Nostalgia tightens my throat. “And I’d do the same for him.”
“That’s why you guys are so great together.” Jen smiles and weaves an arm through mine, my easygoing best friend again. “So, are you ready to see the dress? Fresh from the dry cleaner and waiting for the final touches.”
Morpheus returns his hat to his head and angles it, completely at ease. How can he be so calm? Jen being here complicates things even more. I’m going to have to corner my mom and convince her to go along with my lie about Morpheus being a family friend. And to do that, I’ll have to be honest about who he is. Pile on Queen Red’s possible presence in our world and the battle I’m totally unprepared to fight, and I’m almost at my wit’s end.
Sweat beads at my hairline as I lead the way to the garage, then punch the combination into the keypad. Morpheus pauses to look at the buckets filled with gardening items.
Jen stops next to him. “Al used those buckets to make traps, to capture insects for her mosaics. Back before she started working with glass gems.”
Morpheus doesn’t answer, just stares at the buckets. “You know, those aren’t nearly as comfortable as they look,” he says with a sour frown on his face.
He’s referring to the night he spent inside one as a moth a year ago, but Jen can’t possibly know that.
She snickers. “Really? Did the bugs tell you that? You talk to them?”
“They undoubtedly told Alyssa,” he answers, “but she chose not to listen.”
Jen laughs.
My face burns as several bugs hidden throughout the garage chime in to scold me:
We told her, all right…
She never listens. Even now, we’re still trying to tell her…
The flowers, Alyssa. You don’t want them to win any more than we do.
You are a queen … stop them.
I thought the insects and flowers were on the same team. Together, they have served as my connection to Wonderland for years. Now they’re fighting with each other?
It must have something to do with Red’s rampage.
Jen edges by and steps through the garage entrance into the living room. Morpheus tips his hat in a maddening gesture, then lets me go through the door first.
It’s a relief to shut out the bugs, but it’s short-lived when I notice the living room is empty. Musty dampness blasts from the wall unit air conditioner. The wood paneling makes the room appear small and dark. Clean towels and rags wait to be folded on Dad’s favorite chair—a ragged corduroy recliner with daisy appliqués, where my mom used to hide her Wonderland treasures. Those have been gone for a while now, all but the Lewis Carroll books in my bedroom.
“Mom?” I drop my backpack on the floor and peer into the kitchen. The scent of chocolate chip cookies drifts from cooling racks on the counter.
“Wonder where she is,” I say absently, but my guests have wandered to the back hallway, where my bug mosaics decorate the wall.
Dad hung them up after they won some ribbons in the county fair. He refuses to take them down now, no matter how many times Mom and I beg. He’s sentimental in the worst way, and we can’t explain our aversion to the artwork, so he always wins.
“Told you she was talented,” Jen says, adjusting the tote straps on her shoulder.
Morpheus nods in silence.
Jen gravitates to her favorite piece: Winter’s Heartbeat. Baby’s breath and silvery glass beads form the image of a tree. Dried winterberries dot the end of each branch so it looks like they're bleeding, and shiny black crickets form the background.
Morpheus taps the berries gently, as if counting them. “Looks like something from a glorious dream.” He glances over his shoulder at me. There’s pride and nostalgia in his voice.
That very tree is in Wonderland, studded with diamond bark and dripping rubies from its branches. Morpheus took me there in a dream when we were both children. I crafted the image years later, as a way to free the subconscious memory.
All my mosaics represent Wonderland landscapes and suppressed moments with Morpheus. No doubt it feeds his ego to know that he inspires my art. Or haunts it.
Haunts is a better word …
“Okay. C’mon, Al.” Jen heads to my bedroom. “Prom’s tomorrow. This dress isn’t gonna fix itself.”
Before following her through my door, I stick my head into my parents’ room. Mom’s not there or in the master bathroom. It’s weird. Her perfume lingers as though she was here minutes ago. She’s always home after I get out of school. She doesn’t drive, so someone would’ve had to pick her up.
Or worse, someone forced her to leave.
I signal to Morpheus. He traces a fingertip just above the blue butterflies of Murderess Moonlight, careful not to touch them, completely absorbed in his study until I clear my throat.
He looks up. “Did you need something, luv?”