Chapter 11
"Morpheus." I say it more as an accusation than a revelation.
The winged devil flashes his white teeth in a stunning smile that draws me in as it puts me on guard, my heart beating quickly in my chest. "Mmm." He moves his hand along the hookah as if it's a violin. "Your voice is a song. Say it again." He takes a drag of smoke from the pipe.
I'm so entranced by seeing him alive and real, I don't even try to resist. "Morpheus."
"Beautiful. Your mum should've known it would take more than a pair of pruning shears to snip me out of your life. Though it appears she managed to cut me from your memories for a bit." He puffs out circles of smoke. "I'm wounded, Atlas. It shouldn't have taken this long for you to find me." Catching the smoke rings on his finger, he tosses them into the air, where they burst into vaporous stars.
Jeb and Alyssa struggle under the net next to me. "This is the joker you've been looking for? The one from the website?" he asks, his eyes wide as he stares at Morpheus.
"More than that," I answer, not even sure the words I'm forming are coherent. "We grew up together, somehow. He was the one in my dreams when I was little. That's right, isn't it? You came to me in my dreams . . . brought me here. Told me things."
"Taught you things, rather. Oh, but we made time for recreation as well. I shall have to see that we continue that tradition." Morpheus hands off his hookah to some sprites with his pale, elegant fingers.
I close my eyes, remembering glimpses of us as children, leaping across rocks as Morpheus took flight and lifted me under my arms — a gentle security. When my eyes open again, I blush bright crimson, remembering how different his touch felt in my bedroom last night. He stands up on the mushroom, wings draped in a flowing arch behind him as he steeples his hands beneath his chin.
"Hospitality Hat!" he shouts, completely off topic.
Several of his attendants flutter over with a black velvet cowboy hat and place it on his head. He tilts it cockeyed. The velvet is accented with a band of decomposing white moths, making him appear both suave and savage.
"She had no right to interfere." He runs a long, slender forefinger across the hat's brim. Lengthy wisps of blue hair touch his shoulders. "It wasn't her place."
It takes me a minute to realize he's on the subject of Alison again. "You knew her?"
"Yes. Of all the other candidates, of all of your ancestors, her mind was the most receptive to me. We connected when she heard the nether-call at age thirteen. But she turned her back on her responsibility the moment she met Tommy-toes." He sneers at my father's nickname, furious rage and anger burning in his dark eyes. Then he composes himself, smoothing his jacket. "Never mind all that. I see you wore the gloves. Did you bring the fan, as well?"
"Along with everything else she had stashed away."
"And she thought her buried treasures would keep you from coming. Too bad the words in the margins were indecipherable, aye? Perhaps she should've kept her mouth shut and played with her carnations." He smirks.
Carnations? Indecipherable words? Understanding creeps over me, dawning realization. "It was you. You smeared her notes so I couldn't read them. And at the asylum . . . you're the one who almost killed her!"
Alyssa squeaks in realization and glares at Morpheus, too.
"I admit to nothing," he says, shrugging innocently. "Other than that she was out of control. She needed to calm down for her own safety."
"Of course she was out of control! You messed with her mind half her life!" I clench my jaw, my heart aching as it pulls in two different directions. "It's your fault she's in that place."
Morpheus spreads his satiny wings — a move that blocks the glowing sprites from my view and casts me into shadow, me alone. "You have yourself to thank for that. She was handling things fine until you came along. Just ask your father, if he'll even talk to you. She never talked back to the bugs and plants before you were born. At least, not in front of anyone. And after Alyssa, it became even worse."
"No," I whisper, my eyes wide, and Alyssa echoes it.
"Don't listen to him, Atlas, Al." Jeb tries to comfort me and my sister. "Your mom loves you both."
Morpheus raises his palms over his head and applauds, a sardonic smirk on his face. "Bravo, Gentleman Knight. Did you all see that?" The sprites join the false praise, bouncing around the mushroom, all except Gossamer, who sits on the hookah, observing in dignified silence.
