Splintered

  “Would you rather try the wine?” he asks.

  At the other end of the table, the primate netherlings are capturing the wine bottles, which float in midair, and stuffing bits of wool from their lamblike heads into the bottle necks to weigh them down. They then pass the wine around for toasts.

  Crinkling my nose, I refuse the offer.

  “Ah, poor, delicate little blossom.” Morpheus takes a napkin, gently grasping my left hand. “Let us clean you up, aye?” Gossamer lights on the table next to my right hand and proceeds to help with unnecessary roughness, yanking at my gloves and pinching my knuckles while grimacing at me. In contrast, Morpheus smooths the sandy mixture from my fingertips. Heat flares from the contact.

  There’s heat behind me, too, from Jeb’s gaze. I don’t have to see it. I sense it. He warned Morpheus not to touch me during the feast.

  “Pity we were so preoccupied in the Hall of Mirrors earlier and missed the appetizer,” Morpheus says as he glances at Jeb smugly. “You would’ve loved the spider soup, being so adept at wounding insects.”

  I wince.

  “Even more a pity”—he leans in and whispers low so only I can hear—“that you would waste your kisses on a man who fantasizes about other girls. Little Gossamer can see inside people’s minds as they’re sleeping. The beautiful young woman in Jeb’s dreams was not you. Interesting, that he chooses now to act on ‘hidden’ feelings. Down here, away from all the others, when he wants so desperately to talk you out of your quest.”

  A sharp-edged shadow passes through my chest, slicing like a knife.

  “Oh, but of course he’s sincere,” Morpheus continues to taunt. “It’s not as if he’s ever kept anything from you. He’s always been honest.”

  Jeb’s move to London with Taelor fills my mind, leaving me as sullen as the dark clouds behind our host’s eyes.

  Watching my reaction, Morpheus smiles. “Yes. A man who never lies will never break your heart.” Planting a kiss atop the back of my glove, he tosses down the napkin and releases me.

  Gossamer glowers at me before she flits back to his shoulder.

  Tears build behind my eyes. I will them not to fall but can’t will away the sick ache in my stomach. Morpheus must be right. Jeb’s never mentioned having feelings for me in our real lives. He’s still with Taelor up there and dreaming of her down here.

  Morpheus stands and returns his hat to his head, all business now. “Enough playing with these bland morsels. Waiters, bring out the main course!”

  Some movement along the walls provides a momentary distraction from my heartache. It’s as if pieces of the plaster are sprouting legs. Only when they peel from their places and slink off to one of the adjoining rooms do I realize they’re a band of human-size chameleons with suctioned toes.

  When the zebra-striped lizards return, bulbous eyes twisting in every direction, they carry a platter garnished with dried fruit and something that resembles a duck. It’s plucked and roasted but still has its head intact. A warm, herbal scent tickles my nose. At least it’s cooked.

  “May I introduce you all to the main course?” Morpheus spreads out an arm with dramatic flair. “Dinner, meet your worthy adversaries, the hungry guests.”

  My tongue dries to sandpaper as the bird’s eyes pop open, and it hobbles to stand on webbed feet, flesh brown and glistening with glaze and oil. There’s a bell hung around its neck, and it jingles as the duck bows to greet everyone.

  This cannot be happening.

  Every nerve in my body jumps, urging me to turn to Jeb. But I can’t.

  Morpheus drags the heavy mallet from beside his chair and pounds it on the table like a judge’s gavel. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let the walloping begin.”

  Gossamer launches from Morpheus’s shoulder and leaves the room with the other sprites as mass confusion erupts. All the guests leap to their feet, mallets in hand, to chase the jingling duck.

  He’s surprisingly agile and bobs out of the way, maneuvering among serving platters, dishes, and silverware.

  “What are you doing?” I ask Morpheus. “I’ve never seen anything so savage!”

  “‘Savage’?” The green pig snorts an answer for him. “You act as if we’re a bunch of animals.” His peppercorn teeth form a sneer.

  “Stop thinking with your head, Alyssa.” Morpheus leans low across the table, his blue hair swinging forward at his shoulders. “Think with this, instead.” He taps a finger above my naval. It’s a good thing Jeb can’t see from his angle, or he’d break Morpheus’s hand off.

  “My stomach?” I barely breathe the question.

  “Your gut. Instinct. The deepest part of you knows that this”—he motions to the chaos around us—“is how it should be. That same part of you that prompted you to look for me and step through the mirror. The same part that gave you the power to animate your mosaic at home.”

  His words send me back to that moment in my hallway when the crickets’ dead legs kicked and the glass beads glowed. Is he saying my curse-magic caused that, too?

