Splintered

by A. G. Howard

  Fingers locked around Jeb’s neck, I tug his short ponytail. To help us fit in at the banquet, we’re both going in costume. He’s supposed to be an elfin knight, so the sprites drew his hair across his ears to cover their rounded tips. I like it this way. His strong jawline and expressive features take center stage.

  “Figured they’d put you in a hat,” I tease.

  “Nah. Those are reserved for worms with wings.”

  I laugh and nudge his shoulders, unspoken permission to put me down.

  He sets me onto the floor. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t tell him my outfit is Morpheus’s creation: a peach baby-doll sleeveless tunic with cascades of ruffles that start under my breasts and go all the way to midthigh. Red lace trims the ruffles and complements the red bondage-style belt encrusted with glistening rubies that cinches my waist. Five sturdy silver rings embellish the belt, matching the gray blouse layered under my tunic. The blouse’s puffy sleeves cover my arms to my wrists, where fingerless red lace gloves peek out. Gray and peach striped leggings coat my legs like candy canes and disappear into knee-high red velvet boots.

  The entire ensemble is a calculated effort to make me look wild and untamed, so the eccentric dinner guests will be more receptive to me. To that end, the sprites wove red berries and flowers into the funky, dreadlock-style braids all over my head, then tucked the hairpin from Alison’s recliner treasures just above my left temple. For some reason, Morpheus was adamant that I wear it.

  I point to Jeb’s elfin knight uniform. “I’ve seen this before. That cross represents the elite of the jeweled elves.” The black pants wrap his legs like a well-worn pair of jeans. There’s a silver chain linked in and out of two belt loops, forming the illusion of five separate strands, and a cross made of glistening white diamonds on his left upper leg. I slide my fingers along the jewels. “You’re not just a knight … you’re one of the royal escorts.”

  Jeb stops my palm at his muscled thigh. His eyes grow intense, the way they did when we embraced on the ocean floor.

  I slide my hand free and he clenches his jaw.

  Embarrassed, I concentrate on the rest of his uniform. The shirt is long-sleeved, made of something clingy. It’s silver with vertical black stripes made of semisheer fabric. I search for his cigarette burns, aching to see them, then notice his spattering of chest hair is gone. “You shaved your chest?”

  He looks down at the sheer black stripes. “Actually, there wasn’t a mirror in my room. Gossamer did it after my bath, when she shaved my face. She said elves are hairless everywhere but their heads.”

  Everywhere? I picture him naked—Gossamer touching his abs, among other places. “That sprite saw you in the nude?”

  He clears his throat. “More than just her. I think there were about thirty of them climbing on me at one point.”

  A surge of jealousy scalds me. My fists clench. “Thirty sprites touched your naked body?”

  “Chill about the sprites, all right? Flying lima beans aren’t my thing. Now, come here. There’s something I want to show you.” He turns me to face the mirrored wall and stands behind me, chin resting atop my head as he lifts his hands to either side of my face. “Check out your eyes.”

  My image stares back, transposed over the moth shadows. I noticed the makeup when I first came into the hall. The sprites did an incredible job making it look real. Black eye shadow dips like curvy tiger-stripes beneath my lower lashes. The lines resemble Morpheus’s tattoos, just a more feminized version.

  “You’ve been like this the whole time. I noticed it when we first stepped out of the rabbit hole. I thought your makeup had smeared. But then, after the ocean, you still had it. I didn’t make the connection until I saw Morpheus without his mask a few minutes ago.” Jeb pauses, looking like he might be sick. His thumbs rub the edges of the black designs. “They don’t wipe away. And the glitter all over your skin? That’s not salt residue. You’re starting to look like my fairy sketches, for real.”

  Feeling nauseated myself, I twine my tunic’s ruffles around a finger. That explains why the octobenus thought I was a netherling. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “We were too caught up in all the stuff going on.”

  I turn from my reflection. “So, the curse is getting worse.”

  “Worse than you think.” Jeb gets behind me and smooths his hands down the back of my shoulders. “There are slits in your costume … are wings coming next?”

