Ivory winds her snowy white hands together. “If you want her to live at all, this is the only way. I’ve already summoned Grenadine to send the crown via Rabid. They’re in the north tower, so he shall be here soon.”
“We can’t do this.” Mom stiffens her shoulders. All vulnerability has faded from her expression. Her wings rise tall behind her. She’s determined, ready to fight.
Ivory steps closer and places a hand on her arm. “By putting the crown on her head, we will renew her netherling heart. She will return to the age she was when she came last year, the age of her coronation. And she will be stronger than ever before.”
Mom arranges the dreadlocks around my head. “But her human half is too weak to endure the surge. It will die. And she’ll always be haunted by its absence.”
“We can give her a forgetting potion,” Ivory suggests. “Banish the memories. She’ll be the Red Queen, with nothing human to impede her reign.”
“And in the process,” Morpheus says from beside the fireplace, “you’ll destroy some of her best qualities.”
Mom and Ivory glance at him, as if taken aback to hear those words coming from his lips.
He sits hard on the chaise lounge, wings draped over the back, then slouches with elbows on knees. The silvery flames flicker across his bejeweled face. “What of her whimsy and curiosity, her compassion and loyalty? Her imagination, her dreams. These are all part of her humanness.”
My mom stares at him in disbelief. “This is thanks to your schemes. You pressured her to choose you . . . to choose Wonderland over her other side. What did you think would happen?”
Morpheus hunches lower, miserable.
“Alison.” Ivory sits beside Mom on the mattress. “You are being too harsh. This rift was not caused merely by her efforts to choose between her worlds or between her love for Morpheus and her mortal knight. Red put a spell upon her netherling side, in hopes it would dominate and destroy the other one. You cannot blame him for that.”
“I can, because it all started when Allie came here last summer.” Mom glares at Morpheus again. “Now you’re finally going to get what you wanted. To have her here in Wonderland with you. To have her break all ties with mortals forever. You should be celebrating. You won.”
“Won what?” Dad asks from the door.
Before anyone can answer, Jeb comes up behind him. He curses and rushes to the bed with Dad.
Ivory moves aside while explaining everything, including the plan on the table.
Dad starts toward Morpheus. “Are you happy? You made it all about Wonderland. Now she’ll be a queen without a family who loves her.”
Jeb grabs Dad’s arm before he can get across the room. “Thomas, it wasn’t just him. We were pulling her apart, too. Trying to convince her to stay in our world. We have to be unified now, to think of Al and how to keep her alive.” There’s torment behind his green eyes, because he knows he’s about to give me up forever. But there’s no doubt, only pained resignation.
“Jebediah is right.” Morpheus meets Jeb’s gaze. An unspoken understanding passes between them. “But this isn’t the path to Alyssa’s salvation. Were she able to speak for herself in this moment, she would insist there must be another way.”
“I can think of none, and we’re out of time,” Ivory answers sadly. Her wings hang low at her back, appearing heavy.
“Put her on ice then,” Morpheus suggests. “Freeze her heart and give us a chance to come up with options.”
Ivory agrees.
An arctic surge rushes through me and my blood slows in my veins, like icy slush. The pain in my chest vanishes.
Mom pets my frozen hair and Dad slumps to his knees next to Jeb, burying his face against my frosted gown.
“If only we still had the diary,” Jeb says absently, rubbing my fingers inside his, as if trying to keep me warm. “The magic inside. Maybe we could’ve used it somehow.”
Morpheus tilts his chin. “The diary. Of course.” He stands and stares pointedly at Ivory. “We’re looking at this all wrong. We need to think of her heart as an object . . . like a toy. What makes abandoned toys such powerful casings for Sister Two’s souls? ’Tis not so much what they are, but what is used to seal them.”
“A child’s love magic.” Ivory purses her pale pink mouth. “It could work, since you’ve both shared her childhood at different times.”
“It’s worth a try, at the very least,” Morpheus adds.