"True nobility," Morpheus continues, strutting atop the mushroom. "Bound and incapacitated, yet his only thought is for the maiden and her sister's tender sensibilities. And I must admit, he's right."
The sprites silence their mock accolades, confused.
With one flap of his wings, Morpheus glides down and lands gracefully in front of me — looming and beautiful. "Your mum does love you, luv. Very, very much."
My legs quiver, but I lift my gaze to his, disdain burning behind my eyes.
"Stay away from her." Jeb thrusts a fist through the net and grazes our host's leg.
Alyssa manages to get her leg around the net, and she kicks at the netherling standing before me. "Back off!" she snarls, though I know she's absolutely terrified.
Morpheus sidesteps both of them. "Ah, ah, ah." He coaxes the smoke to merge so the net disappears, leaving their wrists, ankles, and neck in manacles attached to the mushroom's base. "If you're to behave like trained monkeys, you shall be treated as such."
My eyes flash with anger at the mocking way he treats my sister. "Jerk!" I lunge with an open palm, but Morpheus catches my wrist in midair. The impact rattles my bones and shakes my bruises, causing me to wince.
"There's that fire." Morpheus cocks his head, the expression on his face somewhere between amused and impressed. "Nice to see it still burns."
"Hands off, you son of a bug!" Jeb struggles against the smoky cuffs, face turning red as he growls with the effort to get to us.
Chuckling, our captor bends low over me, keeping hold of my wrist. "Oh, I do like him," he murmurs. "Such a wordsmith." He's so close that his smoke-tinged breath seeps inside me—sweet as honey and binding as spider's silk — a comfort from my childhood. "As for you . . . is that any way to treat an old friend? After all we shared? Tsk-tsk."
I'm tempted to lean closer, to seek more of the seductive sensations. But the desire, it's not mine. It can't be. He's manipulating me somehow. He has to be.
I thrash against him. His fingernails dig into my glove, making my wrist throb, and I wince.
Black eyes glitter, frigid and harsh, behind his mask. "Stop fighting and listen. Your mum didn't have to turn her back on me. She didn't have to go to the loon-house to protect you."
"Wait." An alarm goes off inside me, loud, harsh, jarring. "You're saying she chose to go there?"
"All she needed was a few miles of distance between you. She could've arranged a divorce, moved to the other side of town, given your father full custody. But she loved you both too intensely to hurt you like that. She wanted to be a part of your lives . . . yet still keep you safe. So she sacrificed her life. That is the purest of loves." His expression, having softened upon me no longer struggling against him, turns angry again. "Except your idiot father sent you away, afraid to take care of you and loathing your very existence."
"You're lying." My accusation comes out on a wisp of air, my eyes beginning to prickle with unshed tears.
"Am I?" He arches a shapely brow. "You're the only one I've ever reached quite so young. You and your mum had a bond, stronger than any I'd ever encountered. I was able to use her dreams as a conduit into yours. When she realized what I was doing, she went mad. But that was only temporary insanity. Let there be no doubt — the Alice costume, the tea party obsession, the tongue clucks, talking aloud to the bugs and flowers — every tic she developed was orchestrated by her, so she would be kept away from you. Out of respect for her sacrifice, I vowed not to approach you myself again."
"You broke your word, then," I whisper, looking down at my clenched, gloved hands.
"No. There was a loophole, you see." The knuckles on his free hand graze my temple. His touch is warm and delicate, and I cannot help but lean into it. "You found me. Since you were the one to seek me out first, you released me of the bonds of the promise. Clever, clever girl. Now you're here to set things straight, aren't you, little plum? To fix what Alice put wrong. Make Wonderland right again, and you'll break the curse that's on your family name. The talking bugs and flowers . . . the ties to this realm. You will no longer be under their spell. At last, your mum can stop pretending to be a raving lunatic, because I'll have no more need for any of your lineage."
My chest hurts, as if someone used my heart for a punching bag. That's why Alison said those things in the courtyard . . . that if I went through with my plan to find the rabbit hole, she'd have done it all for nothing. She put herself through years of over-medicated humiliation and horror because she hoped to keep me away from here. Then I went and ruined everything by searching Morpheus out.
