I turn on my heel. The room’s decor feels vaguely familiar—wild and stunning, just like its owner. There are no windows or mirrors. Soft amber light falls from the giant crystal chandelier that takes up most of the domed ceiling. Gold and purple velvet hangings drape the walls, intertwined with strands of ivy, seashells, and peacock feathers.
A set of multitiered crystal shelves occupies the wall to my left. Half of them hold hats of all shapes and sizes embellished with dead moths; the other half holds what first appears to be clear glass doll-houses. Then I realize they’re terrariums.
Within the terrariums, moths fly from side to side and perch on leaves and twigs. Thick webs coat the glass panels in places, similar to the webbing in my Alice nightmare. They’re cocoons—caterpillars transforming into moths. Listening to the waterfall, I think of how Morpheus’s wing cut through the liquid earlier, and compare it to my dream in the rowboat, when a black blade was about to slice through the web.
It wasn’t a blade at all.
The door creaks open and I spin around, heart pounding.
Morpheus steps across the threshold and shuts us in. “Up and about, aye? And not a drop of water on you.” He carries a tray with a teapot and matching china cups. “Well done.”
“You.” I point a shaky finger toward the cocoons. “The nightmare I’ve been having for years. You put it into my mind, didn’t you?”
His jaw tightens as he sets the tray on a glass table. “What nightmare would that be? I’ve not been mentally connected to you since your mother was committed … not until yesterday.” He pours tea into a cup. Wisps of steam fill the room, carrying notes of honey and citrus.
“I’m Alice,” I say, “searching for the Caterpillar. They’re going to take my head. He’s my only ally.” I rub my neck. “Wait, no. There’s the Cheshire Cat, too. But neither one can help me. The Cat’s lost his body, and the Caterpillar …” I look at the glass cases. “It’s you, stuck inside the cocoon.”
Morpheus fumbles the teapot’s lid with a loud clatter. When he turns to me, his eyes are wide. “You remember. After all these years, you retained the details.”
“The details about what?” My legs waver, and I clutch the blanket tighter around my neck.
Morpheus motions to the chair beside him. “Sit.”
When I don’t move, he takes my hand and leads me. He’s wearing black gloves now, reminiscent of the ones I dreamed of in the rowboat. I’m about to point that out when he hands me a cup.
“Have some tea, and we’ll revisit the story.”
Revisit?
While he pours a cup for himself, I sip mine. The hot, sweet liquid soothes my throat. I slide a finger against the table beneath my saucer. The surface is a chessboard, black and silver. A glass sheet covers it to protect from spills and scrapes. Jade chess pieces—pawns, rooks, knights, and more—are arranged in an unusual pattern. Sentences hover over three of the silver squares as if by magic, in tiny glowing script. I lean in to read them, catching the words ocean and palm before Morpheus sweeps his glove across the glass and smears them.
“What was that?” I ask.
“It’s how I keep track of your accomplishments.”
“‘Accomplishments.’ Mind explaining?” I take another sip of tea.
His wings hang wide on either side of his chair as he sits opposite me, placing his hat on the table. “I would prefer to show you.”
He retrieves a small brass box from a drawer on his side of the table. Its hinged lid pops open, and Morpheus tilts it. The contents scatter onto the chessboard, a whole other set of tiny game pieces. These are also carved of pale green jade: a caterpillar smoking a hookah, a cat with a bold smile etched into place, a little girl in a dress and pinafore. There are other characters, too, all familiar. Morpheus and I played with them when I visited in my dreams.
I reach for the Alice figurine and hold her up, trailing a finger along the lines of her pinafore. With her marbled, green-tinged exterior, she looks different than in the pictures—more fragile. Precious and rare, like the stone she’s carved of.
Morpheus lifts his cup and regards me over the edge while drinking, then sets it on his saucer with a clink. “She always was your favorite.”
I’m both flattered and frightened over the expression of adoration that crosses his face. A nostalgic fuzziness swells inside my chest. “You used to tell me a story with these.”
“I did indeed. Or, rather, we used to watch it.”
“Watch it?”
The jewels under his eyes sparkle, flashing to a calming blue. “How are you feeling, Alyssa?”
Puzzled by the question, I frown. “Fine. Why do you ask—” No sooner do I speak, than the room starts to spin, the chess pieces along with it. My teacup topples, half of its contents spilling upward. I clasp both hands to my throat. “You put something in my drink …”