Unhinged: 2

by A. G. Howard

  I’m determined not to disappoint her, knowing I’ll be leaving her soon, that all her work was for nothing. So much of her time went into this masterpiece, and so much of her affection for me. “You’re a genius,” I whisper. “It’s perfect.”

  She fluffs out the back. “Just wait until you’re wearing the mask.”

  I glance at the half mask of white satin laid out on the bed, airbrushed to match the dress.

  “You’re going to look like one of Jeb’s dark fairies come to life. I wouldn’t be surprised if you two end up being crowned king and queen.”

  Her words take me back to a time I wore a gown dripping with jewels while translucent butterfly wings sprouted from behind my shoulders, a time I was crowned as a real dark fairy queen. I can’t decide which title—the high school or netherling one—comes with more prestige, scrutiny, and pressure. That moment in Wonderland changed my future and my past … who I am in the present. I thought prom night would be just as life altering. Jeb and I were finally going to be together in every way.

  But it was all a lie. He doesn’t know the real me—he only knows half of me. I haven’t made peace with the other half yet. Until I do, how can I hope to truly connect with anyone?

  I have to stop wasting my time, craving an experience that feels so far out of reach now.

  “How’s Jeb’s tombstone tux coming along?” I ask, trying to keep myself from spiraling into a funk. I’m supposed to be distracting Jen, after all.

  “Just needs a little more distressing,” she answers with a comical lift of her left eyebrow. “And to think you used to say you wouldn’t be caught dead at prom. Now you’ll have to eat those words because you guys are going to be the hottest dead couple there.”

  In the mirror, I notice that the red strand of hair has caught in the spiderweb veil, looking too much like the blood sword I used to free Jeb’s cocooned corpse. I bite back the whimper climbing my throat.

  Pinning a pleat next to the zipper to tighten a small gap in the waist, Jen peeks around me in the mirror’s reflection.

  “This M thing is weird,” she says, digging through her pin box. “I thought you didn’t know anyone in London. And he never mentioned to Jeb at the storm drain that he knew you. Yet he’s a family friend.” She clamps her teeth down on some straight pins and continues to mold my bodice to my waist, taking pins from her mouth as needed.

  “Well, my mom met him when she was a kid.”

  Jen’s eyes widen, and my tongue locks up. I can’t believe I said that.

  “I mean his dad. My mom met his dad. M and I had never met, so he didn’t recognize me that day.”

  Liar, liar, wings on fire.

  “Ah,” Jen mumbles around the pins. She tugs at the dress to ensure the pleats are secure, spits the pins she didn’t use back into the box, and stands. “Well, I think our limey cowboy is drooling for your bod. Things are going to get real interesting once Jeb gets here. Guys have a way of sniffing stuff like that out.”

  This is the perfect segue to tell her about the bathroom episode. The perfect time to cough up yet another lie and cover my tracks again. “I don’t think he likes me like that. He’s just kind of … eccentric.”

  Jen picks up her sewing stuff and laughs. “Whatever you say, queen of denial.”

  Before I can even answer, either to lie or to finally tell the truth, she’s out the door.

  Weighed down by all the secrets I’ve been carrying for almost a year, by all the new ones piling up, I stare at myself in the mirror, hoping to find something other than the dress to like. Because right now, I’m not my favorite person.

  Dust motes float around my reflection—tinted a glowing orange by the sun. They drift like pieces of scattered magic. I wanted to be an anti-princess for prom. I nailed it by looking like a netherling—the antithesis of all things fairy tale.

  It hits me that maybe this is why Mom doesn’t like the way I dress, because it makes me look like them.

  My stomach drops. It’s not Morpheus forcing the elements of my two worlds together. It’s me. It has been all along. And I’m starting to realize it’s not so much a choice as a necessity.

  I’m so lost in thought, I barely notice the dust motes coming together, forming a miniature feline-shaped silhouette in midair. Beating wings shake me out of my trance.

  In a blink, Chessie hovers beside me, his sharp-toothed smile inquisitive and contagious. I smother a yelp and rush to shut my door, locking it in case Jen gets back before I can convince him to disappear.

