Splintered (19 page)

“She’s turning blue!” Jeb shouts at Morpheus. “That ferret freak did something to her!”
“Tut. Don’t get yourself worked into a snit, pseudo-elf.” Morpheus tosses his hat onto a chair and joins us. He bends over me. Jeb reluctantly inches aside to give him space.
Morpheus lifts my chin and tilts my face from side to side, like a physician conducting a checkup. “You are fortunate he liked you, little plum. The Mustela netherlings are notorious for their tempers, and they have the venom of a thousand asps in one snap of their canines. Their heads are soft and vulnerable. Had you touched him anywhere but his ears, he would’ve taken it as a threat. You would be writhing on the floor right now, choking on your last, excruciating breath.”
I try to speak but can’t. The sadness grows steadily stronger. Each beat of my heart sucks against my rib cage like a leech. I want to slide to the floor, curl into a ball, and cry forever. But I’m frozen in place.
“You sat her next to that deadly thing on purpose, didn’t you?” Jeb asks, though it’s more of a shout. “To punish her for kissing me! You sick son of a—” He attacks Morpheus, spinning him into his wings and slamming his back onto the tabletop. Plates and utensils shake at the impact. Forearm pressed across our host’s larynx, Jeb holds him down. “Fix. Her.
Now
.”
“There’s nothing to fix. He gave her a gift.” Morpheus grunts as Jeb’s arm grinds into his throat. He tries to break free, but Jeb has him wrapped so tightly in his wings, he can’t move. “If you’ll let me up”—he grits out the words—“I shall show you.”
Snarling, Jeb pulls away and kneels beside me again, taking my limp hand. He curls each of my fingers through his. “C’mon, skater girl. Stay with me, okay? Whatever’s going on inside your head, don’t let it win.”
The worry pinching his features piles onto my already weighted chest and suffocates me. He needs me to answer him. But if I open my mouth to respond, I’ll wail like a banshee until I’m an empty husk.
“Give me some room.” Morpheus crouches down and Jeb eases back while keeping our fingers laced. Morpheus holds a cloth napkin close to my face. “Let it out, luv. I know it feels like a dam will burst, but I assure you, one tear, and you’ll be right as raindrops.”
It isn’t possible. One tear will never be enough. I double over. A keening cry erupts from my throat, so deep it strains my vocal cords and hollows my abdomen. The cry ends in a sob. And then one single tear streams down my left cheek.
Just like that, I’m myself again. I squeeze Jeb’s hand.
Morpheus ties the napkin around what looks like a clear glass marble, though it’s soft and pliant like a bath oil bead. “This is yours.”
“That’s my tear?” I ask.
“It’s a wish. Your new little friend has the gift of invocation. They only give out one in their lifetime, and he chose you. I shall keep it safe for now. You’re not quite ready to wield this much power.” Tucking the napkin into his jacket, our host starts to stand, but Jeb grabs his elbow and stalls him on one knee.
“No way. You give it to her now. Give it to her, and she can use it to wish us both home.”
Morpheus pulls free. “And leave the curse unbroken? Besides, I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple. For this can only be used for her and her alone. She must be the subject of the wish, for she’s the one who cried it. No one else can ride its power. So it cannot carry you home, as well. If you’re both to get back, the portals are your only chance.”
Jeb and I exchange frowns.
“I’ll wish for more wishes,” I offer.
Morpheus laughs. “Oh, of course you would. Just like Alice did. She asked for an endless supply of wishes. Then her tears wouldn’t stop falling. That’s how the ocean was born in the first place. We almost never got that fountain stopped. If you try to outsmart magic, there’s always a price to be paid.” Morpheus pushes to his feet.
I catch his wrist. “You had me sitting next to him for a reason. You wanted me to get this wish. Why?”
Silent, he loosens the cravat tied around his neck in a relaxed gesture while holding my gaze. The left side of his mouth tweaks into a half smile.
“Hey . . .” Jeb raises our joined hands and presses his thumb against my sternum to get my attention. My heart beats against the pressure, remembering his caresses in the mirrored hall. “You were turning blue, Al. That same ferret-snake could’ve just as easily killed you. This creep took a chance with your life purely for his entertainment. He didn’t have any noble motives.”
“The Mustela netherlings are exceptional judges of character,” Morpheus intones. “I knew Alyssa would rise to the occasion. I’ve complete faith that she can fend for herself. You, on the other hand, can’t seem to grasp that concept.”