Which makes what my dad and the doctors are planning even more devastating.
"My fault," I whisper, trying not to cry. "Everything that's happened to her . . . my fault."
"Atlas, don't let him guilt you!" The rustle of Jeb and Alyssa's clothes as they both strain against the cuffs barely registers.
Morpheus tips my chin up, staring into my eyes. "Yes, bear no guilt. Because you discovered the rabbit hole and were brave enough to leap inside. You're the only one who's ever had such cunning and courage since Alice herself. And you've already managed to dry up the ocean she left behind. You're going to fix everything for your mum. For all of us. You're very special, Atlas. Very special, indeed." He tugs gently at my wrist, lifting me to stand on tiptoe until my nose touches the lower lines of his mask. He's so close, I can almost taste his licorice-scented lips.
A loud snap cracks the air, and Morpheus breaks his hold on me. I rock back on my heels. The sprites screech as Jeb and Alyssa's restraints break free of the mushroom.
Jeb rolls on the ground and whips his legs around. The broken cuffs — still attached to his ankles, neck, and wrists — trail him like a scorpion's coiling tail, and catch Morpheus in the spin, slamming him to the ground. The impact knocks off his hat and evaporates the smoke, leaving both guys wrestling in a tangle of wings and limbs. Alyssa waits beside me, grabbing my hand.
Jeb straddles Morpheus and cinches his fingers around his neck. "I told you not to touch her." His deep voice is hoarse yet calm, making the hair on my neck stand on end, and my sister shivers.
Morpheus makes the mistake of laughing, and Jeb snaps. One hand clutching Morpheus's neck, he punches him, crumpling the red satin mask. Morpheus twists his head to dodge the strike. His wings lie wrinkled and hapless beneath him.
My muscles tense. I'm at war with myself. A part of me wants to defend Morpheus — to plead his case with Jeb; the other part roots for Jeb to beat him to a puddle. I bend over, temples throbbing as I drown in a sea of distorted memories and disjointed emotions, and Alyssa smooths my hair back from my face.
The sprites whimper and swarm in the branches above. They've obviously never seen their master attacked by anyone.
Morpheus thrusts his knees out to knock Jeb off and they spin through the neon grasses, leaving a flattened trail. This time, Morpheus ends up on top. His wings enfold them like a tent. The outline of Jeb's face appears, pressed against the black satiny membrane on the other side. A sucking motion reveals an imprint of his mouth.
He's suffocating.
Alyssa knocks Morpheus off of Jeb, and he enfolds her with his wings, as well. He begins to suffocate her, too.
I burst through my mental haze and launch into Morpheus, toppling him. He rolls on the ground, wrapped within his wings like a pupa. "No!"
Dropping to my knees, I lower my face to Alyssa's. Her breath warms my nose, slow and even, but she won't open her eyes. "Alyssa! Wake up, please . . ." I drag her shoulders onto my lap to cradle her head, smoothing stray strands of platinum blonde from her forehead.
Morpheus stands and dusts himself off nonchalantly.
"What did you do?" I scream.
He repositions his crumpled mask, then draws each wing over his shoulders and runs his palms across them, checking for damage. "He's merely unconscious, as is she." Putting his hat back on, Morpheus touches the hand-prints on his neck, eyes darkening. "It was a kindness. I could've killed them." He snarls. "Should've, actually. No doubt I'll rue that decision."
Glancing up at his harem, Morpheus motions the sprites down. "Take the pseudo elves back to the manor. Wake them from their slumber. Make them feel welcome as only you can."
Gossamer is the first to descend from the trees. There seem to be even more sprites now. Following her lead, they drop down in torrents, a glimmering rainfall.
"No!" I throw myself across Alyssa, grabbing on to Jeb. I slash at them with my fists.
On Gossamer's command, they collide with my arms and ribs at full speed, stinging like hail, but I am firm in my decision. I refuse to move until Morpheus snatches my collar and forces me to my feet.
