—different sizes and shapes—that pump wildly in their compartments. With each thump, blurs of red smear the glass lids, as if the organs are knocking on the doors of their prisons. A coppery, meaty stench curdles my stomach.

I try not to compare the bugs I killed and hung on the walls at home to what Hart has done, but the parallel is striking. Collecting
must be in my blood. I don’t dare speculate what else might be . . .

The guards open a set of double doors and usher us into a chamber with black shag carpet and burgundy tiled walls. The queen accompanies us inside against her will. It’s apparent by her crimson hair that Red has taken over again. After we’re safely inside, the guards step out into the hall and close the door behind them.

“Welcome to Hart’s playroom.”
Red’s breathy murmur slithers into my personal space.

Her presence pricks that frangible place behind my sternum where she left her mark. I crush my fur-lined bodice against my skin in an effort not to be paralyzed by the climate of terror and oppression that surrounds her in any form. I have to be stronger than her.

I familiarize myself with the room, seeking out possible weapons. An assortment of gold velvet parlor chairs and chaise lounges lines the walls. Stolen hearts provide the decor: picture and mirror frames utilize the throbbing organs in grisly albeit creative ways; throw rugs ornament the carpet, tasseled with sprite-size thumping beads like the ones on the queen’s sleeves.

The most intricate and morbid display is a giant brass chandelier at the center of the domed ceiling, tipped with the pulsating organs. Impaled with light bulbs, they glow from within, casting veined luminaries along the white ceiling. The contractions of hollow muscles and the rush of blood circulate in an eternal loop, as if projected onto a screen. With the discordant vibration of heartbeats and the strange, pulsing lights, the room feels like a conscious thing—and we are the prey, trapped inside its rib cage.

Is this what Morpheus felt like, being swallowed by the bandersnatch?

Disoriented, I catch his elbow. In response, one of his wings
enfolds both of mine, snuggling me into his side in unwavering support. His scent surrounds me.

“
The one thing Hart asks
,” Red says, her vines wrestling the queen’s hands to maintain control, “
is that you not touch her paints or her tarts
.”

A table is set with pastries along with a glass of white liquid that looks like milk. On the wall above it hangs an easel filled with blank papers held in place by a clip. A set of finger paints in small containers waits to be used. The sight of them makes me think of Jeb, and I gasp against the shortness of breath that has come to accompany the knifelike stab behind my breastbone. Dizziness blurs my vision.

As if sensing my distress, Morpheus takes a seat on a parlor chair and draws me into his lap—my wings draped to one side of his legs and my calves along the other. He folds his arms around me, completely at ease.

“You see. It’s as I told you,” he speaks to Red, his voice a deep rumble close to my ear. “We’re utterly in love, and planning our future.” He settles our joined hands in my lap, causing the dress’s tiers to jingle softly. I struggle not to stiffen as I wait for the ripping inside my heart to subside. The backs of my thighs are flush against his lithe, muscular ones, a distraction and a comfort. “She wore the wedding dress I told you of. Is that not proof enough? Now, as per your side of the bargain—”

“
Oh no
,” Red intones.
“Not until we are married.
That
is the bargain. You’ve tricked me once. It won’t happen again.”

“
We
are married? What do you mean, we?” I look over my shoulder at Morpheus, who offers a pleading wince from beneath his hat’s brim. It’s infuriating to have the iron dome overhead. Without it, he could send me his thoughts instead of me playing this game blind.

“We, as in us three. The wicked trinity.”
Red smirks at her cleverness,
and a stray strand of ivy pulls the red streak free from my bun. The hearts on her gown’s sleeves begin thumping so wildly, they make a wet smacking sound. Her dark blue gaze falls on mine as my hair comes alive, wrapping around her vine affectionately. It’s my magic causing the contact, not hers, which scares me even more.