  His callused thumbs stroke the naked skin along my shoulder blades. I can’t answer. From what we’ve seen so far, only some netherlings have wings. The idea of something bursting out from my skin makes me woozy. In fact, thinking about the changes I’ve already undergone is enough to make me feel like I’m riding some kind of crazy, runaway carousel.

  Jeb’s harsh scowl stares back at me in the reflection. “Why is it that this curse only affects the women in your family?”

  “Alice was a female,” I answer, still in a spin over the wings question. “Only a female can undo her messes.”

  “‘Messes,’” Jeb says, his frown intensifying. Gripping my arms gently, he turns me around and stares into my eyes. “When I was with the sprites, Gossamer mentioned what you did to the ocean. She didn’t call it fixing a mess. She said it was a test. And even weirder? She seems resentful that you accomplished it … that you’re here at all. Something’s not adding up. We’re not doing another thing to help bug-juice until he’s straight with us.”

  “He’s already told me the truth. He told me the steps I have to take.” I tell Jeb what I learned in Morpheus’s room, though I’m not brave enough to share details about our “melding” moment or the magical chess piece puppet show.

  “So, you’re just going to take his word?”

  “He has noble motivations. His friend’s in trouble.”

  “Stop humanizing the guy, Al!” Jeb slams a palm against the mirror wall. The moth shadows dart away as if startled. “He’s not of our world, okay? And he has this power to get inside your head. I watched you with him in the clearing … you can’t think straight when he’s around.”

  The accusation revives my anger about London. “So, you’re going to play that card? Me not being strong enough to think for myself?”

  “This is different. Look what’s happening to you!”

  “But I can stop it by doing one more thing. That’s all.”

  “Oh, yeah? From where I’m standing, the more you do for him, the more you become like him.”

  “No. You’re wrong.” I tug on one of my braids, wishing I could convince myself as easily as I spout the words. Wishing I could deny that the longer I’m here, the more deeply this place is ingrained in my blood, or that Morpheus is the tourniquet, twisted tightly around my veins.

  Jeb grinds his teeth so hard, his jaw jerks. “We’re not going to argue about this, Al. That’s what he wants. I won’t let him do it.”

  “Do what?”

  He wraps the hair I’m playing with around his wrist and tugs me close, bowing his head so our brows touch. “Come between us.”

  My entire body goes soft and warm at the gruff possessiveness in his voice, but he doesn’t have a right to it. “Did you forget? There’s already someone between us. You’re moving with her to London.”

  “I was an idiot. To think for one second that being on the other side of the ocean could give me any control.”

  A fiery knot tightens in my chest and I take a step back. “‘Control’? Over what? My life? Reality check, Mr. Oblivious: I’m not your ‘kid sister’ anymore. I’m done being shelved with all your other responsibilities—somewhere between clipping toenails and changing dirty socks.” I shove him aside and start toward the glass chair, determined to wait there for Morpheus.

  Without warning, Jeb snags one of the rings in my belt and spins me around. In one smooth motion, he lifts me onto the narrow, crescent-shaped table. My skin trembles beneath his touch as he scoots me all the way against the wal
l, his hips wedged between my thighs. We’re level—face-to-face. The fluttery feeling fills my head—and in the shadow of my darker side, a rush of satisfaction wells up, a perverse thrill that I can stoke his emotions to this gut-deep reaction.

  I brace my hands against his shoulders to maintain space between us, but it’s only for show. My bluff fades to weak-kneed enthusiasm the instant he snags my wrists and pulls them down, leaning in so our noses almost touch.

  “Reality check right back at ya,” he says, his breath a hot rush in the chilly room. “I know you’re not a kid anymore. You think I’m blind?” His fingers lace through mine, pinning my arms against the cold, smooth mirrors so our heartbeats pound against each other. “You’re the one who’s oblivious. Because there’s nothing brotherly about the way you make me feel.”

  My brain shuts down. I must’ve swallowed every moth spirit from here to kingdom come. I can swear they’re rippling through my stomach.

  Jeb releases my fingers and cups my face in his hands, barely touching me, like I’m breakable. “It’s me I’m losing control of. Hundreds of sketches, and I still can’t get enough of your face.” He traces the dimple in my chin with his thumb. “Your neck.” His palm moves along my throat. “Your …” Both hands find my waist and drag me off the table so we’re standing toe to toe. “I’m not wasting another second drawing you,” he whispers against my lips, “when I can touch you instead.” He presses his mouth to mine.

