Unhinged: 2 (34 page)

His palms rest against the wall on either side of my head. He lets the web serve as his hands, his breath serve as his lips, holding me immobile and kissing me without ever touching me. My eyes flutter closed as his lips skim a hairbreadth away from my lids. His familiar lullaby ignites in my mind, but there's a new verse:

“Little blossom trapped in between, wearing malice like a queen; hide the truth, be cruel and tart, still all the more, you rule my heart.”

I try to shut him out, but the song drags me back to Wonderland, to landscapes now ragged and wounded.

Tears burn behind my eyelids as I witness the destruction.

The restlessness wakes within, that thumping in my head. The more I try to resist, the more my blood burns—anger for Wonderland’s ailing skies and terrain, compassion for its ragged soul.

Morpheus finally touches me, bringing my thoughts back to the loft. Hands cupping my face, he coaxes my eyes open with his thumbs at their edges. He pulls back, and his gaze meets mine, sending a message deep into my heart.

Release your chains, Alyssa. Set your magic free.

In reaction both to his silent plea and to my fury over Red’s rampage, my wing buds itch and pinch until the pressure is unbearable.

I cry out in startled surprise as they burst from my skin, ripping my shirt and slicing through the cobwebs. The webs cling to the wall and my chest—a draping of thick gossamer that serves as a shirt in place of the one I lost.

I’m free, and I step away from the wall, my wings both heavy and light.

Morpheus watches me. His jewels are the deepest purple I’ve ever seen—triumphant and proud. His mouth curves to a slow-burning smile.

“Beautifully done, My Queen,” he says, stepping back and adjusting his hat. “You are at your most powerful when you stop resisting what’s in your blood.” He walks toward my mosaics, then stalls next to them, glancing at me. “One thing more: Wonderland and I are the same. You love one of us, you love the other. You are Wonderland, too. Which means we are the perfect fit, in more ways than you can even imagine. On our day together, I’ll take great pleasure in showing you all of them.”

My heart is pounding so hard I can’t speak around it.

Morpheus picks up my mosaics then steps to the edge of the loft. He tosses Gizmo’s keys at my feet. “Don’t take too long. Your mortal boy’s memory needs a jump start. And Wonderland is waiting.”

He falls backward off the ledge and leaves me standing there, my body humming with power: a full-fledged netherling queen—freed of my webby cage, yet spellbound by a devil’s almost-kiss.

As soon as Morpheus shuts the door behind him, I peel the web from my chest and wrap up in a drop cloth to cover my bra. A rope from the scaffolding serves as a belt around the waist and holds my wings plastered to my back under the sheet.

I feel like Quasimodo in a toga.

Morpheus left his trench-coat-style blazer on the floor. It would be ideal with the wing slits, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of wearing his clothes. A peek out the door reveals him lounged against Gizmo, wings draped over the car’s hood in all their inky glory. It’s a good thing we’re on a deserted road.

He’s wearing my shades, and the ends of his hair blow in the
breeze. He chats with Chessie—cool, calm, and self-assured. He doesn’t even look nervous about what’s ahead of us: facing Red and Sister Two. He’s too busy gloating.

I hiss in frustration. I want to be furious that he made a liar out of me about my feelings, and even angrier that he goaded my wings to appear, since I’m stuck trying to hide them until they fade back into my skin. But I have to admit, embracing the reality of my power is heady. I’m finding it difficult to hold a grudge when he was only trying to show me how strong I really am.

When it’s in fact what he always does.

Still, I can’t let him think he’s won. If he
is
my king in some unfathomable, immortal future, we will be partners. But queens have dominion over the kingdoms. I have to prove I have a penchant for manipulation that can rival his.

I gather my keys and Morpheus’s blazer, then tuck the glass decanter into the back of my makeshift belt between the bulge of my wings so it’s hidden.

When I step out of the cottage into the dusty air, Chessie flutters over and lands on my head. He digs his paws into my hair and kneads my scalp like a kitten.

Morpheus regards my outfit as I hand him his jacket. “So, we’re off to ancient Rome, then?” he teases.

“I’d lose that smile if I were you.” I jingle the car keys in his face. “Your life is in my hands,
lest you forget
.” My imitation of his cockney accent is actually spot-on, and I let myself bask in it.

“Sorry to disappoint, luv.” He tosses the jacket into the passenger seat. “I plan to fly this time around.”

He transforms into the moth, his hat exploding into a spectacle of smaller moths that take to the air. Morpheus perches on the hood
of the car. My sunglasses rest on the metal beside him, catching a glint of sun. I pretend to reach for them, but before he can guess my intentions, I catch one of his wings instead. He flutters, trying to break loose, his one free wing batting my hand.

I draw out the decanter and stuff him into it, careful to fold his wings. I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to
better
him.

Once he’s settled inside, I shove a paper towel into the bottle’s neck. No need to worry that he’ll smother. After all, he spent that night in a bug trap last year and survived.

“Looks like you’re going to have some turbulence on your flight,” I tell him through the glass.

His voice fills my head, an angry, scolding growl. When I don’t respond, he yells Chessie’s name. Chessie flits over to the car and sits on the side mirror, licking his paw, amused and uninterested in taking sides.

I hold the decanter up to get a closer look at Morpheus. “Game, set, match,
luv
. You do realize that my human side defeated you, right? No magic required.”

Unlike a real moth that would beat itself against the glass walls until exhausted, he hangs under the curved neck, dignified, glaring with his bulbous eyes. If he had a mouth instead of a proboscis, I’d be able to tell if he’s snarling or beaming with pride. Knowing him, it could be either. Most likely, it’s both.

