Unhinged: 2 (12 page)

In the Carroll rendition, a sheep who likes to knit is the store’s clerk. In my memory, there’s a shopkeeper named Lamb who’s fascinated with knitting. The set of bookshelves likes to play tricks just like in the original book, although the tricks I experienced were much more gruesome than the fairy-tale version.

The doorbell rings, and I slam the book shut. I invited Jeb to come by after dinner. Stashing the books in the drawer, I rush into the entryway.

I’m too slow on my still-shaky legs, and Mom gets there first.

Jeb waits under the porch light. We make eye contact; it’s obvious he wants to rush in and hold me close, just as I want to run to him. It seems like forever since I’ve seen him, and the harsh reality is, it could be forever until I see him again.

Mom places herself between us. “I’m sorry, Jebediah. Allie’s had enough excitement for one day. You can talk to her on the phone.”

I gesture behind her shoulder to get his attention. Holding up five fingers, I mouth the word
Sanctuary
.

He nods my way, politely says good night to my mom, then steps off the porch into the twilight. Mom closes the door and follows me into the living room, where I drag my chemistry book out of my backpack.

“Way to be nice, Mom,” I grumble. I don’t want to hurt her, but if I don’t pretend I’m angry, she might get suspicious.

“Your boyfriend should respect that sometimes you need a break,” she answers.

“He’s not the only one who should respect that.” I rally a convincing scowl. “I’m going to the backyard to study.”

Mom and I have spent many afternoons over the past few months working on a lunar garden that shimmers at night. We planted lilies, honeysuckle, and silver licorice. We even have a small fountain that lights up. The flowing water helps to drown out the whispers of bugs and plants. It’s one of my favorite places to study and think.

When Mom starts to join me, I turn to face her. “I don’t need an escort,
please
.”

“You need help with your chemistry vocab,” she insists.

I frown. “It’s a one-woman job, Mom.”

Dad steps from the kitchen with a dish towel on his shoulder. There’s still flour all over his clothes. He looks back and forth between us.

I bite my inner cheek, doing my best not to explode. “May I please have some downtime to get my head cleared before school tomorrow?” I direct the question to Dad.

Mom wipes her hands on her apron.

Through the kitchen doorway, the cat clock on the wall ticks away, its tail twitching in time with each second. I can’t have her tagging along. There’s no way I’m diving into the rabbit hole tomorrow without talking to Jeb first, without being in his arms one more time.

Dad must see how close I am to losing it. “Let her go, Ali-bear,” he says. “She hasn’t had much time to herself today.”

Finally, Mom agrees after insisting I take an extra quilt, “since the evenings are cooler with the wet weather we’ve been having.” But I have other plans for it.

On the patio, strands of twinkle lights glow along a gazebo-like trellis that houses the swing, camouflaging it from the back window.

I fluff up the pillows on the porch swing and strategically place the blanket that’s already there over them. Then I balance my book open on top, so if Mom peeks out through the window, she’ll see the silhouette through the trellis and think it’s me.

Quilt in hand, I take the path away from the porch. The fragrances of flowers are magnified by the damp evening air. Moonlight and the twinkle lights reflect off the pale blossoms and foliage. Everything is relaxed and dreamy. The opposite of how I feel.

I spread the quilt in the darkest corner of the yard, out of view of
the back door and window. This is the one patch of ground that isn’t overgrown with flowers or plants. A weeping willow’s canopy hangs over the fence that separates Jeb’s backyard and ours, creating a cave. Mom tried to plant things here a few times, but when they never blossomed, she decided there was too much shade.

Little does she know it’s because Jeb and I have spent so many nights under this tree—sneaking out after everyone went to bed—to talk, to count stars, and to do other things …

It’s our sanctuary.

We’re the ones who stifled the seedlings. And I have no regrets.

I lie down and wrap my fingers around Jeb’s locket at my neck.