  “You understand the logic behind the illogical, Alyssa. It’s in your nature to find tranquility amid the madness. And that’s what we’re doing here. We’re giving our food a fighting chance.” He winks at me. “Now, if you’ll pardon us, my comrade and I have some bartering to do.” He and the pig leave the table. Morpheus bends down to keep their heads together as they stroll to the far wall.

  “Twinkle!” the white ferret shouts. He scrambles onto the table with spoon in hand, only to get toppled by the roasted duck. I catch my furry companion before he falls headfirst off the edge. His spoon jangles to the floor beside his helmet. With his cap gone, his bald scalp is revealed—the skin so thin, his brain shows through. He doesn’t even have a skull.

  He snuggles in my lap. “Datum. Datum very much, angel light!” Beady pink eyes study me, soft with morbid adoration. I’m so captivated by the strangeness of the creature, I don’t realize a mob is coming our way, flailing their mallets in a chaotic rush for the prize.

  Jeb jerks my chair from the table to save me from getting pounded while the ferret holds on to my tunic for dear life. Then Jeb sidesteps to the corner diagonally across from me, maintaining our distance. His expression strains with the effort not to make eye contact.

  “Ye know the rulessss!” a serpentine wolf hisses in midpummel, just missing the duck as it hurtles across a dinner plate. “Firsssst to ring hissss bell getssss to carve!”

  A bloodcurdling howl breaks the chaos as someone rips off one of the duck’s legs. It drags itself free while several of the pursuers gnaw on the ripped drumstick.

  The duck climbs atop a hovering wine bottle and takes to the air, all the while giggling deliriously. He taunts the others to catch him by tearing off and dropping pieces of his flesh.

  He wants to be eaten.

  A sick twinge spasms in my belly, tempting me to join in, teasing me with the thrill of the chase. My legs twitch in their desire to jump up. I suppress the impulse.

  Any creatures capable of flight follow with mallets in hand, floating over everyone else. The grounded ones scuttle to the tabletop or rush along the floor, tumbling over dishes and chairs in hopes someone will knock the main course down to their level.

  I cover my mouth to keep from screaming or laughing hysterically. It could go either way at this point. I’m beginning to enjoy the madness.

  That’s not good. Not at all.

  My new ferret friend pats my fingers, his tiny pink pads soft against my skin.

  “Hale be angel light,” his flutelike voice soothes. “Hale and agreeable. Sort and sing. Be royal smiles for me.” He grins, his sharp teeth glimmering beneath the chandelier’s glow. His canines are as long as a rattlesnake’s fangs.

  My instinct stirs, and I do what Morpheus suggested—I follow it. I tickle the creature’s left ear like I would a puppy’s. He purrs in response.

  I shut out everything—the pursuit of dinner, the crazy hoots and laughter from the anim
ated guests, the affectionate, furry creature in my lap—as I watch Morpheus pass the fan and gloves to the pig.

  In exchange, the pig slips Morpheus a small white bag tied with a black ribbon. Then the pig snatches up his mallet and waddles off to join the festivities, which have moved to the kitchen. The clang of pots and pans in the other room echoes loudly in the sudden hush of the abandoned dining hall.

  I startle as the ferret grasps both sides of my face. “Dust-sweet, angel light.” He licks my chin with his cold, forked tongue, then drops to the floor, snagging his spoon and helmet. “Twinkle. Gust and begone!” With that, he returns his helmet to his head and runs into the kitchen.

  Once he disappears, only Jeb, Morpheus, and I remain in the room. Free of prying eyes, I look at Jeb from my seat and he stares back from against the wall, neither of us moving.

  A strange pressure starts to penetrate my chin where the ferret’s snaky tongue left a wet mark. It worms into my skin and winds into my mouth, both warm and cold at once. I swallow the taste of it—bitter yet sweet, like a confection made of tears.

  The sensation doesn’t stop there. It flows into my throat, then my chest, pinching with a deep, profound sadness. At first, I hurt for myself and Jeb, for how there’s still so much between us to work out. Then I hurt for Alison and Dad and their lost years together. I hurt for Queen Red and her broken heart, and for Ivory, who’s always suffered in solitude, now locked alone in the prison hatbox. The sadness escalates, as if all the grief of the world converges in one spot, just above my heart. I ache to cry … ache so much, it takes my breath away.

  Jeb rushes to me, crouching at my feet. “Al, it’s all right. It’s over.” He feels my forehead. “You’re so cold. Say something, please.”

  I can’t respond for fear I’ll start to weep uncontrollably.

  “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 mouth-parts 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.