You and I. The room grows gloomier.
I clench my hands to fists. “There’s no way I’m sitting here while you two face all the weirdness out there. I’m going.”
I want to add one thing more: that if Jeb thinks for one second I’m going to let him stay behind when we leave for Wonderland, he’s mistaken. I’ll use my magic to force him to come home if I have to.
The thought of his graffiti army stomps through me. I had no power over them. Jeb is my match now, in every way. It would be a difficult fight to win.
“Allie, please,” Dad presses.
“What?” I snap. “You still don’t think I can hold my own? Even after everything you’ve seen?”
“That’s not it at all. It’s your bloodlust I’m worried about. None of us knows where Red is. But it’s a given she knows you’re here now after our encounter with those birds. I don’t want you running into her. Remember our deal? We get in, we get to the gate, we get out.”
I can’t help but notice he omitted the part about getting Jeb. Frustration burns my eyes. There’s nothing I can do about Jeb until I have some time with him. But maybe I can use his and Dad’s absence today to my advantage. After they leave, I’ll go out on my own and search for Red. I have a feeling the diary will lead me straight to her.
I look up at the moths on the ceiling to maintain an angry facade. If Jeb were to find out about my plan, he could paint a gilded cage around me and I’d be trapped. “So, what am I supposed to do all day while you’re gone? Play with bugs?”
Jeb crouches to fill in the sketch’s lower half with paint. His lips twist to a cruel sneer. “That’s your favorite pastime, right? And you’ll have your prince of moths for company.”
I keep my expression unreadable. Morpheus staying behind is actually a good thing. He can accompany me to find Red. He knows his way around this world and understands its occupants better than me. The only downside is my vow to him, how determined he is to collect, and how a part of me is starting to crave those twenty-four hours at his side in Wonderland.
“So . . . you’re not taking Morpheus?” I manage to sound nonchalant.
“He’d be lost without his griffon.” It’s impossible to miss the smugness in Jeb’s voice. “He can’t fly without it, and he needs its homing device to lead him back here if he gets turned around.”
“So that’s his compass.”
“Right. All my paintings have the ability to find their way back to this mountain—to me—no matter how far they wander.”
“But Morpheus can use his shadow.” I attempt to reason with him.
“I took it away. It needs some repairs,” Jeb says—an answer for everything.
Unable to hide my annoyance, I blurt, “Well, that seems like a pretty stupid move. There’s safety in numbers, you know.” I bite my tongue so they won’t know I’m the one needing a safety net.
“We’re taking reserves.” Jeb motions toward one of the Japanese screens in the corner. The crane flaps its wings and pecks at the panel it’s stuck to.
“What, the cranes?”
Preoccupied and silent, Jeb guides Dad to back up into the painting, then seals them together with a flash of magic from his brush.
Dad steps away and the painting peels off the canvas—a quiescent, fluid trail along the floor—looking like an ordinary shadow with the addition of wings.
I wander over to the Japanese screen Jeb pointed to, curious.
“Al, wait,” Jeb warns, dropping his brush in some water and rushing my direction.
Before he can reach me, I peer behind the screen. A drop cloth hangs in place atop something shaped like a hat rack. I tug the covering away.
CC screeches and scrambles out, almost knocking me over in its haste to escape.
I scream.
“Hey!” Dad starts toward the creature.
Jeb catches it before it can run out the door. “It’s okay. I’ve forbidden him to ever touch either of you again.” He pats his doppelganger’s shoulder. “Show them, CC,” he urges—his voice tender, as if speaking to a child or a pet.
The creature turns and I steel myself for the macabre fissures in its face. Instead, a red heart-shaped patch covers its eye along with the gaping holes I saw yesterday. There’s a slit in the middle for CC to see out. The other perfect eye and cheek are uncovered, and the elfin markings sparkle in the daylight. It’s easier now to make out the creature’s porcelain coloring—somewhat lighter than Jeb’s olive complexion. With the heart over its eye, CC resembles a harlequin from a pantomime. All that’s missing is a diamond-patterned costume instead of jeans and a T-shirt.
Considering the red smudges on Jeb’s clothes and hands, this is the project he was working on before coming to the island.
“You made a mask for CC this morning?” I ask.
“I made it for you. Last night. I didn’t want his grotesque appearance scaring you again.”