The Moth in the Mirror

  “It already hurts.” She groaned, her greenish skin tinged turquoise. “Mustn’t use my magic …” She slapped her palms to her face. “Will make me … hideous. Abstain.” Her voice softened, as if she were speaking to herself. “Abstain until the threat of pain and contamination are gone.” She gritted her teeth.

  Jeb frowned. “So iron turns your power against you? The perfect weapon to use against your boss.”

  “A piece that size … will only work on the smallest of our kind.”

  Jeb bent over, holding the iron cuff closer to her. “Okay, then consider this a lie detector. Each time I sense you’re holding out, the iron gets closer. Where is Al, and what’s your creepy boss doing to her?”

  The sprite’s color changed to robin’s egg blue. She rolled on the pillow, wings struggling to flutter. She pulled them over her shoulders and across her chest, as if to restrain her magic. “Your Alyssa is comfortable and cared for. Morpheus is watching over her as she sleeps …”

  Jeb snarled. Last night, he’d been the one watching her sleep, in the rowboat. He’d rolled her to face him so he could make her a promise, even if she was too drowsy to hear it. He’d promised to watch over her, to get her home safely. He wasn’t about to break his word now.

  He had to fight the urge to trash the room again. “How do I get out of here?”

  “Only Morpheus has the means to open the doorway.”

  Jeb leaned forward, his nose almost touching Gossamer’s face as he held the iron bracelet over her head like corrosive mistletoe. “You’re saying I’m stuck here until that winged cockroach decides to let me out? He’s going to make Al face Wonderland alone?”

  She whimpered, laying a palm on her brow. “No. Since you’ve proved yourself so loyal, he will allow you to accompany her on her journey. You will attend his feast and make plans.”

  “Feast?”

  “Alyssa’s introduction. Morpheus wishes to put her on display to the others.”

  “What others?”

  Gossamer slumped in a purple heap and scooted off her perch. She dragged something from inside the pillowcase—a sketch of Al that Jeb didn’t remember making. Slowly, Gossamer drew up her knees and studied the lines. “You did this while you were under our spell. You have power within your artist’s heart—a light that can pierce any darkness. You’ve captured Alyssa’s inner self perfectly.”

  “That sketch is pure fantasy,” Jeb grumbled. He laid the iron cuff on the paper next to Gossamer.

  She rolled to the middle of the drawing, trying to escape the metal. “There is more truth to this likeness of Alyssa than anything you can force me to say.”

  Jeb tugged at the picture, tumbling Gossamer and the iron bracelet onto the furs. He spread the sketch out on a pillow and traced the charcoal lines. This depiction was like all the other fairy drawings he’d made of Al over the years, but it couldn’t be any more different from the girl he knew.

  He’d drawn her with her hair pinned up. She never wore it that way. A black spaghetti-strapped gown flattered her curves. She wouldn’t be caught dead in such a conventional dress. The only thing that looked like her were the lacy black fingerless gloves covering the scars on her palms.

  Other than that, the drawing was a complete fabrication. Al was seated on a park bench. She held a rose. Mascara and tears streamed in graceful curls down her face. Come to think of it, it was similar to the way her makeup had looked the last time he saw her.

  He still couldn’t figure out why, after nearly drowning in an ocean of tears, her mascara hadn’t washed away. Squinting, he studied the set of translucent wings spread behind her. The thin membranes shimmered in a single ray of sunlight slicing through the clouds. The wings made him uneasy, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

  Maybe because they reminded him of Morpheus’s wings, though a completely different color. Jeb’s temples pounded. Nothing could be worse than her being alone with that bug man. The freak had some kind of hold on her, had gotten into her head when she was little. The subconscious could be very powerful, and if Morpheus still had access to Al’s dreams …

  “How do I beat him?” Jeb asked over the knot in his throat.

  Gossamer’s bulging eyes turned up to his. She was too weak to crawl away from the iron cuff, which now nudged her thigh. “He will not be defeated. He’s waited years for this day.”

  Jeb grimaced. “Okay, so he’s Superman. But everyone has their kryptonite. Something they fear.”