My writhing in his grasp only makes him more resolute. His arm winds around my waist, as hard and strong as a metal clamp. He holds my back pinned at his side with my feet dangling. Fifty or more sprites raise Alyssa and Jeb up by their clothes. Their heads loll, and their clothing puckers beneath the sprites' grip, as if he's being hoisted on ropes.
"Alyssa!" I shout. Tears blur my vision when she doesn't respond. "Be careful with her. And him."
The tiny females are only able to carry them a few inches off the ground, and the long grasses bend under their weight as they are dragged from the clearing. Some of the remaining sprites tug the messenger bag behind the procession. When the last stretch of grass pops up in their wake, I shove against Morpheus and break free, though it's only because he lets me.
"If our time together ever meant anything to you, you won't hurt her." Hot tears pour down my cheeks, and I scrub them away furiously.
Morpheus reaches out to catch a remaining teardrop on his fingertip. He holds it up in the pale glow that radiates from the few remaining sprites above us. A curious frown curves his lips. "You cry for her yet bled for me. One must wonder which is more powerful. More binding. I suppose we shall one day know."
My throat dries. "What are you talking about? Bled for you?"
He rubs my tear into his skin as if it were lotion. "All in good time. As to your toy soldiers, spare no grief for either of them. They're getting scads of attention. And once they are oblivious in their ecstasy, they'll forget where they are and who they came with. Though I imagine I'll have to send them both to some other part of Wonderland to keep them out of my hair."
Terror grips me, cold and strong. Bad enough those pint-size nymphets are going to seduce Alyssa and Jeb, but if they make either of them forget who they are, they'll be lost here forever. They're here because of me. Neither of them deserve an ending like this. "Please, just send him back to our world."
Morpheus shrugs. "Not possible. We're having a bit of trouble with transportation here in the nether-realm."
"That can't be true."
He steps closer, looming over me. "Can't it?"
I take two steps away. "You visited me at home, at work. Watched me. Almost choked Alison with the wind . . ."
He throws his head back and laughs, raising his arms as if he's some grand performer. "Imagine that. Me, controlling the wind and weather. Why, I must be a god."
I glare at him, blotting my tears away. "I know what I saw."
He straightens his sleeve cuffs nonchalantly. "I used reflections to visit you. The gazing globe at the asylum, store mirrors . . . the mirrors in your home. Through them, I projected an illusion, but I couldn't fully materialize because the portals are obstructed. Your mind was my stage. No one else could see or hear or feel me. Only you. And you did feel me, didn't you, luv?" He smirks at me, causing my heart to pick up its staccato beating once more.
Thinking of the way his phantom breath tickled my neck as he hummed — hot and teasing — leaves me rattled to the bone. I lift my chin, a lame attempt to hide his effect on me. "There was magic . . . with my mom's braid. It moved, locked my fingers around her throat. That was you."
He buffs his fingernails on his lapel. "It was magic, I'll admit. Misguided magic. And not mine."
"What does that mean?"
"You're not yet ready for me to answer that."
Tired of his manipulations, I shove him off balance and sprint for the opening in the trees where the sprites disappeared, nearly tripping over my heels in my desperation to find my sister. There's a harsh flapping overhead; then Morpheus drops into my path. I skid to a stop.
He crouches with wings spread parallel to the ground and stares up at me intently, like a giant bird of prey — dark and dangerous. I'm familiar with this side of him . . . his temperamental black moods. There will be no reasoning with him unless I can get the upper hand.
He stands and catches my shoulders before I can bolt again.
"Enough games," he says. "It's time you fulfill your destiny. I did not spend the first third of your life training you in vain. Alice has left ripples in our world that only you can smooth. I've waited over seventy-five years for this day to come . . . made too many sacrifices to watch it all fall to rot. You fix what she broke, and it will open the way for you to break the curse and get back home. Until then, I make the rules."
