Splintered (18 page)

Jeb catches Morpheus’s wrist in midair. Their gazes meet.
“No touching,” Jeb snarls.
Morpheus jerks his hand free. “Our dinner guests know why Alyssa’s here. Since they’ve been missing their excursions to the human realm, they’re willing to welcome her in hopes they’ll get the white portal back. But should they realize
you
are an outsider who dropped in without an invite, they’ll not be so accepting. For your own preservation, you must be convincing as an elfin escort. Elfin knights are even-tempered and dispassionate. Time to pretend you have such virtues.”
I sense the tension in the air as Jeb struggles to contain his temper. The two face off, staring each other into the ground. I shove an arm between them. “Shouldn’t we get to the banquet?” Frowning, Morpheus fishes Alice’s white gloves from his lapel. The grass stains and dirt have been washed off. “We’ll need the lace fan.” He directs the command to Jeb, who pauses as if he might deck him. I tug on his elbow—a muted plea.
Jeb stalks down the corridor to retrieve the backpack. Morpheus and I study each other in electrified silence. I can’t decide what upsets me most: my evolving netherling traits . . . the ticking clock on Alison’s treatments . . . the jabberlock box . . . why Morpheus seems to care that I kissed Jeb when he’s involved with someone else . . . or, worst of all, why it upsets me to know about his love for Ivory.
The thoughts scatter around me like broken glass when Jeb returns.
Morpheus tucks the fan inside his lapel along with the gloves. “Leave your baggage here. If anything goes awry during dinner, come immediately to this hall. It is isolated . . . nigh impossible to find unless you know the secret entrance. Gossamer will see that you’re sent to the tea party should we have any unexpected guests.” “Unexpected guests?” I ask.
“Guests of murderous or malicious intent. You are, after all, a fugitive from the Red Court.” Morpheus rubs his hands together as if relishing the thought of trouble. “I’m famished. Let us feast.”

Black-and-white stripes cover the walls of the windowless dining hall. I can’t tell where the walls end and the floor and ceiling begin. It’s almost as disorienting as the moving moth spirits earlier. Even the long dining table and chairs at the far end of the room are painted to match, creating a camouflage effect. The guests look like they’re hovering in place on a striped background. I feel lost yet strangely at home, like a flea who has taken up residence on a zebra. A giant chandelier mounted on the cathedral ceiling illuminates our surroundings with swathes of swinging light. I step across the threshold with Morpheus on my right side, my hand curved atop the back of his. Jeb stays two steps behind on my left. In elfin code, it’s unseemly for a knight to have any interaction with his charge, other than to protect her life should the moment arise. We can’t touch, we can’t exchange glances, we can’t even speak to each other, or we’ll blow his cover.

“Your attention, please,” Morpheus says to the guests. Gossamer peers out from under his hair again, and the self-playing harp falls silent along with the dinner chatter and clatter. “Miss Alyssa of the Other Realm.” He turns to me and holds out my arm. “These are the solitary of our kind, born neither of the Red Court nor White. We, the wild and woolly of Wonderland, welcome you to the Feast of Beasts.”

My hand tightens on his as the guests gawk at me, food dripping from their snouts.
Gathered around the long table is a mishmash of creatures, some clothed, others naked. Though they vary in size and gender, they’re all more bestial than humanoid. One looks like a hedgehog, prickles and all, except she has the face of a sparrow. She must be shy, because she rolls into a ball upon our entrance, then bounces under the table. A pink woman with a neck as long as a flamingo’s ducks down and gives the hedgehog a thump with her head, sending the ball out from under the table to the other side of the room.
There are more creatures: some with wings; some that are partfrog/part-plant, with wriggling vines growing out of their skin; others as bald as seals with the bodies of primates and the woolly heads of lambs.
The one thing they all have in common is their interest in me. I’m the focal point of fifty-some sets of eyes.
A few muttered whispers break the hush.
“It’s her . . .”
“Spitting image, she is.”
“I hear she drained the ocean with a sponge. A
sponge
. Cunning and imaginative, that.”
They all know about my relationship to Alice and what I’m here to do. Talk about epic fail potential.
