Our royal bedroom had become a painful reminder of just how creaky and decrepit I’d grown. I looked forward to making new memories here, when I was no longer trying to outrun Wonderland’s chaotic brand of beauty, when I was crowned again and would remain sixteen forever—as eternally youthful, energetic, and alluring as the winged man who would rule by my side.
Until then, I didn’t fit. I was a picture left out in the sun and rain, my vibrant colors fading to a melancholy yellow drab. My netherling powers were still strong, but trapped inside a timeworn vessel. My shoulders felt so hunched and heavy, I rarely let my wings free. I missed flying most of all.
I wondered if this was how Red felt in the end, and why she allowed Morpheus to talk her into going back to Wonderland and abandoning her half-human descendants. Ultimately, it was her plan to return anyway, although she had no desire to make that journey alone. She fought with Morpheus, unleashing a series of events and manipulations that ultimately led me to gain the crown and become queen. Something I learned to be grateful for, although back then I’d begrudged the gift. It took a lifetime for me to fully appreciate how precious immortality could be, and I would never take it for granted again.
After Morpheus finished cleaning the spilled tea, I dragged my hand free from his and self-consciously clasped the ruffled silken scarf at my neck, attempting to hide my droopy skin. People said I looked wonderful for my age. At least twenty years younger. But compared to Morpheus’s unfading, otherworldly appeal, I felt ancient.
“I don’t want you there,” I pressed, determined to keep him away from the funeral home. “It’s enough that you’ve seen me wither away to a prune all these years.” Even my voice sounded rusty, as if the words were flaking off my throat and tongue in caustic, brown chips.
Morpheus leaned his elbows on the tablecloth, getting as close as he could with the tea set between us. His blue hair brushed his shoulders, animated and enchanted—a stark contrast to the white, dull waves confined in a bun at my nape.
“You are at the end of your chrysalis, luv. This step is the most difficult, take my word. ’Tis a harrowing and unsettling battle of identity, just before you break free and transform to the creature of flight and artistry you were always destined to become. I can keep you on task. Prevent any . . . distractions.”
He looked down at my wedding ring, which I had yet to remove. It had become more than a symbol of my and Jeb’s devotion. It had become a symbol of my human life, and I intended to wear it until the moment I left it all behind.
Morpheus’s pinky outlined the ring, careful not to touch the diamonds or the silver band holding them in place. “It is important that you not allow anything to impede you from taking that final leap. You’ve mourned those you’ve lost long enough. They are at peace. Let their peace give you yours. Elsewise, you’ll be crippled . . . unable to act with a sharp mind. Focus is key for any plan to work.”
“I already know that,” I answered, my chest pinched and tight. “You’re worried I’ve become senile. That I can’t handle this.”
He sighed, stroking my thumb with his. “Not senile. Reminiscent. It happens to humans. You’ve told me so yourself, as I’ve watched you grow to refinement and wisdom.”
“Refinement.” I ventured a tentative smile at his attempt to charm me. “Is that what we’re calling it today?”
He held my gaze, unfaltering. “Your eyes have not lost their incandescence, nor your mind its wit. You are no prune. You’re every bit my tart little plum, as you’ve always been. I’ve told you this repeatedly, have I not?”
At least once each night in my dreams, Beloved Moth.
I didn’t answer aloud, just as I didn’t reveal my deepest insecurities: I was ashamed for him to see me at my lowest point . . . I couldn’t bear for him to have any memory of seeing me as a feeble corpse lying in a cardboard coffin—the way I’d had to see Jeb after his death, just before he was cremated.
“A queen should not require rescue,” I said simply. I kept my eyes on his, mesmerized by those inky irises that looked back at me as they always had since our childhood, filled with awe and affection. Somehow, he saw past my aging shell to the girl I once was, and I craved to see myself as he did. “A queen must merit the respect of her kingdom and subjects. And the admiration of her king.”
“Oh, I assure you.” He captured my hand again and kissed each knuckle where they bulged with arthritis. “You’ve already merited that. In fact, I plan to show you just how deep my admiration runs”—the word deep grated in his throat like a growl—“however many times it takes for you to be convinced, the moment you’re mine at last.”