  “Confinement,” Gossamer blurted, darkening to the color of a bruise at the confession.

  “What do you mean?”

  Gossamer pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Please … you’re holding it too close … the iron … it’s draining my energy.”

  Jeb fell back on the mattress and moved the cuff away from the sprite. Balancing it between his fingers, he studied the iron in the candlelight. It reminded him of his iron labret and the first time Al had seen it—her enthusiastic reaction. She’d begged to touch it, asking question after question about the process of getting a piercing. Her enthusiasm and naïveté. Her insecurities. Morpheus wouldn’t hesitate to use any or all of them to manipulate her.

  Jeb had to convince Al to leave Wonderland, to forget this quest to break the curse on her family, whatever it took. Something dark waited just around the corner for her, like in his dream. He could sense it looming.

  “So, you want her to fix the original Alice’s mistakes, right? What if I fix them instead?” Jeb tried reasoning. “You send Al home and let me take care of things.”

  “Impossible,” Gossamer answered in a breathy whisper, her pale green color starting to return. Crawling toward the sketch, she ran a tiny palm along the rose. “She’s already passed tests and proved she’s the one.”

  “Tests? You mean like finding the rabbit hole to Wonderland and drying up the ocean of tears?”

  She nodded.

  “But I helped with those.”

  “She’s the one he’s waited for. Not you.”

  Jeb held the iron bracelet over her one last time. “What does he really want from her?”

  Before Gossamer could answer, the domed ceiling started to shake. Pieces of plaster tumbled down in thick white chunks. Jeb held a pillow over his head and a palm over Gossamer to protect them from falling debris. The ceiling ripped at the seams, swinging the bed and pulling the chains in opposite directions so the mattress lifted several feet.

  After the tremors stopped, Jeb glanced up. Morpheus’s dark silhouette appeared in the jagged opening overhead.

  Subtlety was low on this guy’s priority list. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a drama queen?” Jeb growled.

  Morpheus leaned in low to glance at the messy room. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a deplorable houseguest?”

  His captor’s grand entrance was partly responsible for the clutter, but Jeb bit his tongue, unwilling to risk his chance to see Al.

  Morpheus eased back. “Alyssa awaits you in the mirrored hall. And, by all means, wash up and shave. You are to be introduced to our dinner guests as an Elfin Knight, so you need to look the part. Gossamer shall give you tips on proper behavior.” Morpheus dropped in some clothes and boots. They hit the floor with a clump. “Here is the uniform.” He paused and gestured to the chains. “Too bad you haven’t any wings or netherling magic. You will have to climb your way out. And I can assure you, it won’t be an easy trek.”

  Jeb’s muscles tensed as Morpheus vanished from view; he knew the warning referred to so much more than his exit from this room.

  ~ 3 ~

  Memory Two: Carnage

  Jeb wiped sweat from his brow. Morpheus had been right about the climb out of his gilded prison being difficult. But that was nothing to the trek through Wonderland he and Alyssa had taken since then. The entire day had been one crazy challenge after another, with danger and death around every turn. And now he’d lost Al. They’d become separated just before accomplishing the final test. She was facing the Twid sis
ters’ cemetery alone, and he was stuck here in the bottom of a chasm.

  Night had fallen the instant he’d hit the ground—such a fast transition, it was as if someone had flipped a light switch.

  The kinks in his muscles tightened. He hated the thought of Al being alone in this wacked-out world after dark. Then again, she’d proved herself strong enough to face almost anything. It had been she who’d ended up saving him, in more ways than one …

  He thought of how she’d looked—hovering overhead, glistening and wild, fluttering with the grace of a dragonfly. Seeing her sprout wings had been both terrifying and miraculous at once. He couldn’t breathe while watching the transformation.

  If he were honest, he still hadn’t recovered his breath from when she had lowered him into the abyss and he’d shouted “You’re my lifeline!” before she shot up higher into the sky. He shouldn’t have put so much pressure on her to save him. He had to do what he could to get out of here himself—meet her halfway. Otherwise, she’d never forgive herself if something went wrong.