  Satin and netting rustle around me as I spin to face him. “We can’t let anyone see you,” I whisper. “Let’s find a place to hide. Okay?” I hold out my gloved palm.

  He perches there on the lace, a warm bundle of glimmering gray and orange fur, like embers on ashes. His big green eyes watch me as I carry him to my dresser and open a drawer. I settle him atop some soft socks and pat his tiny head. Before I can close the drawer, he launches back into the air—wings a blur. Smile widening, he beckons with his front paw, then wriggles through the glass of my cheval mirror, his tail the last thing I see before he vanishes.

  For an instant, the reflection shows his destination: a metal bridge over a dark, misty valley and a quaint village on the other side. Then the glass splinters and crackles, showing only broken images of me.

  In spite of my inner alarms, I reach a hand toward an intersection of cracks and jerk back upon contact. Even though I knew to expect the broken glass to feel like sculpted metal and look like an intricate keyhole, it still startles me. It’s been so long since I’ve traveled via mirror.

  In the human realm, one mirror can take you anywhere in the world, as long as there’s another mirror big enough to fit through at the destination you’re aiming for.

  In Wonderland, they travel by mirror, too, but their rules are different. The glass there can spit you out anywhere in the netherling realm, whether there’s a mirror on the other side or not.

  The one rule that is constant is that you can’t take a mirror from one realm to the other. The only way to come into the human realm from Wonderland is via one of the two portals—one located in the Ivory castle, and the other in the Red. And the only way to get to Wonderland from here is the rabbit hole, which is a one-way entrance.

  Knowing all that, I shouldn’t be nervous. Wherever Chessie wants me to follow is here in the human realm, at least. Fingers trembling, I take aim with the key at my neck. Jeb’s heart locket dangles just below. Seeing it makes me imagine what he would say in this situation.

  Chessie is Morpheus’s right-hand cat. This might be a trick …

  I should just take a peek. Stick my head in but keep my feet planted firmly in the here and now.

  “Envision where you wish to go,” I say, using what Morpheus taught me. Closing my eyes, I picture the bridge and village I saw before the glass cracked. Then I insert the key into the hole and turn.

  When I look again, the glass is liquid. The window of water opens to reveal the metal bridge. Stars shine down on the river beneath it, glistening and welcoming. Wherever this leads, it’s beautiful.

  A woman catches my eye in the distance. She walks along a grassy knoll toward the bridge. I choke on a startled breath. Even in the moonlight, I recognize the black and fuchsia tracksuit. She was wearing it this morning when I left for school.

  Mom.

  Seeing Mom inside the mirror makes my heart flutter as fast as Chessie’s wings.

  “How did you get in there?” I ask, knowing she can’t hear or see me. I touch the key at my neck; I could’ve sworn it was the only one we had. Maybe Red lured her in?

  I yelp out loud at the thought.

  But on second glance, Mom doesn’t look upset or scared. She carries an oversized burlap bag on her shoulder—the one we used to stuff with beach towels, plastic shovels, and buckets for picnics at the lake. That was back when I was little, before she was committed. I loved those picnics …

  Her stride is determined as she heads toward
the bridge. She’s up to something. Something she wants to be doing. When Chessie’s glowing form appears next to her and perches on the bag’s straps, Mom doesn’t even startle, as if she was expecting him.

  It’s too much. I don’t care where they are; I have to get in and see what’s going on.

  “Want it with all your heart,” I remind myself. “Then take the plunge.” I lift my boot and shove one leg into the cool air on the other side, stiffening when someone jiggles my bedroom doorknob.

  “Al, what’s with the locked door?” Jen says from the other side. “Jeb’s here and it’s getting ugly. He got a call from Taelor at work. He and M are in the driveway …”

  No. I can’t do this now. I have to see what Mom’s up to. “I’m busy!”

  “Busy?” Jen screeches from the other side of the door. “Are you freaking kidding? Jeb’s going to kill him! You need to get out here, now!”

  “Crap,” I mumble. As if triggered by my broken concentration, the portal ripples like water filling up a bucket. If I’m going through, it has to be now, before it closes. I fight with myself, desperate to solve the mystery of my mother but feeling the pull of my life here.

