by A. G. Howard
“Love you, too, Dad,” they say simultaneously, their voices quavering. The door closes behind them, and the only sounds are the clock and the rain.
Jeb pulls me in for a long hug and we softly cry together.
It’s difficult to regain composure, but once we do, he drags something from under his pillow and holds it out to me: a white rose . . . crushed and slightly withered, but the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen.
Taking it with a shaky hand, I hold it to my nose. “Where . . . how?”
“I still have a few cards up my sleeve, skater girl.”
I try to laugh, but it turns into a sob.
He strokes my cheek. “Shh. Did you bring my wish?”
I drag it out of my pocket, fighting back more tears.
He closes his hand over mine. “Come on, now. I’ve waited so long to use it. This is the something of consequence. No one needs to suffer through my illness.”
“Least of all you,” I whisper on the edge of tearing up again. “But you could use it to be cured and live a little longer. At least long enough to see Alisia start kindergarten. Magic can work miracles.”
His finger traces invisible lines around my eyes where my netherling markings lie in wait. “You were the only miracle I ever needed. You’ve always blamed yourself on some level, for me losing my muse. But don’t you see? I never lost anything. You are my muse. Even with my creativity gone, you stayed by my side and were always there, inspiring me to be the man I wanted to be. Because of you, I’m leaving behind a legacy. A well-adjusted and happy family who will carry on our memories and traditions. That’s how I’ll live forever, Al. No mortal man could ask for anything more.”
Tears stream hot down my face. It hurts to breathe. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d think my heart was breaking.
“As for Alisia and Scotty, we both know that the older they are when I go, the harder it will be for them. We also knew it would come to this one day. That one of us would end up going where the other couldn’t follow—either way. There was no escaping that. Because we’re from different worlds. Magic can’t make me into someone I’m not. I’m human. Death is part of who I am. But it’s not part of you. You have another life waiting. I’ve had all I ever dreamed of. Because he stood back. Now it’s his time.”
Deep inside, I know he’s right. But to imagine never being able to see Jeb again . . . to never hold his hand . . . to never laugh with him—it cuts me to the core.
“I’m scared for you.” It’s a lie, because it’s me I’m scared for. Facing this much pain alone is paralyzing. “How can you be so sure . . . so calm?”
He presses our foreheads together so all we can see is each other’s eyes. “Because wherever I’m going on this new journey, I get to go peacefully. I have the easiest walk of all. You’re the one who has to stay behind and comfort those who’re still here.”
The pressure builds in my throat. I want to be furious with him for leaving. But all I feel is love and admiration. I can’t even imagine closing my eyes forever . . . facing the unknown. He’s so much braver than I could ever hope to be.
I bury my face in the blankets covering his chest, weeping. “Morpheus once told me it would be harder than I thought . . . I didn’t want to believe him. I thought . . . I thought I was stronger than this.”
Jeb tenderly wiggles the bun at the nape of my neck. “You are. You’re Alyssa Victoria Gardner, the girl who broke through stone with a feather and crossed a forest in one step. You held an ocean in your palm, you changed the future with a fingertip. You—”
“We defeated an invisible enemy with Tumtum berries,” I interrupt, looking up through my tears. “We trampled an army beneath our feet. It was us together meeting those tests head-on.” My voice cracks.
“But it was you alone who woke the dead, and harnessed the power of a smile. You alone who defeated Red and all of AnyElsewhere. You who earned the crown.” Jeb’s voice is husky with emotion. “A magical kingdom is waiting for your reign. You’ve just suppressed that side of you for so many years to belong here, you’ve forgotten what you can be when it’s fully unleashed. It’s time to remember. To never forget again.” He catches my face and presses my mouth to his in the gentlest kiss we’ve ever shared. “Now, we have a chance for one last perfect moment, fairy queen. Let’s make it count.” With his thumb, he blots the wetness that has gathered in my wrinkled cheeks.
I grit my teeth, and hand over the gelled tear.