Alice has left ripples in our world that only you can smooth. The zombie flowers said something like that, too. That only a descendant of Alice could fix this. And the octobenus insisted that the Wise One — Morpheus — was desperate for my help. Desperate.
He's the one who prompted me to keep the sponge, the one who's been teaching me about Wonderland for years. Why? He must have some kind of personal stake in this.
"You need me." I raise my voice, taking a chance on my assumption. "It's not that my ancestors couldn't figure out the way here. They didn't want to come. It has to be by choice. You can't force them; otherwise, you would've abducted one and already fixed this mess. I'm the first who's ever been willing to come this far, and I don't have to do anything you ask. So what if I'm stuck here? I've always been an outcast. I've already learned to live with it, and besides, I'll be away from my dad. Alison . . . she'll survive, like she always has."
Morpheus doesn't have to know the truth: that Alison's quality of life teeters on my success. I'm seeing this bluff through to the end.
"This is your one chance." I rest my hands on my waist, scowling at him. "Screw with me, and you could end up waiting another seventy-five years."
A strange expression drifts over my childhood companion's face. If not for the mask, I might get a better read, but it seems like there might be a glint of pride.
His fingers grow light on my shoulders, a comfortable warmth."What are your demands?"
"Alyssa, Jeb, and I will be reunited, today. You'll call off your sprites and leave their memories intact. They'll be treated as your equals, not your pawns. And I want clarity . . . how you can claim to be Alison's friend, if you and I grew up together; how you knew my ancestors if you're my age. And what your stake in this is."
He releases me from his grasp. "That's all you ask?"
Recounting what the octobenus said about vows among the netherlings — a fact verified by the promise Morpheus kept to Alison not to contact me — I add one thing more. "I want your word . . . an oath."
"Well, drat." Sighing, he holds a palm over his chest as if pledging allegiance. "I vow on my life-magic not to send away or harm your sister or her precious boyfriend as long as they are loyal to you and your worthy cause. Although I reserve the right to antagonize them at every given opportunity. Oh, and I will happily explain all your questions." He bows then — every bit the gentleman.
Leather suit and crumpled mask, that morbidly sexy hat. He thinks he's a rock star. Maybe he is one in this place. But he's given his word and he has to uphold it, or his wings will shrivel up and he'll lose all his mojo.
Straightening, he takes a full step forward so his boot tips touch mine. "There. Since that unpleasantness is out of the way, shall we proceed? Seeing as we're both grown up now, we have some reacquainting to do."
To escape his dangerously seductive gaze, I scan the trees. All of the sprites have left. Nerves jump beneath my skin. "Where is everyone?"
"Preparing a celebratory banquet for us at the manor. We have no chaperones. Might as well take advantage."
Panicked, I take a step back, but his wings curl around me and hold me in place, blotting out everything but him. It's like we're sharing a cave.
His skin is almost translucent in the dimmed light. "Time to let me inside, lovely Atlas."
Before I can respond, he peels off his mask and drops it to the grass underfoot. What I thought was makeup around his eyes are actually permanent markings — like tattoos, but inborn. They're black like overblown eyelashes, with teardrop-shaped sapphires blunting the pointed ends. The effect is beautiful, in a macabre, circus-folk sort of way. I can't resist the urge to reach up and touch the glistening tears. The jewels flash through a spectrum of color until they're no longer blue sapphires but fiery topazes — orange and warm. His lashes close as if in bliss for all of two seconds. Then his inky gaze opens and swallows me whole.
"I am ageless." His voice echoes inside my head, though his lips don't move. "I can use magic to mimic any age I wish. Using this power affects netherlings mentally, physically, emotionally. We become the age in every way. So, in essence, the only childhood I ever had was with you in your dreams. Open your memories, and you will see."
The song comes to life once more — Morpheus's lullaby.
This time, I don't fight it. I wrap my mind around the fluid notes, letting them permeate my every thought until . . .
Slivers of my past play out like movies across the black screen of his wings. I'm a newborn, lying in my crib. A soft satin blanket swaddles me — red with white-ribbon trim. My window is open, and a summer breeze whispers under eyelet curtains, swaying the mobile over my head. Rocking horses and ballerinas dance above me.
