Ensnared (37 page)

“
She’s dying
,” Red says, somewhere beyond my closed eyes.

“As she should be,” Hart responds. “Just look at the mess she
made of my paints! And she nibbled on a tart. Confounded little mouse.”

Judging by Hart’s tirade, we’re still in the playroom. The scent of her perfume suffocates me, even more potent with my eyes closed. It’s the stench of death—wilted flowers and rotted flesh.

“
Let me out so I can preserve her vessel
,” Red hisses.

“Don’t be cross with me!” Hart scolds. “You had to know this would be the result when you put the spell upon her.”

“No. Once the netherling side fully awoke to madness, it was supposed to absorb the human one, transform it. I could never have predicted the mortal half of her heart would put up such a fight. That it would be strong enough to hold on for so long and endanger them both.”

A whimper lodges within my throat and a bitter metallic flavor gags me. I want to clench Red’s neck, to choke her. Instead, I’m the one choking . . . on my own blood.

“It’s your spell. Simply reverse it,” the queen suggests, ignoring my struggle.

“Now that the heart is splitting in two, I know of no magic that can save her. Nothing for me to do other than pull her together from the inside.”

I moan.

“
Hurry, you fool
,” Red prompts the queen, desperation in her voice.
“Set my spirit free.”

“I need collateral,” Hart counters. “For the trade of the medallion. I want more than one measly human life-clock. I want them all.”

One human life-clock? Who could they be talking about? Jeb? My dad? Did they catch Uncle Bernie again?

Whoever it is, one of my loved ones is in danger.

I try to move, but agony slices through me, a metal stake splitting
and gouging my breastbone. To keep from crying out, I freeze in place. My eyelids seal tighter.

“I already told you you’ll get more. My bargain with Morpheus is to hand over the medallion once the marriage is official. I said nothing about leaving you here.”

“You don’t think your king will have something to say about my following you through the gate?”

“Once Morpheus realizes I’m the only thing keeping his cherished Alyssa alive, he will do whatever I command.”

I inhale a sharp breath. The air scalds and scrapes my lungs, as if sprouting thorns on the way in. The sensation dulls my reasoning; still, I try to piece things together. Red plans to trick Morpheus. He must already suspect this. He’s a mastermind. The wise and cryptic caterpillar, emerged from his chrysalis in the form of a beautiful winged fae.

But he doesn’t know what she has for leverage. He’s unaware of my dying heart, or Red’s spell on me.

Other than Wonderland, I’m his only weakness. And she’s using both.

How can he refuse her?

I’m
the only one who can stop this. I open my eyes to slits and groan, trying to concentrate enough to unleash my magic. Black fog crowds my peripheral vision . . . makes it impossible to focus.

The Queen of Hearts crouches in front of me, one half of her hair bright crimson and the other side burgundy. “This is all moot,” she says to Red. “You heard what the ear mite said. The dullard girl has made a vow to the mortal. There will be no marriage betwixt her and Morpheus.”

“Everything will fall in place once we find the boy. The vow is binding
only for as long as he lives. We kill him, you have the start to your human collection, and I have my royal wedding.”

“No.” I try to speak over the blood gurgling in my throat. I’ve done it again. I’ve endangered Jeb’s life more than it already was. “I . . . won’t let . . . you.”

I attempt to slap Hart’s face, but my hand falls limply to my lap.

The queen’s clammy palm cups my chin. “How remarkable. Her life-clock is split in twain, hanging by mere threads. Yet still, she has fight in her.” Her expression grows intense. “I already have the medallion. I have my own way into Wonderland. There’s no reason I should do anything you ask, Red. I’m going to let her die and take her specimen. I’ve never seen another like it.”

“There will be another, one day,”
Red insists, frantic.
“Morpheus and I will have children through her. I’ll spare you one of their hearts. But not hers. Hers belongs to me. It doesn’t matter if you get into Wonderland. You won’t have access to the humans without the portals. Alyssa is the only one who can reopen them. And my plan for her and Morpheus reaches beyond your petty ideals. I am giving their firstborn—the first netherling capable of dreams—to Sister Two. She abhors chasing down human children. For centuries she’s complained about how tedious it is. So in exchange for an immortal child that will forever supply the souls in her lair, she and her disgruntled toys will aid me in overthrowing Ivory. Once I have the magic of both crowns, my control over all of Wonderland will be absolute. And you and every inhabitant of AnyElsewhere will be welcomed upon our borders to come and go and plunder the human realm as you please.”

