Unhinged: 2 (16 page)

Then all sense and sensation fade. The train seems mere yards away, but the only sound I hear is my pulse racing in my ears. Even when Morpheus shouts the words,
“Chessie-blud, a little help!”
it’s like he’s talking underwater.

I squint to see the raccoon’s tail, now orange and gray, disappear into the rearview mirror’s glass. A loud clanging bursts from under the hood. The engine roars to life. My hands are locked in place on the steering wheel, but I’m too numb to move. The train is bearing down, only feet away.

Morpheus shoves his leg over mine and gives the car gas. The tires spin, propelling us off the tracks and onto the road on the other side. The train rumbles by, whistle still bellowing, missing us by mere seconds.

Morpheus eases his foot off the gas and pulls the emergency brake. The Mercedes idles quietly. Neither one of us moves. His body is still pressed against my right side, hands gripped over mine on the steering wheel, his rasping breath beside my ear. Sound, sensation, and light sweep back in increments, until everything is too vivid, too bright.

Emotions follow in the wake: delayed terror, confusion, regret … too much, too fast. I shake, unable to hold back my tears.

Morpheus puts an arm around me. “You’re all right, blossom,” he says, his mouth at my ear. “Can you drive?”

I nod and sniffle.

“Good.” He scoots back to his seat, then grabs my chin to force
me to look at him. “Next time, I expect you to figure a way out. A
netherling
way.”

My tears gather around his hand, smudging his fingers with makeup.

“You didn’t leave me,” I utter in disbelief. “I thought you would leave me.”

He releases my face and looks out the opposite window while rubbing his hand on his jeans to wipe off my mascara. “Nonsense. I stayed for the car.”

Before I can respond, an orange mist seeps out from the vents. A smile I recognize from my Wonderland memories appears in the vapors.

“Chessie?” I ask. The rest of the hamster-size creature materializes, looking just as I remember: the face of a kitten, the wings of a hummingbird, and the body of an orange and gray raccoon. He flits to the dashboard and perches there, cleaning the oil and grease splotches from his fluffy fur with his tongue, like a squirrel taking a spit bath.

I shake my head. “Wait … so it was you? You crawled inside and fixed the motor?” He sneezes, then winks one of his wide green eyes at me.

“Chessie’s gift is delineation,” Morpheus says matter-of-factly, still looking through his window. “He can manipulate a situation by making a diagram in his mind and then mapping out the best way to solve it. He sees things the rest of us can’t, and then he fixes them.”

With a swish of his tail, Chessie scurries back into place on the rearview mirror. His top half vanishes, and he’s a counterfeit car ornament once more.

I wipe smeared tears from my cheeks. “Do you have any more surprise stowaways up your sleeve?” I ask Morpheus.

Pushing dents out of his hat, he scowls. “I’m starting to fear I didn’t bring enough. If there’s one thing netherlings are good at, it’s cleaning messes.”

“Yeah, well, they’re pretty good at making them, too,” I say.

“Agreed. Some are good at making very
big
messes.” He looks pointedly at me and buckles his seat belt. “Roadkill comes to mind. Use a little caution this time. We’ll be no help to your mum or to Wonderland if we’re dead.”

Although I’m shaken, I manage to get us to my house. When we pull into my driveway, I’m relieved to see that everything looks normal and peaceful, at least from the outside.

Once more, I try to tell Morpheus thank you for his bravery at the tracks, but he dismisses me like he did all the way here:
“I stayed for the car.”

I know better. It’s not the first time he’s done something selfless for me. And I’m starting to suspect he didn’t let me hit the little boy at the stop sign because of the same soft side he doesn’t like to show.

If only he would be consistent—instead of always turning my image of him on its head.

I shut off the ignition and touch Chessie’s swinging tail. “You can come in, if you’ll stay hidden.” The tuft of fur wraps around my finger like a hairy snake, squeezes, then loosens. The gesture leaves me at peace and warm.

“He needs no invitation,” Morpheus scoffs. “If he wishes to go inside, no one will be able to keep him out.”

I start to take off my seat belt. “I’m still stuck.”

Morpheus eases closer and grasps my hand. “Shall we try to take
the skirt off?” he says, his voice provocative. “We have the leisure of doing it right this time.”