  A spark, hot and electric, jumps between us. Shock and sensation shimmer through me, aglow with his heat and flavor. Six years of secret desire. Six years of denying that he’s the orbit of my world.

  To think, he’s been running from me, too.

  Adrift in disbelief and pleasure, I freeze. My arms hang limp at my sides, fists opening and closing. Jeb’s mouth vibrates against mine in a groan. He coaxes my hands around his neck, bending closer.

  He tastes amazing—like chocolate and salt. Familiar yet new and exciting. I clutch my fingers around his neck. The feelings I’ve been suppressing uncoil and thrash inside me like electric eels, shocking me to life. Every sensory receptor hums, hyperaware. I taste him, breathe him, feel him.

  Only him.

  My lips follow his, pulsing slow and soft and warm. His labret scrapes my chin, a harsh and sexy counterbalance.

  His hands guide my jaw, showing me how to tilt my face. He teases my lips open with his. I run my tongue along his teeth, finding that crooked incisor before his tongue catches mine.

  Maybe I’m breathing too hard. Maybe I’m slobbering too much. Maybe I’ll never measure up to the other girls he’s been with. But it doesn’t matter, because of all the things I’ve experienced on this journey—shrinking and growing, flying sprites, living chess pieces—not a one of them is more magical than this moment.

  His kisses fade to nuzzles along my face and neck, soft and poignant. “Al,” he whispers. “You taste so sweet … like honeysuckle.”

  “Don’t,” I murmur, in a daze.

  He draws back, eyes heavy and dark. “You want me to stop?”

  “No.” I’ve fallen asleep praying for you to look at me like this. To touch me like this. “Don’t break my heart.”

  Moth shadows glide above him in the mirrored ceiling, distracting me from the fierceness of his frown. “I’d cut mine out first.”

  I believe he would. Stretching to tiptoe, I clasp his ponytail. This time, I kiss him. He responds with a spine-tingling growl, fingers digging into my hips. I skim my gloved palms down to find his chest, seeking the scars. Stopping at the chains on his waist, I grip them until the metal bites into my fingers and back us against the wall. A chill seeps into my shoulder blades from the mirror, but the perfect fit of his body against mine lights my blood with a thousand tiny fires, consuming me.

  We’re both so into it, neither of us hears the footsteps until a snarl breaks us apart. We turn to find Morpheus standing there with enough rage in his black eyes to send the Devil packing for heaven.

  Jeb tugs his fingers from the rings in my belt but keeps a hand at my lower back. I touch my lips; they’re throbbing and gluttonous, hungry for more.

  “Well, now, isn’t this cozy?” Morpheus’s voice isn’t liquid this time. It grates like rusted nails along my eardrums. He peels off his gloves and slaps them against his palm, wings droopy and trailing the floor like a cape. “Perhaps you might give Alyssa her lipstick back. We haven’t time to find more before dinner.”

  Jeb swipes my gloss from his mouth. I lick my lips, struck by an inexplicable stab of guilt.

  Morpheus’s lullaby plays softly in my head, melancholy and pinched. The words to the song seem to have been altered to fit his mood:

  Little blossom in peach and red,

  Trapping boys with your pretty head;

  Tease and play, be coy and smart,

  For you will one day break his heart.

  The lullaby sours to shrieking notes in my ears, making me wince.

  Grunting deep in his chest, Morpheus turns to a mirror and brushes his clothes with his gloves. He’s wearing a white flouncy shirt under a red brocade jacket that swings at his thighs. It’s double-breasted with brassy buttons on both lapels. His pants resemble tights—crushed red velvet. Black lace-up boots stop just at his shins. He could be Romeo straight out of Shakespeare’s play if not for the blue hair and wings.

  He whips his wingspan to its full magnificence. The jewels at the tips of his eye markings flash with his temper, from red to green. “Don’t you know, elfin knight”—he turns back to us—“that it is very untoward for a guard to proposition his innocent charge?”