My cheeks flared hot. In spite of all the years he’d flattered and beguiled me with teasing innuendos, in spite of everything I’d experienced as a mortal wife, mother, and grandmother, he still had the ability to make me blush.
“Ah, there it is.” He skimmed a finger across my crinkled cheek and smirked, far too satisfied with himself. “I haven’t lost my touch.”
“As if that could ever be possible, for the master of verbal seduction,” I teased.
His mood shifted to potent defiance in one blink. “You’ll soon see it’s more than all talk, blossom.”
I blushed hotter, feeling younger than I had in weeks. He always had that effect on me. Always made me feel desirable and alive. Aside from the times when he was challenging me or making me furious.
He leaned back in his seat, wings lifted. “Your body is bone-tired. Let me do this for you, so you can rest,” he tried one last time.
“You’ve taught me to be strong and resourceful. I should make that final leap into the rabbit hole on my own.” An unexpected surge of vulnerability made me shiver. I gripped my teacup to absorb its warmth. “But you’ll be there, to catch me?”
“I shall be there expecting a mind-numbing kiss for all my troubles,” he answered without pause.
Smiling, I took out the chess box. Morpheus watched intently while I animated the pieces to enact my grand design to leave the human realm and cover my tracks with the aid of my royal advisor, bits of bone provided by the pixies, a bag of ash, two simulacrum suits, a common housefly, and a handful of sprites. As I spoke, his jeweled eye markings glittered a lime green—uneasy, but hopeful. The anticipation emanating off of him was visceral.
It was inconceivable, that we’d shared a sixty-three-year courtship—platonic, though not without its share of tension. Although he took great pleasure watching me walk on my tiptoes across the tightwire of suppressed attraction, he kept his vow and respected my stand to be faithful to Jeb. He even waited for three years as I grieved my mortal husband’s death and prepared my family for my inevitable parting. That was the depth of his respect for me. He’d earned the same respect in turn. And so much more . . .
Now the day and hour has come to reward him for his patience, and I’m starting to regret that I didn’t let him plan my death . . . let him run the show. It probably would have gone smoother. I’d already be in his arms and in his bed—a young butterfly queen, ruling over my kingdom, drunk on power, madness, and passion.
No. I can do this. I can prove that I’m capable, calculating, and strong, as all good queens should be.
Morpheus’s only role in my plan was to send the counter potion with Rabid. The moment my skeletal accomplice arrives, everything will fall into place and I’ll make my escape into Wonderland. Since a body can’t be exhumed once it’s been reduced to ash and bone, no one will ever know that I’m still alive, only gone from this world forever.
A pang of sadness chases that thought as finality hits. It’s over. I’m ready to end it . . . to start my immortal future. I’ve lived a full life here. My family is healthy and happy. We’re on the best of terms. Every human dream has been fulfilled and my heart is strong and whole once more.
Yet because of that, there’s so much to leave behind. There’s no unfinished business, but it’s still hard to say good-bye forever. Once the crown is placed on my head to jump-start
my immortality, I don’t have to wear it constantly to retain my youth, but I do have to stay in Wonderland. Just as Ivory once told me, time is tricky stepping back through the portal into the human world . . . one has to envision a specific hour, or the clock goes in reverse and will drop you into the exact same moment you stepped through.
If I try to cross the borders into the human realm after I leave, I’ll either return perpetually to this moment and be eighty again over and over, or I’ll automatically be aged however long I’ve been gone and turn to dust on the spot. Add to that the fact that I’ll be dead in everyone’s eyes—I could never explain my reappearance without causing undue terror or confusion—and going back and forth is no longer a feasible option.
An impenetrable wall is about to rise between my family and me, leaving us with nothing but memories.
Jeb’s face resurfaces in my mind before I can stop it . . . the way his glistening green eyes held my gaze that last moment before he closed them in death. How they were so full of love and gratitude for all the dreams we’d shared.
My throat swells and there’s a tug behind my lashes. The small metal identity tag at my chest feels like a pile of bricks.
