“You broke your word, then,” I whisper.
“No. There was a loophole, you see.” The knuckles on his free hand graze my temple. His touch is warm and delicate. “You found me. Since you were the one to seek me out first, you released me of the bonds of the promise. Clever, clever girl. Now you’re here to set things straight, aren’t you, little plum? To fix what Alice put wrong. Make Wonderland right again, and you’ll break the curse that’s on your family name. The talking bugs and flowers … the ties to this realm. You will no longer be under their spell. At last, your mum can stop pretending to be a raving lunatic, because I’ll have no more need for any of your lineage.”
My chest hurts, as if someone used my heart for a punching bag. That’s why Alison said those things in the courtyard … that if I went through with my plan to find the rabbit hole, she’d have done it all for nothing. She put herself through years of overmedicated humiliation and horror because she hoped to keep me away from here. Then I went and ruined everything by searching Morpheus out.
Which makes what my dad and the doctors are planning even more devastating.
“My fault,” I whisper, trying not to cry. “Everything that’s happened to her … my fault.”
“Al, don’t let him guilt you!” The rustle of Jeb’s clothes as he strains against the cuffs barely registers.
Morpheus tips my chin up. “Yes, bear no guilt. Because you discovered the rabbit hole and were brave enough to leap inside. You’re the only one who’s ever had such cunning and courage since Alice herself. And you’ve already managed to dry up the ocean she left behind. You’re going to fix everything for your mum. For all of us. You’re very special, Alyssa. Very special, indeed.” He tugs at my wrist, lifting me to stand on tiptoe until my nose touches the lower lines of his mask. He’s so close, I can almost taste his licorice-scented lips.
A loud snap cracks the air, and Morpheus breaks his hold on me. I rock back on my heels. The sprites screech as Jeb’s restraints break free of the mushroom.
Jeb rolls on the ground and whips his legs around. The broken cuffs—still attached to his ankles, neck, and wrists—trail him like a scorpion’s coiling tail, and catch Morpheus in the spin, slamming him to the ground. The impact knocks off his hat and evaporates the smoke, leaving both guys wrestling in a tangle of wings and limbs.
Jeb straddles Morpheus and cinches his fingers around his neck. “I told you not to touch her.” His deep voice is hoarse yet calm, making the hair on my neck stand on end.
Morpheus makes the mistake of laughing, and Jeb snaps. One hand clutching Morpheus’s neck, he punches him, crumpling the red satin mask. Morpheus twists his head to dodge the strike. His wings lie wrinkled and hapless beneath him.
My muscles tense. I’m at war with myself. A part of me wants to defend Morpheus—to plead his case with Jeb; the other part roots for Jeb to beat him to a puddle. I bend over, temples throbbing as I drown in a sea of distorted memories and disjointed emotions. The sprites whimper and swarm in the branches above. They’ve obviously never seen their master attacked by anyone.
Morpheus thrusts his knees out to knock Jeb off and they spin through the neon grasses, leaving a flattened trail. This time, Morpheus ends up on top. His wings enfold them like a tent. The outline of Jeb’s face appears, pressed against the black satiny membrane on the other side. A sucking motion reveals an imprint of his mouth.
He’s suffocating.
I burst through my mental haze and launch into Morpheus, toppling him. He rolls on the ground, wrapped within his wings like a pupa.
Dropping to my knees, I lower my face to Jeb’s. His breath warms my nose, slow and even, but he won’t open his eyes. “Jeb! Wake up, please …” I drag his shoulders onto my lap to cradle his head.
Morpheus stands and dusts himself off.
“What did you do?” I scream.
He repositions his crumpled mask, then draws each wing over his shoulders and runs his palms across them, checking for damage. “He’s merely unconscious.” Putting his hat back on, Morpheus touches the handprints on his neck, eyes darkening. “It was a kindness. I could’ve killed him.” He snarls. “Should’ve, actually. No doubt I’ll rue that decision.”
Glancing up at his harem, Morpheus motions the sprites down. “Take the pseudo elf back to the manor. Wake him from his slumber. Make him feel welcome as only you can.”
Gossamer is the first to descend from the trees. There seem to be even more sprites now. Following her lead, they drop down in torrents, a glimmering rainfall.