My nerves combine with the stenches of food, animal dander, and musk. Dizziness spins the room. Jeb’s behind me. I know he’ll catch me if I faint. I also know that if I do, it will ruin everything. I have to stay strong for Alison. So I pull it together and glance from one strange face to the next, curious which creature came to collect the fan and gloves on behalf of the duchess.
Morpheus leads me to the table and slides out a chair at the right-hand side of his seat at the head. There’s a huge mallet propped beside the table’s leg, and one underneath every chair down our row. He settles me next to a small wiry creature that looks like an albino ferret wearing a black baseball helmet on his head, though his serpentine eyes and forked tongue detract from any cuteness factor.
Jeb takes his place behind me, just out of reach. Morpheus stands at his chair and tips his hat to the guests, black wings arched high. “I apologize for my lateness. But on the bright side, our avenging angel has come at last. So, let the celebration begin!”
After a smattering of applause from our guests, Morpheus hands his hat off to Gossamer and several other sprites. They hang it on the chair’s arm as Morpheus sits, folding his wings over the back like a cloak. Gossamer perches on his shoulder and everyone else resituates with a creak of wood and a rustle of fur and fabrics. Chatter resumes, along with smacks, gulps, and slurps.
“Have a taste, luv.” Morpheus motions to my plate. Then he turns to have a hushed conversation with a green piggish beast who sits at his left across the table from me. The pig wears a gray pinstriped suit complete with fur cuffs. His sleeves stretch down, barely covering lobster claws. He smiles, and I cringe at his teeth—black and round like peppercorns.
On my plate, a handful of goldfish flap around the center, gasping.
“Twinkle?” the ferret next to me says in a flute-like voice. He points a clawed finger at the fish.
“Are we supposed to eat these raw?” I ask him. “I’ve never been a fan of sushi.”
“Sue-she?” he asks.
“Never mind.” I turn from the goldfish to him, grateful for the distraction. “So, your name is Twinkle?”
He tilts his head, his shiny helmet glinting as he gestures to the fish skeletons on his plate. “Twinkle.”
Nauseated, I stare again at my own thrashing dinner.
Their fish eyes sag in their sockets, looking right at me. Pity and revulsion twist in my stomach. I can’t even imagine my pet eels out of water and unable to breathe. Do the moths and bugs I use in my mosaics suffer like this when they die? Why have I never cared enough to ask?
“Twinkle,” the creature next to me repeats. He lifts a silver spoon almost as big as himself, stands in his chair, and proceeds to thwack several of my fish on their heads, knocking them dead. “Twinkle them, see?” His forked tongue flits past his lips.
“Oh, no! Please . . .” On impulse, I reach for my goblet to pour liquid over the remaining live fish so they can breathe again. The mixture oozes out slowly, coating the fish in a gritty glob that smells of cinnamon and apple juice. Desperate, I dig the smothered fish out of the mess, getting the goop under my fingernails and into the weave of my gloves.
Everyone’s looking at me again, but I’m too disgusted to care.
“What
is
this?” I snap at Morpheus.
His eyes gleam. “Do you not put sand in the cider where you’re from?” He smirks. I remember seeing that same teasing smile in dreams as a child, how it used to mean we were about to do something daring and fun. But now there’s an edge of malice behind it. What could’ve happened to change him from the playful boy to the troubled man he is today?
“Would you rather try the wine?” he asks.
At the other end of the table, the primate netherlings are capturing the wine bottles, which float in midair, and stuffing bits of wool from their lamblike heads into the bottle necks to weigh them down. They then pass the wine around for toasts.
Crinkling my nose, I refuse the offer.
“Ah, poor, delicate little blossom.” Morpheus takes a napkin, gently grasping my left hand. “Let us clean you up, aye?” Gossamer lights on the table next to my right hand and proceeds to help with unnecessary roughness, yanking at my gloves and pinching my knuckles while grimacing at me. In contrast, Morpheus smooths the sandy mixture from my fingertips. Heat flares from the contact.
There’s heat behind me, too, from Jeb’s gaze. I don’t have to see it. I sense it. He warned Morpheus not to touch me during the feast.
