The shadow of Morpheus’s wings looms high behind his shoulders, then enfolds him, like a moonflower closing when the sunlight torches its petals. He’s quickly surrounded by a cloud, thick as fog and scented of hookah smoke, with echoes of blue lightning within.
In a blink, his wings fully manifest and slice the smoky haze, peeling it back to reveal him in his true state: flawless, pale skin, masquerade-style patches curved like ivy beneath his eyes. The teardrop-shaped jewels flash bright and blinding through a rainbow of colors, so many moods they can’t be read.
Finley’s cropped hair has transformed to a mass of blue, shoulder-length tangles, messy from the static of the magic still emanating from Morpheus’s fingertips. His wings spread out behind him—at once intimidating and majestic.
All traces of the glamour are gone. It’s Morpheus in the flesh.
I lean against the wall, my wing buds itching to join him in his metamorphosis. The tattoos have vanished from his forearm, and his birthmark shimmers a soft blue, coils of magic writhing like a snake beneath it.
My fingertips twitch, remembering how they touched him there last summer … how he healed me.
With a grand flourish, he extinguishes the electric pulses from his hands.
“We shall see how you fare without me.” His voice is gritty and raw. “My guess is you won’t even make it through school tomorrow before you’re on your knees begging for my return.” He tosses his car keys on the floor atop the hat and other pieces of clothing.
He transforms into the large moth and hovers in midair. His voice ignites in my mind: “I won’t be seeking you in your dreams, tonight or any other. You will have to find me now. I’ll be hiding among lost memories. Sleep tight, luv.”
Then, with a flutter of wings, he’s out of my door and out of my life—gone as fast as he stormed into it.
The instant Morpheus leaves, I’m slammed with regret. The more I think about it, the more it seems clear: He hasn’t been in my head once since he showed up wearing Finley’s image. Even in my dream at the hospital, it wasn’t his voice I heard. It was a whisper that could’ve belonged to anyone. Even me.
He was telling the truth. He opened his heart, and I gutted it. All he wants is to save Wonderland, and I can’t stop acting like a coward.
Sunset filters through my blinds and reflects off the glass on the floor, casting soft pink designs onto the walls. The serenity is out of sync with how I feel. I can’t bring myself to pick up the mirror’s pieces. So much has broken today. So many things, I don’t know how to begin fixing them all.
The sound of snoring distracts me from my guilt and leads me to my closet. Rabid is curled in a ball on the floor. Some clothes have fallen off their hangers, and I arrange them over him for camouflage. He smacks his lips and snuggles deeper into the bed of shoes and belts. As creepy-weird as he is while awake, he’s adorable when he’s sleeping—vulnerable, even.
His safety is my first priority. I need to send him back through the rabbit hole. We can’t risk Dad or other humans stumbling upon him.
Butterfly Threads has full-length mirrors along the walls. If I take Morpheus’s car before Dad gets home this evening, it will buy me some time before I have to explain what it’s doing in our driveway.
I can smuggle Rabid into the store. He’s the size of a rabbit. He’ll fit inside my backpack. We can get there before Jen closes and locks the doors. I’ll take my prom dress, then suggest that I close up so she can leave early to finish it.
The plan’s foolproof. But the question is, what happens after I send him back? Morpheus is gone. That means I have to go to Mom, have to try to trust her. Maybe she has some idea how we can stop Red and her zombie flowers.
Also, it’s time to tell Jeb everything like I’ve been wanting to all along. And Mom’s going to help me convince him, whether she likes it or not.
I grab my backpack from the living room and stop to peek at her out the back window. She’s sitting in the grass beside a clump of silver licorice, whispering all of her secrets into their feathery ears. Tears roll down her face.
If only she could confide in me or Dad as intimately as she does them. All these years they’ve known a side of her that we never have. I bite the inside of my cheek, because even I’m not too far gone to realize how ridiculous it is to be jealous of a plant.
Back in my room, I slide two schoolbooks from my backpack and lay them on my desk, leaving only a half-empty bottle of water and my cell inside. I call Jeb so I can lay out the groundwork for him to come over later. The phone goes to voice mail. Afraid to leave a message with my voice so shaky, I text him instead.
I tried to call like you asked. Mom’s OK. I pause. I can’t tell him via a text that I’m off to work so I can send a bald, skeletal creature through the looking glass. Instead, I improvise.
I’m tired … going to study, then take a nap. Txt me when you have time. I need to see you tonight.