  A jubjub bird’s carcass had broken his fall. He wiped sticky goo from between his fingers onto his pants, turning up his nose at the rank remains of the army that had been chasing them and tumbled into the chasm. He pushed himself to stand in the pitch-dark gloom. His boots made sucking sounds as he walked. He’d never been squeamish; any aversion to blood and gore had been beaten out of him—a gradual desensitization reinforced each time he’d look in the mirror to find his cheeks and eyes swollen up, fat and bloody like raw steak.

  But without a speck of light to go by, the carnage at his feet felt more alive than dead. His imagination pulled out files on everything from zombie movies to demons and hauntings. Nausea burned his stomach. He took solace that only the wind whistled through the chasm. He couldn’t hear any ghostly chains or undead moans.

  Besides, time was the actual foe here, more dangerous than anything he could imagine. Al still had to complete the final task in the cemetery. And then they had to find each other again.

  He forced himself blindly forward until his palm skimmed the chasm’s wall. Before he’d dropped all the way down, he’d caught a glimpse of Al’s backpack snagged on a rock outcropping about a yard north. If he could find it, he’d have a flashlight. Hands scraping the crusty surface of the stone, he lifted his feet over obstacles, patting his toes across corpses to assess how wide each step should stretch.

  Rubbing the scrapes on his elbows, he studied the sky. A shy smattering of stars wrestled the clouds and broke through to dimly light his surroundings, enabling him to wend his way around the queen’s dead army. A damp breeze spun dust like tiny tornados. It was going to rain. And in this place, it was possible it would literally rain cats and dogs—the hissing and barking variety.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the impending storm crept across his soul and shadowed any humor he might’ve found in the thought. What was with all of Morpheus’s “tests”? Each time Al successfully completed one, her netherling form became more prominent. Was the goal to alter her completely, so she couldn’t go back to the human realm?

  Strands of hair blew into his face, and he shoved them aside.

  Morpheus had said that all he ever wanted was to return Alyssa to her proper place. Her home. Jeb had hoped that meant back to their world, the human realm. But what if Al didn’t have a curse on her at all?

  He remembered from his fairy research that there were creatures called changelings—the offspring of fairies secretly left in the place of stolen human babies. Had Al’s great-great-great- grandmother, Alice Liddell, been a changeling? Maybe that was how she’d found the rabbit hole as a child—by instinct. That would mean that this was Al’s home, in some warped way.

  Jeb shook off the speculations. They only dredged up more questions.

  He’d reached the backpack. Opening it, he fished out the flashlight and flipped it on.

  As he zipped up the bag, he brushed the landscape with swaths of light. The tattered guards looked like crumpled playing cards. Discarded playthings. Even the busted-up jubjub birds could pass as children’s toys with the stuffing pulled out.

  Backpack in place, Jeb walked the circumference of the chasm without finding any openings. Displaced rocks filled any possible passages he might’ve tried. He might as well have fallen into a giant tube. There was no way out other than up.

  He pointed his light at the grassy perch some twenty stories above—the clearing where Alyssa had landed. He was determined to find her before Morpheus did, even if he had to scale the jutting rocks in the dark without a safety rope.

  He’d no sooner wedged the flashlight in his mouth and banked his foot on a crag to boost himself up than a familiar British voice rang out.

  “Get to it, men. We need an accurate head count before the Twid sisters send their pixie brigade to gather up the dead.”

  Morpheus.

  Jeb stepped down and almost collided with the winged netherling who had appeared from out of nowhere—as if he’d unzipped the air and slipped through. Twenty to thirty Elfin Knights filed in behind him, carrying lanterns and wearing the same uniform as Jeb, though much less frayed and dirty. They strode by without giving Jeb a second glance, too intent on the body count.

  “Well, hello, pseudo knight.” Morpheus smirked.

  Every part of Jeb itched to rip off his cocky grin and pound his face. But he was outnumbered. If he wanted to get out of this pit and find Al, he would have to play nice.

  “I hate to say it, but it’s good to see you, Sir Morphs-a-lot.” Jeb tucked his flashlight away. “You took the mirror route, I see.”