Moonlight streams through the cluster of branches overhead, and the water fountain gurgles. Everything about this place reminds me why I chose to stay in this world last year, why I love being human. And Morpheus wants me to leave it all behind for a battle in another realm.

I’m starting to realize he’s right. If it means saving those I love, I have to go.

But first I’m going to tell Jeb. I want him in on this. Maybe because I know he’ll try to convince me it’s okay not to leave. Not for something so dangerous. Not when I might not make it back.

I want to hear that it’s okay to be a coward. Even if I won’t believe it.

My hand brushes the key necklace, and the image of a crumbling Wonderland blinks through my mind. My heart hurts—a tearing feeling, as if it’s being ripped down the middle.

A cricket bursts into song somewhere to my left. Between chirps, it taunts me.
Courage, Alyssa. Many changes coming … mad, mad changes. They’ll bring out the queen in you.

I freeze in place, fingers clamped on both necklaces. A clunk on the other side of the fence silences the cricket. Leaves shake above my head, and several flutter down to tickle my face. I brush them aside to study the shadowy silhouette outside the canopy.

“You look incredible in the moonlight.” Jeb’s voice, low and silky, is a balm, soothing away the foreboding echoes of the cricket’s message.

I tuck the necklaces under my tunic’s collar, voice caught in my throat.

Branches part to reveal his face and disheveled hair. He’s wearing a sexy, sideways smile. “I know, I’m two minutes late. I deserve a spanking.”

I snort, calmed by his teasing. “You should be so lucky.”
I can do this.
I can tell him anything. It’s Jeb, after all.

He lets himself drop, hanging on to a branch with one hand so he can flip around, feet first. It’s a trick he used when we would play king of the mountain in our earlier summers.

In one graceful movement, he straddles me, his weight pressing me into the soft quilt. “This okay? Am I too heavy?”

I tighten my arms around him when he tries to balance on his elbows and knees. “Stay just like you are.” He settles back into place, and I twitch my muscles in contentment. Nothing feels as perfect or as safe as being breathless under him.

His hand glides along my rib cage and stops at each bone, like he’s checking to make sure I’m in one piece. “Finally, I have you all to myself,” he whispers, breath hot on my face.

I bask in the scent of his cologne. “Jeb, I need to tell you something.”

“Mmm, can’t it wait, skater girl?” His lips nuzzle my neck.

Hearing my nickname breaks me. I pull up his head to kiss him. Just once, before I completely shatter his world. My fingers wind through his hair. He rolls us so I’m on top, and we lie like that: my body imprinting on his, mouths trailing necks, ears, faces. We kiss under the stars, outside of the world’s reach, and don’t stop until we’re both breathless.

Panting, we draw back and stare at each other—overwhelmed by the drama and emotions of the past few days. And it’s about to get so much worse.

“So …” Jeb breaks the silence. “Is this your way of distracting me so you can steal my king?”

I almost smile at the memory. “Am I that transparent?”

He pulls me to lie beside him on the quilt, brushing hair from my face. “Can’t believe we wasted so many summers playing chess under this tree while your dad was at work.”

“You’re just mad because I always won,” I say.

He rests his head on his outstretched arm. “It was worth it. I got to tickle you afterward.” He traces my lips with a fingertip. “I liked having an excuse to touch you.”

I kiss his finger. “Even back then you thought about touching me?”

“Spending every day surrounded by sketches you inspired left little time to think of anything else.”

I suppress a wave of longing for the simplicity of the life we once lived. I had no idea at the time how easy it was.

How am I supposed to tell him I’m leaving? How do we say good-bye to moments like these?

I skim my fingernail along his ear, searching for the words.

He shivers and smiles. “Speaking of my artwork,” he says before
I can speak, “we need to talk about Ivy. We were wrong about how much she’s willing to pay.”

I tighten my lips at hearing the heiress’s name. No wonder he was so evasive on the phone. He was counting on that money to help us get started in London.

