by A. G. Howard
“I know, Allie.” Mom’s intense sky blue eyes read me through her rose-tinted mask. “I hate tricking him like that, too. But I can’t see any other way.”
Morpheus swoops down in moth form to hover beside me, one of his wings brushing my cheek teasingly. I wave him off and bite back the anger I’ve been suppressing since we kissed. He changed that moment into something it wasn’t meant to be yet.
And I suspect he planned it. That he purposely let his wings fall so Jeb would see.
Morpheus transforms three feet in front of me. “Alyssa, there are no words for your beauty.” He bows graciously.
“Can it, Morpheus.”
He grins and straightens, wings high and regal behind him. I glare at his costume. It’s so typical him. A mix of medieval and rock star: brown leather forearm guards with studs over a ruffle-cuffed white shirt, and a cavalier doublet in burgundy with a gold lace overlay. The hem hits above his muscled thighs, so the skintight burgundy hose taper smoothly into knee-high brown boots, leaving nothing to the imagination. Worst of all, he has a crown.
He dressed as a fairy king. The irony doesn’t escape me.
I scowl.
“Problem, luv?” He looks down on me from behind a gold lace half mask while adjusting the ruby-jeweled crown over his blue hair with velvet-clad hands. Tiny moth corpses are suspended in the rubies, like stained-glass fossils.
I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be the only one wearing anything tight enough to need a codpiece. Always have to be the showstopper, don’t you?”
“Oh, I assure you, what I chose to show is only the start.”
Mom and I roll our eyes simultaneously, and his grin widens. Together, the three of us dig out the duffel bags filled with supplies from the trunk and trek to the back door.
Jeb’s there before we knock, holding the door open. He’s morbidly beautiful with the fake webs, dusty streaks, and strategic rips Jenara incorporated into his tuxedo. The navy blue velvet-flocked jacket with frog closures makes him look even broader and taller, and his pants drape fluidly down his muscled legs. A periwinkle dress shirt and matching half mask complement his olive skin and dark wavy hair, playing off his green eyes with flecks of gray. The satin cravat at his throat combines all the colors in a paisley print.
He shaved and is wearing the brass-knuckle labret I gave him, but it’s not for me. It’s because he plans to kick zombie ass.
“Jeb …”
He looks through me. “You all need to hurry. We have plans to discuss.”
To have him address us as a collective stings like a slap. The familiarity of him is so painfully close I don’t want to move. Morpheus wraps an arm around me to nudge me along, and Jeb’s gaze flits to the connection before he looks away again, jaw tight enough to crack.
We unload the duffel bags on a wooden bench next to some lockers. Jeb unzips them to check our supplies while laying out his strategy.
“The soccer-ball nets are for the toys, since they can’t be killed. We’ll have to immobilize them to get them inside.” He drags out the walkie-talkies. After testing them, he tosses one to each of us. “We’ll separate into teams. Bug-guts and me, and then you ladies. Stay in contact with your partner via radio.”
The radio is no bigger than a cell phone, so I tuck it into my cleavage.
“The potted trees they’re using are huge,” Jeb continues. “Looks like an actual forest surrounds the dance floor. It’s going to be hard to keep watch through them.” He drags out the night-vision goggles and paintball guns, then looks up, frowning. “I said four sets of goggles.”
“Thomas only had one in stock,” Mom answers.
Jeb scowls. “Okay, we’ll make do. There are two boxes of new donations I haven’t checked yet. Our first priority is to look through those for threadbare toys. And if we don’t find anything, we guard the mirrors on the dance floor.”
“And if we do find something, O-Captain-my-Captain?” Morpheus asks, an acerbic edge to his voice.
Jeb loads one of the paintball guns and aims it at Morpheus’s chest. “Then I shoot the creeper, so we can track it under the black lights, trap it, and send it back to the hole it crawled out of, forever.”
Morpheus and Jeb stare each other down. The tension is palpable. I have no idea how they’re going to work together to get this done. For that matter, I have no idea how I’m going to get through this, knowing how badly I’ve already screwed up.
