Ensnared (40 page)

They tricked everyone. Including me.

I shake my head. Chessie launches from Jeb’s shoulder and flutters
in front of me. His whirling, all-knowing eyes recount everything: Morpheus finding Jeb in the dungeon; the two of them in private, coming up with the plan and sneaking into Manti’s chamber in simulacrum suits; Manti agreeing to everything as long as he got to play the loyal king to salvage his reputation in his queen’s eyes; Jeb painting and animating the miniature hookah that triggered my human memories; and last of all, Jeb touching up his doppelganger’s face to flawless perfection before painting bloody streams under the blindfold and gag, then masking his own ears and face with elfin features, harlequin face paint, eye patch, and gaping holes.

Chessie smiles again, tiny teeth glinting. I open my palm for him and he rolls to his back so I can rub his tummy. With a contented grunt, he leaps into flight and makes a beeline for Morpheus, who puts him to work looking for his hat in the ashes.

I turn to Jeb, still shaky. “CC’s image. His face. I thought you couldn’t complete him.”

Jeb rubs his labret with his thumb. “Because I couldn’t see inside my heart. Ever since I can remember, I measured my worth against who my old man was, or how successful my art was. You’ve been telling me all along that I chose to be better than my dad. It was a
choice
. It finally hit me that you were right. Every time your life was at stake, my first thought was to help you. Like today, even if I couldn’t have painted a way, I would’ve found another. That’s the one good thing that came out of my childhood. Having seen the worst is what helps me choose the best. This place let me face my demons. But you . . . you always had faith I would beat them. And now I have. Thanks for that, Al.” His green eyes shimmer with a self-possession they’ve never had. Complete and total acceptance.

The rain stops, and reality hits full on.

Jeb’s alive and whole—in every way. Morpheus didn’t betray us. And all the horror I just witnessed was a brilliant, twisted lie.

Jeb twines one of my blond dreadlocks around his finger. “You okay?”

I’m tempted to scream at him for letting me believe such terrible things about both of them. But I’m too happy to have him alive, standing here and talking to me . . . touching me . . .

I want to leap into his arms and hug him tight. Since my dress is a killing machine, I settle for pressing my palm against his chest. His heartbeat thumps from the other side of his clothes. I will never take that rhythm for granted, or the fact that he still has a life-clock.

“Never scare me like that again,” I say.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s my line.” Using my dreadlock, he draws my face close and brushes his lips and labret across my forehead, then down my temple to my mouth in a gentle peck.

Morpheus makes a huffing sound. “Well, that’s just jolly beautiful. I’m the one who got a bump on the noggin and half strangled.”

Jeb releases me, rolling his eyes.

Morpheus brushes futilely at the ash clumped on his clothes. “Sucking up all her sympathies when you had the easy part.
Follow Chessie out the gate, and lead him to her father and uncle’s hiding place.
Oooh, so scary.”

Fighting a smile, I study the raw red marks along his neck that look like rope burns.

I take his hand and squeeze it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

His thumb rubs raindrops from my knuckles. “You couldn’t know. From the moment Red inhabited you, everything you knew, she knew. We had to concoct a plan to get the medallion and make you remember your strength and get angry enough to tame her
spirit, all without her knowing. Without you knowing. It was the only way.”

The only way . . .

The phrase triggers my dad’s advice when we first arrived here:
You’ve never murdered anyone, Allie. Be sure it’s the only way. Otherwise, it will haunt you . . .

I look again at all the death in my wake. My stomach turns. “It was the only way.”

“Yes, it was,” Jeb says from beside me.

“Damn right it was,” Morpheus agrees. His gaze flicks to the piles of ash, making it clear that he understands I’m talking about so much more than their plan. I’m glad Jeb wasn’t here to witness my rampage. It’s enough that he saw me in Red’s chains.

Chessie erupts from a pile of soot, propelling Morpheus’s dust-covered hat like he did the robe at the inn yesterday. The hat zigzags through the air, Chessie refusing to give up his prize. His head peeks out and his mischievous smile spreads when Morpheus scowls.

