I shake off the wet cake and hop down, using my wings for balance so I don’t wipe out on the slick floor.
Jeb and Mom arrive after taking a detour so Jeb could short-circuit the elevator. Now he’s in full battle mode. “Al, let me have your shawl,” he says upon seeing me, whipping off his jacket.
I take off the brooch. “Jeb,” I mumble as he spins me around to unwrap the netting from the base of my wings while Mom and Morpheus unload stuff a few feet away, their backs to us.
“Yeah,” Jeb says, concentrating.
“Those trees, they swallow things. Then they either spit them out as mutants, or the things are lost in—”
“AnyElsewhere. Your mom told me on the way over.” His fingers keep working at the netting.
“And Sister Two is here.”
He pauses.
I look over my shoulder at him, a knot forming in my throat. “Your plan is brilliant, but this isn’t your war. You aren’t equipped to fight these things.”
His wounded gaze penetrates, even through his mask. “But he is, right?”
I look over his shoulder at Morpheus. His wings block him and Mom as they untangle the nets.
I turn, concentrating on Jeb. “No matter what you think happened between the two of us, I love you. We share battle scars and hearts. I don’t want to lose that.”
He studies my necklaces and the soldered clump of metal at my neck. “Yeah, I see how well you took care of my heart.”
I wince at the honesty behind the dig.
“But you should know by now that I never give up without a fight.” He catches the necklace, jerks me close, and presses his lips to mine—a counterclaim to Morpheus’s kiss, marked with Jeb’s flavor and passion. When he releases me, his jaw is set stubbornly. “You and me? We’re far from over.”
I’m too shell-shocked to respond.
Our moment is cut short as the undead toys awaken the trees. Wide mouths yawn open on the trunks, and their serpentine limbs palpitate. Like Red, they’re limited to the pots and soil they’re in. But I remember the snapping retractable teeth and gums I saw on the tulgey shelves in my memory. If the toys can round us up into the forest, we’re all as good as eaten.
After waking the trees, the toys disappear into the shadows once more. The intermittent sounds of sloshing water and gruesome whimpers and moans are the only indications of their whereabouts. Other than a silhouette here and there, they’re impossible to see, being so small and close to the floor.
Without another word, Jeb rolls the netting into a strip to make it stronger and fashions a makeshift harness around his chest and shoulders. He digs out the night-vision goggles and tears off his mask to slide them into place. Then he snags a paintball gun and shoves all the boxes of paintballs into one duffel that he hangs on his shoulder.
He steps up to Morpheus, catches his arm, and turns him around. “Think you’re man-bug enough to give me a lift?”
Morpheus snorts. “Child’s play. Although I can’t promise a safe landing.”
The threat doesn’t faze Jeb. He turns so Morpheus can ease his arms through the back of the harness.
“Morpheus.” I shoot him a meaningful glance, trying to get his assurance he’ll play nice. But neither guy looks my way. I hope they can manage to work together without killing each other.
“We’ll tag them.” Jeb looks down at us as Morpheus hoists him up, his powerful wings flapping hard enough to stir up gusts. “And you two bag them.”
Mom hands me a net as the guys rise toward the ceiling. Jeb’s shirt is a streak of glaring purple in the shadows. The thought of Sister Two lurking gnaws at the edges of my heart, but I have to keep it together. I can’t let my fear for Jeb get the best of me, or it will prove Morpheus right: that Jeb’s my downfall.
I won’t let that be true. He’s my partner, just like he was in Wonderland. Even if I have lost his trust.
A splatting sound erupts as Jeb blasts paintballs into the darkness. Creepy toys clamber out of hiding places, growling and groaning. Spatters of paint mark them—smears of neon light scuttling to and fro.
Mom and I bob and duck, sway and slide, as gnashing teeth and angry snarls attack from all directions. With the wet floor beneath us, we can barely stay upright to fight them off, much less capture them in nets.
“If we’re going to get the upper hand,” I shout over the commotion, knocking a few undead toys away with a pool cue, “we’ll have to go aerial.” My wings itch to take flight and I climb onto the table.
Mom looks up at me, a hint of reservation behind her mask. “I’m not that great at the flying thing.” She looks scared, just like I was when Jeb and I skated across the chasm in Wonderland on a sea of clams. But Jeb persisted, and we made it out. I’ll be just as strong for Mom.
A half dozen neon-smeared toys tumble our way, panting and rabid.