This is the perfect opportunity. I’ll tell him it doesn’t matter. That money is the least of what’s standing in the way of our future now.

I open my mouth, but Jeb beats me to the punch again. “She’s offering ten thousand more,” he says as he sits up and brushes leaves from his T-shirt and jeans.

I scramble to sit beside him, mind spinning. My tunic slides off my shoulder, leaving it cool and exposed. “
Twenty thousand bucks?
For one fairy painting?”

Jeb glides a fingertip along my shoulder. “Not exactly. She wants a series … three new fairy paintings.
Sexier
ones.”

When Jeb paints me, he poses me, evaluates every contour of my body, studies the way the light and shadows skim my skin, which often leads to things other than work. I’ve missed those sessions. It would be so perfect to start them again. The thought makes me ache even more not to leave.

I swallow, fighting to say good-bye, wishing I didn’t have to.

Jeb leans down to kiss my bare shoulder—tender, warm, and sweet—then covers my skin with my sleeve. “You need to know, there’s one condition,” he says, leveling his gaze to mine. “Ivy wants me to paint a collection of her.
She
wants to be my muse.”

I shove aside all thoughts of Wonderland and magic wars. “Ivy wants to model for you?”

Jeb was bound to get commissioned for customized portraits eventually, but I wasn’t prepared for that to happen
today
.

He watches me in silence.

“What do you mean,
sexier
paintings?” I press.

“Well, she has this amazing costume. She wore it when we met at the studio. It’s a little revealing, but …” Jeb scrapes his palm down his chin. “It’s not a nude series or anything. I told her I wasn’t down with that.”

I’m grateful for his chivalry, but it’s a small comfort. The thought
of him being tempted day in and day out by a sophisticated, experienced, half-naked woman makes my stomach churn.

“Al, you just need to meet her. You’ll feel better when you see how serious she is about the art. She has some really cool ideas … eccentric even beyond the costumes. She’s an old soul, like us.”

Old soul.
Bad enough that she’s beautiful and rich. He’s not supposed to like her personality, too.

My heart sinks so low I would trip over it if I was walking. That possessive chant resurfaces:
mine mine mine.

The leaves around us begin to flutter, even though the wind isn’t blowing. I concentrate on the willow branches, sending everything I’m feeling into them. They curl around Jeb’s shoulders, as if to hold on to him—a puppet’s strings to make him do my bidding.

He jumps, and the limbs loosen. Looking up at the swaying canopy, he frowns. He doesn’t realize I’m causing the motion, that something is waking inside of me, something I’ve kept hidden for months. Something I don’t want to suppress right now, because the feral anger makes my insecurities seem conquerable, which in turn makes me feel stronger.

As I notice the bewilderment on his face, ice-cold shame washes over me. I stanch my anger and jealousy. The branches go still again.

Jeb’s gaze meets mine. “Did you see that?”

My heart pounds. “See what?”

He rubs his hair. “I could’ve sworn …” He stops himself. “Must’ve been a gust of wind.”

I have no response. I’m horrified by how easily my darker side bubbled over—by how much I wanted to overpower Jeb. To control him.

He must see the shame clouding my features because he takes
my hand and laces our fingers together. “I’m sorry to spring this Ivy thing on you. But I need to give her an answer. She’s only here through this week. If I turn her down, it could affect my reputation.” He studies our linked hands. “Collectors and reviewers might think I’m a one-trick pony.”

“I get it,” I mumble, trying not to let my emotions control me again.

I wish he’d at least
pretend
this was a hard choice for him, but his expression is hopeful. It’s obvious he wants me to say I’m cool with all of this, whether for the money or for the artistic growth. But it hurts, even though I know it shouldn’t. I’ve always been his inspiration, and this just proves he no longer needs me … at least artistically.

To be honest, it seems like he’s been growing away from me for a while now, and that’s what really hurts.

The twinkle lights over the porch swing blink on and off, my parents’ subtle hint that I quit studying and come inside. Their timing sucks.