by A. G. Howard
That particular winged man would not be fully formed and free to help her until seventy-five years later, after she’d already lost her mind to age and madness. He’s never forgiven himself for being absent when Alice needed him most.
“You know now . . . that it wasn’t your fault. Right?” My question carries over the swish of grass under his feet.
He doesn’t answer, but I’m not giving up. He needs to let go of the guilt.
“It was Red’s plan all along. She was in my body, in my head. I saw what she kept hidden. She had a vision, back when she still wore the crown. It told her that Alice was the key to everything. That an immortal dream-child would be born through Red’s lineage if she trapped Alice Liddell and lived her human life. Red would’ve made it happen—even if you’d been free to offer Alice help. She was so determined, she made herself forget how to be merciful. That’s something you can’t be responsible for. I won’t have you blaming yourself. Not another day.”
Morpheus’s steps grow slower. “Thank you, blossom. I needed to hear that. But you are mistaken. That isn’t the guilt I’m battling.”
He stops, his back to me, wings drooping.
“I don’t understand,” I say, stalled a few feet behind. I give him space even though I want to touch him, to turn him so I can read his face.
“I brought you into this, just like your mum accused. I never gave you a choice. I put everything into motion—causing you to release Red from the cemetery to save my spirit from being imprisoned. Wonderland fell to rot and you nearly died. And I let you take the blame for it all, whilst knowing that I was the catalyst.”
My jaw drops. I did not just hear an actual confession. Not from him. Did I?
Stepping up between his wings, I wrap my arms around his torso and press my cheek to his back, seeking the echo of his heartbeat with my palms. “You weren’t the catalyst. Red was. And I made mistakes, too. I failed to follow your instructions for my wish.”
“But you were driven by compassion, and a desire to save another. It’s innate in you.”
“It’s innate in you, too. You saved my dad’s life. Twice. Kept Jeb out of the hands of the prisoners for a month. And chose not to crown me and strip away my humanity. All those things took compassion. You forgave my mistakes, so I forgive yours. We start fresh from here.”
“How?” he asks, and I’m touched by the sincere bewilderment in his voice.
I hold him closer. “An old childhood playmate once told me: ‘Second-guessing every step prevents any forward momentum. Trust yourself, forgive yourself, and move on.’”
His wings lift on either side of me, as if they weigh less. His hands find mine where they’re laced at his chest. “Your playmate sounds wise. And handsome, too.” There’s a smile in the statement.
I muffle a laugh against the back muscles twitching under his jacket. “Oh, he is. And humble. Humility is his best quality.”
He snorts softly, then breaks our embrace and secures my gloved palm in his as he leads me just a few more steps, where the mushrooms’ dense growth patterns form a dead end. I know what to expect even before we step inside. Still, I gasp when I see it in the phosphorescent moonlight: a mushroom bigger than a garden shed, half-cloaked in a webby cocoon.
Morpheus watches my reaction. Nostalgia flashes through his expressive gems—along with regret and then tranquility.
I’m hoping I had a hand in that last emotion.
We step up to the mushroom together. The air chills as the shadow envelops us, cutting off the starlight overhead.
“Why did it happen?” I ask, looking at the giant cap. “What made you change from the Caterpillar?”
“It was simply time. Time for me to take my most immaculate form. The one I would wear for all eternity. There were things I needed to do that couldn’t be accomplished in my inferior form. We each have a gradual metamorphosis. You’ve been going through yours your entire life thus far. You’re still not quite there. But one day, you will be complete at last. You will shed your mortality to be the queen Wonderland needs. And then you will have nowhere left to belong but here.”
I swallow hard, because the thought is both inspiring and wondrous. “What was it like for you? Being trapped inside a cocoon for seventy-five years? Was it lonely?”
His profile smiles. “Surely you jest. I had Wonderland’s most fascinating and charming netherling to keep me company.”
I laugh. “Like I said, humble.”
The amused expression on his face grows grim. “It wasn’t company I missed. It was my magic and Wonderland’s landscapes. Being without them. It was torment . . .”
