Splintered (31 page)

Cradling him, I walk numbly into the living room, wavering with a sick sense of guilt and loss. I place him on the coffee table next to his carved counterpart and nudge his wings with a shaky finger.
“What were you thinking?” I murmur. “Why did you fly into the pipe? You had to know better.” It hurts to see him, once so pompous and full of life, now as hollow as the caterpillar carving. I pet his cold blue body. “I believe you now, okay? I believe that you cared. And I won’t forget what you did for me . . . in the end.”
I won’t let you forget.
Morpheus’s voice slides into my head. I jump back as the moth body begins to vibrate.
The wings fold over and grow, opening to reveal Morpheus looming atop the table, in all his freakish glory. He’s wearing a modern suit in sapphire silk that matches his jeweled teardrops. And, of course, a spectacularly eccentric hat.
I stand, struggling to mask my happiness. A smile breaks out against my will.
“I knew you’d miss me.” He lights on the floor and moves in close, pinning me to the wall with his body.
“How did you escape?”
“It would seem”—he blots my tears with his sleeve—“that the bandersnatch’s hide is indestructible from the outside in. Not the inside out.”
Realization dawns. “Oh, my gosh . . . you had the vorpal sword in your jacket.”
“I did indeed.” He polishes his fingernails on his lapel. “Of course, all the other victims escaped with me. Now they’re following me around like lollygagging pups. They’ve proven useful enough. Fixing things. I had one of them return the stolen money to the purse while you were sleeping.”
“You . . . what?”
He gestures to the recliner behind him. “Then I put several in charge of stitching up daisies on the chair.”
A wave of disbelief and gratitude washes over me. “Thank you.”
“Ah, I deserve better than a thank-you.” His dark eyes simmer with seduction.
I cross my arms at my chest. “Huh. You owe me at least that. You preyed on my mind when I was a child. Forced my mom to leave her family and be boarded up in an asylum so she could protect me. Then you lured me into Wonderland so I could fix everything for you but be left with nothing in return.”
Raising one hand, he tilts his hat to that sexy slant. “You want me. Admit it.”
Even if he’s partly right, I’ll never tell him. “Why would I
want
you?”
He lifts three fingers to countdown. “Mysterious. Rebellious. Troubled. All those qualities women find irresistible.”
“Such an optimist.”
“My cup is never empty.”
“Too bad your brain is.” The words bite, but my smile softens with affection.
His answering smirk is edged with respect. “So …” He traces the necklace’s chain where it glides over my collarbone, igniting little fires on my bare skin. “You left Grenadine minding the store?”
“With Rabid as her advisor. I told everyone I had unfinished business here.”
“Such as?”
“Family and friends. Senior year and graduation. My art.”
Morpheus raises an eyebrow. “And your knight?”
I glance down at my socks. “Right now, he belongs to someone else.”
Morpheus grazes a fingertip down my temple. “Much as it warms me to the depths to hear that, I don’t believe it. The blood already won.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The boy bled for you—a whole body’s worth of blood. There’s no love greater than that. He belongs to you alone.”
His words are surprisingly beautiful and kind, and somewhere in my heart, I know he’s right. But how long will I have to wait for Jeb to have the courage to admit it to himself?
Morpheus touches the scars on my palm. “But let us not forget that you bled for me. So to whom do
you
belong, Alyssa?” The reminder evokes a tangle of emotions. He’s a pro at unbalancing me. “I’ve chosen the mortal realm.”
“You’re evading the question.”
“I learned from the master.”
He chuckles; then his inky gaze looks me up and down. “Fine, then. Play with your toy soldier. But you are a woman now, with the fire of the nether-realm coursing through your veins. You’re a savage at heart, and you’ve tasted the ambrosia of power. One day you’ll want to fly again. And rest assured, I’ll be waiting in the wings.
Pun intended
.” His wings swoop over us, enfolding me in a black cocoon and pulling me toward him.
I’m not sure if it’s the woman he’s awakened or the blossoming Wonderland wildness in my soul, but I surrender to the embrace. His warm mouth grazes my nose, leaving a hint of licorice behind. I prepare to push him off before he can taste my lips—I’m not about to betray Jeb again, even if we’re not together—but instead, Morpheus kisses my forehead, warm, chaste, and gentle. Then he lets me go.
An uncomfortable silence settles between us. Fishing some gloves from a pocket, he slips them on. I sense good-bye in the action. It twists my insides into a bittersweet tangle.
“Before I leave,” Morpheus says, as if reading my mind, “you need to know. When I killed the bandersnatch, there was no sign of Red.”