Ivory nods, then casts a wise and knowing glance from him to Jeb. “The seal would only be a temporary fix, to hold her together until she can heal. You both must be willing to compromise . . . see past your needs, and accept that she is meant for more than fulfilling your expectations for her. You will have to support one another as constants in her life if you’re to bridge her human and netherling heart. She must live in both worlds for equal amounts of time. This will allow her heart to grow and mend, piece by piece. Once it has healed and is unified, she’ll no longer need the sutures, and she can endure being crowned without losing either part of who she is. Are you willing to let her have this dual future? The decision falls to you. She’s too weak to make it for herself. Red’s greed and vengefulness saw to that when she made Alyssa’s heart the battlefield.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Morpheus and Jeb answer simultaneously without hesitation.
The bubble in Ivory’s hand bursts, Chessie rematerializes, and the moment is gone.
I frown, overwhelmed by Jeb’s and Morpheus’s devotion, but still confused.
Ivory lays my palm over my heart. “What do you see inside?”
I curl my fingers into a fist. “Some of my happiest memories with each of them, when we were younger. But it’s from their points of view, not mine.”
“Therein is the magic. They have both loved you with a child’s love, and now a man’s. It is the child’s love that holds you together . . . cemented by the moments you shared with them that they treasure most. They had to bare their minds, hearts, and souls to one another and send the sentiments directly into you, riding on their magic to seal the two halves of your heart. Those are the sutures. And their love for you as men has given them the strength to look past their pride and compromise. Throughout the day, you will spend your human life in the mortal realm, but at night, as you sleep, Morpheus will bring you here in your dreams. You will continue to learn the politics of our world and acquaint yourself with your subjects and your dominion; you’ll learn to trust, understand, and work with him, so one day—should you choose to wed one another and reign together—your bond will be unbreakable. And Wonderland will be unassailable.”
I’m astonished that both guys would agree to the arrangement. Especially Morpheus . . . because he has to go back to dream duty and wait to be with me in reality. He said he was done waiting. Would he really postpone our life together and the birth of our son? Our son . . .
I grasp Ivory’s hand. “Wait. Sister Two. We have to appease the need for borogroves in the cemetery. There must be dreams for the restless souls. Or else she’ll keep taking human children. She won’t have a choice.”
Ivory studies my face. “At last you realize the rules are there for a reason, even if they seem barbaric. But in truth, I should like to see this particular practice altered, every bit as much as you. Our kind has never been in the business of seeking the most humane way to do things. We’re of an ends-justify-the-means mentality. But with two queens who care enough to find another way, this can change. And our realm will be stronger once we need not rely on outside commodities.” The black dragonfly-wing markings that flank her temples crinkle in thought. “For now, we have a compromise that will last as long as your mortal knight lives. He has volunteered to be Sister Two’s dream-boy.”
My stomach falls.
Dream-boy. I’m slammed with the image of my Dad’s brain being siphoned of dreams and nightmares as a child. My hallucination in the hospital a month ago comes full circle: Jeb sheathed inside a thick sheet of spider sil
k, me slicing it open, then him staring dead-eyed back at me. Was it a vision all along?
Ivory didn’t mention him in her earlier explanation of my future, only that I would live out my life in the mortal realm.
Jeb is planning to sacrifice his existence so no more humans will suffer, because that’s what he does. He protects the vulnerable. No matter what it costs him.
My skin flashes hot and cold. Not this time. Not when he’s finally found his way.
Without another word to Ivory, I scramble up and sprint out the door, insisting Chessie show me where Jeb is. He takes to the air in front of me with Nikki skirting behind. Ivory calls out, but time is too precious. I don’t stop.
I turn a corner that opens to a long, sleek corridor.
There’s no traction on the white marble floors. My bare feet slip. Righting myself, I untie my makeshift robe and leave it behind as I release my wings and take flight down the wide expanse. I pass a dozen or so elfin knights who watch with detached curiosity, but make no move to stand in my way.