My chest swells with some small satisfaction.

I put on my sunglasses. The frames are warm from the sun, but the heat isn’t enough to keep me from shivering when I see Jeb curled up on his side in the backseat. Morpheus dressed him in his shirt and boots, and that small kindness earns my winged rival a secure seat for the drive.

Jeb mumbles something as I tuck the decanter into the curve of his knees. It’s the best place to keep the glass from rolling around. I kiss Jeb’s head, then slide into the driver’s seat.

It’s difficult to find a comfortable position while sitting on my wings. I finally shove them over to my right, which makes a lumpy, irregular form under the sheet. I’ll have to take the side roads to get into town because if anyone were to see me, they might think I’m hiding a dead body.

Chessie pauses on the dashboard, blinks twice in my direction, and disappears through the rearview mirror, getting a head start on London and the rabbit hole.

For the rest of us, Butterfly Threads will be our first stop. There are full-length mirrors across the walls, and plenty of clothes, although I’ll have to make some creative adjustments to fit anything over my wings.

It’s only ten after twelve. When Penelope’s understaffed, she closes the store from noon to one for her lunch break.

I tuck Morpheus’s blazer into my backpack, then check my cell. There are two texts from Jen and three voice mails from Dad. First I respond to Jen:

Found Jeb. Deets later. He’s safe. Be home in a while …

Next, I listen to my dad’s most recent voice message:

“Allie, I’m worried. Enough thinking, okay? Come home. We’ll talk. We can fix things.”

His voice is tight. He’s freaked, without a doubt, but apparently he’s home and, judging by the “
I’m
worried” line, hasn’t told Mom about what’s happened yet. Good, because if she found out about the events at school, she’d put two and two together and do something impulsive. I don’t need her in danger, too.

Dad said we could “fix things.” I know what that means: When I get back, I’ll be grounded. Shut off from my car, phone, computer, and friends until Monday when he can take me to Mom’s psychiatrist. I wonder if he even plans to let me graduate with my class on Saturday.

There has to be some way to fix this, but I don’t have the time or brainpower to waste on it now. After Red is defeated and I get Sister Two off Jeb’s back, I’ll return from Wonderland and make things right somehow.

If
I survive the war.

All of the guilt, fear, and doubt form a lump in my vocal cords.
I hope to see you and Mom soon, Dad,
I text—meaning it with all my heart.

I take a deep breath and turn off the phone.

We arrive at the strip mall at half past noon. I use the alley behind Butterfly Threads. It’s a safe place to leave my car while we’re gone halfway across the world.

Gravel crunches under Gizmo’s tires as I come to a stop a few Dumpsters down from the shop’s back door, angling the car between a box compressor and a nine-foot brick fence to hide it. Persephone’s red Prius is absent from its usual curb slot, and all the shop’s lights are off. If we hurry, we’ll be gone before she gets back from lunch.

I take off my sunglasses, grab Morpheus’s decanter, and climb out of the driver’s side. I’m not looking forward to releasing him, but I need him to help me carry Jeb and unlock the store’s back door.

His buggy eyes stare at me through the glass. He’s tinged green, which means that those bumpy shortcuts took their toll.

I stand between the Dumpster and the bricks for privacy. Holding a breath against the stench of baked trash, I look around to ensure we’re alone in the alley. The hot sun glints off a car grille in the distance, but there’s no one inside it, so I unplug the jar.

Morpheus squeezes through the neck and balances on the rim, as if getting his bearings. He launches into the air—a flutter of wings and blue static—then transforms in front of me into an ominous silhouette that blocks the sun and chills my skin.

“My Peregrination Cap,” he grumbles, straightening his tie and vest while wavering on wobbly legs.

I gesture to the layer of moths crawling around on Gizmo’s roof. “We lost a few of them to the wind. Sorry.”

“Brilliant.” Scowling, Morpheus walks over and sweeps his hand across the insects, coaxing them to form the hat. They manage all but the brim. He puts it on anyway and turns to me.

I bite my cheeks in an effort not to laugh.

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t get too cheeky, little plum. Though your prank may have been irresistibly wicked, I’m still in the lead by a set of wings.” He glances over my shoulder at the slipping drop cloth.

The netherling in me nudges until I no longer want to hide what I am. I glance around the deserted alley, then twist the belt so it holds the sheet secure across my front but opens in back. My wings splay high and free behind me, opaque white and glimmering with rainbow-colored jewels similar to the gems under Morpheus’s eye markings.

His wings rise, mirroring mine, and we face one another, silently calling a truce.
For now.

We take the back door to the storeroom. Air-conditioning greets
us, along with the lavender scent of Persephone’s latest obsession: holistic aromatherapy in the form of wickless soy candles.

Morpheus slumps Jeb against the wall and shuts the door as I flip on the light switch. A thousand tiny bulbs light up, all strung together on one wall like a cobweb made of amber Christmas lights.

“I’m growing weary of toting your baggage around, Alyssa,” Morpheus gripes as he pushes Jeb to a sitting position. “And his clothes are a mess. You might consider letting him wear my jacket.”

I shoot a grimace his way, set aside my backpack, and kneel in front of Jeb. “It’s your fault he has to be asleep and that his clothes are shot.” I work Jeb’s bloody shirt off and tuck it in my bag so I can replace it with Morpheus’s blazer. Biting my lip, I trace the cigarette-butt scars along Jeb’s bared torso. I’ve often wished he could replace all those bad memories with the good ones we’ve made together since. But now, more than ever, I realize how important every memory is, bad or good, because they shape who we become.