Crinkling my nose, I refuse the offer.
“Ah, poor, delicate little blossom.” Morpheus takes a napkin, gently grasping my left hand. “Let us clean you up, aye?” Gossamer lights on the table next to my right hand and proceeds to help with unnecessary roughness, yanking at my gloves and pinching my knuckles while grimacing at me. In contrast, Morpheus smooths the sandy mixture from my fingertips. Heat flares from the contact.
There’s heat behind me, too, from Jeb’s gaze. I don’t have to see it. I sense it. He warned Morpheus not to touch me during the feast.
“Pity we were so preoccupied in the Hall of Mirrors earlier and missed the appetizer,” Morpheus says as he glances at Jeb smugly. “You would’ve loved the spider soup, being so adept at wounding insects.”
I wince.
“Even more a pity”—he leans in and whispers low so only I can hear—“that you would waste your kisses on a man who fantasizes about other girls. Little Gossamer can see inside people’s minds as they’re sleeping. The beautiful young woman in Jeb’s dreams was not you. Interesting, that he chooses now to act on ‘hidden’ feelings. Down here, away from all the others, when he wants so desperately to talk you out of your quest.”
A sharp-edged shadow passes through my chest, slicing like a knife.
“Oh, but of course he’s sincere,” Morpheus continues to taunt. “It’s not as if he’s ever kept anything from you. He’s always been honest.”
Jeb’s move to London with Taelor fills my mind, leaving me as sullen as the dark clouds behind our host’s eyes.
Watching my reaction, Morpheus smiles. “Yes. A man who never lies will never break your heart.” Planting a kiss atop the back of my glove, he tosses down the napkin and releases me.
Gossamer glowers at me before she flits back to his shoulder.
Tears build behind my eyes. I will them not to fall but can’t will away the sick ache in my stomach. Morpheus must be right. Jeb’s never mentioned having feelings for me in our real lives. He’s still with Taelor up there and dreaming of her down here.
Morpheus stands and returns his hat to his head, all business now. “Enough playing with these bland morsels. Waiters, bring out the main course!”
Some movement along the walls provides a momentary distraction from my heartache. It’s as if pieces of the plaster are sprouting legs. Only when they peel from their places and slink off to one of the adjoining rooms do I realize they’re a band of human-size chameleons with suctioned toes.
When the zebra-striped lizards return, bulbous eyes twisting in every direction, they carry a platter garnished with dried fruit and something that resembles a duck. It’s plucked and roasted but still has its head intact. A warm, herbal scent tickles my nose. At least it’s cooked.
“May I introduce you all to the main course?” Morpheus spreads out an arm with dramatic flair. “Dinner, meet your worthy adversaries, the hungry guests.”
My tongue dries to sandpaper as the bird’s eyes pop open, and it hobbles to stand on webbed feet, flesh brown and glistening with glaze and oil. There’s a bell hung around its neck, and it jingles as the duck bows to greet everyone.
This cannot be happening.
Every nerve in my body jumps, urging me to turn to Jeb. But I can’t.
Morpheus drags the heavy mallet from beside his chair and pounds it on the table like a judge’s gavel. “Now that we’re all acquainted, let the walloping begin.”
Gossamer launches from Morpheus’s shoulder and leaves the room with the other sprites as mass confusion erupts. All the guests leap to their feet, mallets in hand, to chase the jingling duck.
He’s surprisingly agile and bobs out of the way, maneuvering among serving platters, dishes, and silverware.
“What are you doing?” I ask Morpheus. “I’ve never seen anything so savage!”
“‘Savage’?” The green pig snorts an answer for him. “You act as if we’re a bunch of animals.” His peppercorn teeth form a sneer.
“Stop thinking with your head, Alyssa.” Morpheus leans low across the table, his blue hair swinging forward at his shoulders. “Think with this, instead.” He taps a finger above my naval. It’s a good thing Jeb can’t see from his angle, or he’d break Morpheus’s hand off.
“My stomach?” I barely breathe the question.
“Your gut. Instinct. The deepest part of you knows that this”—he motions to the chaos around us—“is how it should be. That same part of you that prompted you to look for me and step through the mirror. The same part that gave you the power to animate your mosaic at home.”