Unhinged: 2 (19 page)

“She went back to Tuscany this afternoon and won’t be returning until the end of the month. I had to give her an answer before she left. This is for both of us—don’t you see? It’ll pay for our first year in London and then some. It’s real money—proof I’m not a loser.”

“Of course you’re not a loser.” I stifle the sob that climbs my throat. “You’re the most talented artist I’ve ever seen.”

“So are you,” Jeb says, pushing us apart to watch me closely. “No more tears, okay?”

I sniffle. “But you’re tired of painting me.” I’m so pathetic. Mom is somewhere across the other side of the world, and here I am crying to my boyfriend about being his model.

It’s just that right now, he’s the only stable world I have left. And I’m about to walk away from him, even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

“Tired of …?” A wrinkle bridges his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? I’ll never get tired of painting you. This dress”—he strokes the pearls
and sequins across my ribs—“it’s inspired a whole new series: Fairy Bride’s seduction by moonlight. We’ll start it after prom.”

Right. My nonexistent prom.
I bite my inner cheek to keep from screaming.

Jeb bends his knees so our foreheads touch. “I can’t wait, you know,” he says, his thumb skimming under my shoulder strap, leaving my skin tingling. “I’m going to check out the art studio Ivy’s renting tonight. It has a loft. I’m thinking it might be the perfect place for us to get some privacy after the dance.”

But I won’t be here,
I ache to say.

The front door opens, stopping me from blurting out everything—the whole truth.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Jenara teases. She offers Jeb a cookie, then studies us, as if sensing she’s interrupted something. “Sorry, but Al’s mom showed up.”

“She did?” I ask.

“Yeah, she’s inside. She was in the backyard gardening and didn’t know we were here.”

The pulse in my neck kicks into overtime. She must’ve returned through the mirror. I have to find out where she went. “Wait … you left her alone with
him
?”

Jenara wipes crumbs on her fashionably ripped jeans, looking confused. “Who, M? He made a beeline for the bathroom before I saw her.”

A loud crash followed by Mom’s scream shatters the quiet afternoon. I drape my skirt’s train over my arm and leap across the threshold with Jen and Jeb on my heels.

Morpheus stands at my bedroom doorway, looking in with a studious expression. I step around him toward my mom, cautious. She’s
on her knees amid a glittering spray of glass on the floor. My cheval mirror lies beside her, an empty wooden frame.

Tucking a necklace into her tracksuit’s jacket, Mom lifts her gaze to mine. I can’t even form the words to ask her where she got the key. She seems so small and frail, swallowed up by her tracksuit. The sun reflects off the broken shards around her, spattering the black fabric with prismatic dots of light.

I crouch down, careful not to get cut. “Are you okay?”

She keeps one arm behind her. “I was trying to move your mirror … it hit your dresser. The glass broke.” She watches our audience. “It’s his fault.”

At first I think she’s referring to Jeb, until Morpheus steps inside.

“That’s a wretched lie,” Morpheus says, then sits on the bed. “You broke that looking glass before I even came down the hall. I’d say you did it on purpose, though I can’t imagine why.”

“Hey …” Jeb’s the next to come inside, an irritated yet baffled scowl aimed at Morpheus. “Show some respect.”

Morpheus returns the scowl and stands so they’re eye to eye. “A person must
earn
my respect.”

Jeb’s lips curl. “You’re starting something you can’t finish, moth boy. You’re a guest here. Don’t forget that.” He pushes by, oblivious to the shadows of wings that lift behind his opponent.

Mom gasps, proof that she
does
see the wings, that she knows our guest is not who he’s pretending to be. I suspect she’s known from the moment she saw him in the doorway.

Jeb kneels and touches my mom’s hidden arm. “Can I see your hand, Mrs. Gardner?” His voice is noticeably softer now.

As if in a trance, Mom offers her palm. Blood drizzles from a gash that starts at the base of her thumb and stops at her pinky.

My stomach knots. “Mom, you’re hurt!”

