After reading silently, he turns to me. “That was the reporter from Picturesque Noir. He said they have a two-page spread available if I can move up my photo shoot at the gallery to this afternoon. After that they want to take me out to dinner for the interview.” As if catching the disappointment in my eyes, Jeb adds, “I’m sorry, Al. But a two-page spread … that’s a big deal. The rest of the weekend I’m yours, from morning to night every day, okay?”
I start to point out that I haven’t seen him for a month and today was supposed to be all about us, but I bite back my tirade. “Sure.”
“You’re the best.” He gives me a peck on the cheek. “Do you mind gathering up the stuff? I have to call Mr. Piero so he can set up my work in the display room.”
I offer a curt nod, and he heads to the front of the tunnel to call his boss at the art studio where he restores old paintings when he’s not out showing his own work. Darkness spreads between us—sad, shadowy shapes outside the lantern’s reach that look as dejected as I feel.
I sit up and gather the basket and Jeb’s iPad, so busy trying to hear his conversation—something about which showroom has the best lighting for the photographer—I barely notice how the bugs’ murmurs have escalated until they unite as one:
You should’ve heeded him. He warned you in your dreams… now all your doubts will be washed away.
Drip … drip … drip.
I scramble to stand as a drizzling erupts from the dark end of the tunnel behind me. The sound lifts the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.
Drip … drip … drip.
I debate calling Jeb back to investigate, but a vivid blue tip of a wing painted on the wall catches my eye. It’s just outside the ring of light. Strange that I didn’t notice it earlier.
I inch toward the fluorescent drawings and, with a few quick yanks, drag down Jeb’s light strand. The cord coils to the ground, then trails behind me as I start to move closer to the mysterious winged image, tugging the battery pack with a scraping clunk.
Drip … drip … drip.
I peer into the pitch-blackness at the tunnel’s far end but am more interested in the graffiti now. With the cord wrapped around my fingers, I move my makeshift mitten of lights across the winged portrait to illuminate it, piece by piece, like a puzzle.
I know that face and the jewel-tipped eyes. I know that wild blue hair and those lips that taste of silk, licorice, and danger.
Eagerness and dread tangle inside my chest. The same convoluted effect he always has on me.
“Morpheus,” I whisper.
The bugs whisper back in unison:
He’s here … he rides the rain …
Their words work like a spike through my spine, nailing me in place.
“Run!” Jeb’s shout from the front of the tunnel shakes me out of my mental haze. His boots slosh toward me through water I hadn’t noticed gathering at my feet.
“Flood!” Jeb yells, stumbling into the darkness between us.
I panic and take a step toward him, only to have the strand of light come to life in my hand like a wiggling, snaky vine. It wraps around my wrists, twining them together, and then my ankles. I struggle against the cord but am tied up before I can even scream.
A gushing wave sweeps in from the dark end of the tunnel and knocks me off balance. I land flat on my stomach. Cold, dirty water sloughs into my face. I cough, trying to keep my nose above the current, but the light strand holds me paralyzed.
“Al!” Jeb’s terrified shout is the last thing I hear before the water swirls around my trussed-up limbs and whisks me away.
The string of lights around my ankles and wrists drags me against the current, farther into the tunnel, where the water is black. It’s like being submerged in cold ink. I fight to get my head above water but can’t. The chill leaves me numb, desperate to breathe.
Jeb finds me. Gripping my underarms, he draws me out enough that I get one swallow of air, but another surge of water tumbles him toward the pipe’s opening and the vinyl cord jerks me in the opposite direction. I can tell by his distant shouts that he can’t follow. I’m glad he’s caught in the current. He’ll be safer once the rush of water deposits him outside.
Things I learned in Wonderland a year ago … powers I practice alone in my room so Mom won’t catch me and freak out … come back, as forceful as the cord dragging me underneath the gushing waves.