Stop. I can’t do this now. I have to concentrate on escape. Morpheus was right. Thinking of those I’ve loved and lost will only hinder me. I’ll keep the memories at bay . . . suppress how I faced Mom and Dad’s death, how I thought I’d never survive the grief. How Jeb was my rock, like always. Just like I was for him, when his mom passed.
It’s futile to think of any of that now, because the moment Jeb died, the whole world distorted—took on a new form that I didn’t recognize. Everyday things became foreign and unwelcoming. With him gone, I no longer belonged.
My metamorphosis was complete the moment my mortal husband stopped breathing. All that’s left now is breaking out of my weather-beaten cocoon.
A new scent sifts through my cardboard surroundings—aftershave or deodorant—forcing me back to the present as two men converse on the other side of the lid.
“Last one tonight, Frank?”
“That it is, Brian. Just came in a few hours ago. Delivery only. And there’s a rush on her. You want me to stay and help?”
I struggle to breathe. My plan doesn’t allow for two witnesses. Only one. As I await the crematory operator’s answer, my heart hunkers inside me, filling with dread. The organ seems to quiver, though there’s no pulse along my wrists or in my ears. Just a cold, indiscernible quaking behind my sternum, like chilled gelatin sloughed quietly from its mold.
“Nah,” Brian finally says as he rattles some papers. “I could do this with my eyes closed.”
The irony is laughable. If all goes as planned, he’ll not only have his eyes closed . . . he’ll be asleep and dreaming.
“Go home to your family,” Brian finishes. “Tell Melanie and the kids hi for me.”
“You got it. See you tomorrow.”
Hinges creak as the door shuts, and relief rushes through me, however short-lived. The click and clank of a mechanized hatchway shakes the cardboard walls of my coffin and rattles my stiff bones. A rocking motion tugs beneath my spine as my casket slips onto a rack of metal rollers. Flames crackle louder, warming my feet and toes where the panels under my soles come dangerously close to the incinerator’s entrance as the rollers begin to move.
Rabid was supposed to be here before the temperature-controlled furnace was hot enough to trigger the opening mechanism. Things are happening out of sequence, too quickly. My muscles ache to shudder and come alive, but they’re as rigid as steel. Immovable. A flash of another memory shivers through me: when Queen Red controlled my body that final day in AnyElsewhere. When I was her puppet. I feel as powerless now as I did then.
I’m about to be enveloped in flames. My body won’t survive. Yet I have to somehow. I made a promise to return as myself. Whole and in one piece. It’s a promise I can’t break. Morpheus has waited too long for my return. I can’t let him down.
Self-doubt raises its ugly head: What will I do? If I can’t move, I can’t get free . . . not without the counter potion. A hollowness stings behind my tear ducts as I wish for a flood to burst free and fill my box with an ocean of tears to save me from the fire. But my eyes might as well be filled with sand.
Enough with the dramatics, luv. Use your magic. Improvise and find a means of escape.
I’m not sure if it’s Morpheus’s voice in my head, or if it’s mine. I’ve heard his accent and goading insistence so many times throughout my life, they’re ingrained in me as if they’re my own.
Whatever the case, it sparks my determination. There’s a reason I came to this room last night when all was dark and quiet: So I could make a mental note of things I might animate if I needed them. So I could understand the logistics of the furnace. So I could use my magic blind.
I concentrate on the hatch’s inner workings. I learned a thing or two being a mechanic’s wife. The springs in the mechanism coil tightly as I envision them retracting. The movement triggers the hinges and the metal door snaps shut with a clang. My box jerks to a halt as it hits the obstacle.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Brian grumbles. He jiggles the door handle and hammers at the hinges. “There. That’ll do it.”
He shoves my box to the back of the metal rollers once more, allowing room for the hatch to open. My mind scrambles for another way to stall him until I hear him shout: “What the . . . ?” and then the sound of his body slumping to the floor. The casket hits the closed hatch once more.
“Queen Alyssa,” a tinkling voice drifts from the other side of the cardboard.