My pulse stalls as realization dawns. “You don’t think she’s still out there looking for me . . .”
“It’s possible she crawled off and withered away somewhere, having no body to inhabit. But, if she did find someone, the portals are very heavily guarded now. I would ne’er have made it here if not for Gossamer’s guilty conscience. She and the spritelings distracted the elfin knights for me. I’ve alerted the Twid Sisters, and I’ll keep an eye out myself. I’ve fought the witch once for you. I’ll do it again if I must.”
I have no doubt he would. I place a palm at his chest. His heartbeat knocks rapidly against my skin. “I never would have guessed.”
“What’s that?” he asks on a hoarse whisper.
“That you’re one of those netherlings who has a rare penchant for kindness and courage.”
“Tut.” He presses his glove over my hand. “Only when there’s fringe benefits.”
Smiling, I rise to my toes, grip his lapels, and kiss each one of his jewels until they change to a captivating dark purple—the color of passion fruit. I ease back to the balls of my feet. “So beautiful,” I whisper, tapping one of the sparkling gems.
Morpheus catches my palm and kisses the scars there. “I couldn’t agree more.”
We stare at each other, an invisible cord drawn tighter between us—a bond strengthened.
The doorbell rings, startling me. I flash a look at the clock in the kitchen on my way to the door. Motioning for Morpheus to be quiet, I steal a glance through the peephole.
“Jeb!” My heart races as I tuck the necklace’s key into my cleavage and scramble to unlock the latch. “Could you”—I gesture to Morpheus’s wings—“you know?”
He moves behind me, breath warm on my nape. “I’ll be watching over you. We bent the rules. Outsmarted magic.”
“And now there’s a price to be paid?” I whisper against the sick nudge in my stomach.
“Perhaps. Then again, it could be that we’re already paying the price.” There’s a hint of sadness in those words. He steps back and bows, wings forming a beautiful arch. “Ever your footman, fairest queen.” He takes one last look at me, then transforms into the moth and flutters at the threshold, waiting.
The minute I open the door, he swoops out, trying to take Jeb’s head off.
Jeb ducks. “Hey!” He stares at the moth hovering behind him. “Isn’t that the bug from your car’s air freshener?”
Amazing. He really doesn’t remember . . . anything.
“Do you want me to catch it for you?” Jeb asks when I don’t respond.
“Nah. I’m hoping it’ll hit a windshield.”
Liar
, Morpheus whispers in my mind, then drifts away on a warm breeze. I bite back a smile.
“An insect like that would’ve been a great focal point for a mosaic,” Jeb says, his voice demanding my full attention. That velvety, deep timbre is like music to me now, knowing I could’ve lost it forever. I have to fight back the urge to leap into his arms.
The breeze wraps his scent around me. He’s wearing a ragged T-shirt and oil-stained carpenter shorts long enough to brush his shins. His hair is pushed back with a torn bandana, and his face is scruffy. He’s here to work on Gizmo. Taking care of me, like always. My elfin knight.
I study his tanned arms, drinking in those scars. The night on the rowboat, how it felt to sleep locked in his strong embrace. All these memories are mine alone now. Something I have to keep from him, and I’m not comfortable with secrets between us anymore.
Kiss him, kiss him. You know you want to kiss him . . .
A grasshopper lands on my shoulder. I tune into the white noise coming from the yard, picking out whispers where I can. They’re all saying the same thing.
Kiss him . . .
But I can’t, because I want to do this right. I want to be sure he’s broken up with Taelor first. That he’s mine in every way.
“Al?” Jeb picks the grasshopper off me and sets it free.
The movement shakes me from my stupor. “Oh, sorry.”
“Yeah, you were really deep in thought there. You okay?”
I shrug. “I was thinking about my mosaics. I’m done killing things. It’s time for a change in mediums. Rocks and broken glass maybe. Beads and wires, ribbon.” Why not? I have a full reserve of Wonderland landscapes reawakened in my memory, waiting to be immortalized.
“Sounds great,” Jeb says. “I’m ready for a change, too.” He draws something from behind his back: a bouquet of white roses wrapped in pink tissue paper. He must’ve had them tucked in his waistband. A sweet smile frames his crooked incisor as he hands them to me.
“Thank you.” I sniff the delicate scent. “Where’d you find a florist open this early?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Uh. I actually kind of borrowed them from Mr. Adams’s bushes over there.” His elbow gestures to the duplex across the street, where a rosebush suffers several obvious bald spots.
I snort. “You’re so bad.”