I relax my muscles and concentrate on the strand of lights, envisioning them alive. In my mind, the electricity that pulses through their wires becomes plasma and nutrients. They respond like living creatures. Their lights brighten enough for me to see underwater as the wires animate. Problem is, I haven’t been consistent with my magical exercises, so even though I’m giving the strand life, I have no control. It’s as if the lights have minds of their own.
Or maybe they’re under someone else’s influence.
Convulsing against the need to inhale, I force my eyes to stay open under the water. The cold makes them ache. I’m shuttled into the deep end of the tunnel, as if riding an aquatic chariot harnessed to electric eels. The cord hauls me toward a door—small and ancient—embedded in the concrete wall. It’s covered with moss and out of place here in the human realm, but I’ve seen it before. I have the key to open it around my neck.
It doesn’t make any sense that it would be here, so far from the rabbit hole in London, which is the only entrance into Wonderland from this world.
I jerk against my binds. I’m not sleeping, so this can’t be a dream. I don’t want to go inside that door while I’m awake. I’m still trying to get over the last time.
My lungs draw tight inside me, ravenous, until I have no choice. Going inside is my only way out, my only way to breathe and live. Straining against the bindings on my wrists, I bend my elbows to reach for my chest. With both hands, I snag the key on my necklace, shoving Jeb’s heart locket out of the way. The current pounds my head against the concrete wall. Pain shoots from my temple to my neck.
I sweep my bound legs like a mermaid’s tail in order to reposition myself in front of the door. I thrust the key into the keyhole. With a twist of my wrists, the latch gives and water funnels out. At first I’m too big to breach the opening, but then either the doorway grows or I shrink, because somehow, I fit perfectly.
I ride the waves through the door, lifting my face to gulp air. A hillock stops me, hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. I’m left coughing in the mud, my throat and lungs sore, my wrists and ankles chafed from their struggle against the string of lights.
I flip to my back and kick my legs, trying to loosen my binds. A shadow of large black wings crawls across me, a shield from the storm brewing overhead.
Streaks of neon lightning slash across the sky, casting the landscape in fluorescent hues and releasing an acrid, charred scent. Morpheus’s porcelain complexion—from his smooth face to his toned chest peering out of a half-buttoned shirt—looks as luminous as moonlight beneath the electric flashes.
He towers over me. His impressive height is the only thing he and Jeb have in common. The hem of his black duster whips around his boots. He opens a hand, a lacy cuff slipping out from his jacket.
“Like I’ve been telling you, luv”—his deep accent rolls through my ears—“if you relax, your magic will respond. Or perhaps you’d rather stay tied up. I could place you on a platter for my next banquet. You know my guests prefer their entrees thrashing and raw.”
I cover my burning eyes and groan. Sometimes when I’m upset or nervous, I forget that there’s a trick to my netherling powers. Inhaling through my nose, I think of the sun glistening on the ocean’s lapping waves to calm my heartbeat, then breathe out through my mouth. Within seconds, the light strand relaxes and falls away from me.
I flinch as Morpheus forces me to my feet. Weary from their battle with the water, my legs start to give, but he offers no other assistance. So typical of him, expecting me to stand on my own.
“I really hate you sometimes,” I
say, propping myself against a giant leafy stem for support. The daisy surrenders to my weight without a word, triggering a curious twinge in my gut. I can’t imagine why it’s not pushing me off or complaining.
“Sometimes.” Morpheus drops a black velvet cowboy hat over his blue hair. “A few weeks ago it was a definitive always. In a matter of days, you’ll be professing your undying lo—”
“Loathing?” I interrupt.
Smiling provocatively, he adjusts his hat to a cocky angle, and the garland of dead moths across the brim trembles. “Either way, I’m under your skin. Either way, I win.” He taps long, elegant fingers on his red suede pants.
I fight the annoying impulse to return his smile, hyperaware of what his body language does to the darker side of me: how it curls and stretches warily, like a cat basking on a sunny ledge, drawn to the heat but guarded against slipping off.
