The furry netherling flips upright but his whiskers droop further downward.
“What is it?” I concentrate on his whirling eyes. “Wait. Morpheus got the cure?” I translate for Jeb. “He went into the castle? But he had a plan for tomorrow.”
He would never do something so spontaneous. Unless he really was convinced I wouldn’t survive another encounter with Red. I’m the only one he would put himself at risk for, because I’m a queen and Wonderland is his utmost priority. But even beyond that . . . because he loves me.
My soul sinks, acutely aware of how I’ve hurt him tonight. And he doesn’t even know. “Where is he?” I ask.
When the answer surfaces within Chessie’s pupils, I drop to my knees.
“Al.” Jeb kneels beside me and forces me to look at him. “What did he say?”
I grind my teeth to keep from screaming. “Morpheus has been captured. He’s scheduled to be the entertainment at the Hallowed Festival tomorrow. The queen is going to harvest his beating heart.”
We pour the curative down Dad’s throat and Jeb releases him from his dream state. Then we take turns showering, getting dressed, and explaining to Dad everything that happened while he was out. Neither Jeb nor I mention our engagement. It feels wrong, to give my dad reason to celebrate while Morpheus’s life hangs in the balance.
Our plan is back on for first thing in the morning when the gates open. We choose our clothes wisely. It would be a mistake to have the added vulnerability of water-soluble outfits on such a precarious mission.
Dad and I will wear the tunic and trousers from Uncle Bernie, while Jeb dons all that’s left of his prom tuxedo: navy blue flocked velvet vest and navy pants. Paired with a navy T-shirt from his painted wardrobe, his outfit is complete.
I’ve yet to fill Dad in on the small detail of Red’s pending possession. Now that I’ve lost the diary, it’s the only way to save Wonderland. He would never go along with the plan if he knew. I’m back to lying to him for his own good.
While Jeb and Chessie search the mountain rooms, Dad soaks in a hot tub. Although the curative dissolved the stone, the muscles and bones in his leg sustained some damage.
He limps out of the bathroom fully dressed, rubbing a towel over his wet hair.
“Anything to eat? I’m starving.”
Jeb told me this would happen. It’s a side effect of the dream state. I load up a plate with the honeycomb-flower and rabbit jerky and take a couple of pieces for myself. The floating lanterns cast amber light and shadows around us as I silently watch him wolf the rest down. I wonder if he was this ravenous when Mom rescued him from Wonderland. After all, he’d been sleeping for years that time.
Dad has started on his third helping when Chessie and Jeb return.
Jeb carries Dad’s duffel and the garment bag that contains my scorpion-winged dress. I can’t stop replaying Morpheus’s reaction when I loosened the drawstring. How he teased and joked to make light of the incredibly sweet gesture. How he dismissed all the cuts from the razor-sharp edges he must’ve endured before he finally had the centipede legs sewn in place as protective fringe.
“Are the simulacrum suits in the duffel?” I ask, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.
“We could only find two.” Jeb wipes paint from his hands on a towel. “Morpheus’s room was a wreck. All of them were. There were a couple of bats tangled in the graffiti. That’s how the goons got through the entrance. They came up through the ocean and sacrificed some of their rides for a distraction. I’m not sure how they found their way to the mountain in the first place. I never saw any signs of CC. Also not sure how they knew to use rainwater on the doors and rooms to melt everything away.” He tries to appear nonchalant, but his face is pale.
I know too well what it’s like to watch something you created die. A month ago, I breathed life into flames, then had to be the one to douse them to save my peers at school. It hurt, like losing a piece of myself.
Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe those dark and damaged parts of Jeb’s soul will at last be put to rest, and he can abandon this world and all the bitterness and doubts . . . leave everything behind without a second thought. With the exception of the dreams in the willow room. I hope he holds on to those.
“The only other thing left in Morpheus’s room was this garment bag,” Jeb says, stirring me from my thoughts. “Do you know about the dress inside?”
“Armor,” I whisper, feeling numb as Morpheus’s words taunt me: I rather hoped you’d wear it to face Red. It is the only coat of armor worthy of your dangerous beauty.
My netherling intuition rouses, a theory taking shape. It’s no coincidence that only one invisible suit is gone, that the goons knew how to destroy Jeb’s artwork, or that when everything melted away, the duffel and the garment bag were the two things that remained . . . because they’re real, not painted. It’s also no coincidence the goons had been sent for me.