Jeb helps me up from the chair and pulls me in for a hug. It feels good to be in his arms, even if I’m unsure of his motives.
Our host settles his hat into place. “Bless me that I didn’t eat; elsewise, I’d be qualmish at such a nauseating display.”
Jeb kisses my forehead to spite Morpheus. I pull back, because I’d rather he kiss me for myself.
“The pig.” I offer up a change of conversation; I’m in no mood to play referee to any more of their wrestling matches.
“Yes,” Morpheus answers without breaking his scowling match with Jeb. “The pig is in fact a hobgoblin, born to the duchess.”
Bits and pieces of Lewis Carroll’s story drop into place. Someone was making soup for the duchess with lots of spices. That’s why the fan and gloves smelled like pepper. And she had a baby that became a pig. “So, what did he give you in exchange for the gloves and fan?”
Morpheus holds up the small white bag. “The key for waking Herman Hattington at the tea party—free of charge.” He hands it to me, and Jeb starts to work at the ribbon.
Morpheus’s thumb flattens on the bow. “You don’t want to do that. It is the most potent and priceless black pepper this side of the nether-realm. And you’ve only enough for one dose.”
Jeb’s forehead wrinkles. “Black pepper. What kind of subpar magic is that?”
Before Morpheus can answer, a horde of sprites floods the dining hall, fluttering in from the main door.
“Master, we have company,” Gossamer cries. “Bad company!” “Go,” Morpheus says to Jeb, bending down to grab a mallet.
Jeb tucks the bag of pepper into his pocket, then takes my hand. We’ve only taken two steps toward the secret exit when a deck of cards—each one complete with six sticklike legs and arms—marches through the main door. The card guards keep pouring in until the walls are lined with them.
On closer examination, these guards have bugs’ faces with trembling antennae, and their paper-thin torsos are actually flattened shells, jagged at the edges and painted red and black to resemble suits of cards. With their oddly jointed limbs and piercing mouthparts crisscrossed at their mandibles, they look more like insects than cardboard.
All these years I’ve been killing bugs, and now karma’s here to make me pay, in spades.
The bugs separate into suits: five hearts and five clubs on one side, five spades and five diamonds on the other, with Rabid White in their center. The sprites, tiny and helpless, look down on the situation from where they’re gathered around the chandelier.
A red waistcoat and matching gloves hang off Rabid’s short, skeletal frame. One hand holds a trumpet and the other a rolled-up scroll. He tilts his antlered head to blow three loud blasts from the instrument. Then, with a flick of his wrist and a rattle of bones, he throws open the parchment.
“Alyssa Gardner of the human court is hereby beckoned to the presence of Queen Grenadine of the Red Court.” His glittery pink eyes turn up, locking on me. A shock of terror races through me.
Both Jeb and Morpheus shove me behind them. So much for fending for myself . . .
“She’s going nowhere with you,
Rabid
.” Morpheus raises his mallet.
“Otherwise, Queen Grenadine says.” Froth slathers around Rabid’s mouth, and his eyes glow like lit coals, red with fire. “Otherwise, her army commands.”
On his signal, the cards against the wall shuffle together and leap toward us, as if dealt by an invisible hand.
The sprites drop from above, trying to run interference. Morpheus spreads his wings wide to block me and Jeb from the attack. Spears hit his wings, stretching them but not breaking through. My palms flatten against Morpheus’s back, absorbing the shock as his muscles strain with every swing of his mallet. His grunts drown out the clatter of guards hitting the floor.
“Get her out of here!” he shouts over his shoulder as he backs us toward the secret exit to the mirrored room, still using his wings as a barrier.
Jeb grips my elbow and drags me over the threshold.
“No!” I wrestle against him. “We can’t just leave him to fight alone. There are too many!”
Gritting his teeth, Jeb scoops me up over his shoulder. “He’s handling them. And you’re all that matters.” His arm locks around my thighs, my head and torso hanging upside down across his back. The winding black marble stairway bounces by beneath us, and blood races to my head.
I squeeze my eyes closed, listening to the battle in the dining hall grow farther and farther away.
The memory of how Morpheus and I played in our childhood, of the way he healed my bruises today, the sound of his beautiful lullaby—all of it boils over in a confusing brew of emotion. I think of the wish tucked within his jacket . . . the wish he wanted me to have for some reason. If I had it now, I’d wish to be in the dining hall, helping Morpheus fight.
I’m just about to make an escape attempt when I hear the sound of pots and pans clanging.
“Twinkle! Twinkle them all!”