  The hesitation costs me my chance. The faux liquid glosses over to reflective glass again. I jerk free an instant before it closes, shutting me off from my mom and all the secrets she’s been hiding.

  I don’t take the time to change out of the dress or tiara. As I scramble down the hall, Jen fires questions about what happened at school. I have no clue how to answer, so I push past her and sprint out the front door onto the lawn, expecting a bloodbath.

  Instead, both guys are standing in the shade of Morpheus’s opened car hood. Neither of them realizes they have an audience.

  Jeb must’ve come straight from his interview. He’s still in his photo-shoot clothes: black jeans, a black short-sleeved knit polo that hugs his muscles, a long-sleeved burgundy tee underneath, and a Japanese-design necktie draped loosely where the buttons open.

  “So, it died on some random street?” he asks without looking up.

  Morpheus nods. “Stopped rather inconveniently, in fact.”

  I purse my lips at the understatement.

  Jeb leans his elbows on the car’s frame and pokes at the engine. “Not sure what caused it. This model has a single serpentine belt for everything, so when it fails, the whole engine stops. But if that had happened, it would’ve been close to impossible to get it started again.” He digs around, getting grease on his hand. “Yours looks a little worn, though. You’ll need to change it soon.”

  Morpheus taps his hat’s brim in thought. “I was afraid of that. What does something like that run?”

  My breath winds tight inside me. I should be relieved that they’re not trying to kill each other, but my mind can’t quite wrap around it. With my mother having an outing in the mirror, it’s too much weirdness all at once.

  I turn to glare at Jen as she steps up beside me. “You said they were fighting,” I whisper.

  She shrugs.

  Morpheus must’ve kept his vow and smoothed things over with Jeb somehow. Which leaves me clear to take care of Mom. Nerves on edge, I start to go back inside.

  Jenara clears her throat.

  I spin, locked in Jeb’s and Morpheus’s gazes.

  They stand there gawking for what seems an eternity. Late-afternoon sun beats down, making the layers of fabric hot and itchy. With everything so quiet, I’m painfully aware of the absence of whispering bugs. Once again, they seem to have abandoned their posts. Lately, they’re either griping about the flowers or just … silent.

  Jeb shuts the car’s hood. I bite my lip as he closes the distance between us, wiping grease from his hands on a bandana that he drags from his pocket.

  “Wow.” His eyes run the length of me, then meet my gaze, relaying a message as gruff and hungry as anything he’s ever spoken aloud: I want to touch you so bad, it hurts …

  His study of me has never been this intense. My legs feel like softened clay.

  He takes my lace-clad hand and pulls me into a hug.

  “How am I supposed to wait until after prom with you looking like that?” he whispers against my ear, then kisses my temple.

  The sentiment leaves me breathless. If only I could enjoy it. I peer over his sturdy shoulder to catch Morpheus watching. He drags off his hat, and the glint in his black eyes tells me he approves of the dress, too.

  I frown, screaming at him with my eyes: Stop wasting time! Get my mom out of the mirror! Find Red so we can send her back!

  “The perfect fairy bride,” Morpheus says, making it obvious he can’t hear my thoughts this time. “All you’re lacking are the wings.”

  Jeb’s arms tense around me. There’s the friction I expected to see between them when I came out. They’re both on their best behavior, but that peace could snap at any moment.

  Jenara shifts so she blocks Morpheus’s view. “Speaking of wings … Mr. Entomologist, I have a costume question for you for Alyssa’s gown. What say we get some cookies and do some brainstorming?”

  He follows her, giving me one last glance over his shoulder.

  The instant they’re gone, Jeb whispers, “I thought they’d never leave,” then leans in to kiss me.

  I sidestep him and edge toward the door.

  He frowns and follows. “You’re mad that I didn’t pick you up from school. I cut the interview short to get here. I have to meet the reporter later to finish the questions. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  His wounded expression twists me up inside. “Yes. I mean, no, I’m not mad. I thought you were mad. Jen said that Taelor—”

  “Mort clarified things.” Jeb tucks his bandana away.