Mom steps between them and guides the gun’s barrel to the floor. She looks at the three of us, and I can see her putting together what’s happened in her mind. “Before any shooting starts, we’ll have to get the people out.”
Jeb’s intense gaze settles on Mom. I’ve never been so envious of her. “Right. We need to set off each sprinkler head so the whole place gets wet. They’re triggered when their glass globes break. Do you think you and Al can bust them with your magic? Set them all off and send everyone running? That’ll be the signal to clear and then barricade the place. Mothra can take care of the entrance while I short-circuit the elevator.”
Mom nods. “We can do that, right, Allie?” She watches me with a concerned tilt to her head, and I know she sees right through me.
“Sure,” I answer. Jeb’s plan is so well thought out, yet I haven’t managed a coherent thought since he left our house. Obviously our breakup hasn’t affected his productivity like it has mine.
We take the large elevator down. Jeb is in the far corner with the duffel bags, manning the button panel, and Morpheus stands between me and my mom. When we reach our stop, Jeb holds the Door Close button. He focuses on me for the first time tonight. My heart dances.
“Be careful,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly with emotion.
“You, too,” I murmur.
Morpheus’s wings sweep up, an obvious reminder of what happened between us earlier.
I frown as Jeb looks away and opens the doors, leading us out onto the main floor, ignoring me again. Snacks are being arranged in a corner next to a half dozen pool tables with felt surfaces so dark they’re almost invisible. Neon balls, pockets, and cue sticks tempt gamers to play.
At the buffet, a glowing blue concoction fizzes inside a punch bowl, and cupcakes with neon rosettes of icing cover the rest of the table. We tuck our supplies behind the hanging tablecloth, keeping them hidden but close for easy access.
It’s time to blend and search.
We fit right into the ultraviolet scene. The people milling around appear just as wild as Morpheus and me. Some of my classmates even have antennae and two sets of wings like dragonflies—made of wire, cheesecloth, and fluorescent spray paint.
The trees Jeb told us about really do look real, and they are at least three times the size of the ones we made in art class—fat trunks and long branches that stick up from the top like serpentine hair. They’ve been painted white and, against the black lights, add a phantasmal element.
I shiver.
Mom pulls me aside and leans close to my ear. “I know something’s going on with you and Jeb, but don’t get distracted. The only way to make it through this is to remove yourself from your emotions. Be cutthroat and cunning. Think like a netherling queen. Okay?”
I nod. She kisses my temple, leaving the scent of her perfume wafting over me as she splits off from our group to sign in at the chaperone table. Her dress and mask appear to float through the darkness, radiant pink swirling around a shadowy blue silhouette. The student volunteer at the table hands her a fluorescent name tag and complimentary tiara of cardboard, paint, and tinsel. She puts them in place, then walks to a box of donations a few feet away. She turns her back, and the radio in my bodice comes alive with her voice.
“I’ll check this one. Look for the other. Over.” Then there’s static, barely noticeable under the eighties monster ballad blaring out of the speakers above.
“We’re on it,” Jeb tells me from behind. “Get to the dance floor. You should find a spot now, before everyone else shows up
.”
“Right,” I mumble.
Morpheus drags a velvet fingertip from my shoulder to my elbow as he passes. “Keep your head about you, Alyssa. I won’t stand for you losing it.” The Wonderland implication behind his words winds a knife through my gut. Then he’s off toward the miniature-golf course.
Jeb shifts his stance behind me, as if he’s leaving, but pauses as a crackle bursts through the overhead speakers, shutting off the music.
“Five minutes till we open the door!” a bubbly teenage girl says over the intercom. “Chaperones, man your stations, and student council members, make your way to the entrance to welcome our fairy-tale guests and take donations!”
Jeb and I wait for the crowd to thin out. I’m concerned that we haven’t found the spirit-filled toys yet. I’d hoped we could do this without Jenara and Corbin and the other students being present. I fidget, and my wing brushes Jeb’s abdomen, causing my face to flush.
He leans in, breath hot on my neck. “You got this, skater girl,” he whispers softly and touches my wing tip, sending warm shimmers through my whole body.
