Ensnared (39 page)

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
.”

I slacken my hold on Morpheus’s neck enough to let him breathe.

He gulps air hungrily. “I”—he coughs—“will always”—another breath—“do what’s best for
you
.”

I blink rain and tears from my lashes. “Jeb is dead!” My shout strains my throat and the tendrils holding my heart together. Dizziness rushes in and I wobble. I gather my bearings and drag Morpheus closer. More vines erupt from my skin, wrapping him from his waist to his chest. “How can that be what’s best for me? Answer me!”

“Skater girl.”

The voice comes from behind, not from Morpheus’s compressed
vocal cords. I drop the vine from his neck, but the others hold position. I can’t turn around, afraid I’m imagining things.

“Look, I get that he’s a pain in the ass.” A strong, familiar hand touches my bare elbow and the heat stings my cuts. “But it’d be more sporting with a king-size flyswatter. Set him down, huh?”

Morpheus holds my gaze, a smug smirk quivering at his lips. “Told you.” Then he glances over my head and takes another gulp of air. “About bloody time you got back.”

My limbs tremble and I lower Morpheus to the ground. The vines retract into my body as I spin on my heel.

It’s CC facing me. The harlequin doppelganger now wears a knight’s tunic and pants. Chessie sits on his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear. Two of Jeb’s shadow creatures stand under the portico next to the drawbridge to stay dry, their wings at rest as they await further commands.

I watch in wonder as CC transforms in the rain.

The sleeves of his tunic are rolled up, and a glowing purple tattoo begins to appear on his right inner wrist, a sheet of flesh-colored paint rinsing away. The points of his ears, the heart-shaped eye patch, and the mutilations under his left eye melt away, too. His porcelain coloring vanishes as rivulets of black, red, and white track down to reveal Jeb’s clear, olive complexion. Everything—the gashes and the dislocated eyeball, the elfin jewels and ear tips—were painted on . . . made alive at Jeb’s command.

He and Morpheus managed a trade somehow: Jeb for his creation.