I’m not sure if he intends all of the innuendos packed into that suggestion, but considering it’s Morpheus, I suspect he does.

“Forget it. I’ll take care of it myself.” I try to jerk away, but he guides my hand to the seat belt. Curling my fingers around the car’s key, he uses the teeth to dig my skirt out of the latch while working the button. After a couple of minutes, the fabric pops free, wrinkled but salvageable.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“My pleasure.” Eyes meeting mine, he brings my hand up to his lips and flips it to expose my inner wrist. He breathes over my skin—so balmy and close, my veins ache in response. Then at the last minute, he unfolds my fingers, takes the keys, and drops my hand. Before I can even get my bearings, he’s back in his seat.

I press on my wrinkled skirt with my thumb, wishing I could iron out my emotions as easily as the fabric.

“Look …” I find my voice again. “I’m sorry for scaring you by driving so crazy. I shouldn’t have played on your fears like that.”

He opens his door. As it glides upward on its hinges, he sets his feet on the ground and looks over his shoulder.

“You wish to apologize?” He grins. “Whyever for? Everyone has something that can be used against them. You set aside your innate compassionate nature and used
my
weakness to get what you wanted from me. That was well played. You followed your instincts and let down your inhibitions without my even having to coach you. That is good. For the only way you’ll be able to defeat Red is by learning to be merciless. Compassion has no place on any battlefield … magical or otherwise.” He eases out of the car. He sways as if to get his bearings
after the earlier drama. “You know how to manipulate me, and I know how to manipulate you. That makes us even.”

No. We’ll never be even.

We’ll always be trying to outdo each other. I won’t say it aloud, any more than I’ll admit that I like it that way; that some primal, powerful side of me craves the challenge and always has.

“Wait.” I get out of the Mercedes, grab my backpack, and press the remote to shut the doors. “Before we see my mom, we need to get our story straight. You’re an exchange student from school. You’re interested in seeing my art. That’s how we’ll bring up the mosaics she has.”

Forearms propped on the roof of the car, he stares across at me, a hint of the jewels under his dark eyes glittering beneath the shade of his hat. “And what if she sees the truth beneath the mask? She shares your blood.”

“We’ll deal with it,” I answer, although I know it won’t be that simple.

We start toward the garage, but a shout from next door stops us.

“Hey.” Jen jogs up with a dress bag over one shoulder and her sewing tote hanging from the other. I completely forgot we had plans to do last-minute alterations on the prom dress she made for me. She looks Morpheus up and down.
“M?”

She appears puzzled but not mad, which means she still hasn’t heard about our supposed lunchtime liaison.

“Hey, Jen.” I play with the backpack’s strap on my shoulder, keeping my eyes averted from Morpheus. “Did you get my text?”

“Oh, sorry,” she answers. “My phone died during lunch. It’s charging at home.” Her attention wanders back to Morpheus, that curious glint still there.

“Good afternoon, green eyes.” He tips his hat and gives her a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, hey.” When she turns back to me, her cheeks are flushed the same pink as her hair. “Wasn’t my bro picking you up today?”

At least I don’t have to invent an excuse and lie even more than I already am. “The magazine rescheduled his interview. Mor …
M
offered to drive me. He’s an old friend of the family.” Yeah,
old
is an understatement; and
friend
? That doesn’t quite cover it. “I mean, his family has known ours for years.”
Plagued
is more like it. My gaze drops to my feet. “I brought him by to say hi to my mom, okay?”

“What’s with you?” Jen asks. “You act like I caught you guys making out in his car.”

Morpheus laughs. “Timing truly is everything, isn’t it?”

“What does that mean?” Jen turns to him.

Morpheus holds my gaze. “Had you been just a few minutes earlier, you would have caught us. I had my hands in Alyssa’s skirt.”

Jen gives Morpheus a look that could kill, then frowns at the wrinkles around my skirt’s zipper. “What’s going on, Al? Why are you such a mess?”

I suppress the urge to punch Morpheus. “I found out that Mr. Mason lost three of my mosaics,” I say to soothe Jen’s accusatory scowl. “I was upset.” I swipe at my dried mascara tracks for emphasis.

Jen’s expression softens a fraction and she dabs at the smeared eye makeup with her thumb. “But what’s that have to do with your skirt?”