His voice trails. Of course. He’s a solitary fae. Their one true companion—their passion—is Wonderland itself. I think of how he acted after we escaped AnyElsewhere and finally found our way back here. How he stood in the middle of the frozen tulgey wood, wings arced high, and used his blue lightning to shake down tufts of snow from the branches. How he laughed and danced in the downpour. He was carefree and playful, drunk on magic after having been without it so long. And that was after only a month. I can’t imagine how it would be after decades.
“I wonder if it was different for Red,” I conjecture aloud. “She did the same thing, in a way. Gave up her magic for Alice’s imprint. Lived years and years in the human realm without her powers . . . grew old—” I cut my words short, seeing how intently he’s watching me in the moonlight. “Would you be happy?” I ask before he can admit what he’s thinking. It’s incredible how I can read him now. “Living out your life with Finley’s imprint. Aging under his visage in the human realm. Because you wouldn’t be able to use your magic if you wore an imprint.”
Morpheus’s jaw twitches. “Perhaps I could learn to tolerate it.”
“Tolerating a future with me. There is nothing romantic or fulfilling about that scenario.” I place a hand on his arm. “Remember what I told you earlier in the dodo’s cave . . . about the experiences mortality has to offer?”
His eyes meet mine, but hard as he tries, he can’t hide the sickly green flash to his jeweled markings. He looks away, nose crinkled. “Ugh. I remember how pathetically pedestrian they are.”
I nod. “To you, yes. You’re not made for that life. You’re meant to be eternally young . . . free to soar in the skies here in Wonderland. To watch over the world you love. I don’t want you faking it every day for me. It would be another prison, just like your cocoon. Another span of decades without the madness and magic that make you know you’re alive. But me? Ever since I was a child, I’ve aspired to have those pedestrian experiences. It’s hardwired to my genetic makeup. And Jeb’s—”
Morpheus’s snarl cuts me off. “Of course. Jebediah. He would certainly appreciate such a life, being a simpleton.”
“Being a human,” I correct, moving my hand from the bicep that’s now stiff with tension. “For mortals, those things are sacred. It’s innate in us, the desire to grow old with someone we love. To share the simple things along the journey, to cherish each one as the treasure it is. My mom missed out on so much of that with my dad. But they have a second chance now. They can still have some of it. Poor Alice didn’t have any chances. No one to love and grow old with. She aged alone in a cage with a dodo bird as her only companion. That was a tragedy. A wasted human life. All she had were sad fantasies of what might’ve been. Jeb deserves better than that. He deserves something real. So do you. And I do, too. No more pretending. Not between the three of us.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then Morpheus sighs. “When did you get so wise, little truffle?”
I fight the sting of tears in my eyes. “You already know. You had a hand in that journey.”
He shakes his head. “My offer still stands to hide you somewhere. I can protect you from the mortals. They are destined to break your heart in ways I never could.” The words are sincere, his voice deep and gruff, as if it’s already happened and he’s hurting for me.
“Jeb would never—”
&n
bsp; “When he dies one day, he will. Your parents will, too. And anyone else you might outlive.”
My throat swells. If I’m not careful, I’ll lose the battle against crying. “Yes, it’s going to be painful.”
“I don’t think you realize how much.”
I stand firm. “The experience will make me stronger . . . a better queen.” I’ve already faced this fear in my mind. I’ve accepted that it’s the tragic trade-off for living a full human life. “My heart’s unbreakable now,” I add, just loud enough for Morpheus to hear. I hold my hand over the glow behind my sternum. “You and Jeb saw to that.”
“I suppose we did,” Morpheus answers. “He and I outsmarted magic.”
Though his statement is soft and smooth as silk, the unspoken echo—“And now there’s a price to be paid ”—razes through me like a serrated knife.
Jeb paid his price, losing his dreams and artistic muse forever. And now Morpheus is paying his.
Silent once more, he wraps his fingers around my free hand. Together, we fly up to the mushroom’s cap and perch on the half that isn’t cloaked in gauzy threads.
