The drawings shudder and back up, each of them whimpering, even the fairy sketch. They reattach to the walls and settle into place, leaving the adjoining tunnel unguarded.
I scoop up Dad’s dagger and plunge after him, using the red glow from the diary to guide me. It’s the first time I’ve seen the tiny book react in such a way, as if the magic inside is burning to come out. I’m not sure what caused it, but I’m grateful. It saved my life.
Absorbing my wet, weighted wings into my skin, I maneuver down the narrow corridors. The sound of dripping water fades. My plastic boots splat on the stone floor. Every nerve in my body skitters at what the sketches planned to do to me and what might be happening to my dad.
You should be in pieces like the others . . . Shred her!
What did the fairy sketch mean, the others? I squirm in my damp clothes.
The ceiling drops gradually, as if I’m growing again. The sensation is dizzying, but also gives me a sense of security. The bigger I am, the stronger I feel.
Masculine voices echo through the corridor and lure me to a passageway on my right, where soft slivers of light filter from behind a heavy-looking door that’s ajar. I sneak toward it, in hopes one of the voices belongs to Dad.
“You’ve no inkling what you’ve done in your desperation to keep me under your thumb.” It’s Morpheus. “No idea what you caused me to leave behind.”
“It wasn’t desperation,” Jeb answers.
An all-encompassing relief swarms through me at the sound of his voice. I inch closer to the door’s opening.
“The sprites told me Manti was after you,” Jeb continues from the other side. “That he’d sent some goon birds your way. And this is the thanks I get. For saving your ass for the thousandth time since we’ve been here.”
“Bloody hell, my arse,” Morpheus speaks. “Your arse is on a blasted power trip, as always. But you crossed a line. And once I tell you what you’ve done, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
Jeb huffs. “Uh-huh. Sit up here so I can fix your ear. I have a painting to finish.”
The domestic undertone of their interaction is so fascinating it makes me pause. I wonder how long they’ve been holed up here together. For the entire time they’ve been trapped in this realm? I peer inside.
My breath hitches as I see Jeb’s back. He’s shirtless, wearing faded, ripped jeans in a room lit with a pinkish-orange sunset. The light streams through a glass ceiling. It’s like a greenhouse—a carbon copy of the art studio in the human realm where he was trapped a month ago. There’s the pattern again: Everything here is born and built of Jeb’s memories.
Paint glistens in wet smudges on his toned arms. I hold my breath, wishing for a glimpse of his face, but he won’t turn. His hair is longer now, the dark, unkempt waves just shy of touching his shoulders.
Morpheus misled me. Jeb hasn’t changed. He even has the same passions.
There are easels everywhere. Some untouched, others filled with landscapes, a few of which match the changing terrains we experienced in the midst of the looking-glass world. My brow crinkles as I try to make sense of it all.
Morpheus sits on a table in front of Jeb, dark wings draped forward and dragging on the floor. His discarded gloves lie in his lap, and he picks at one of the holes in his pant leg.
His little sprite companion, Nikki, flutters around both guys as if unsure where to perch.
Jeb lifts a paintbrush to Morpheus’s ear, accidentally stepping on the tip of a wing.
Morpheus winces and slaps Jeb’s hand away. “Ouch! Your bedside manner is sorely lacking, pseudo elf.”
Nikki hovers at the tip of Jeb’s nose, shaking a finger. After gently shooing the sprite away, he leans over Morpheus and lifts his brush again. “If you’d keep those things up on the table, there wouldn’t be an issue. Now hold still and stop acting like a little girl.”
A pulse of violet light passes from the wet bristles to Morpheus’s ear. Like magic, the wound heals. I stifle a surprised moan.
Back still turned, Jeb straightens to appraise his handiwork.
Morpheus smirks—a practiced, acerbic twist of lips. “So, is there any particular girl I remind you of?”
Nikki flutters between them, her hands clasped and head tilted in a dramatic gesture. She bats her lashes.
“You’re right, Nikki.” Dragging a fingertip through the paint on Jeb’s chest, Morpheus rubs the smudge between his thumb and finger. “He must be thinking of his girlfriend. Though I daresay, if I were Alyssa, his bedside manner would improve tremendously.”
Jeb throws his brush down and grips Morpheus by his holey lapel, every muscle in his back taut. Nikki hovers, her tinkling voice scolding them both.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Jeb says. “And I don’t want to hear her name. I don’t want her haunting my subconscious.” He shoves Morpheus away. “You remember what happened when her face turned up in my paintings. We have to forget her. Just like she’s forgotten us.”
Ex-girlfriend. All warmth inside me snuffs out. He’s never sounded this discouraged, not even after fights with his dad. And it’s because he thinks I’ve abandoned them.
Morpheus swipes the paint from his thumb and finger across one of the dust rags piled next to him on the table. The look he gives Jeb is devilish delight. “A shame you have so little faith in the one you once claimed to love.” He slips his fingers into his jacket pocket and coaxes out Chessie. The furry netherling flitters his wings, rising. He smiles at Jeb, sincerely happy to see him.
Jeb totters back two steps. “Where did . . . how did he get here?”
Morpheus shrugs. “You should be asking who brought him here. That answer is much more interesting.”
Jeb shakes his head as the sprite takes Chessie’s paws in her hands so they’re dancing in midair. “Al would never . . .”
“She would,” Morpheus taunts. “She did. And she’ll soon find a way into our refuge. Unless your untimely retrieval of me caused her to be captured. In which case, she’s in danger, and it’s on your head.”
“No,” Jeb insists. “She doesn’t care enough to come.”
I want to storm inside and prove him wrong. He’s lost all faith in me. And that fact is more excruciating and unbelievable than anything I’ve faced since the time I first fell into the rabbit hole.
