I consider grabbing a strand of lanterns to try to “light their way,” but they’ll only rupture the lightbulbs. How am I supposed to lead these creatures home if they keep destroying my efforts to help?
In that moment I feel my netherling sense awaken, like a flutter behind my eyes, revealing the logic behind the illogical: Only one thing can stand up to living shadows, and that’s living light.
Flames can breathe. They also have the ability to eat away certain kinds of oil, like kerosene. If the oily streaks left by the wraiths are flammable, that could be the answer to Gossamer’s riddle.
In this realm, lighting footsteps while erasing them would be impossible and nonsensical, but not in Wonderland. And now that Wonderland has crossed our borders, it’s reasonable and makes perfect sense here.
My idea is mad and dangerous. I could end up burning down the school. But I’m out of options; not to mention the thought of having so much power at my fingertips is too tempting to resist.
My body thrums with anticipation and a hunger to meet the challenge head-on. To prove to Morpheus I can handle this, that he was right to put his faith in me.
I scramble out from under the table and stand in the darkness, plugging my ears against the wraiths’ shrill screeches. Eyes closed, I concentrate on the lantern garlands hanging on the trees and the ones still scattered across the floor. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there, and I envision the tiny lightbulbs animating, breathing and burning like real candles. My pulse becomes slow and steady, and in the resulting peace and darkness, I give life to the lifeless.
When I open my eyes again, the lanterns glimmer with a flickering orange glow. Wraiths hover over them but don’t attack, as if awaiting direction.
Now the fire has to make contact with the oily streaks. I coax the candlelight to grow within the lanterns until they erupt to balls of flame. The strings between each lantern catch fire, like a dragon float in a Chinese New Year’s parade—lit up in oranges and yellows and reds.
Building on that image, I imagine the blazing strands can move. They slink from the trees—the spray-painted branches igniting in their wake—and slither along the ground to join the others already there. They spread out until no puddle or streak is left untouched.
In seconds, the “footprints” catch fire and the wraiths fall in line.
“Go home!” I yell at them. “There’s nothing here to be collected!”
They follow the fiery trails back into the locker room. The oily streaks burn away as they go, erasing each greasy line. As the last phantom swoops around the partition and the sound of cracking glass drifts from the locker room, a sense of accomplishment washes over me.
I did it. I led Wonderland’s lost defenders home while rescuing my classmates and teachers.
All that remains is the cleanup.
The gym is on fire. I should be afraid. Instead I feel a sense of pride. This is my creation, born of my magic.
The blaze from the trees spreads to tablecloths and crepe paper—a chain reaction so brilliantly spectacular and terrible, I ache to be a part of it … to devour and destroy, then relish in the plunder.
I could do it. I could stand here amid the flames, let them lap at my skin, and laugh in a death-defying haze—because they belong to me. I could watch the world crumble and then dance, triumphant, in the snowfall of ash left behind.
All I have to do is set the power free. Escape the chains of my humanity, let madness be my guide. If I forget everything but Wonderland, I can become beautiful pandemonium.
The flames rise higher … tantalizing … tempting …
Smoke fills the room, gray and sylphlike, lovely in its deadly grace. It trails into the fire and forms what appear to be wings—black and magnificent. A man’s silhouette fills out the image, two arms reaching for me.
Morpheus, or a mirage?
My mind trips back to our dance across the starlit sky in Wonderland, how amazing it felt to be so free. What would it feel like to dance with him in the middle of a blazing inferno, surrounded by an endless power that breathes and grows at our will?
The school bell sounds—three consecutive rings—the signal for a fire alarm. It doesn’t affect me. Let the humans run from the flame. I’ll walk straight into it.
Relishing the heat that magnifies with each step, I move closer to the shadowy wings and beckoning hands, only pausing as a faint sound breaks through my euphoria.
Taelor is coughing.
It makes me hesitate. Makes me listen. Makes me remember.
She didn’t get out with the others. She’s in danger.
I shake off the netherling tendrils wrapped around my mind, shut down my tyrannical desires. The smoky wings and silhouette disappear. I’m not sure they were ever there. In spite of the heat, I shiver, appalled at how easy it was to almost abandon my humanness.