I purse my lips, one more question niggling. “So Manti . . . you attacking him on stage. That was part of it?”

“Yeah,” Jeb says. “About that.” He cocks his head at Morpheus. “You laid it on a little thick out there.”

Morpheus clucks his tongue. “I performed masterfully,” he answers, at last managing to claim his hat from Chessie.

“Right,” Jeb scoffs. “Pretty sure my mistreatment wouldn’t have sent you into hysterics, drama queen.”

Morpheus smirks. “Fair enough. On the other hand, your portrayal of a brainless wind-up numbskull was spot on.”

Jeb’s lips quiver, as if he’s fighting a smile himself. “You know, I still have enough paint to make that flyswatter.”

“Tut. No need for violence.” Morpheus taps the dust from his hat and places it on his head. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due.”

Their eyes glitter with levity, just like when they tease me. They’re enjoying the banter. There’s even an undercurrent of respect where there used to be little more than tolerance.

My heart swells, both sides of it, so proud of how they worked together, saw past their resentments for the greater good. The sensation is beautiful, but it causes another rip—a visceral pop behind my sternum.

I gasp.

“Al, you’re white as a sheet.” Jeb throws a concerned glance to Morpheus. “Maybe she’s losing too much blood.”

“Perhaps.” Morpheus catches my left wrist to check my pulse. I can tell by the suspicious crimp of his brow that he’s thinking about my anemic spell in Hart’s playroom.

I pull away. “I’m fine. Really.”

Jeb turns my other arm over to assess the damage. I cringe as my wounded skin stretches.

“I don’t share her magic,” Jeb says. “I can’t heal her.”

“I can, once I’m restored. For now we’ll staunch the flow.” Morpheus takes out his paint-smudged handkerchief, reminding me of our time in Hart’s room. I still can’t believe I almost choked him. And after professing my love . . . something he’s been waiting so long to hear.

With one glance he alleviates my guilt. Even without him being in my head, I know what he’s thinking: that he understands my darker side and her vicious kicks; that, in fact, it’s those very kicks that challenge him and make him feel alive.

I mime a thank-you. He winks and gingerly presses the hanky along my skin.

A strong gust blows through the leveled courtyard, stirring clumps of wet ash into a frenzied cloud. A wind tunnel appears in the distance, just above the cliff where we landed this morning.

Jeb takes my elbow gently. “We need to get going. Your dad, uncle, and the other knight are inside that grove of trees, waiting. We have a wind tunnel to catch.”

“You said
we
,” I point out as the three of us walk swiftly toward the portico to retrieve the painted shadows.

Jeb throws one last glimpse over his shoulder at the pool of fears and the giant ball of flames covering it, as if looking for ghosts. “I have nothing left to stay for.”

I’m selfish because I’m glad all of his creatures in the mountain were destroyed. How ironic, that I have Morpheus to thank for that, too. Or maybe he planned it all along. It never ceases to amaze me, the far-reaching scope of his machinations.

“Poor Nikki,” Jeb says, his voice heavy.

Morpheus offers a sad nod and Chessie hangs limp over his shoulder, his smile turned upside down.

“I thought she was trying to save her creator,” I add as we all walk through the portico and onto the bridge. “But she was trying to save her friend.”

“She was a brave little spriteling,” Morpheus acknowledges. “And speaking of small but fierce females, it’s time for you to spread your wings, luv.”

I don’t feel so fierce. Just the short walk across the courtyard has left me winded. I’m not sure how long I have before Red’s power runs dry and the tendrils holding me together give out.

For one second, I consider telling the guys about her spell, share my concerns so I don’t have to shoulder them alone. But what good would it do? They would only be tormented because they can’t fix this. No one can.

Red herself said there was no magic that could heal me.

My eyes burn at the edges. I’ve never felt more alone.

“Let’s go get your mom.” Jeb stands back so my wings can sprout open.

I force a smile, pushing past the tearing sensation behind my breastbone to take flight, eager to see Dad and hug him. With Jeb carried by his shadow on one side and Morpheus and his shadow on the other, we head for the cliff and our transport to the Wonderland gate.