Holding my gaze, Jeb squeezes the wish to release the scent of longing and brine, then speaks the words he’s practiced over the past week: He asks that he relive the dream we shared on our honeymoon night, so we can be together one last time, young and free, and then that afterward, he never wakes again.
I’ve barely closed my eyes when I’m there, inside his room of dreams where we spent our honeymoon. Silver pillars wrapped in purple garland surround me. At my side, a wicker bench sits beneath an arch swathed in purple and white tulle; shiny Mardi Gras masks hang from rafters on varied lengths of string—purple, black, and silver.
I’m twenty-one again, wearing my wedding dress—white lace, pearls, and airbrushed shadows. I’ve just released a magical ribbon from the box in my hand, and a golden, glittering fall of letters dances around me:
Things I once hoped to give you:
1. A magical wedding . . .
All my earlier fear and sadness vanishes as Jeb appears beside me in his tux—twenty-three years old, smooth olive skin, muscled body, glistening labret. Full of health and vitality. Choking back happy tears, I hold out my left hand where his ring already sits.
He smiles that dimpled smile. We confess how much we’ll always love each other until death do us part, and then he pulls me in for a kiss. A spark, hot and electric, jumps between us. Shock and sensation shimmer through me, aglow with his heat and flavor—just like the first time I tasted his lips. He eases us down onto the bench, and we indulge in passion until we’re spent. In the aftermath, we touch one another’s faces, sharing soft kisses and whispered sentiments. We treasure each moment, each glimpse, each smile and sigh, no longer two singular entities, but one united force.
We lay there in each other’s arms as the scenery transforms around us. It’s still his dream room—although the background changes to allow us to relive every dream he had that has now been fulfilled.
The picnic basket on the ground becomes weightless and hovers overhead. Jeb unties the ribbon on the handle, releasing a new glimmering parade of letters:
2. Picnics at the lake with your mom . . .
We walk through a green meadow, following the basket, then relive the moments laughing with Mom and Dad beside a lakeshore. We’re famished, and feast on berries, chocolates, and wine.
After our appetites are sated, I tug a ribbon loose from a mosaic drifting along the water like a boat. Another glittering sentence is released:
3. A lifetime of shared successes and laughter . . .
I let my wings out. Jeb takes my hand, no longer needing any help to fly. Together, we rise up to the rafters and watch our surroundings flip through other scenes—all of our hopes becoming fulfilled, with each new accomplishment and birth of a child.
Catching me by the elbow, Jeb points to the other side of the room, where his motorcycle idles high up in the rafters, amid strands of white Christmas lights.
It’s the one dream left incomplete, and it will be our final moment together.
We float across and release the bow tied on the bike’s handlebar.
4. Midnight rides across the constellations in Wonderland . . .
Snowflakes and a soft breeze wind around us. The rafters open up to a fathomless night as I settle behind him in the seat. He revs the motor, and the Christmas lights transform into a spiral of white stars coiling and uncoiling in feathery sparks, like curls of lightning. We’ve entered the same Wonderland sky we slept beneath a lifetime ago while in a rowboat on the ocean of tears.
My arms wrap around
his sturdy form and we sway back and forth, our movements synchronized as we climb higher and higher. Jeb gives the throttle some gas and we pick up speed, my wings spreading behind me and catching the wind. I whoop and holler and Jeb’s laughter joins in.
I clutch his waist tighter, the wheels skimming through the moon and leaving streaks of phosphorescent light on our zigzag race through the constellations.
I reach out and capture one star. It fizzes in my hand before crumpling into glistening dust.
DESTINATION
I squint at the sunrise, then look again at the bottle of stardust in my hand, determined to be stronger than the agonized ache behind my sternum. When my family had returned to Jeb’s hospital room that night three years ago, they found me asleep with my head on his chest. They thought he was sleeping, too, but he had quietly slipped away.
As they woke me, I felt something in my fist and opened it to reveal the last token of our time together. Everyone was so busy grieving, they didn’t notice that I had captured a star, or that I slipped it into my pocket—another secret to keep, the final magical stitch to complete my heart.