I scoop up Dad’s dagger and plunge after him, using the red glow from the diary to guide me. It’s the first time I’ve seen the tiny book react in such a way, as if the magic inside is burning to come out. I’m not sure what caused it, but I’m grateful. It saved my life.
Absorbing my wet, weighted wings into my skin, I maneuver down the narrow corridors. The sound of dripping water fades. My plastic boots splat on the stone floor. Every nerve in my body skitters at what the sketches planned to do to me and what might be happening to my dad.
You should be in pieces like the others . . . Shred her!
What did the fairy sketch mean, the others? I squirm in my damp clothes.
The ceiling drops gradually, as if I’m growing again. The sensation is dizzying, but also gives me a sense of security. The bigger I am, the stronger I feel.
Masculine voices echo through the corridor and lure me to a passageway on my right, where soft slivers of light filter from behind a heavy-looking door that’s ajar. I sneak toward it, in hopes one of the voices belongs to Dad.
“You’ve no inkling what you’ve done in your desperation to keep me under your thumb.” It’s Morpheus. “No idea what you caused me to leave behind.”
“It wasn’t desperation,” Jeb answers.
An all-encompassing relief swarms through me at the sound of his voice. I inch closer to the door’s opening.
“The sprites told me Manti was after you,” Jeb continues from the other side. “That he’d sent some goon birds your way. And this is the thanks I get. For saving your ass for the thousandth time since we’ve been here.”
“Bloody hell, my arse,” Morpheus speaks. “Your arse is on a blasted power trip, as always. But you crossed a line. And once I tell you what you’ve done, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
Jeb huffs. “Uh-huh. Sit up here so I can fix your ear. I have a painting to finish.”
The domestic undertone of their interaction is so fascinating it makes me pause. I wonder how long they’ve been holed up here together. For the entire time they’ve been trapped in this realm? I peer inside.
My breath hitches as I see Jeb’s back. He’s shirtless, wearing faded, ripped jeans in a room lit with a pinkish-orange sunset. The light streams through a glass ceiling. It’s like a greenhouse—a carbon copy of the art studio in the human realm where he was trapped a month ago. There’s the pattern again: Everything here is born and built of Jeb’s memories.
Paint glistens in wet smudges on his toned arms. I hold my breath, wishing for a glimpse of his face, but he won’t turn. His hair is longer now, the dark, unkempt waves just shy of touching his shoulders.
Morpheus misled me. Jeb hasn’t changed. He even has the same passions.
There are easels everywhere. Some untouched, others filled with landscapes, a few of which match the changing terrains we experienced in the midst of the looking-glass world. My brow crinkles as I try to make sense of it all.
Morpheus sits on a table in front of Jeb, dark wings draped forward and dragging on the floor. His discarded gloves lie in his lap, and he picks at one of the holes in his pant leg.
His little sprite companion, Nikki, flutters around both guys as if unsure where to perch.
Jeb lifts a paintbrush to Morpheus’s ear, accidentally stepping on the tip of a wing.
Morpheus winces and slaps Jeb’s hand away. “Ouch! Your bedside manner is sorely lacking, pseudo elf.”
Nikki hovers at the tip of Jeb’s nose, shaking a finger. After gently shooing the sprite away, he leans over Morpheus and lifts his brush again. “If you’d keep those things up on the table, there wouldn’t be an issue. Now hold still and stop acting like a little girl.”
A pulse of violet light passes from the wet bristles to Morpheus’s ear. Like magic, the wound heals. I stifle a surprised moan.
Back still turned, Jeb straightens to appraise his handiwork.
Morpheus smirks—a practiced, acerbic twist of lips. “So, is there any particular girl I remind you of?”
Nikki flutters between them, her hands clasped and head tilted in a dramatic gesture. She bats her lashes.
“You’re right, Nikki.” Dragging a fingertip through the paint on Jeb’s chest, Morpheus rubs the smudge between his thumb and finger. “He must be thinking of his girlfriend. Though I daresay, if I were Alyssa, his bedside manner would improve tremendously.”
Jeb throws his brush down and grips Morpheus by his holey lapel, every muscle in his back taut. Nikki hovers, her tinkling voice scolding them both.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Jeb says. “And I don’t want to hear her name. I don’t want her haunting my subconscious.” He shoves Morpheus away. “You remember what happened when her face turned up in my paintings. We have to forget her. Just like she’s forgotten us.”
Ex-girlfriend. All warmth inside me snuffs out. He’s never sounded this discouraged, not even after fights with his dad. And it’s because he thinks I’ve abandoned them.
Morpheus swipes the paint from his thumb and finger across one of the dust rags piled next to him on the table. The look he gives Jeb is devilish delight. “A shame you have so little faith in the one you once claimed to love.” He slips his fingers into his jacket pocket and coaxes out Chessie. The furry netherling flitters his wings, rising. He smiles at Jeb, sincerely happy to see him.
Jeb totters back two steps. “Where did . . . how did he get here?”
Morpheus shrugs. “You should be asking who brought him here. That answer is much more interesting.”
Jeb shakes his head as the sprite takes Chessie’s paws in her hands so they’re dancing in midair. “Al would never . . .”
“She would,” Morpheus taunts. “She did. And she’ll soon find a way into our refuge. Unless your untimely retrieval of me caused her to be captured. In which case, she’s in danger, and it’s on your head.”
“No,” Jeb insists. “She doesn’t care enough to come.”
I want to storm inside and prove him wrong. He’s lost all faith in me. And that fact is more excruciating and unbelievable than anything I’ve faced since the time I first fell into the rabbit hole.