“Pity we were so preoccupied in the Hall of Mirrors earlier and missed the appetizer,” Morpheus says as he glances at Jeb smugly. “You would’ve loved the spider soup, being so adept at wounding insects.”
I wince.
“Even more a pity”—he leans in and whispers low so only I can hear—“that you would waste your kisses on a man who fantasizes about other girls. Little Gossamer can see inside people’s minds as they’re sleeping. The beautiful young woman in Jeb’s dreams was not you. Interesting, that he chooses now to act on ‘hidden’ feelings. Down here, away from all the others, when he wants so desperately to talk you out of your quest.”
A sharp-edged shadow passes through my chest, slicing like a knife.
“Oh, but of course he’s sincere,” Morpheus continues to taunt. “It’s not as if he’s ever kept anything from you. He’s always been honest.”
Jeb’s move to London with Taelor fills my mind, leaving me as sullen as the dark clouds behind our host’s eyes.
Watching my reaction, Morpheus smiles. “Yes. A man who never lies will never break your heart.” Planting a kiss atop the back of my glove, he tosses down the napkin and releases me.
Gossamer glowers at me before she flits back to his shoulder.
Tears build behind my eyes. I will them not to fall but can’t will away the sick ache in my stomach. Morpheus must be right. Jeb’s never mentioned having feelings for me in our real lives. He’s still with Taelor up there and dreaming of her down here.
Morpheus stands and returns his hat to his head, all business now. “Enough playing with these bland morsels. Waiters, bring out the main course!”
Some movement along the walls provides a momentary distraction from my heartache. It’s as if pieces of the plaster are sprouting legs. Only when they peel from their places and slink off to one of the adjoining rooms do I realize they’re a band of human-size chameleons with suctioned toes.
When the zebra-striped lizards return, bulbous eyes twisting in every direction, they carry a platter garnished with dried fruit and something that resembles a duck. It’s plucked and roasted but still has its head intact. A warm, herbal scent tickles my nose. At least it’s cooked.
“May I introduce you all to the main course?” Morpheus spreads out an arm with dramatic flair. “Dinner, meet your worthy adversaries, the hungry guests.”
My tongue dries to sandpaper as the bird’s eyes pop open, and it hobbles to stand on webbed feet, flesh brown and glistening with glaze and oil. There’s a bell hung around its neck, and it jingles as the duck bows to greet everyone.
This cannot be happening
.
Every nerve in my body jumps, urging me to turn to Jeb. But I can’t.
Morpheus drags the heavy mallet from beside his chair and pounds it on the table like a judge’s gavel. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let the walloping begin.”
Gossamer launches from Morpheus’s shoulder and leaves the room with the other sprites as mass confusion erupts. All the guests leap to their feet, mallets in hand, to chase the jingling duck around the table.
He’s surprisingly agile and bobs out of the way, maneuvering among serving platters, dishes, and silverware.
“What are you doing?” I ask Morpheus. “I’ve never seen anything so savage!”
“‘Savage’?” The green pig snorts an answer for him. “You act as if we’re a bunch of animals.” His peppercorn teeth form a sneer.
“Stop thinking with your head, Alyssa.” Morpheus leans low across the table, his blue hair swinging forward at his shoulders. “Think with this, instead.” He taps a finger above my naval. It’s a good thing Jeb can’t see from his angle, or he’d break Morpheus’s hand off.
“My stomach?” I barely breathe the question.
“Your gut. Instinct. The deepest part of you knows that this”—he motions to the chaos around us—“is how it should be. That same part of you that prompted you to look for me and step through the mirror. The same part that gave you the power to animate your mosaic at home.”
His words send me back to that moment in my hallway when the crickets’ dead legs kicked and the glass beads glowed. Is he saying my curse-magic caused that, too?
“You understand the logic behind the illogical, Alyssa. It’s in your nature to find tranquility amid the madness. And that’s what we’re doing here. We’re giving our food a fighting chance.” He winks at me. “Now, if you’ll pardon us, my comrade and I have some bartering to do.” He and the pig leave the table. Morpheus bends down to keep their heads together as they stroll to the far wall.