As we fly, the memory of my vision about Mom buffets me like the wind currents. She’s safe, but Wonderland’s heart is ailing. What will we face when we get there? I only hope I can fix things before my own ailing heart gives up the fight.

I can die happy, if I know Wonderland will live.

I have just enough time to absorb my wings, slip out of my deadly dress, and pull an extra tunic over my leather leggings before we’re sucked into the wind tunnel and dropped in front of the gate that leads to Wonderland. After I fill everyone in on my vision about Mom and Ivory, Uncle Bernie hugs me and Dad good-bye. We promise to visit once we’re back in the human realm.

It’s a promise I’m afraid I won’t be keeping.

Leaving Uncle with the other knights, we make it through the gate without anyone knowing I’m harboring a fugitive. After that, aside from the horrible rotting stench, traveling through the tulgey’s
quarter-mile-long throat isn’t nearly as terrifying or dangerous as I expected. Partly because Dad has ventured through once before and leads the way, but also because the tulgey is frozen. Literally.

Morpheus expected as much, even prepared us for it. He said according to my vision, Ivory froze things to slow Red’s decaying spell. To give us a chance to stop it.

The tree’s open mouth comes into view, offering a misty silvery light to see by. Our breaths form clouds of condensation as we maneuver around the giant ice-slicked gray tongue, using the splintery teeth like stepping-stones.

I leap from the unhinged jaw into the heavily wooded thicket behind Dad. Jeb and Morpheus bring up the rear. The neon grass glistens with frost and crunches beneath my boots. A mildewed scent hangs on the air, even though everything is cloaked in winter.

Tangled branches and looking-glass rejects—netherlings that have been spit back out of the tulgey in strange and awful forms—all stand motionless. Morpheus names the creatures: a carpenter ant with a body made of tools; a hornet with a trumpet for a nose; and a grasschomper with a locust’s body and a horse’s head, sporting a clump of frosty grass sticking out from its muzzle—as if it was suspended mid-chomp.

The scene is uncannily like the frozen tea party Jeb and I encountered on our first trip here. But unlike the tea party, there’s no broken watch that has suspended time in its icy thrall. This is something else entirely.

I meet Jeb’s gaze and he tips his head, acknowledging the memory.

Morpheus stops beside me. Glowing blue flecks swirl around his hands like fiber-optic mittens. They brighten and dim, then
brighten again. His magic is stuttering as it warms up, like a car’s motor that has sat too long without use.

“Are you sure you told us everything about the vision?” he asks me as Jeb and Dad search for a path.

“I think so.” I rub my forehead. “I was . . . in a weird place when I had it. Why?”

Morpheus purses his lips. “I expected the terrain to be under a perpetual winter. But Ivory froze the residents. I can’t understand her motive. It was the landscapes that were in danger of falling into disrepair. Not the netherlings.”

I nibble on my lip. Something nudges at the back of my mind. Didn’t Mom use a strange word to describe the sickness that had fallen over everything? But I can’t remember what it was . . . it started with a
D
.

Frustrated by my amnesia, I trundle over to where Dad and Jeb are clearing away fallen branches from a trail that appears to be the only way out.

Dad stops me as I reach down to help. “Allie, let us do this. I don’t want you to reopen your cuts.” He turns to Morpheus. “Will you be able to heal her soon?”

Bright orbs of blue light—strong and unfaltering—burst along Morpheus’s fingertips. The glow reflects off his face. He smirks like an enchanted schoolboy. “Yes.”

Chessie flutters around him in celebratory spins.

Dad nods and takes an iron dagger from the sheath at his shoulder. “All right. Jeb and I are going to see if this trail is safe. We’ll be back.”

Jeb squeezes my hand before he follows. I hold on to him, surprised to see his tattoo still glowing, though instead of violet, it’s
pure red. He lifts his eyebrows in a bewildered gesture before rolling down his sleeve, an unspoken request for us to solve the mystery later. He and Dad duck under a mass of low-hanging tulgey branches and vanish from sight.