He pushes us apart and narrows his eyes. “Something she deserves, I hope.”
I trace the smudges of dried paint and blood on his tunic. “She loved Wonderland once. Before she lost sight of her good intentions, she wanted to change it for the better. Like you said, Sister Two zones in on spirits and drags them out. Since your muse has the residue of Red, maybe Red’s spirit can be joined with it. Then Red could help supply the dreams. She’ll be imprisoned, never able to escape, but at least she’ll be contributing something. It will extend the life of your muse. And it will send a message to my subjects, that if they step out of line, I’ll find a way to make them serve Wonderland forever. Most importantly, it will give Red peace.”
Jeb’s eyes brighten with something akin to pride. “You’re going to make one hell of a queen, you know that?”
A rush of satisfaction warms my cheeks. “I’m going to give it my best shot.”
He kisses my forehead. “Okay. I’ll stand guard here . . . let you back through when you’re done.”
I start for the mirror, but Jeb stops me. I look up at his concerned face, convinced he’s changed his mind and wants to come along since Sister Two and I aren’t on the best of terms. I’m prepared to argue with him, but all he does is lift one of my hands and curl my fingers into a fist.
“You got this,” he says, and bumps my knuckles with his. “She’s wanted Red back in her keep for over a year. You hold all the cards.”
“Exactly my thinking.” I smile at him.
He smiles back. “And one more thing . . .”
“Yeah?”
“It’s time for you to find peace, too. The bad is behind us now.”
I caress his face, then turn to the mirror. Sliding the drop cloth off my shoulders into a pile at my bare feet, I release my jeweled wings and envision the cemetery in the glass. My reflection looks back as I wait for the destination to appear: netherling eye patches, glittery skin, hair that’s wild and alive.
I see what Jeb saw, the reason he’ll never try to be my protector again. It’s a great feeling, knowing I’m strong and capable.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe the bad is behind us.
I can’t be sure until I know where things stand with my mentor-tormentor; the wisdom keeper who saved my life more than once, who holds the other half of my heart in his manipulative hands, and who made my metamorphosis to Wonderland’s Red Queen a possibility in the first place.
Gossamer hovers next to my ear as I stand in one corner of Ivory’s enormous crystallized banquet hall. The sprite has visited me throughout the day, providing pleasant company in spite of her unrequited affection for Morpheus. Working together to lead the mome wraiths from my school gymnasium a month ago seems to have bonded us.
As for Morpheus, I haven’t seen him since the owl chased him from the tower. He’s even stayed out of my head. Although he sent a message via Gossamer, concerning how pleased he is with my decision for Red.
Silver flaming candles, floating upside down from the ceiling, softly light the room. A string quartet plays without players; the frosty, glacial instruments glow and pulsate with the colors of the rainbow. The music is as crisp and breezy as morning air, yet muted, like melodious whispers echoed in a cave of ice.
Gossamer and I are playing the role of wallflowers beside an open doorway, watching Mom and Dad waltz alongside Ivory and Finley. The four of them—graceful and beautiful—stand out like pristine toppers for a wedding cake among the bizarre netherlings dancing spastically around them.
I danced earlier with some of the guests. Chessie, Nikki, and Rabid. Zombie flowers, shrunken back to their original size. Sprites. Hobgoblins. Even Herman Hattington joined in, his face switching like a TV screen between me and our other dance partners, the Doormouse and March Hairless.
Jeb stole me away once for a slow, romantic song. He’s gone now, shut up in his room in the castle. He was exhausted. Having wrangled Red’s and Morpheus’s magic for a month, survived facing his demons in a barbaric otherworld, breathed life into a dying landscape, and given up his muse forever, I’m not surprised. Yet I can’t help but wonder if the main reason he left was because he doesn’t want to be here when Morpheus comes to whisk me away.
I stare at the door Jeb took when he left, unable to shake him from my thoughts.
“Your mortal knight is most unique,” Gossamer says in her chiming voice as she follows my line of sight. Her coppery bulbous eyes, glowing green skin, and glittery scales seem almost phosphorescent in the dimness.
I bite my lip, considering her words. My tongue stings pleasantly from the cinnamon-red lipstick the other sprites applied earlier with my evening makeup.