It's the song that woke me. Not the mobile's music, but his. The moon shines, and he's there, a moth silhouette hanging on the outside of my screen. His deep voice drifts in, cooing and gentle:
"Little blossom in white and red, resting now your tiny head; grow and thrive, be strong and keen, for you will one day —"
Before I can summon the verse's end, I'm thrust into another memory. This one's hazy, as if I'm looking through smudged glass. I realize it's because I'm dreaming.
I'm a toddler, not more than four, walking with a six-year-old Morpheus along a black, shining beach. His small wings curl over us for shade. I hold his hand, awed by the glistening spectacle in front of us: a tree made of jewels. Morpheus crouches to point out the maze on the tree's base, then rolls up his lacy sleeve cuff to reveal a matching mark on his forearm. I look down at my collarbone, making the connection. He helps me press my birthmark against the trunk, gentle and careful. As the doorway opens, he jumps to his feet and dances around. "We have the keys! We have the keys!" his small voice exclaims in childlike glee. I giggle, bouncing along behind him.
Then I'm back in my house two years later. It's Saturday morning, and I'm drawn to the screen door by Morpheus's lullaby — now as familiar as the pink-rose linens upon my daybed. The scent of a spring storm breathes through the mesh. He waits in moth form on the other side.
It's our routine: I play with him, my childhood friend, throughout my dreams at night—exploring our enchanted world in the glimpses he gives me — then I see him in intervals throughout the day as the insect. Lightning blinks, and I shiver at the door, fearing the storm. But his teachings are already embedded within my head, coming alive in a fluttery sensation of confidence that pushes me to find a way out.
Soon I'm dancing with my moth in our garden. Mommy sees. Rushing outside, she carries long, sharp scissors and snips at flower petals while screaming, "Off with your head!" When I realize what she's really after, a strange discomfort stirs inside. I've seen how the petals tatter beneath the blades. I don't want her to ruin my moth's pretty wings. I jump in the way to stop her, and Alyssa, to protect me, throws her hands over the scissors. The moth escapes unscathed. But I'm not so lucky, and neither is my sister . . .
Coming out of the trance, I drop to the ground and clutch at the aching line down the side of my face. The scar throbs, as if freshly cut. Morpheus bows over me, smoothing my hair.
"I told you that you were special, Atlas," he murmurs, the weight of his palm strangely comforting on the top of my head. "No one else has ever bled for me. The loyalty of one child for another is immeasurable. You believed in me, shared new experiences with me, grew with me. That has earned you my sincerest devotion."
At last, I understand. The other memory, the one I assumed was real all these years, was tinged by what my dad thought had happened. By what he witnessed when he glanced out from the kitchen window where he was making pancakes. He thought Alyssa and I were dancing behind Alison, when all the while I was trying to protect my friend and she was protecting me.
Someone I thought was my friend. Does a friend fly away and leave you bleeding and heartbroken?
I'm wrung out. All the revelations jumble in my mind, too much to absorb. The trauma my body's faced over the past several hours takes its toll. My bruises throb, and my limbs feel as heavy as stone.
Still on my knees, I droop against Morpheus's thighs — a solid, comforting support support. The cool leather of his pants cushions my cheek. I close my eyes. Yes . . . I've been here before, held safely against him.
At first, I think I'm imagining it when he bends over to scoop me into his arms. But when the scent of licorice and warm skin surrounds me, I know it's real.
"You left," I accuse him, fighting to stay awake as tears prick at my eyes once more. "I was hurt . . . and you left me."
"A mistake I vow on my life-magic to never make again." Even though he's cradling me close, his response sounds far away. But distance doesn't matter; he gave his word. I'll be holding him to it.
My eyes squint open to see shadows fold over us. Or is it wings?
For an instant, concern for Alyssa and Jeb resurfaces in my mind; then I drift into a dark and dreamless sleep, held tightly in the arms of my netherling companion.