I don’t even feel embarrassed that I’m wearing a transparent gown. There’s no need to be proper or modest. I’m the Red Queen: untamed, wild, and maniacal. I dare anyone to question my choice of clothes.
I’m on a mission. Sister Two isn’t going to use Jeb up until his heart stops and he’s a dreamless corpse.
That is not the ending my mortal knight deserves.
Chessie and Nikki lead me to the highest tower that overlooks Ivory’s kingdom, then flutter off before I can thank them.
Panting to catch my breath, I wait outside the open door and absorb my wings. The large room is windowless. Windows are unnecessary in a palace with transparent walls. Unlike the chamber I was in earlier, no frost or ice impedes the view. Daylight reflects off the snow outside and illuminates the surroundings with sunny brilliance.
Finley is taking canvases off their easels, his back turned to me. There’s no sign of Jeb.
I step quietly inside. Stacks upon stacks of canvases lie on the floor, all of them slathered with beautifully bizarre landscapes. I’d recognize the handiwork anywhere.
I look to the world outside the glass tower, where patches of color on the horizon bleed Jeb’s paintings into being. The fluid metamorphosis reminds me of when I was small, when I would sandwich crayon chips between sheets of waxed paper, and with a hot iron, Dad melted them into gleaming “stained-glass masterpieces.” I never thought I’d see such vibrant, visionary bursts of color in anything but a kaleidoscope, certainly not to scale across an entire world.
I’m awestruck.
Movement in the sky catches my attention. The graceful arc and lift of giant black wings swoops through the clouds, making holes that close again before I can blink. Even though he’s cloaked in the white fluffy haze, I know it’s Morpheus, supervising the rebirth of his beloved home. A part of me aches to be with him. To climb to the top of this tower and dive off so we can soar together, hold hands, feel the wind whipping through us. I want to watch the jewels on his face flash through that thrilling rainbow of emotions.
But something else is calling to me right now, an equally strong pull . . .
Jeb has outdone himself. He brought our world back to its full freakish splendor, and Wonderland will be forever in his debt. I won’t allow him to sacrifice anything else.
Finley stops working, preoccupied with a standing mirror in the far corner. His body blocks the reflection he watches.
Just like in my vision, he’s wearing an elfin knight uniform: black pants that fit like well-worn jeans, a silver chain linked in and out of two belt loops, and a cross of glistening white diamonds on the left upper leg. The shirt is long-sleeved, made of stretchy fabric that clings to his muscles—silver with vertical black stripes.
“Where did the artist go?” My question comes out sharper than I intend.
Finley turns. Upon seeing me, he looks down and rakes a hand through his dark blond hair in an awkward gesture, reminding me how sheer my gown must be with the sun filtering through.
My face flushes, but I don’t turn away.
“He took the mirror passage.” Finley sets aside the canvas he’s holding, revealing the looking glass’s surface.
I step closer. A vast hollow blinks in the reflection, filled with ice-slicked weeping willow trees. An endless array of teddy bears and stuffed animals, plastic clowns and porcelain dolls, hangs from webs on the drooping branches.
The restless souls.
My breath catches as the image disappears.
So Jeb is in the cemetery, beyond the dead and barren willows, in the shelter of ivy where a thick sheath of web thrashes with light and breath. The glowing roots may already be attached to his head and chest, siphoning away his dreams and imagination.
I swallow a moan. Every nerve in my body fizzes with rage.
“Envision where you wish to go,” I whisper, and picture Sister Two’s lair—the deepest part, where she stores her dreamer, the one who provides entertainment for those wretched, restless souls to keep them at peace.
The glass crackles and Jeb appears in the reflection. He’s not wrapped in web or hooked up to the tree roots yet, but the spidery grave keeper is standing over him, her eight legs pinning him in place. The striped fabric of her skirt bubbles wide like a hoop around her spinnerets. Her upper torso, deceptively human, tenses beneath a matching bodice. Her left hand, a pair of gardening shears in place of fingers, prepares to strike, moments from rendering him a vegetable.
Riding an adrenaline rush, I lift my key to unlock the mirror’s glass.