Sniffling, I tuck the bottle into my backpack along with the other two, and zip it up. The flock of butterflies and moths that have been my veil grow impatient, and herd me toward my final destination.
I turn my back on the human realm, staring into the rabbit hole at my feet.
“Alyssa, luv. Take the leap.”
This time, there’s no question who’s speaking in my mind. It’s the voice of my Beloved Moth.
It hits me how tired and depleted I am. How ready I am to break the bonds of mortality—to step into my forever.
Without another moment’s hesitation, I let my body crumple and fall. I drift, like a feather, and shut my eyes against what I know passes me on my descent: Open wardrobes filled with clothes, pieces of furniture, stacks of books on floating shelves, pantries, jelly jars, and empty picture frames pinned by thick ivy to the dirt walls.
I won’t look because I want his face to be the first thing I see.
At last, I feel his strong arms catch me and set me on the ground. Morpheus—ever waiting—just like he promised.
My eyes open to his immaculate fairy features, untouched by time, flickering in the firelight from the upside-down candelabras. The scents of wax and dust fade to the familiar perfume of hookah smoke.
There’s a grinding sound as the rabbit hole closes overhead, leaving only the candles to light up the windowless domed room.
“Welcome to your new reality, little plum.” He takes my wrinkled and age-freckled hand, holds it to his warm, soft mouth, and drags me in for a kiss—right on the lips—despite that I’m old and frail. He sees beyond that, to what I am inside. To the ruler he’s helped shape in my dreams since my childhood.
Just when I think I’ll drift away on waves of madness and passion, he breaks the kiss. “Let’s get you out of those hideous human clothes, aye?”
A knot of excitement and nervous anticipation scrambles through me as he peels off the simulacrum and removes my tennis shoes. But I stop his hands before he can touch my sweats.
After years of riddles and wordplay and manipulating my subjects in the Red Court, my mind is finally Morpheus’s match. But my body is inferior now. I’m weak and ancient—a sluggish mass of gnarled skin, pitted bones, and atrophied muscles. He’s always been elevated, either in thought or form. From this day forward, I want to be his equal in every aspect—body, spirit, and mind.
“First,” I insist, with a voice more royal and commanding than I ever thought myself capable, “make me young again.”
“As My Queen commands.” Bowing, he reaches around me to the table in the middle of the room, lifts my crown off a pillow, and then places it upon my head.
There’s an enchanted beat . . . not one that I can hear, but one I feel—a rhythm of life and magic that starts in my heart and throbs through every nucleus of every cell, waltzing across the expanse of my DNA. My hair thickens and warms with the pale blond of youth. A few wispy strands twirl around me, shimmering and alive with magic. I hold out my arms, and my skin, breasts, and muscles lift and smooth to suppleness. I release my wings, gasping in rapture as they rip through the back of my shirt and spread tall and proud behind me. Colors bounce off the walls, reflecting the jewels that span the length of my gossamer appendages . . . showcasing every mood for Morpheus to see.
His study of me intensifies, mesmerized and reverent. He’s so quiet and somber, I’m afraid something went wrong.
I touch my face, tapping the soft, flawless skin. “Did it work?” My vocal cords quaver. “Am I normal? Am I me?”
“Not quite, Alyssa,” he answers, his voice gruff. “You have ne’er been normal. You are exquisite. You are transcendent. And you are mine.”
His stake of ownership coils through me—a dare. For one whisper of a moment, it’s disarming, to feel my youth and vibrancy brimming at the surface, tempting me to turn on my charms and meet his challenge. To summon that power—after so many years of being trapped inside a withering mortal shell, of relying on my intellect and wit to nurture confidence and self-respect—is both frightening and exhilarating.
But my hesitation passes in a blink. I’m not intimidated by my sensuality like I would’ve been when I was a naive girl. Now I know to embrace it. When combined with my netherling fierceness and cunning, my feminine wiles will make me invincible because I am a woman . . . and a Red Queen.
I’ll never take my status in either court for granted again.