Considering he sliced his way out of the cocoon decades earlier, I’m shocked to see the gauzy blanket move like a living, breathing thing. There’s something the size of a rottweiler inside making snoring sounds.
I flap my wings nervously, but Morpheus holds me in place. Frowning, I turn to him. “You said no more tricks tonight,” I accuse.
“This isn’t a trick. ’Tis a gift. Although it is a bit tricky, in that it’s dangerous in the wrong hands.”
The hairs on my neck stand up. “Dangerous?”
“Feral. That’s a better description.”
I inch toward the mushroom’s edge to escape.
He catches my wrist and stops me. “Tut, be brave. You are a Red Queen. You’ve nothing to fear of the creatures of this world. In fact, this particular creature will be loyal and devoted only to you. We’re going to see to that right now. It is the rest of Wonderland who needs to be wary after tonight. So . . .”
“So?”
“This gift was no easy feat to wrap. At least give me the pleasure of watching you open it.” He draws a shimmery silver blade as small as a fillet knife from his jacket and offers it on his outstretched palm.
The vorpal sword. The most magical weapon in all of Wonderland.
I pause. “This is mine now?”
He laughs. “Absolutely not. The vorpal sword will always belong to me. I worked hard for it.”
I scowl at him.
Grinning sheepishly, he clears his throat. “Well, with some help from you, of course. ’Tis why I’m willing to let you borrow it on special occasions.”
“That’s grand of you.” I wrinkle my nose at him playfully, then take the sword. Just as I remember, the handle feels warm even through my gloves. Everywhere I touch, glowing blue prints appear on the silver metal. I prepare to slice through the thick white web.
Morpheus stalls me with a fingertip at my elbow. “Be sure to step back the moment it’s free, luv.”
I squint. “Seriously?”
“It will be fine. Their kind awakens rather slowly.”
Their kind. My stomach knots. Fingers trembling, I slice through the sticky webbing. A sparkle of magic chases the cutting motions as the cocoon peels open. A stench, ten times worse than rotten cabbage, drifts out. Covering my nose, I step back and return the vorpal sword to Morpheus’s waiting hand.
Both sides of the cocoon fall apart to reveal a snoozing dog-size creature with a rhino’s gray hide. Its triangular, feline head snuggles between scaled forepaws. I recognize what it is, although I’ve never seen one smaller than a freight car. It must be a baby. A really big baby. I gulp.
“Queen Alyssa,” Morpheus says in a low voice. “Meet your royal pet, the bandersnatch.”
I stare, gaping.
“Remember,” Morpheus continues, “I once told you Grenadine had the word the original bandersnatch was trained to obey. It was a command passed down in the Red Kingdom from queen to queen. But she couldn’t remember it, and lost the ribbon that held that secret. It’s moot now anyway, since the royal bandersnatch died at my hand. So tonight, it is up to you to start a new legacy.”
I don’t even have time to respond before the creature’s milky white eyes snap open. It snarls, exposing fangs like a reptilian saber-toothed tiger. In one blink, three tongues lash out. At the ends of each appendage, a snakelike face opens toothless jaws and hisses, like eels.
I dart toward the mushroom’s edge, too late. One tongue captures my ankle and I’m left dangling upside down, some ten feet from the ground, my skirt ballooning around my head and all the blood rushing into my skull. The creature’s drool oozes from my shin to my thigh.
“Morpheus!” I screech, furious he’s already beneath me standing on the grass, safely out of reach of the creature.
The noose on my ankle tightens and I feel my body being dragged upward toward the snarling bandersnatch pup. I wriggle.
“Morpheus, get me out of this!”
“Get yourself out. It’s imperative you do it. Cut yourself free.” He uses his blue magic to guide the vorpal sword up to me.
I snag the blade’s handle but pause. The second I’m loose, I’ll descend headfirst to the ground. There’s not enough distance for my wings to slow the fall.
“Oh, get on with it,” Morpheus scolds, impatient. “You bloody well know I’ll catch you. Why else would I be standing down here?”
“Well,” I grump, “my first guess is so you can see up my dress.”