  I frown. What, do I have the word prude stamped across my forehead? “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Morpheus twists his mouth into a wry grin. “Perhaps you were simply pretending, then? To blush like an unblemished peach?”

  Jeb drags me behind him. “She’s not having this discussion with you.”

  Morpheus huffs. “A little late for chivalry. Had anyone else seen that display, your masquerade as a knight would have ended before it ever began. Did you forget to tell him about a knight’s first order, pet? About keeping his hands and emotions in check?” Morpheus’s attention falls to his right shoulder. Gossamer peers out from beneath his hair. She and Jeb exchange a glance.

  Morpheus’s eyes fall back on me, slicing like onyx blades. All I want to do is bask in the memory of my first kiss. Instead, I’m wrestling the notion that I’ve betrayed some nether-realm guy I haven’t seen in years, and for some reason, the thought of hurting him is unbearable.

  Jeb’s stance stiffens. “Change of plans,” he says. “Al’s not going to help you play out this little game, whatever it is. You’re sending us back. Now.”

  Morpheus lifts one side of his mouth in a sneer. He addresses Gossamer again while still staring at me. “Seems you were wrong. You told me the mortal wasn’t a threat. Perhaps you underestimated the allure of our crafty Alyssa.”

  Gossamer studies her teensy feet. Her wings flap slowly, like a butterfly’s at rest. “I thought he preferred someone—”

  “Shush! That’s not your secret to tell!” Morpheus shouts. The volume of his voice knocks Gossamer off her perch. She flutters in midair, hands slapped over pointed ears.

  Morpheus touches a finger to his mouth. “Read my lips, loose-tongued little spriteling. Get. The. Bloody. Box. It’s time to show our maiden and her toy soldier what kind of welcome they’ll receive, should they turn their backs on their one ally.”

  Gossamer whisks out of the corridor.

  “And bring me my Cajolery Hat!” Morpheus calls after her. His command is still echoing when he spins on his heel to study us. Smug, he coaxes his gloves on. “There’s a problem with your request, pseudo elf. I can’t simply send you back. And Alyssa knows this.”

  Jeb casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes wide with questions.

  “Oh, dear me.” Morpheus slaps a palm to his cheek, as if stunned. “Were you too bu
sy to talk about anything pertinent? Or perhaps our innocent maiden was feeling guilty for the money she ‘borrowed’ from your other girlfriend’s handbag, and you, being the noble knight, decided to comfort her.”

  Jeb turns to me. “Wait … that money in your pencil box. Tae did leave her purse at the shop? You stole from her.”

  Morpheus leans in between us. “Well, how else was our Alyssa to skip off to London to find me?”

  Jeb’s gaze doesn’t budge, heavy with accusation. “I can’t believe you lied to my face. You stole money to get a fake passport and planned to go to London all along.”

  “Two for two,” Morpheus taunts, behind me now. “A liar and a thief. That pedestal’s getting slippery, isn’t it, little plum?”

  I elbow him hard enough that his wings rustle. “I did what had to be done to help Alison,” I grind out to Jeb, disregarding Morpheus’s smug smile as he walks by in my periphery. “I only borrowed the money. I’m going to pay it back.”

  Morpheus stops beside Jeb. “She has a point. Motivation always justifies the crime. That’s the law of the land here.”

  “Hear that?” Jeb says, piercing me with the mockery in his voice. “The local cockroach has given you his stamp of approval. And you wonder why I can’t trust you to go off on your own.”

  A tiny fire burns at the base of my throat, an annoying need to justify myself rising like acid. “I had a plan.”

  “Oh, great plan.” Jeb motions to the room around us.

  “Like I could have ever seen this coming, Jeb!”

  Before Jeb can respond, Morpheus steps between us, gripping us each by the shoulder. “Beg pardon, lovebirds,” he intones. “But as much as I’m enjoying this, your quarrel is in danger of upstaging my grand unveiling.”

  He motions to the door, where Gossamer has returned with twenty other sprites. Five of them carry a red top hat with a wide black band holding a peacock’s feather in place. A string of iridescent blue moth corpses drapes the brim like a garland.

  The other sprites bring a black bag too heavy to lift, so they drag it across the floor.