Next there’s a rush of screeches and roars—the same bestial voices I heard at the feast. The beasts have returned from their chase, and Morpheus is no longer alone in his fight.
Jeb and I slip through the secret passageway leading up another flight of stairs. Soon, we’re far enough away that the only sound is his boots pounding the mirrored floor.
“You can put me down now,” I grump.
“I don’t know. It’s a lot easier to save your ass when I have it riding on my shoulder.”
“You don’t need to save me.”
Jeb barks a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t have much choice when you keep running headfirst into risky situations for this crusade of yours. Now you’ve gone and dropped us smack into the middle of a magical war.”
I pound him. Right between the shoulder blades.
“Hey . . .” He eases my feet to the floor so we’re facing each other and rubs his back. In spite of his frown, he looks impressed.
My knuckles are throbbing. The guy could put a boulder to shame. “I already feel bad enough for bringing you into this. Okay? If I had it to do over, you wouldn’t be here at all.” I shake out my fingers. Gossamer hasn’t come yet to open the mirror portal, and an urgency to get to the tea party jitters through me.
Jeb lifts my aching knuckles and presses his lips across them. “I’d still want to be here with you, even if we had do-overs. But if we’re going to make it out of this, you need to stop taking moth man at his word like he’s some kind of saint.”
“His name is
Morpheus
.” My throat clenches as I’m reminded of what’s happening some three flights down. “Do you think he’s losing in there? You think they’ll hurt him?”
“Why are you so worried about him?”
“I grew up with him. I care.”
“That makes no sense. It was in your dreams. Your friendship wasn’t real.”
“It feels real. Because he believes in me. He lets me take chances and learn from them. That’s something a friend does.” Clenching my jaw, I glare at Jeb.
His features darken, as if a shadow falls across his face. “So, because the freak boosts your ego, you’re willing to overlook all his lies? He hasn’t told the truth about anything since we’ve arrived.”
“Then he fits in well with you, seeing as you’re both liars.” I hate the accusation in my voice but can’t seem to contain it. I break our handhold, noticing the bag on the table—the one containing the jabberlock box. “Why’s this still here?”
Frowning, Jeb steps up next to me as I unwrap the box. “Probably the safest place. You shouldn’t mess with it.”
“I want another look at the inscription.” I’d like another look at the queen, too. What is it about her that holds Morpheus so enthralled?
Jeb covers the lid with his palm. “You know, you can’t just call someone a liar and let it drop. Maybe I wasn’t honest about London. But you lied, too.”
The moth spirits skim by in my peripheral vision, as if riding my racing pulse. “Not about my feelings. You waited until we came down here to own up to your so-called crush on me. Back in the real world, where it counts, you chose Taelor.”
He forces me to face him, pushing the hatbox to the back of the table. “Where’s this coming from? Has that cockroach been swimming inside your brain again?”
“No. But Gossamer was in yours when you were knocked out. And she saw you dreaming of another girl. When you kissed me . . . it was just to convince me to give this up and go home so you could get back to Tae.”
“What?” His fingers feel hot and tight even through my sleeves. “The dream I had was of Jen and Mom. I’m worried about them.”
“Right,” I say, wanting to be convinced but not quite there.
He jerks away and strides to the other end of the hall, silent and stoic.
My arms chill with the absence of his touch. The pain is crushing, but I’m glad I said something. I would’ve had that doubt forever, thinking I was stealing kisses meant for another girl. I drag the pewter hatbox toward me again, concentrating on the lid’s inscription to keep the hot tears behind my eyes from flooding out. If I focus and unfocus through the blur, the letters move, forming legible text. I trail it with my fingertip and whisper the words:
“Behold the box of jabberlock’s, the fairest rests inside. But free the dame and ease her pain to slip into her tide. An ocean red from bonds of love, and paint the roses’ hearts thereof, applied with wisps of finest strand and guided by an artist’s hand. One trade of souls will shut the door, and blood shall seal it, evermore.”
“It is the key to freeing the queen if you’re not the one who imprisoned her.” Gossamer’s chiming voice pulls me out of my meditation. “Individualized to the box’s inhabitant.” She lights on my shoulder so I can see her up close—a woman’s perfect form, dusted green and naked but for the strategic placement of glistening scales. Her hands rest on her hips. “An ocean red from bonds of love.” Her dragonfly eyes glitter. “The roses must be painted with the blood of someone willing to trade places with her for the noblest of reasons. Love initiates the transfer.”