It doesn’t make sense that he’d put Morpheus in here, but the vibrating sound hasn’t stopped. “Morpheus?” The hum intensifies. I take a breath, tap the knob with the diary, and peer inside.
Snowflakes fall from the rafters. It smells like real snow, though it’s not cold on the skin, only glistening. Black lights and fog complement the dreamy atmosphere. Unlike the other two rooms, this one’s not demented or disturbing.
It’s beautiful.
I step inside, cautious. The front half is decked out like a prom scene: silver pillars wrapped in greenery, an arch swathed in purple velvet, and white tulle draped around a wicker bench. Shiny Mardi Gras masks hang from rafters on varied lengths of string—purple, black, and silver.
A replica of the dress Jenara made me for prom is arranged atop the bench—white lace, pearls, and airbrushed shadows. I inch closer, intrigued by the wrist corsage in a clear plastic box. Upon spotting the ring nestled inside one of the roses—tiny diamonds forming a heart with wings—I drop to the seat, my body weak. It looks exactly like the one Jeb gave me when he proposed. The one I wore on my neck that fused with my Wonderland key and heart locket beneath the press of Morpheus’s magic.
I trace the box’s lid where a gold ribbon binds it. With one tug, the bow poofs into a golden, glittering fall of letters that form a message in midair—
Things I once hoped to give you:
1. A magical wedding . . .
Choking back tears, I take out the ring and loop it onto the string alongside the diary’s key at my neck, tucking it under my shirt to keep it safe.
A picnic basket sits at my feet beneath the bench. There’s another ribbon, and when I untie it, more letters form a glimmering parade through the air:
2. Picnics at the lake with your mom and dad . . .
I sniffle and make my way to the middle of the room, where reproductions of my mosaics float next to Sold signs. I tug a ribbon loose and free another message:
3. A lifetime of shared successes and laughter . . .
Overcome with emotion, I turn toward the humming noise along the back wall. A motorcycle idles high up in the rafters, amid strands of white Christmas lights. A bow is tied on the handlebars. I free my wings and rise. Snowflakes and a soft breeze wind around me as I settle atop the seat, returning me to all the times I rode behind Jeb, my arms wrapped around his sturdy form. Completely at ease, yet so unbalanced. So perfectly, erringly human.
I stiffen my chin against a quiver and slip the ribbon loose from the handlebars:
4. Midnight rides across the stars . . .
The lovely words glisten all around me, feeding my need for more. There are too many ribbons and objects to count. I fly from one to another, unwinding more wishes: for little girls with my hair and eyes, and boys who have their mother’s stubborn streak; for the safety of one another’s arms every night; for growing old together and cherishing every wrinkle, age spot, and gray hair; and on and on and on.
My chest swells—so full it could burst. The room is a shrine to everything I’ve ever hoped for. Things Jeb wanted to give me. His heart shines in all he created here; his selflessness, his nobility and devotion, the desire to make others happy. His true character hasn’t been destroyed. It’s just been shelved, suppressed.
My Jeb is alive.
I flutter to the ground and reabsorb my wings. I don’t want to leave. But before I can help mend Jeb, find Mom, and fix Wonderland, I have to get Morpheus and face Red.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper, and lock the door behind me.
Two rooms left to explore.
I stop at the rose-petal door. I don’t even hesitate this time. One tap of the diary, and I’m inside.
The walls, also lined with red roses, curl overhead and meet in the middle, forming a dome. Tiny clear globes float above me, tinkling as they bump into one another. They each harbor vivid moving scenes—like miniature silent films.
One in particular catches my attention. Inside, an ashen funnel drops from the sky. Out falls Queen Red in her giant zombie-flower form, along with Jeb and Morpheus. It’s the moment they first got to AnyElsewhere. The guys are still wearing their prom clothes, and Jeb has on a half mask.
I capture the globe to watch the scene unfold up close. Red looms over Jeb and Morpheus, casting a long blue shadow. A distorted, snarling mouth widens in the midst of her flowery head, and rows of eyes blink on every petal. Her ivy tangles around the guys as they wrestle, trying to escape. Jeb breaks one arm free and digs in his pants pocket, dragging out a knife. Morpheus distracts Red—strong-arming the vines until she slips several more around him to keep control. Jeb saws through his restraints—just like he did when we faced the garden of monstrous flowers on our trip to Wonderland.
Once he’s loose, he grabs the severed ivy, using it to bind Red’s other limbs and help Morpheus.