“I’ll admit, the view is spectacular. But that’s merely a happy coincidence.”
“As if anything with you is ever a coincidence.”
His smug chuckle grinds through me.
Snarling, I sever the tongue with one clean cut. The bandersnatch yelps and I regret having to hurt him.
My stomach flips as I fall, but Morpheus catches me, just as promised.
“Well done,” he says like he has so many times throughout my life. He cradles me close.
I tighten my arms around the nape of his neck, my head snuggled under his chin, reluctant to let him go. He squeezes me against his warm chest, as if he shares my hesitation. Then he sets me down. Without explanation, he flies up to the cap where the bandersnatch is bellowing. Soon, the creature grows quiet.
I stare at the beast’s severed tongue. It flops on the ground beside me as if alive, hissing—strange sounds like whispers—as it slithers ever closer. I back up a few steps.
Morpheus returns from atop the mushroom, picks up the vorpal sword I dropped, and wipes blood and sparkling magic from the blade before slipping it into his jacket pocket.
“What did you do with the bandersnatch?” I ask.
“I put him back to sleep for the journey to your castle. When he wakes, he’ll be healing and ill-tempered, so we will need to have him confined.”
“Healing? How? The bandersnatch’s hide is indestructible, not its tongues.”
“True. However, they’re regenerative if they’re cut with the vorpal sword. It will grow back. And the severed tongue”—he glances down at the bloody detached piece, which has found its way to the tip of my boot—“becomes an extension of the beast’s spirit.”
The oozing, slimy appendage pats my toe, making sucking sounds, like a plant searching for a place to root. The whispers it emits become louder, but still impossible to decipher. I shudder and prepare to kick it away.
“No. Pick it up,” Morpheus insists.
I shudder again.
“Since when have you been squeamish, my fair assassin of bugs, flowers, and mutated prisoners?” Morpheus teases.
“Since I saw the damage those tongues can do. When they carried you away to what I thought was your death.” Remembering how horrible it was to watch him be swallowed alive stings my chest and my eyes.
Morpheus smiles gently, obviously pleased I’m still affected by his sacrifice over a year ago. �
�You want I should have faith in you. Then show me the same courtesy. That tongue retains the most integral part of the bandersnatch. Each of these creatures has something unique to them alone. Something that soothes them. They’re born with it. Take off your gloves and hold the tongue in your hand—flesh to flesh. Let it impart the wisdom. Thus, you’ll know the word which will tame it, in its own language. It’s a form of Deathspeak, but because you spared the beast’s life and took only its tongue, it doesn’t bind you to the bandersnatch’s command. Instead, it binds the beast to yours.”
Pressing my lips together, I do as he says. The moment my bare skin touches the squishy, warm tongue, the whispers rush through me, lighting my skin for an instant, then fading. The tongue withers to a black, dried thing, and I toss it down.
The word spins inside me . . . in a language I’ve never heard. Yet I know exactly how to articulate it.
I start to speak it aloud but Morpheus touches a finger to my lips. “Never tell anyone the word. You’ll only pass it down to another Red Queen, should one succeed you some day. Not even your king can know it.”
He crouches to pick up my gloves. I seek the courage to ask him if that king will be him. If he’s going to wait for me. But I have no right to expect him to make such a sacrifice, so I bite my lip instead.
“We need to go,” he says. “We’ll drop the bandersnatch at the Red castle. You should set things to rights there before spending the night at my manor. Starting tomorrow, when you visit in your dreamscapes, I’ll show you how to train the beastly pup to obey your secret word. As he grows, he will learn to respond to your call.”
Morpheus binds the bandersnatch in a net of blue magic and levitates it down from the mushroom, then drags it behind us as we head back to the carriage.
“One last thing, Alyssa.” The words drift from over his shoulder. “I brought you to Alice’s haunts because Jebediah didn’t share them with you. They belong to me and you alone. Part of our history, part of how we came together. And they will be here waiting, when you return to live reality here in Wonderland. When. I’m taking you at your word. Be the one soul who doesn’t let me down. That is all I ask. For now.”