Finley stops my hand. “I can’t let you do that, miss. Ivory asked they not be disturbed.”
I snatch my hand free. With one glance across the room, I conjure a pile of drop cloths in the corner to rise and hover over him like angry ghosts. Two of them stretch out with clawed fingers and clamp his arms. The others cast blue shadows across his face, awaiting my command. I’m surprised how effortlessly my feral side took over. Surprised and pleased.
“Ivory would make an exception for the Red Queen,” I snarl.
Even with my phantoms holding him, Finley doesn’t flinch. Realization crosses his face. He obviously had no idea. I can’t blame him. I don’t exactly look the part of royalty right now. “Forgive me, Majesty. I’ll be here to open the mirror from this side, when you’re done.”
I allow the cloths to fall to the floor while inserting the key into the hole formed by the cracked glass. The reflection ripples like liquid and I step in. A haze of sepia swirls around me, and a prickly sensation sweeps through my skin.
I shake off the disorientation and the scene opens to reality. A stale-smelling chill hangs on the air and snow blankets the ground. The cries and wails of restless toys pierce my eardrums.
Above it all, Jeb’s agonized scream slices through my soul.
Racing toward the sound, I stop a few steps behind Sister Two. She holds up her scissored hand, slicked with blood. Her translucent skin and graphite-colored hair are both splattered with red.
Jeb clutches his right wrist. Shimmery red lines streak from his tattoo into the grooves between his fingers, then drizzle into the snow and along his paint-stained tunic, leaving fresh bright dots.
He collapses to his knees, wailing.
“Jeb!”
He winces up at me through his pain.
Before Sister Two can react, I summon the webbed casing she’s prepared for him. The sticky strands wind around her, trapping her within her own net.
She struggles, but everything, from her multiple legs to her arms, is wrapped in a cocoon. Her blades can’t even open to snip at the binds. “How dare ye set foot on this hallowed ground!”
The voice that once tapped on my spine like branches on a windowpane has no power over me now. Instead of evoking terror, she stokes my anger—reminding me of everything she’s done to my loved ones: planning to bleed my dad dry and leave him for dead, trapping my mother here, stinging Morpheus, and chasing Jeb with
the intent to hold him here forever.
“I’m a half-blood, witch,” I seethe. “My powers aren’t affected by this place. So you’re going to have to roll out the welcome mat. Your days of answering to no one are over. And Jeb is not going to be your dream-boy.” I animate another strip of web so it slaps across her lavender-colored lips, effectively silencing any response. Her blue eyes harden.
Jeb still crouches, holding his wrist. “There’s no reversing what’s already been done.” His voice is husky and tight.
What I thought were droplets of red blood on the snow merge together to form a pulse of light. It tunnels underneath the web surrounding the grave keeper. It doesn’t stop there. Snaky, glowing strands separate and spread into the roots beneath the ground that lead to every tree. The light seeps into the writhing toys, feeding them. One by one, they settle to a disturbingly serene hush.
Jeb stands. His tattoo that once glowed with power and magic—that was bleeding moments ago—is the color of his skin, healed and raised like a scar. Not even a blink of light shimmers behind it.
His eyes are different, too—a darker green, like moss in shadows. Some integral part of him has changed.
“Jeb.” I fist my hands at my sides. “I made a promise to you. For a life together.”
He shakes his head. “I release you of your vow, Al.”
At his words, I feel the difference . . . the bind I made breaking free. “No!” I lurch forward and clutch Sister Two’s neck. “What did you do to him?”
Jeb gently peels my hands off the spidery woman. “What I asked her to do. Didn’t Ivory tell you?”
“That you volunteered to be the dream-boy? Like my dad was? That’s why you’re letting me out of my promise. So I won’t be tied to a corpse.” My voice is high-pitched and desperate. Nothing like a queen’s should sound.
Jeb frowns. “You didn’t give Ivory the chance to explain, did you? You went flying all over the castle half-naked to find me without letting her finish.”
I clench my jaw.