Nikki, you wonderful little spriteling. A tingle radiates through my lips, the ghost of a smile wanting to spring loose. My toes would twitch from excitement if not for my paralysis.
The casket’s lid scrapes open and the wings of twenty sprites whisk around my face—little tufts of air scented with cinnamon and vanilla.
Teensy hands the size of ladybugs tug at my eyelids, opening them to a glow of amber light. I still can’t turn my head, but in my peripheral vision, Rabid’s antlers appear over the box’s edge, then two glimmering pink eyes follow suit.
“Late, I be,” he croaks an apology.
I try to nod in reassurance, but fail.
His entire face comes into view over me. “Fix you, Highness. Take you home, at long last.”
Home. The word waltzes through my mind, filled with promise and hope. I imagine myself flying with Morpheus over Wonderland’s bizarre, winding terrains. How lovely it will be to belong once more. To belong, and never have to leave anyone again.
Rabid’s bony arm reaches inside and pours something from a bright red bottle down my throat. The faintest hint of berries mixed with menthol tickles my tongue. My heart jumps to life, pounding so hard against my sternum, I gasp. In moments, I’m able to squint without any help from the sprites. They disperse with jingly giggles and hover around the sleeping crematory operator where he’s slumped on the gray cement floor.
I blink—hard and fast. My tear ducts reactivate and my eyes water. The saltiness stings and itches.
Next, my toes and fingers wiggle, then my muscles reawaken, sluggish and resistant, like overextended rubber bands. As I pull myself to a sitting position, my old ligaments pop and snap.
Rabid perches on the edge of the incline and grips the casket, keeping him eye level with me. “Forgive Rabid of White. Forever-evermore, be at your side.”
I pat his soft head. “No forgiveness necessary. What matters is you’re here now. Did anyone see you coming out of the bathroom?”
Rabid shakes his head. “The fly on the wall kept an eye on the hall.” He snickers at his rhyme and points to the top quarter of the door, which harbors the only window in the room. The housefly skitters across the glass on the other side in demonstration of its steadfast devotion.
Rabid offers the sly, frothy grin I’ve come to adore as his skeletal hand gives me a small backpack. I look inside and ev
erything’s there: my ruby-tipped key necklace, my wedding ring, the simulacrum suits, a bag of ash and splintered bits of bone, a change of clothes, a box knife, and three keepsakes from my human life that are the only things I’m taking with me across the border of Wonderland.
First, I pull on my necklace and press the key to my chest, savoring the power it holds.
The crematory operator snores from the floor. He looks cold and uncomfortable, but I know better. His dreams are warm and sensuous. The sprites flutter around him, tufted wings swishing at the speed of hummingbirds as they release particles like dandelion fuzz filled with pheromones. The seeds snow across the man’s smiling face, coaxing his subconscious to envision his most carnal fantasies. I crinkle my nose, embarrassed even to conjecture what they might be. He’s probably going to have a dream hangover for a week.
Although he won’t suffer any lasting physical effects, the sprites are exploiting his private thoughts. When I was younger, I might’ve regretted using him as a pawn. Not anymore. When he wakes up in an hour or so, his splitting headache will prevent him from questioning how he managed to cremate me in his sleep. All he’ll want is an aspirin and his nice soft bed at home.
The end justifies the means.
I use the box knife to cut a flap in the casket’s side and swing my legs out, slow and careful. I can’t move as fast as I once did. My bare feet meet the cold floor, paper gown swishing around me. Rabid turns his back as I peel off the gown and toss it into the box, then pull on a gray sweat suit and boots—the most comfortable and inconspicuous clothes from my closet. I kick myself for forgetting underclothes, but it doesn’t matter what I wear now because in Wonderland, Morpheus has filled all the castle’s armoires with lace-trimmed, satin and velvet gowns and lingerie—a wardrobe worthy of a queen.
Today, the simulacrum suit will hide my pedestrian outfit. I step into the enchanted fabric. All I have to do is pull on the hood, then concentrate on the surroundings, and I’ll become like a chameleon, my body reflecting the background.