He and Morpheus exchange guarded glances.
“It only works on Morpheus because we share magic,” Jeb answers, his expression filled with so much regret it reaches beyond his enchanted state, making him appear raw and human. “Wait.” He furrows his brow. “Your dream-magic. Thomas is a human. He can slip into dreams.”
Morpheus nods, catching on where I’m oblivious. “The poison spreads through the bloodstream, spurred by the victim’s agitation. If we can subdue him to a REM state—send his mind where he cannot hear the buzzing—we can calm him. Hold the venom at bay.”
“The Queen of Hearts,” Jeb takes up again. “She has a remedy for this. Otherwise, her idiot guards wouldn’t be handling the insects.”
I look back and forth between them. “Yes. Do it. Please . . .” I don’t notice that my face is wet until Chessie blots my cheeks with his tail.
Jeb starts to touch Dad’s head, but Morpheus stops him. “You don’t know how to harness dream-magic. You need guidance.”
I tighten my jaw, suspecting the real reason for Morpheus’s intervention. If he were to let Jeb unleash his full power, Red’s strain would also seep into my dad. And who knows what the result would be?
Jeb shrugs and I stand back, completely useless in spite of all my magic.
Morpheus cups his bared palms around Dad’s temples and Jeb nudges aside a wing to stand shoulder to shoulder beside him, his hands pressed to Morpheus’s. Though Jeb’s tattoo glows purple, the light that they radiate is pristine blue—strictly Morpheus’s—as if they’ve practiced bypassing Red’s magic many times before. Morpheus looks at Jeb incredulously, seemingly surprised by the purity of the force.
The light pulsates through Dad’s body, from head to toe, just like when Morpheus unleashed his dream-magic on Jeb the day of prom.
Dad’s body goes limp and his facial muscles relax.
I slump across his head, exhausted even though I’ve done nothing.
“Now, we see to you,” Morpheus instructs Jeb, and motions for him to sit. He rewets a sponge. “You’re bleeding.”
Jeb scoots onto the table’s edge. “No.” He runs his hands across the red smudges on his costume. “It’s paint,” he explains, dreamlike. “A residue from CC. His palms were sliced following my command to keep the guards from hijacking the funnel.”
Morpheus frowns and stops blotting Jeb’s face. “Where is CC now?”
“He was running interference so I could escape with Thomas,” Jeb answers. “The guards captured him.”
Mumbling an oath, Morpheus throws the sponge into the bucket. After drying his hands on the drop cloth, he drags his jacket on and paces toward the entrance where he set aside his hat. He positions it atop his head, wings drooping behind him.
“We need a plan to get the antidote.” He works his gloves into place. “Any hope for the element of surprise is ruined. Red knows Alyssa is in AnyElsewhere. Now they have CC, who knows the way to our mountain.”
Jeb digs his fisted knuckles into the table. “I’ll go tonight, before they can try to find us. I’ll get CC back, and the antidote. We’ll heal Thomas and send him and Al through the gate before anything else happens.”
I shake my head. “We’re not leaving without both of you. Got it?”
“How would you get inside, pray tell?” Morpheus asks Jeb, ignoring my attempt at a command.
Jeb drops to the floor and strips off the bird suit. A navy blue T-shirt and faded jeans cling to him, wrinkled and popping with static from being underneath the costume. “Maybe I can shake things up. Crumble a few turrets and knock down a wall or two.”
“We’ve already tried that once,” Morpheus contradicts. “Your magic is limited to the natural terrain. Things built at the hands of others, they’re beyond your capacity to alter.” He adjusts his cap, and the orange moths along the brim sway. He looks at me. “Hart has arranged a caucus race tomorrow to elect an official king. We wear the simulacrum . . . go first thing in the morning when the gates are open.”
“All the prisoners will be preoccupied,” I reason, rubbing Dad’s hand.
Jeb slants his head in thought. “It would help if we had a floor plan. We’d know exactly where to go for the curative, no detours.”
Morpheus nods. “We could send someone tonight, someone small enough to slip through existing holes in the wall. While they’re exploring, we can rest, prepare, and plan.”
Nikki looks up from the other side of the room where she and Chessie have been teasing the cranes that occupy the Japanese screens. She flitters over to us. “Send me,” she insists, her voice tinkling as she points to herself.
I’m touched by her bravery. “Nikki is strong. She could carry the antidote back herself if she finds it.”