  “Mort? He lets you call him that?”

  “I didn’t ask permission.”

  I tilt my head in thought. “So everything’s cool with you guys?”

  “You texted that you had an ‘encounter.’ So when Mort said that he wanted to make Taelor jealous by pretending to come on to you, and that she exaggerated the details because it backfired and ticked her off … well, his explanation fit. Too bad he made an enemy out of Tae, though. She’s not a girl you want to cross.”

  “Tell me about it,” I mumble, picking up my pace across the lawn with Jeb in tow. “You should hear what she’s spreading around school.”

  “Well, he’s going to clear all that up tomorrow. Old family friend or not, Mothra had no right to use you like that.”

  My feet stop dead, entire body freezing at the nickname. Jeb can’t be starting to remember Morpheus’s ability to become a moth. He wasn’t technically in Wonderland to make those memories … not anymore. Unless Mom was right at the hospital, when she said no one ever leaves Wonderland unscathed. Does his subconscious somehow remember something he no longer experienced?

  “What did you just call him?” I ask, my voice shaky … hopeful.

  “Mothra,” he answers. “You know, Godzilla’s archenemy. Because the guy’s moth crazy.” He gives me a sly grin. “C’mon, you couldn’t have missed his hat. And that car? Gullwings look like moths when both doors are up.”

  “Right.” Of course he doesn’t remember. My thoughts return to Mom and her secrets. “We should go in so I can change.”

  “Wait.” Jeb takes my hand and twirls me so my flower-petal hem ripples. When I’m facing him again, he shakes his head. “Mort was right. You’re like a fairy on her wedding night. Let me enjoy the fantasy a little longer.” His plea is so silky sweet, I can almost feel it on my skin. He kisses my gloved hand.

  We’ve stopped where the grass ends just before the porch’s first step. Morpheus’s laugh carries through the door. The sound transforms Jeb’s expression from admiring to fierce.

  “When I got here, I was ready to kill him.” I follow his line of sight to his motorcycle haphazardly parked on and off the driveway’s incline. He didn’t even take time to put down the kickstand. “I had him pinned against his hood, threatened to give him
another scar on his face.”

  It’s strange, to finally be the center of Jeb’s undivided attention, but now I’m the one who’s torn. One part of me tugging toward the house, and one part wrenching toward him.

  Jeb catches my hand and holds it against his chest. “He said I could do anything to his face. Just asked that I didn’t mess up the car. It’s the only thing he has left of his dead dad.” Jeb traces his thumb over the lace that hugs my wrist. “I saw his scars, Al. Those tattoos can’t hide them. Did you know about the suicide attempts?”

  I nod, reluctant to encourage his pity for Morpheus, yet knowing I can’t possibly explain that those scars belong to someone else.

  Jeb glances at Morpheus’s car. “He told me his dad died hating him. And the main reason he came to the States was to meet your mom. To try to see his old man through someone else’s eyes. To make peace with the memories.” When Jeb looks back at me, his expression is filled with empathy, and my chest cinches tight. It’s unfair that Morpheus is exploiting vulnerabilities Jeb doesn’t even realize he’s aware of. But I have no right to judge, because I’m a user and a liar, too.

  “So as long as he’s respectful to you,” Jeb says, oblivious to my inner turmoil, “I’ll do my best to respect him.”

  His tone is tight and pained, but he’s in control. He’s been working hard not to be violent like his father was. And I’m proud of him, because he’s grown into an honest and compassionate man in spite of everything his dad did to wreck him emotionally. I’ve also never felt more unworthy of him.

  I draw his hand up to my lips and kiss the tattoo where his wrist peeks out from his sleeve. What would he think of me, if he knew how deceitful I’d become? It might as well be me in that mirror in another part of the world, as far away as I feel from him right now.

  “Hey …” He breaks his hand free and lifts me onto the porch. With him still standing on the lawn, we’re at eye level. “You’re too quiet. You would tell me if there was more to the story, right?”

  There is more. I have to find out why my mom’s in my mirror, and I have to defeat a psychotic magical queen … I’m just not sure how to tell you.