“
You and I are to reclaim the throne for our bloodline once and for all
,” Red continues.
“And to prove to me that you are serious about your royal duties, that living as queen in Wonderland is your one priority, and to ensure there are no more mortal distractions, you will marry Morpheus, today. He told me you love one another, that you will rule the Red kingdom together. I want to see it for myself. I will not leave this place until you’ve forsaken your other life and the boy who’s been such a distraction for you. Or, if you prefer, I can rid you of him permanently and give our predecessor the human heart she’s been craving for her collection.”

Fear for Jeb’s safety resurrects my courage. I yank my treasonous hair away, forcing it behind my ear. “Keep making threats like that and I won’t take you out of here at all, wretch. You can stay and rot.”

“Your beloved betrothed wants me to repair Wonderland far too much to allow your stubbornness to stand in his way. Isn’t that right?”

I glare over my shoulder at Morpheus. He glares back, unreadable.

“
Looks like the only rotting will be your free spirit under my command
,” Red baits, as one of her vines slithers toward me on the floor.

Still riding my surge of anger, I concentrate on the carpet beneath her, imagining the pile as the tentacles of a sea anemone. The fibers stretch tall and tubular, capturing her advancing appendage.

I smile as she looks up at me, shocked. “I’ve been practicing.
Want to try again? I have an entire sea of carpet to play with. And the way I remember it, your spirit withered under
my
command, just like now.”

Morpheus’s fingers tighten through mine—a squeeze of encouragement or of warning, I’m not sure. Either way, I ignore him and engage in a stare-down with her poisonous eyes.

“Oh, but I’ve taken measures to assure that won’t happen again. Haven’t you noticed yet?”
Red lifts Hart’s inanimate hand and points it at my chest, triggering the tearing pain anew.

My concentration wavers. The vine I captured escapes the shrinking filaments of carpet.

In the same moment, Red topples, flung to the floor by Hart’s resurgence in their shared body. They roll around, looking like a mutated mental patient, scratching and tearing at their ever-changing hair with fingers and snarls of ivy.

I leap to my feet, ready to liberate my dress’s razor edges and rip her to shreds while I have some leverage.

Morpheus tugs me back into his lap and whispers in my ear, “You would only damage the shell and turn both spirits to ash.” It’s amazing how he reads my mind without any magic at all. “We need Red to fix Wonderland. Bide your time, luv. Bide. Your. Time.”

Always the voice of reason, even when madness drives his every action. Red holds all the cards, along with my heart. She admitted she’s tainted me, confirmed my suspicion that I need her not only to fix Wonderland but to fix my insides.

There’s a loud thud as the queen’s spinning body busts into the table’s legs and spills the milk. Red manages to get the upper hand again. She stands, entwines the queen’s arms, and smooths her crimson
hair with a shaky vine. “
Get your betrothed in hand, or the bargain is off
,” she says to Morpheus.
“And you know what that will mean for your precious home.”

I start to offer a nasty retort, but Morpheus tightens his hold around my waist—an unspoken plea.

Red’s attention shifts to me.
“Today, you will welcome my spirit within your body. We will wed Morpheus, leave AnyElsewhere, and take our rightful place on the Red throne. Your betrothed has voiced a particular eagerness to begin your honeymoon.”
She rustles to the door in a flowing cascade of netting, satin, and tentacle-like vines.
“Prepare for the ceremony. I’ll return before the hour is out.”

She leaves Morpheus and me behind the closed door with nothing but the pounding of a hundred hearts—those that are disembodied and rocking the room, and the two wrestling within our own chests.

I leap off his lap and face him. “Eagerness to begin our honeymoon? Really?”

“Oh, don’t be so coy, my blossom,” he purrs, his flawless face the embodiment of temptation beneath the chandelier’s throbbing glow. “You know we can hardly keep our hands off one another.”

The netherling inside me fidgets, tantalized by his teasing. “What I know is that you always kiss and tell.”

Instead of the pompous grin or snide comeback I’m expecting, he shushes me with a finger to his lips and mimes: “The walls have ears.”

