I crawl across my bed to shut it off. “Can we talk about this later? I should get ready.”
“Sure,” Dad says. He stalls outside my door. “There are scrambled eggs in the kitchen. And don’t forget to apologize to your mom before you leave. I’m going to take a shower, to give you two some privacy.”
I promise him I’ll fix things. I do want to talk to Mom, for so many reasons, but the instant Dad shuts my door, I know that I won’t follow through. Not this morning … but hopefully later today, after I take care of my royal advisor.
I cram Dad’s truck keys into my pocket, then throw open my closet. Rabid’s standing there with his skeletal hands intertwined, thimble dangling cockeyed from an antler prong and mismatched socks hanging off his ears. For one weird moment, he reminds me of the White Rabbit I always read about in the Carroll tales.
In spite of my emotional uproar, I can’t stop the smile that breaks on my lips. “Thanks for being quiet. You did good.” I pat his bald head.
He blinks bright pink eyes at me. “Rabid White, hungry be.”
Opening my empty backpack, I wave him inside, hoping netherling stowaways like eggs for breakfast.
Turns out netherlings do like eggs, at least the buttery kind my dad makes. After Rabid and I have breakfast, I scoop some extra into a Tupperware bowl. Along with a bag of Mom’s cookies and a bottled water, I put the bowl into my backpack to keep my royal advisor occupied on our way to school.
For such a small creature, he has a huge appetite, and a huge knowledge of the inner workings of Wonderland’s politics. During the drive, he sits out of view on the floorboards of the passenger side, head poking from the backpack zipper. He answers every question I ask as he gobbles up eggs.
According to Wonderland law, there are three ways the blood heir of a netherling queen can relinquish her throne once she’s been crowned: death, exile, or losing to another blood heir in a magical tournament. I turned my throne over to Grenadine, but that doesn’t count as an official abdication. She can only be a temporary substitute, since she’s not of our lineage. Now that the kingdom’s in trouble, it’s up to me to step back in, take up the crown, and defeat Red. It’s like Morpheus said while we were in the car: I’m the only one who can release and wield the magic that is now a part of my blood.
So I’m stuck for life, which is another fact Morpheus failed to mention before he placed that thing on my head last year.
Then again, now that I’m coming to terms with my netherling inheritance and responsibilities—and how they’re entangled with my mortal side—I’m not sure I would give up my crown-magic to just anyone, even if I could. The recipient would have to want what’s best for both Wonderland and the human realm.
If only I could divide myself in half and be two people: The human side could stay here with Jeb and my family, and the netherling one could reign over Wonderland, keeping the peace with an iron fist.
It’s 7:20 when I pull into the north parking lot, forty-five minutes before the first bell. I park Dad’s truck next to the Dumpsters where Morpheus waited for me after school yesterday.
The lot is abandoned except for two vehicles, both of which I recognize. One belongs to the principal, and one is Mr. Mason’s new car with the annoyingly ineffective alarm system.
Even though Morpheus stayed out of my head like he said he would, I can still sense him in the background, watching how I handle things. Just like when we were kids together. As mad as he was when he left, I’m confident he wants me to succeed. Not only that, he wants me to find him. He doesn’t do anything without a reason. It must be important for me to discover where he went on my own.
I just need to figure out what he meant by “hiding among lost memories.”
Before I go in, I try to call Jeb one last time. It’s not like him to be so quiet. I’m starting to wonder if he got my text last night at all. But if he didn’t, why hasn’t he called to check on me and Mom? Doesn’t he care? At least Ivy’s out of town, so I don’t have to torture myself worrying about her.
Jeb’s phone goes to voice mail again. This time I leave a message. “I’m at school. Text me. I need to talk to you.”
I stare at my phone. Something’s still bothering me: Nurse Terri.
Pleasance University Medical Center doesn’t have an employee directory online. On a whim, I do a search for nurse uniforms along with the name of the hospital. An announcement pops up, posted on the News page from a week ago:
During Memorial Day weekend, in tribute to fallen veterans, Pleasance University MC will be reinstating vintage nurse and doctor uniforms. Any employee who has lost loved ones in past wars and wishes to participate should contact Louisa Colton in human resources for available sizes and styles. Rentals paid for by Catholic Family Services Board and supplied by Banshee’s Costume Boutique.