Jen squeaks, covering her mouth. It doesn’t matter that she can sit through a twenty-four-hour slasher movie marathon; she can’t stomach real gore. It reminds her of scenes from her childhood. “I’ll get some bandages.” Trembling, she heads to the bathroom.

“You’re going to need stitches,” Jeb tells my mom as he helps her up and leads her to my bed. He wraps her hand in the clean side of his bandana. She seems numb to everything, and my whole body aches with worry. I start picking up the shards of glass.

I should be alone with her, comforting her, pressing my birthmark to hers so she’ll heal. But how do I get rid of everyone? I curl my fingers harder around the glass I'm holding, trying to get a grip on my crazy out-of-hand life.

Morpheus steps aside and turns his back on Jeb and my mom as they sit down. He snatches a Kleenex from my dresser and offers the tissue, gesturing with his chin to my clenched hand.

Blood drips from the curve of my fingers, spattering on the shards at my feet. My forefinger stings. I turn it over to see a scratch no bigger than a paper cut. I must’ve been holding the glass too tightly. I wrap the Kleenex around my finger to stop the flow and keep the blood from getting on my gloves.

My breath catches when I look at the floor again. My blood hops from one piece of glass to another, like a pebble skipping on water, leaving thin streaks behind. When it’s done, the result of all the lines is a red arrow pointing toward my closet.

I left the door slightly ajar when I took out my boots earlier. Through the crack, I catch a hint of movement inside. Two glowing pink eyes stare back from the shadows.

I’d know that piercing pink gaze anywhere. It was one of the first creatures that greeted me and Jeb when we jumped into the rabbit hole last year.

“Rabid White,”
I mumble under my breath. Morpheus appears as rattled as I am at the netherling’s appearance. Which means this isn’t one of his stowaways.

Last summer, Rabid swore his loyalty to me and Queen Grenadine as our royal advisor. He could be here to warn me that something’s gone wrong in the Red kingdom. Maybe he startled Mom, and that’s why she broke the mirror.

I’m suddenly grateful Thursday is Dad’s weekly inventory day at
work. He won’t be home until after seven. Maybe I can get this mess cleaned up before then with some help from Morpheus. And I’m not just talking about the glass …

Jen rushes in with the medicine box, and I hurry over to help bandage Mom’s hand, keeping one eye on the closet. As if he knows he’s been spotted, Rabid backs deeper inside. His antlers catch on some hangers, which clang together.

Jeb looks over his shoulder at the sound while holding my mom’s palm so I can tape the bandage. “Did you guys hear—”

“I can drive her,” Morpheus interrupts, crunching glass beneath his boots on the way to the bed. He offers his hand to my mom. “Alyssa and I, we will take you for stitchings.”

Jeb shakes his head and stands. “No, I should drive, since you’re having car trouble. Give me your keys, Mort.”

Mom snaps out of her lull and stands up next to me. “Alyssa can drive.” She hands the blood- and grease-stained bandana back to Jeb. “Thank you both for all you’ve done, but Mort is like family. He can help us take care of this now.”

The ease of her lie takes me aback. She and Morpheus must’ve had a few minutes together before we all came in. It’s the only way she could know our cover story.

The wounded look on Jeb’s face catches my attention and pricks at my heart. If only he knew the truth … how much Mom hates Morpheus and how hard it is for her to pretend otherwise.

“Sure, we’ll get out of your way.” Jeb takes his sister’s sewing tote after she gathers up her stuff.

I walk them to the front door quickly, antsy about leaving Mom alone with our otherworldly visitors—although I’m starting to suspect she’s less intimidated by them than I once thought.

Jenara takes her tote from Jeb and steps onto the porch. “I have to close Butterfly Threads, but you can bring the dress by after. It’ll only take a few minutes to finish those alterations.”

I nod, wishing I
would
be wearing my gown someday again.

Jen squeezes my hand, her features softening. “I know you’re worried about your mom. But her mind is strong, or they wouldn’t have released her from the asylum. She said it was an accident. I’m sure it was. Everything will be fine, okay? Text or call if you need me?”