“You’re not supposed to bring me here in the daytime.” I wring out my soaked skirt’s hem before moving to the tangles on my head. Gusts catch my hair, slapping slimy strands across my neck and face. Goose bumps cover my skin beneath my clothes. I shiver and cross my arms. “And how did you manage it, anyway? There’s only one entrance into Wonderland … you can’t just move the rabbit hole wherever you like. What’s going on?”
Morpheus wraps a wing halfway around me, blocking the wind. His expression teeters between antagonism and amusement. “A magician never gives away his secrets.”
I growl.
“And I don’t recall agreeing to any particular time of day for our meetings,” he continues, unfazed by my grumpiness. “You should be able to visit anytime you please. You have a home here, too, after all.”
“So you keep insisting.” I break our stare before he can draw me into his mesmerizing gaze. I focus instead on the chaos around us. This is the worst I’ve ever seen Wonderland look.
Deep purple clouds scud across the sky like fat, gauzy spiders. They leave dark trails, as if spinning webs in the air. The mud beneath my shoes groans and sputters. Brown bubbles pop and rise. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear something was breathing under there.
Even the wind has found a voice, loud and melancholy, whistling through the zombie-flower forest that once stood as proud as elms. The flowers used to greet me with snarky attitudes and snooty conversation. Now each and every one cowers, bent at the stems, their wilted arms hiding petals that are studded with hundreds of shuttered eyes.
The multi-eyed netherlings have lost their fight … their soul.
Morpheus slides his hands into a pair of slick red gloves. “If you think this is tragic, you should see what’s happening in the heart of Wonderland.”
My own heart sinks. Wonderland used to be so beautiful and alive, garish and creepy though it was. Still, seeing the land crumble shouldn’t affect me so strongly. I’ve witnessed the gradual decay in my dreams over the past few weeks.
Thing is, I’d hoped it was only imaginary. Maybe this is just a dream. But on the chance it’s real and Morpheus is telling the truth, I have to step up. It’s my place.
Problem is, Morpheus rarely tells the truth. And he always has a hidden agenda. Except for one time when he actually performed an unselfish and uncalculated act for me …
My attention wanders back to catch his jaw muscle twitch. A telltale sign that he’s lost in thought. It should bother me that I know so much about his mannerisms. Instead, it bothers me that I like knowing.
His familiarity is unavoidable. Up until I was five, he visited my dreams as an innocent child every night. When a netherling takes on a child’s form in such a way, their mind becomes childlike, too. So we practically grew up together. After I saw him again last summer, we parted ways for a while. He gave me the space I requested. But now he’s taken up residence in my REM once more. He’s here every time Jeb is gone, keeping me company—even though I don’t ask him to.
Sharing that much of your subconscious with someone, you tend to learn things about him. Sometimes you even develop feelings for him, no matter how you try to fight it.
I watch as he clenches his teeth. Beneath his eyes, he bears the same patches I had when in Wonderland. The markings are lovely and dark, like long winding eyelashes, though his are tipped with sparkling jewels. They're blinking through cycles—silver, blue, maroon—a melancholy maelstrom of emotions dancing across his face. I’ve learned to decipher the colors, like reading a mood ring.
“Don’t you think it’s time you stop the destruction, Alyssa?”
I trace the two necklaces resting below my collarbone. Lifting Jeb’s locket, I press it to my lips to taste the metal, remembering his vow of commitment in the tunnel. I left him in the water, and he doesn’t know where I am. I need to get back to him, to make sure he’s okay.
“If you’re worried about your boyfriend, he’s fine. I can guarantee that.” It’s not surprising that Morpheus reads me so clearly. He knows me as well as I know him. “You need to concentrate on the here and now.”
I glare at him. “Why are you so determined to drag me into this?”
“I am trying to contain the war. She’s coming to destroy you one way or another. She was a part of you. Even if it was only for a few hours, she left an impression. As you did on her. You’re the only one who’s ever defeated her.”
I narrow my eyes. “Other than you, you mean.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Ah, but that was with dumb luck and a vorpal sword. Your strike was personal and, in her mind, treasonous, because of the bond you shared.”
“You still haven’t proved she’s responsible for this. Last I heard, her spirit was in a pile of dying weeds.”