I glare so hard at Morpheus that heat radiates from my eyes. It’s my own fault. I made him promise to fix things between me and Jeb but not Jenara. Which means he can still use her to screw with my world. “It got stuck in the seat belt, and he had to help me get it out.”

“Oh.” Jenara snorts. “
Hands in her skirt.
That’s frackin’ hilarious.” There’s an edge to her sarcasm as she turns back to Morpheus. “Word to the wise. I wouldn’t use that joke with Jeb. He doesn’t have my sense of humor … in fact, he has a ‘pound first, ask questions later’ policy.”

“I’m aware of his overprotective tendencies,” Morpheus says.

“How’s that?” Jen asks, wrapping the dress bag around her neck like a feather boa. “You only met my brother once. And that wasn’t exactly on a good day. Al was halfway drowned.”

Morpheus takes off his hat and swirls the brim in his hands, an obeisant gesture. He pulls it off beautifully; only I know he’s faking. “Of course. What I saw was care and concern.” Morpheus’s gaze flits to mine. “It’s obvious he’d go to the ends of the earth for her.”

Nostalgia tightens my throat. “And I’d do the same for him.”

“That’s why you guys are so great together.” Jen smiles and weaves an arm through mine, my easygoing best friend again. “So, are you ready to see the dress? Fresh from the dry cleaner and waiting for the final touches.”

Morpheus returns his hat to his head and angles it, completely at ease. How can he be so calm? Jen being here complicates things even more. I’m going to have to corner my mom and convince her to go along with my lie about Morpheus being a family friend. And to do that, I’ll have to be honest about who he is. Pile on Queen Red’s possible presence in our world and the battle I’m totally unprepared to fight, and I’m almost at my wit’s end.

Sweat beads at my hairline as I lead the way to the garage, then punch the combination into the keypad. Morpheus pauses to look at the buckets filled with gardening items.

Jen stops next to him. “Al used those buckets to make traps, to
capture insects for her mosaics. Back before she started working with glass gems.”

Morpheus doesn’t answer, just stares at the buckets. “You know, those aren’t nearly as comfortable as they look,” he says with a sour frown on his face.

He’s referring to the night he spent inside one as a moth a year ago, but Jen can’t possibly know that.

She snickers. “Really? Did the bugs tell you that? You talk to them?”

“They undoubtedly told Alyssa,” he answers, “but she chose not to listen.”

Jen laughs.

My face burns as several bugs hidden throughout the garage chime in to scold me:

We told her, all right…

She never listens. Even now, we’re still trying to tell her…

The flowers, Alyssa. You don’t want them to win any more than we do.

You are a queen … stop them.

I thought the insects and flowers were on the same team. Together, they have served as my connection to Wonderland for years. Now they’re fighting with each other?

It must have something to do with Red’s rampage.

Jen edges by and steps through the garage entrance into the living
room. Morpheus tips his hat in a maddening gesture, then lets me go through the door first.

It’s a relief to shut out the bugs, but it’s short-lived when I notice the living room is empty. Musty dampness blasts from the wall unit air conditioner. The wood paneling makes the room appear small and dark. Clean towels and rags wait to be folded on Dad’s favorite chair—a ragged corduroy recliner with daisy appliqués, where my mom used to hide her Wonderland treasures. Those have been gone for a while now, all but the Lewis Carroll books in my bedroom.

“Mom?” I drop my backpack on the floor and peer into the kitchen. The scent of chocolate chip cookies drifts from cooling racks on the counter.

“Wonder where she is,” I say absently, but my guests have wandered to the back hallway, where my bug mosaics decorate the wall.

Dad hung them up after they won some ribbons in the county fair. He refuses to take them down now, no matter how many times Mom and I beg. He’s sentimental in the worst way, and we can’t explain our aversion to the artwork, so he always wins.

“Told you she was talented,” Jen says, adjusting the tote straps on her shoulder.

Morpheus nods in silence.

Jen gravitates to her favorite piece:
Winter’s Heartbeat
. Baby’s breath and silvery glass beads form the image of a tree. Dried winterberries dot the end of each branch so it looks like they're bleeding, and shiny black crickets form the background.

Morpheus taps the berries gently, as if counting them. “Looks like something from a glorious dream.” He glances over his shoulder at me. There’s pride and nostalgia in his voice.