“Thanks.” I squeeze her hand back, touched, even though she’s so far off the mark about my concerns.

After his sister leaves, Jeb puts both arms around me and pulls me close. “You sure you don’t want me to follow? Mort’s car isn’t reliable.”

I study the vein throbbing in his neck and press it with my fingertip to feel his accelerated pulse. “It’s not his car you don’t trust. It’s him.”

“He had no right to talk to your mom like that. He’s a disrespectful jerk.”

You thought the same thing the first time you met him,
I want to confess. It hurts so much that I no longer share those memories with him …

I force words over the lump in my throat. “I love you for worrying. But I promise, we’ll be fine. I’ll call my dad and have him meet us at the ER. Okay?”

Jeb doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t look inclined to leave.

Desperate to get back to Mom and heal her hand, I say the one thing I know will make him go. “Shouldn’t you go meet the magazine guy? You said he had a few more questions.”

The expression on his face matches how I feel inside—torn. “Let me know how your mom is.
Call.
Don’t text. I want to hear your voice.”

“I will.” He starts to leave, but I catch his arm. “Thank you for being here. For helping.”

“I’ll always be there for you.” He gives me a bone-melting look, then kisses me good-bye.

I’ve barely shut the door when Mom stomps to the kitchen.

“And don’t touch me again!” She shouts over her shoulder in the direction of the living room. As she walks around me, she unwinds the bandage from her hand to reveal a healed palm.

Morpheus enters the kitchen from the living room side. “You’ve become such an ungrateful chit, Alison,” he says, not even sparing me a glance. “I’m not going to stand by and watch one of my own bleed to death.”

He tosses his hat onto the table. Sunlight streams from the windows, and his netherling form is vivid underneath Finley’s full-body mask. His wings are high and looming, his eye patches dark, and the jewels flash from red to black.

“Allie could’ve healed me just fine,” Mom rebuts.

I grip the door frame and study them both, speechless, as Mom uses a spatula to transfer cookies from the racks to a sealable container, as if the things that have happened in the last hour are just everyday occurrences.

Why isn’t she freaking out about Morpheus? Shouldn’t she be asking him why he and Rabid were in my bedroom instead of quibbling over her healed hand? Or better yet, shouldn’t she be telling me where she went via my mirror, and where she stashed my mosaics?

Mom licks a melted chocolate chip from her finger and points
at Morpheus. “This isn’t like the past. I’m older. Wiser. I don’t need your help anymore.”

Her eyes are the bluest they’ve ever been, and her cheeks burst with color. She radiates energy and strength. Morpheus brings something dormant to the surface in her, just like he does in me. I have to wonder what was really between them, if he once said he loved her like he said to me. Maybe he seduced all of my predecessors.

The thought makes my stomach churn.

“You don’t need me, aye?” He moves closer to Mom, but not as close as he usually stands to me. It’s like he’s respecting her invisible-box boundary. He snatches a cookie from the container and sits on the edge of the table with a phantom flourish of wings. “Well, I suppose you’re right. You certainly put my information to good use. I told you about her mosaics so you could keep them
safe
. Then I learn from Alyssa that you asked the bumbling teacher to bring them out in public and leave three of them exposed. I’d say you bloody
do need my help
.” He shoves a bite of cookie into his mouth for emphasis.

“Wait a minute.” I step into the kitchen, my mind out of sorts. “Morpheus is the one who told you about my artwork? You knew he was here? I thought I was protecting you … all the while you were hiding things from
me
.”

Lips pressed tight, Mom tosses the cookie sheets into the sink and turns on the water. “Without a complete set, they’re useless,” she replies, answering Morpheus but ignoring me. “I took care of the three I have. I hid them somewhere safe. Where none of you netherlings would dare to touch them.”

Her words remind me of what I saw in my cheval mirror. “Is that why you were inside the reflection … next to that bridge? Was my art in the bag?”

Mom spins to face me, frowning.

“Ah.” Morpheus looks back and forth between us. “Alison went to the iron bridge, aye? Brilliant strategy, skipping off to London like that.”