“Twinkle!” the white ferret shouts. He scrambles onto the table with spoon in hand, only to get toppled by the roasted duck. I catch my furry companion before he falls headfirst off the edge. His spoon jangles to the floor beside his helmet. With his cap gone, his bald scalp is revealed—the skin so thin, his brain shows through. He doesn’t even have a skull.
He snuggles in my lap. “Datum. Datum very much, angel light!” Beady pink eyes study me, soft with morbid adoration. I’m so captivated by the strangeness of the creature, I don’t realize a mob is coming our way, flailing their mallets in a chaotic rush for the prize.
Jeb jerks my chair from the table to save me from getting pounded while the ferret holds on to my tunic for dear life. Then Jeb sidesteps to the corner diagonally across from me, maintaining our distance. His expression strains with the effort not to make eye contact.
“Ye know the rulessss!” a serpentine wolf hisses in midpummel, just missing the duck as it hurtles across a dinner plate. “Firsssst to ring hissss bell getssss to carve!”
A bloodcurdling howl breaks the chaos as someone rips off one of the duck’s legs. It drags itself free while several of the pursuers gnaw on the ripped drumstick.
The duck climbs atop a hovering wine bottle and takes to the air, all the while giggling deliriously. He taunts the others to catch him by tearing off and dropping pieces of his flesh.
He
wants
to be eaten.
A sick twinge spasms in my belly, tempting me to join in, teasing me with the thrill of the chase. My legs twitch in their desire to jump up. I suppress the impulse.
Any creatures capable of flight follow with mallets in hand, floating over everyone else. The grounded ones scuttle to the tabletop or rush along the floor, tumbling over dishes and chairs in hopes someone will knock the main course down to their level.
I cover my mouth to keep from screaming or laughing hysterically. It could go either way at this point. I’m beginning to enjoy the madness.
That’s not good. Not at all.
My new ferret friend pats my fingers, his tiny pink pads soft against my skin.
“Hale be angel light,” his flutelike voice soothes. “Hale and agreeable. Sort and sing. Be royal smiles for me.” He grins, his sharp teeth glimmering beneath the chandelier’s glow. His canines are as long as a rattlesnake’s fangs.
My instinct stirs, and I do what Morpheus suggested—I follow it. I tickle the creature’s left ear like I would a puppy’s. He purrs in response.
I shut out everything—the pursuit of dinner, the crazy hoots and laughter from the animated guests, the affectionate, furry creature in my lap—as I watch Morpheus pass the fan and gloves to the pig.
In exchange, the pig slips Morpheus a small white bag tied with a black ribbon. Then the pig snatches up his mallet and waddles off to join the festivities, which have moved to the kitchen. The clang of pots and pans in the other room echoes loudly in the sudden hush of the abandoned dining hall.
I startle as the ferret grasps both sides of my face. “Dust-sweet, angel light.” He licks my chin with his cold, forked tongue, then drops to the floor, snagging his spoon and helmet. “Twinkle. Gust and begone!” With that, he returns his helmet to his head and runs into the kitchen.
Once he disappears, only Jeb, Morpheus, and I remain in the room. Free of prying eyes, I look at Jeb from my seat and he stares back from against the wall, neither of us moving.
A strange pressure starts to penetrate my chin where the ferret’s snaky tongue left a wet mark. It worms into my skin and winds into my mouth, both warm and cold at once. I swallow the taste of it—bitter yet sweet, like a confection made of tears.
The sensation doesn’t stop there. It flows into my throat, then my chest, pinching with a deep, profound sadness. At first, I hurt for myself and Jeb, for how there’s still so much between us to work out. Then I hurt for Alison and Dad and their lost years together. I hurt for Queen Red and her broken heart, and for Ivory, who’s always suffered in solitude, now locked alone in the prison hatbox. The sadness escalates, as if all the grief of the world converges in one spot, just above my heart. I ache to cry . . . ache so much, it takes my breath away.
Jeb rushes to me, crouching at my feet. “Al, it’s all right. It’s over.” He feels my forehead. “You’re so cold. Say something, please.”
I can’t respond for fear I’ll start to weep uncontrollably.