  “Glass is the only way to travel.” Morpheus held up his lantern and examined Jeb’s ruined clothes. “For one, it’s a bit kinder on the wardrobe. And I’ll let you in on another secret. By keeping my wings on that side of the plane”—he pointed a thumb at his back, where half of his appendages weren’t visible—“the opening stays accessible for our return trip.”

  Jeb forced a smile. “Good to know.” Perfect, in fact. He could go back with this fairy troupe, then take the mirrored-hall express to find Al. He would have to distract Morpheus first, though—get his guard down. “So, is that a new hat?”

  Morpheus practically beamed. “How kind of you to notice. It’s my Insurrection Hat. I’ve ne’er had occasion to wear it until today.” He flicked several of the scarlet moths that made up the garland on the hat’s brim, then leaned forward and cupped Jeb’s ear to muffle a secret. “Their red wings represent bloodshed,” he whispered.

  “Uh-huh.” Jeb clenched his jaw at the unwelcome rush of warm breath along his earlobe. He glared at the knights, discernible only by their lanterns floating in the blackness behind him. “So you’re planning a revolt with the Ivory Queen’s army.”

  Morpheus squeezed Jeb’s shoulder. “Always knew you were smarter than the average mortal.”

  Jeb’s muscles twitched at the contact. “Which means you were just sending Al on a wild goose chase for your own entertainment.” Careful. He couldn’t let his distrust show. Not yet. Instead, he bent down to adjust his boot laces and took a deep breath before straightening.

  Morpheus tightened his crimson necktie. “Every task I’ve asked of Alyssa has had a purpose.” He stepped to one side as someone new slipped through the mirror portal—a dwarfish skeleton with antlers and glowing pink eyes, trussed up in a red waistcoat.

  “Rabid White?” Jeb whispered in disbelief. None of this made sense. Rabid was from the Red Court. Why was he here?

  “What’s the report, then?” Morpheus crouched down close to Rabid’s height, still keeping his wing tips tucked inside the invisible mirror portal.

  The little netherling kneaded his gloved hands and glared up at Jeb, his bald head reflecting the soft shimmer of Morpheus’s lantern. “One of us, are you?”

  Morpheus smiled and answered for Jeb. “Of course he is. He helped our Alyssa conquer the big bad Red army, did he not?”

  Scratching his l
eft antler, Rabid nodded. “King Grenadine, neutralized be. At both the front and back gates, the castle guarded by regiments three and seven. Flanking the queen, a circle of five. And not to dismiss, the crown and its keeper.”

  “Ah, yes. The bandersnatch. Well, once Alyssa brings me her prize from the Twid sisters’ cemetery, I’ll have nothing more to fear from that wretched beast. You’ve done well, Sir White.” Morpheus tipped his hat.

  Rabid clicked his cadaverous ankles together and bowed, then gave Jeb a final piercing pink glare before he hopped back through the portal.

  “He’s your spy,” Jeb mumbled, feeling like an idiot for not guessing that sooner.

  “Yes.”

  “So all those times the little bonehead threatened Al, scared her lifeless, that was to uphold the appearance of loyalty to Queen Grenadine?”

  “The best spies are the ones that play both sides with equal vigor.”

  Jeb studied the swinging lanterns in the distance. The squeaking of metal handles and the shuffling of boots eclipsed the wind’s soft whine. “Okay. Since we’re laying out all our cards—”

  Morpheus’s snort interrupted him. “What a delightfully fitting pun, considering where we stand.” His lantern motioned to all the card-guard corpses.

  Jeb ignored the morbid joke. “I was going to ask why Rabid turned against the Red Court.”

  “He was Queen Red’s royal advisor during Alice’s visit. He wants to see the true heir upon the throne almost as much as I do.”

  “True heir.” Jeb kicked up a puff of dirt with one boot, his chest tight. “So all of this has been to dethrone Grenadine and make room for a new queen.”

  “Yes.” The lantern glazed Morpheus’s face in an expression of dreamy indulgence. “And we’re so close. Soon she’ll be on her throne, where she’s always belonged. In her proper place.”

  Her proper place. A hypothesis formed in Jeb’s mind, outrageous and incomprehensible yet somehow the obvious answer to all the questions earlier churning in his mind. Every question except one …