His faith in me, in the face of what I put him through, is so unexpected, I turn to thank him. But he’s already walking away, his back barely visible in the darkness. My wing’s membranes ache from his touch.
Jaw clenched, I head for my post, ducking around busy classmates in reflective costumes. I keep my sights on the phantasmal trees. Once I get inside the forest, my own dress, hair, and wings will blend with their glaring white trunks and branches. From a few yards away, some of the trunks look as if they’re frowning—an odd anomaly formed by the wood grains. The sight triggers a distantly familiar discomfort.
Mom’s voice comes through my radio. She verifies she couldn’t find anything out of place in the box of toys and that Morpheus didn’t find anything in the other box. People stare at my talking chest from behind beaked or glittery masks, their purplish blue silhouettes as unrecognizable to me as I am to them. I ignore them and keep moving toward the dance floor and mirrored wall.
Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Jeb in the distance, his silhouette dark against the citrusy orange skating bowl rising up behind him. A temporary metal partition has been placed on the shallow end—painted the same shade as the bowl and half as tall—to keep amorous couples from stealing inside for make-out sessions.
A shadowy princess stands beside Jeb in a red sequined dress and monarch wings that flare from her shoulders, as incandescent as flames. She places a hand on his lapel, caressing the fabric. I’d know that body language anywhere. Taelor has discovered Jeb, and she’s thrilled he came without me.
Remembering Mom’s words and Morpheus’s warning, I shake off the jealousy and continue toward my assigned destination. As I pass the arcade—a few feet from the white forest—I hear a rustle, like plastic flapping in the wind.
I backtrack and duck my head into the arcade. The dark room’s alive with bouncy music, eerie sound effects, and animated lights. The plastic crinkle continues and draws me in. I pass a line of arcade game machines. Bright colors and graphics streak in my peripheral vision as I focus on the rattle. It’s coming from the Skee-Ball section, where fifty or so prizes, wrapped in cellophane bags, hang from a Peg-Board on the back wall.
Minute movement inflates and deflates the bags, as if something’s breathing inside them. My pulse pummels underneath my jawbone as I creep closer, the prizes becoming visible through their plastic covering: teddy bears and stuffed animals, vinyl clowns and porcelain dolls—all moth-eaten or eyeless, with stuffing oozing from their necks, under their arms, and out of empty sockets.
The restless souls …
“Sneaky,” I whisper and pull out my walkie-talkie with trembling hands. Backing up, I trip over my train and drop the radio. It busts apart on the stone floor.
“Crap.” I bend down to pick up the pieces that are scattered beside a small potted flower I didn’t notice before. It’s a buttercup, strangely out of place here, yellow petals reflecting in the ultraviolet setting like a yield sign struck by headlights. There’s something glowing inside the pot, too, just atop the soil. I lean down and find a half-eaten mushroom, the freckled side gone.
“My child.” A husky purr erupts from the flower’s center. One of the leaves grabs a strand of my silver wig before I can pull back, holding me hunched in place. Rows of eyes open and blink on every petal.
“Red,” I whisper.
She starts to grow along with the pot, a slow and torturous transformation. The spiny teeth in her mouth snarl. “Let’s get a look at you,” she says, as tall as my thigh now and still growing. Her leafy arms and fingers stretch and knot through my wig, holding me close to her gruesome face. “What happened to your hair?” she scolds, obviously displeased. Her breath smells like wilted flowers. “How dare you despoil my vessel.”
“I am not your vessel.” I rip free, letting my mask, wig, and scalp cap flop off. My real hair cascades all around my shoulders—a mass of tangles. I take one step back before my crimson strand jerks against my scalp, dragging me toward Red, as if remembering she created it, as if wanting to let her inside again. I freeze, that fingerprint on my heart incapacitating.
“Ah, better.” Red’s spiny, slimy teeth curl into a smile as she grows tall enough to look me in the eye. “That’s the welcome I expected.” She catches the restless strand of hair with a leafy hand. “I’ll always be part of you.” My body feels the intrusion, as if she’s draining all my blood and filling my veins with hers.