“Eh, I’ll mow his lawn for free or something. Hey . . .” He lifts a thumb to my wrist, rubbing it. My entire body lights up with sensation. “I tried to come by to see you before prom last night. No one answered.”
“Oh … is this about Hitch?”
“It was last night. Since I couldn’t reach you, I made Hitch swear to let me know if you showed up. When you didn’t, Jen told me what happened with your mom at Soul’s. That’s what the roses are for.”
“White ones,” I whisper, eyes filling with tears.
His eyebrows pinch in concern. “Please, don’t cry. If you don’t like white roses, I’ll paint them red for you.”
“No, never do that.” My blood sprints too fast through my veins; I feel dizzy.
“I meant like in the Alice story.” He winces. “Sorry. That was stupid. I know you hate that book.”
I grasp his arm. We both stare at the point of contact when his muscle twitches. “Actually, I’m starting to see the charm in it. And the roses are perfect.”
“Good.” He shuffles his tennis shoes on the porch. “So, am I forgiven about the London thing, for keeping the part about Tae from you?”
Great. I’d forgotten that we haven’t hashed this out yet.
When I don’t answer, he continues. “Because there’s something I need to tell you, something that’s changed.” He repositions the bandana’s knot at his nape, looking nervous.
Before he can say another word, Taelor’s Mustang convertible rips into my driveway and screeches to a halt, as if materializing at his mention of her.
Jeb curses and presses his forehead against the doorframe.
Slamming her car door, she stomps up to the porch. She slides her Fendi sunglasses to the top of her head. Rumor has it those shades are worth over two hundred bucks. More than my entire wardrobe of secondhand outfits.
“Figures you’d be here.” She looks Jeb up and down after noticing the roses in my hand. “What, did you spend the night with your little virgin after our fight?”
My jaw drops. Prom obviously didn’t turn out well.
“I just now got here, so don’t go spreading any rumors, Tae.” He rubs the iron labret on his chin. I hadn’t noticed until now that he’s not wearing the garnet one. My pulse kicks a beat faster, knocking against the key at my sternum.
Taelor taps her pedicured, sandaled foot. “So, you haven’t told her yet?” Her eyes flick to mine. “He broke up with me last night. At prom. Then he left me there alone. Classy, right?”
The pained edge in her voice triggers a weird mix of pity and empathy.
Jeb grinds a knuckle into a place where the mortar’s crumbling between some bricks on the porch. “You had your chauffeur.”
“Oh, and I’m supposed to dance with him? The guy’s like ninety years old.” She clenches her designer lime green handbag against her matching wrap dress. “You weren’t home after the dance, because we drove by. If you weren’t here, where were you?”
“I went over to Mr. Mason’s.”
“Our art teacher?” Taelor and I both ask simultaneously. We give each other scathing glances while waiting for his response.
“You told me I was fired from Underland,” Jeb answers, studying where his knuckles graze the bricks. “Mr. Mason once mentioned he could get me a job at that art gallery on Kenyon Street. He’s good friends with the proprietor.”
“Wait, why do you need a job here?” I ask, confused. “I thought you were leaving for London this summer.”
“He can’t, now that he turned down my dad’s offer to rent him a flat. He has to save up money before he can have a place to live.” Taelor sneers in my direction. “Because of you, he’s giving up his career.”
Jebediah I-must-have-structure Holt is altering his life plan for me? “You can’t do that,” I say, forcing him to look at me.
Apprehension tightens his features, but so does resolution. “I’m just veering off course a little. I’m not giving anything up. Once I get the job at the gallery”—he steals a glimpse at Taelor—“which is as good as in the bag, I’ll be able to sell some of my paintings there. I can make connections in the art world, help Mom with Jen’s senior-year expenses, and still save money while I attend community college.” Then his focus tightens on me. “You know, until after you graduate. Then we’ll go to London together.”
Go to London,
together . . .
I crinkle the tissue paper between my fingers, unable to pin down the wonderful emotions rushing through me.
“Well, how sweet.” Taelor’s voice shakes. “Maybe you can sell that crap I found in your car the other day and buy her an engagement ring from the thrift store.” Digging into her purse, Taelor tosses three rolls of paper inside the door at my feet—skinny cylinders bound with rubber bands. “Keep your rabbit eyes on him, Alyssa. He’s an SOB, just like his sicko dad. He can’t be trusted.”
She starts to leave.
Jeb’s shoulders droop, a blush tinting the tips of his ears. My blood catches fire. No way am I going to let her talk to him like that. No way is she going to make him second-guess who he is.