I don’t dare assume he’s being figurative. Standing slowly, he keeps a wary eye on our surroundings. He takes off his hat and gloves, then places them in the chair.

I bide my time as he lifts a cloth napkin from the table and runs his fingers across the burgundy wall tiles. He’s on the last quarter of
the room when he scoops something into his hand and beckons me close. Five pea-size creatures scuttle over the lines of his palm. They resemble tiny human ears with crab legs and wings that seem too small to lift them.

Wrapping them in the napkin, Morpheus squashes them and shoves the wadded cloth under the door. “Ear mites. They would’ve recorded anything we said and reported it to the queen.” He leads me to the center of the room. “Now we can talk freely.”

I remind myself not to overreact . . . to give him a chance to explain. “So, this is a wedding dress?”

The smug smirk I expected earlier makes a belated appearance. “Perhaps not what I originally intended you to wear for our union, but it will do in a pinch. Aren’t you glad you had the foresight to put it on?”

I take down the bun at the back of my nape, giving my hands something to do other than punch him. “You made it clear I should wear it,” I say, weaving my red streak back into the rest of my platinum waves.

Morpheus watches my every move, momentarily distracted as I pin up my hair again, piece by piece.

“I thought the dress was meant to be a weapon.” I slip the last bobby pin into place.

“Oh, with the way it fits you, it very well is,” Morpheus says, his voice gruff. The spilled milk on the table has started an annoying
drip-drip-drip
onto the carpet. He backs me up to a chaise lounge out of the way of the mess.

I sit on the edge of the center cushion, my wings strewn behind me. “Tell me what’s going on, and this had better be good.”

He shakes out a cloth napkin. “Still don’t trust me, aye?”

“I trust that you don’t want to face my wrath.”

He snorts. “I’m game for anything. Will you pelt me with falling hearts in a symbolic rain of our unrequited love? Or perhaps chain me to a wall in lace made of moonlight and have your way with me?” His jeweled markings blink through a rhapsody of colors: flirtatious, taunting, and malicious.

“Would you be serious? You have a lot of explaining to do.”

His jewels coalesce to emerald green. “As do you. Let us start with why you were rolling about with Jebediah half-naked on the sands of a beach whilst I was putting myself in danger for your father’s antidote.”

I resist my jaw’s temptation to drop. He doesn’t get to guilt me. There’s only one way he could know that, and it doesn’t bode well for his own nocturnal activities.

“You’re working with Manti . . .” My vocal cords grate against one another—as if made of sandpaper.

Morpheus sops up milk with the napkin to silence the dripping. “We’ll get to that. But first, you need to be apprised of what took place while you were playing peek-a-boo with our pseudo elf’s crowning attribute. Two of your father’s relatives were captured by the queen’s guards last night. When I was accompanying Nikki to the castle, I saw them being escorted through the gate. I didn’t know who they were, only that they were knights and that one shared your father’s eyes.”

I twine my hands nervously. “Uncle Bernard.”

“He’s all right.”

“I can’t believe we dragged him into this . . .”

Morpheus sits on the arm of the lounge, his wings cascading down behind him. The pulsing chandelier lights shimmer along his
black lacy cuff as he picks off some lint. “You have Jebediah to thank for that, actually. Before his scenic transformations confused the wind tunnels, the knights never had a reason to journey across the looking-glass world on foot. Your ex’s interference has endangered the fragile inner workings of this world.”

“But he did it to protect you,” I defend. “You told me yourself that he changed the landscapes to confuse the wildlife.”

Morpheus grips his thigh. “Why are you still so infatuated with that mortal? After how he’s hurt you?”

I glare up at him. “Something that you’ve
never
done.”

Glancing down at his whitening knuckles, Morpheus grinds his teeth. “I’ve never given up on you.”

The sincere rasp to his voice softens me. “I know.” I lace my fingers through his, and his muscles contract in response. “But Jeb didn’t give up on me, either. He gave up on himself. And you had a hand in that.”