Gathering my wits, I shove her stalk, and she topples, losing her grip on my hair as she hits the floor, pot overturned and leaves rattling. Her mental hold is broken.
“You’ll never be part of me again.” I shake off the attempted possession.
Growling, she rolls on the floor, then uses her vinelike arms to drag herself toward me. Soil spills out of the overturned pot, and she pauses, staring at it. Her hundreds of eyes glare up at me. “Help me or suffer my wrath.”
“Right,” I mutter sarcastically, the netherling in me taking over. The memory of my confrontation with the flowers last year in Wonderland returns. “You can pick up roots, but you can’t move unless you’re connected to the soil. Not the smartest choice, showing up in a cement cave.” I sidestep her attempt to grab at me, heartbeat hopeful. That must be why she didn’t bring the flower fae … why she chose the toys as her army. “I say you just lie there and rot.”
Seething, she lengthens her arms. The leaves protruding from her vines slap the floor next to my feet, an inch away from snagging me. I withdraw farther, watching, almost pitying her helplessness. But I know better. There’s nothing helpless about her, and mercy has no place on the battlefield.
I need to dispose of her, permanently—send her back to the cemetery to stay, although I’m not sure how to get her there. Maybe Morpheus has a plan. I’ll incapacitate her somehow … hold her here until he can help me.
Ripping an extension cord from the wall, I stand back far enough to stay out of her reach and guide the cord with my mind as if I were casting a fishing line. I catch her, then roll her up in it so she can’t move. It’s satisfying being on the giving end of this trick for once.
She growls, struggling in the binds. “Stubborn twit. I’m not the enemy. Do you not realize, I am the only way for you to keep the Red kingdom? Your mother wishes to steal it from you. She’s lied all these years. She wants the crown. Actually tried to win it once. You didn’t know that, did you?”
“I know everything about my family.” Thanks to Morpheus.
I continue wrapping her in the electric cord. If I hadn’t seen my father and mother’s memory, I might actually have fallen for Red’s lie. As it is, her false accusations only make me angrier. I’d electrocute her if it would have any effect.
She grumbles as I finish knotting the cord and ease back another step.
“The spider lurks in the shadows,” Red grumbles. “She wants to give your fairy-tale prince a different ending
this time. Release me and I’ll tell you where she hides.”
Sister Two?
I lift my dress hem and run out, leaving Red incapacitated.
“Catch the girl and wake the trees!” Red shouts. The toys on the wall rattle their packaging to break free.
Wake the trees. Those words are a sick validation for my earlier premonition. Those frowns I saw were more than wood grains.
Jeb sees me run from the arcade entrance and tries to maneuver through the crowd. There’s no time to get Mom. I have to clear out the place before the toys escape and humans get eaten by tulgey wood.
I stare up at the purplish fluorescent black lights on the endless ceiling, envisioning the bulbs on the sprinklers, pretending that they’re rosebuds in a garden, waiting to bloom. I imagine a nurturing rain, their petals opening wide in a push for life.
Popping spreads from one side of the cave to the other, followed by a fall of cold water sweeping in until my hair and clothing stick to my skin. The crowd’s reaction is instantaneous. Screaming girls and cursing guys push their way to the ramps, while others race around, trying to salvage costumes and food.
The chaperones attempt to control the chaos and herd everyone to the exit. I duck behind the arcade sign, and when the last chaperone rushes out of the gym-style doors, Morpheus swoops in to wrap a chain through the push bars, barricading the entrance.
The sprinklers stop at Mom’s command.
“The army’s in the arcade!” I shout as she comes into sight and the four of us are reunited—skin, hair, and clothes soaking wet. “And watch out for the trees … they’re tulgey wood.”
Jeb looks completely baffled, but Mom and Morpheus exchange anxious glances through their reflective masks.
A stampede of decomposing toys scrambles out of the game room and heads for the trees by the dance floor. I can’t see the extent of their hideousness in the shadows. Doesn’t matter. I can still picture the way they looked in those bags—miserable doll eyes blinking, clown faces snarling in pain and rage, teddies and lambs losing their stuffing through rips in their bodies—all of them carrying souls delirious for a chance at freedom.
