And the mome raths outgrabe.
It’s from the Jabberwocky poem. Mome wraiths. The pronunciation, “wraith” instead of “rath,” doesn’t even faze me. Morpheus has mentioned them before.
The word rath was misspelled and mispronounced in the Carroll poem. In reality, they’re wraiths—gloomy, phantasmal creatures. Mome means far from home, so they’re lost, seeking their way back. Outgrabe is the sound they make, a mind-curdling shriek.
That’s all I remember. I can’t let them escape into the rest of the school to terrorize the humans. I have to hold them here until I can figure out how to defeat them.
Their howls and wails scatter my thoughts. Gusts of cold air swoop by my face, rife with the scent of menace and clammy sweat. I hold Taelor against me, letting her expensive perfume flush the stench from my nose. I never expected to feel so protective of her. But she has no defense other than me. The responsibility is overwhelming.
The clown’s laugh erupts again, demanding my attention.
Rabid screams: “Majesty!” His plea echoes from the depths of the locker room, and I know that he’s gone—taken somewhere out of my reach.
“No!” I shout.
I can’t just sit and do nothing. Going against my resolution to stay with Taelor, I prop her along the table’s legs and blindly crawl around, patting the floor and praying I don’t touch something that grabs back. My hand slides through an oily puddle, and I wipe the goop on my pants, then resume the search. Finally, a lantern rolls under my fingers.
I drag my prize under the table. After fumbling for the light’s switch, I flick it on. A soft amber glow seeps through the doily patterns, creating a luminary effect. It would be beautiful, if not for the gruesome scene it reveals.
Thick, oily sludge runs down the walls, then gathers in small puddles along the floor. Phantom shapes skim through the air, dipping and diving—like ghouls in a graveyard. Each time they touch the floor, they leave a black streak behind. It’s like I’m locked inside a Halloween movie. All that’s missing are the crumbling tombstones.
My gut twists with fear. “Morpheus. Come back, please.” I mumble the request, hoping he’ll hear me. Hoping he’s not too mad to listen.
Underneath the phantoms’ shrieks, Morpheus’s silence rings even louder.
“Morpheus! I need your help!” My scream echoes off the walls. The phantoms hiss in response, and one lunges under the table, splitting in half to form a pair of floating gloves filled with disembodied hands. They grab Taelor’s ankles to wrestle her away from me.
“Stop!” I drop the lantern and hug her from behind, fingers laced under her arms and around her chest. She becomes the object of a supernatural tug-of-war. Using my weight, I pull so hard, her boots slip off. My back thuds against the table legs. The gloved hands spin through the air in the opposite direction, then reunite to their original shapeless form.
I search for the lantern again, only to find that the other phantoms dragged it away. The one that attacked Taelor must’ve been a decoy so they could steal my light. They ooze into the holes in the lacy pattern, filling the globe until the light is extinguished.
The black void is as heavy as a wet quilt. I hold Taelor’s limp hand. Maybe Morpheus really has turned his back on me. I never thought he would leave me trapped with no way out. Even if he’s furious enough to want me to suffer, surely he’ll come around. He needs my help to save Wonderland.
As if in answer to my thoughts, a glowing light appears in the locker room’s doorway, small and sparkly like the lit fuse on a Roman candle, bobbing in midair. It dodges the plummeting wraiths on the way over, then perches atop Taelor’s knee.
The brightness fades, taking shape: two inches tall, feminine curves, lima-bean green, and naked all but for the strategic placement of glistening scales. Coppery bulbous eyes study me. It’s like being in a staring contest with a dragonfly.
“Gossamer,” I say, as surprised as I am relieved to see her. She was once Morpheus’s most beautiful and treasured sprite before she betrayed him. Either she’s here on her own or she’s made amends.
“Queen Alyssa.” She bows, and her furred wings tremble. She looks over her shoulder at the wraiths. “It is a dark time,” she says in her tinkling voice.
“It is,” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady so I’ll sound regal. I fail miserably. “Did Morpheus send you?”
“Indeed,” she answers. “He heard your call.”
I inhale deeply, reassured that he hasn’t completely abandoned me. “So what do I do? How do I defeat them?”
“You need not defeat them. Simply lead them home.”
“To Wonderland?”