Instead, I let the coils of madness creep around my human compassion—caging it so it’s oblivious to my actions. Then I stare at the bubbles, willing the air to dissipate, waiting for the birds’ lungs to cave in. Craving their deaths.
“You’ve never murdered anyone, Allie. Be sure it’s the only way. Otherwise, it will haunt you . . .” Dad’s logic breaks through.
A sick pang roils through my stomach.
He’s wrong. I have killed. There were so many bugs in my lifetime, I could fill up a grain elevator with their corpses if I hadn’t used them for mosaics. I also contributed to the deaths of countless card guards and juju birds in Wonderland, not to mention an octowalrus.
That’s enough. For now.
With a silent command, I resurrect the geysers. They rise, carrying the mutant birds atop them. A hot spray spatters across me as I guide the cascading water to the closest tree, imagining the bare branches opening like flower petals. The water plops its passengers inside, and the branches curl closed around them, leaving my dripping, gasping prisoners to glare down at me. The geysers sink back into the moats.
“That’s my girl,” Dad says.
The power I’m learning to wield scares me, but not enough to make me stop and think things through. And that scares me even more.
I turn to check on Morpheus. The griffon has returned and holds the remaining four birds pinned beneath his giant claws. Blood drizzles from his talons, leaving no question as to what became of the five birds he chased over the hill.
Morpheus stands over the captives. “All it would take is one word for my pet to slice you in twain like he did your accomplices.”
The duckbilled creature makes a sound between a sob and a quack as the others shiver beneath the sharp talons indenting their feathers.
Morpheus crouches beside the osprey. “You fellows owe the lady a debt of gratitude.” He plucks a feather from the bird’s ugly face. “Since I’m trying to impress her, I’m going to follow her example and be merciful. Take a message to Manti, though, won’t you? Tell him he doesn’t stand a chance to win any races if he can’t even fight his own battles.” Morpheus traces the osprey’s quivering beak with the feather’s tip. “Oh, and thank you for the new quill.”
Nodding at the griffon, Morpheus stands as the bird mutants are set free. I turn to my prisoners in the tree and release them, too. With defeated squawks and screeches, they scatter into the purplish sky without their parasols, becoming more deformed with every flap of their wings.
Two of them begin to lose their feathers. Their bodies contort in midair until they can no longer stay afloat. They fall from the heights. Plumes of ash puff from the ground in the distance to mark their contact.
“Are they dead?” I ask.
“They are,” Morpheus answers nonchalantly. “The ultimate consequence for continuing to use their magic. Their spines curled, and their bodies withered to useless shells.”
I press my fingers over the diary beneath my tunic. Red’s memories are quiet and calm for now, but their presence brings questions to my mind. “What becomes of their spirits? Will they be looking for bodies to possess?”
Morpheus tucks the feather in his pocket. “That’s not how it works in AnyElsewhere. When you’re dead, you’re gone forever. It’s an effect of the iron. Every part of us that held magic turns to ash, from our bodies to our spirits. Our remains are caught within the wind, forming the twisters that funnel prisoners in and out.” His face grows somber. “So do not hesitate to kill if it’s the only way you can live, Alyssa. Not here.”
Dad and I trade uneasy glances.
The griffon rubs Morpheus’s leg like a giant cat, then transforms into the cane once more. Morpheus takes it in hand, wiping blood from the talons with his handkerchief.
“Now I see,” I say, watching him.
Morpheus’s dark lashes turn up, interest glittering in his eyes. “See what?”
“Why you needed a walking stick.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Good that your curiosity is quenched.”
“Except for what happened to your clothes.”
Looking down at his suit, he grumbles, “Dry-clean only, my arse.” He brushes off his jacket, frowning at the holes where his skin shows through.
“Morpheus.”
He looks up at me again.
“How are you using your magic unaffected, in spite of the all-powerful dome?”
“I believe I’ll keep that one to myself, luv. If I told you all my secrets, there would be no more mystery in our relationship.”
“I’m not a big fan of mysteries.”
That roguish smile I once hated curls his lips and curls my insides. “Rubbish. You adore them.” He steps to the edge of his miniature island and uses the cane’s clawed end to drag our floating island close—avoiding the water. “You thrive on the challenge of solving them.”