“It would appear she’s found a healthy netherling body to inhabit.”
My spine shudders at the possibility. “How do I know you’re not just making this threat up? You’ve done it before. Invented an elaborate scheme to get me to dive into the rabbit hole. I’m not going to be your pawn again. Where’s the proof that you’re not just trying to make me come back to stay?”
“Proof …” Scowling, he sweeps his wings high, exposing me to the wind again. “Stop acting like a suspicious, petty human. You are meant for so much more than that.”
I glare at him through my thrashing strands of hair. “You’re mistaken. A human is exactly what I’m meant to be. I chose to live up there.” I point back toward the doorway. “To experience everything Alice didn’t.”
Morpheus turns his face to the sky. “I’m afraid you’re the one who’s mistaken, if you think I’m going to let Wonderland fall to rot so you can play ‘pin the male on the virgin’ with your mortal toy.”
My cheeks prickle with heat. “You were watching us? Wait. You caused the overflow in the drainage pipe. You wanted to screw up our date.”
Stepping into my personal space, Morpheus closes his wings around both of us. The maneuver effectively cuts off the wind, dims the light, and blinds me to everything but him.
“I’m not the one who put an end to that bumbling attempt at seduction. Jebediah managed that all on his own.” Morpheus snatches both of my necklaces from my fingers, holding the delicate links taut enough that I can’t struggle without breaking them. “Were he to pay more attention to you instead of his precious career”—he drapes the charms over a palm and, using his gloved forefinger and thumb, positions the tiny key in place atop the heart’s keyhole—“perhaps then he would be attuned to your needs and desires.” Holding my gaze, he makes a show of how the key’s teeth aren’t the right shape for the heart’s opening. “As it stands, he’s just not the right fit.”
A steady, deep thrum awakens in my mind, like wings thumping my skull. It’s the return of my netherling side. No one can bring it to the surface like Morpheus. “Let go,” I demand.
Morpheus tightens his grip, defiant. “Has he even taken time to acknowledge the changes in you? To ask why you no longer use bugs and flowers in your mosaics? Or why you’ve traded your fear of heights for an aversion to reflective surfaces
?”
I clench my jaw. “He asked. I’m just not sure how to explain that I keep my mirror covered with a blanket because I’m worried I’ll be spied on by a freak with wings.”
Morpheus grins. “Says the girl whose wings are always itching to break free.”
I scowl, hating that he’s right.
“You need a man who knows and understands you, Alyssa. Both sides of you. A partner.” He pulls my necklaces—and me—closer. “One who’s your equal in every way.” The scent of licorice fills my nose; he must’ve been smoking his hookah before I arrived. My body betrays me, remembering what those tobacco-laced kisses taste like.
He releases the necklaces to cup my chin. His gloves are cold, but the allure of his dark, mystical eyes warms me from head to toe. I almost fall into them, almost forget myself and my choices. But I’m stronger than that now.
I jerk free and shove his chest, hard enough to rock him backward. Even though his duster’s hem tangles around his legs, he regains his balance without missing a beat.
Chuckling, he flourishes an arm in a grand gesture and bows. “Game, set, match. Ever, and always, my equal.” His smug smirk taunts me with promises and innuendos.
“This isn’t a game. You could’ve killed Jeb in that flood!” I lunge at him, but he folds a wing between us to fend me off. Slapping the satiny black barrier, I snarl. “You’ve crossed a line. Don’t bother me during the day again.” I start for the doorway. I’d rather face a flooded sewage tunnel than stay here another second.
“We’re not done,” he says from behind me.
“Oh, we’re so done.”
In some secluded, private corner of my soul, I care about Wonderland more than I dare admit aloud. But if I let Morpheus see that … he’ll convince me to stay and fight. The last time I faced Queen Red, she left a fingerprint of terror on my heart. Judging by what’s happening to the land, her powers are even stronger now than they were then. I suppress another shudder. I’m totally unequipped for a battle of this proportion. I’m only half of the netherling she is, and no match for her.