I sob, at last face-to-face with Red’s horrific plan yet physically unable to intervene.

Hart clucks her tongue. “You’ve made a fair point. We have an accord. But the girl is barricading the transfer of your spirit by sheer
will.” The queen draws her hand back, fingers dripping with my bloody saliva. “She’s the one who needs convincing now.”

“Let me in, Alyssa.”
Red’s entreaty is eerily tender.
“ You’re bleeding to death. What good will such a loss be to anyone? It will endanger both the human boy and Morpheus. Not to mention all of Wonderland.”

Tears trickle down my face.

Her argument is sound. As terrified as I am for my future child, he’ll never exist if I don’t save everyone today. The only way is to let Red’s spirit hold me together, then hijack her magic to fix Wonderland. I know her strategy now. If I can be stronger than her long enough, I’ll defeat Hart and cast Red out once and for all. I can’t let myself consider what will happen to my heart after that.

I slump forward in surrender.

My lungs shrink and my veins wither, depleted of oxygen. My eyelids droop, unable to resist the welcoming darkness that waits there.

“Hurry, hag. Release my spirit before she fades to ash and neither of us gets what we want.”

Hart groans in resignation and her clammy hand presses my forehead. A bright light bursts behind my eyes.

White-hot tendrils shoot from my skull into my spine, forcing my body to straighten. To awaken.

I remember this feeling . . .

My eyes flutter open. The colored streak of my hair pulls loose, dancing. Bit by bit, my bobby pins drop to the floor until all of my hair matches the enchanted strands, free and flowing around my shoulders in vivid crimson waves.

The intrusion migrates to my arms and legs, filling my limbs with power.

My veins illuminate under my skin. Each one grows, expands to the form of a living, breathing plant that blossoms out of me like a snake.

Red inhabits me, and I welcome her, because she’s making me strong.

The splitting agony in my heart yields to the sensation of needles stitching it back together. All the pain soothes away and the beat is unified and solid. I fill my lungs, drinking the air.

I wrap my arms around my chest, hugging myself, embracing Red’s vitality.

“ Yes, my child.”
Her voice forces its way from my mouth on a breath.
“Together, We shall be unstoppable.”
She addresses us as a collective
We
, as if We are one being. The possibility appeals to my madness in ways I never imagined.

The leafy tendrils sprouting from my skin lash at the Queen of Hearts. She takes a step back, cautious. Red uses the connection between her ivy strands and my veins to move me, as if I were a marionette. This time, there’s no pain, no cracking of bones or ripping of muscles and veins, because I don’t fight her. I move gracefully, as if I’m floating. I look down to find my body propelled by the vines, a creeping plant. My feet aren’t even touching the floor.

However wrong it looks and feels, all dread and fear vanish.

What’s so bad, really? The power coursing through us? The horror on Hart’s face as We wrap her in our deadly ivy? Her eyes bugging out like a guppy’s as We tighten our clasp on her neck?

No. Nothing bad here. On the contrary, the brutality is rapturous.

“Please,” Hart murmurs, her voice no more than a whistle of compressed air. “Our bargain . . . the medallion.”

Right. We still don’t know which of her guards hid the medallion.
My
and Red’s thoughts intertwine as one.
Let her live. She yet has a part to play.

Before We release the queen, several guards enter the room, their reptilian faces reflections of terror. “Y-y-your Majesties,” the one in charge stutters. “Manti has captured the human boy.”

We unwind our tendrils and drop Hart. She flops to the floor and gasps for breath. Her guards help her move a safe distance from us.

“
Tell Morpheus the transfer is complete
,” We say, our voices merging.
“Bring the boy to the courtyard, and let the ceremony begin.”

Clouds darken the sky and a chill wind rustles our crimson locks, flicking them across our shoulders like unmanageable flames.

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.