Morpheus’s admiring stare alerts my competitive side, awakening it. After such a long wait, he’s earned the right to claim me . . . for now. But after we’re married, I’ll claim him right back.
On that thought, I remember I’m completely naked under the sweats hanging baggy on my youthful body. “Did you bring me some clothes?” I ask.
Morpheus clucks his tongue. “As if your footman would let you appear before your subjects in anything less than lace and softness.” His blue hair lights up his smile as he drags some red satin lingerie from his jacket pocket.
I take the skimpy bra and panties, blushing. “Thank you. But . . . where’s the rest of it?”
“Hmmm.” He taps his lip with a fingertip. “What else could we need? You already have your crown. And I brought boots.”
“Morpheus,” I scold, half-mortified and half-giddy.
“Oh, of course. There’s this.” He holds out a freshly clipped red rose embellished with a lace bow. The flower wriggles in his hand as if alive.
I bite my lip, holding back a smirk. “Pretty. But corsages don’t provide much coverage.”
“You think this a corsage? How adorably human of you.” He snorts. “Absolutely no chance of that. I’ve written off proms and everything associated with them for all eternity.”
I’m the one who snorts this time. I trace a fingertip along the flower’s stem. My finger skims his thumb. An electric spark races through my hand at the contact, a delicious sampling of the magic he possesses.
Stepping back, he folds one wing across the rose and blue lightning sparkles behind the satiny veil. When he withdraws his wing, the blossom has flourished into a crimson gown of living rosebuds, lace, and netting.
My heart pounds, because I recognize this dress, and how it matches the suit he’s wearing.
He turns his back so I can slip into the lingerie. As I step into the gown and pull the stretchy lace into place, each rosebud I touch disappears into the fabric, only to bloom again once I’ve moved my hand. It fits perfectly.
“Did you peek?” I ask the moment I’m fully clothed and Morpheus is facing me. The question is rhetorical. I caught him looking at least three times.
He draws me close. “I’m wounded, luv. We both know I’m a perfect gentleman. Now, let’s get you to the palace. You’ve had a long journey. Tonight, you will rest in solitude. I shall give you time to grieve.” His voice is deceptively sincere as he coaxes the rest of my sp
irited hair free of its bun so it can wind around his arms and fingertips.
I tilt my head. “I won’t be spending tonight alone. After all these years, you’re still lying to me.”
His dark gaze glimmers through thick lashes that only half hide the voracity lurking there. “What gave me away?”
I touch the bejeweled face I’ve come to love so dearly. Not in spite of his infuriating tactics, his word wizardry, his tender malice . . . but because of them. “Oh, I don’t know. The desire blinking through your eye patches.” For the first time, I notice he’s not wearing a hat, and there’s no question why: because by the end of the day, a crown will be sitting on his head. I trace the lapels of the crimson suit tailored perfectly to fit his lithe, graceful form—the very suit he wore in my vision of our fiery honeymoon so long ago. His body trembles in response to my touch. “Or maybe because we’re both dressed for a royal wedding.”
His black wings rise behind him, smoke and shadows. His slow-burning smile widens. “What? You expect me to marry you in these old rags?” He rolls his eyes. “Well, I suppose. If My Queen commands it.”
I bark a laugh.
His white teeth shine, his jewels flashing between amusement and adoration, and I know he sees the same thing in the gems blinking along my wings.
“No more looking back,” he says, his gaze settling on the backpack behind me, next to my old clothes.
The sad pang triggered by his statement softens as I concentrate solely on his face. “I have many treasured human memories. Even without keepsakes, they’ll be with me for eternity.”
Morpheus nods. “Your mortal knight was an honorable man . . . he wanted what is best for you. He would want you to be happy.”
I suppress the burn behind my eyes. “Yes, he said I should move forward. You know as well as I, that memories are often the key to that.”
Morpheus purses his lips, restraint and wildness battling for control of his features. “So, does that mean you’re ready then? To move forward?”
“What do my wings say?” I ask, fluttering them softly so he can decipher the jewel tones.
