Dad nods.
So, without Morpheus’s magic, Jeb would be a sitting duck, and without Jeb, Morpheus would be magically impotent—a fate worse than death in his mind. Come to think of it, he won’t be pleased when he learns we melted his walking stick.
I lean over the edge to let my palm skim a current. “The cane turned into a puddle of paint. Jeb created it, and the water dissolved it.” I frown. “It’s the water that will protect us tonight. Not the island. But why is the rowboat still intact? And the sea horse? They’re also his creations. Why aren’t they melting?” I dry my hand on my pants.
“Jeb didn’t paint the sea horse.” Dad tows the oars through the sloshing waves. “It’s part of the wildlife here. Jeb and Morpheus tamed it. As for the boat. Maybe it has something to do with the answer he gave when I asked about that . . . thing. His image. Why it’s marred.”
“Yeah?”
“He said something about the boundaries of a painting’s reality. That whatever originates on the same canvas can coexist. Most of his paintings are contained within a setting he creates. But the few that aren’t—that he paints on blank canvases—when they stumble into another painting’s territory, unpredictable things can happen.”
I pull apart the threads of his explanation. That explains how Nikki can fly outside in the looking-glass world, and how the elfin doppelganger—CC—could wander the halls. “So, if something is painted in a scene with water, it won’t erode. But if it’s not . . .”
“Right. And I guess in the case of Jeb’s image, it got mixed up with some territorial paintings and its face was ripped to pieces.”
Dad’s words trigger the graffiti’s reaction to me: You should be in pieces. Morpheus said that all the creations know my image, and Jeb had mentioned something about my face turning up in his art. Which means he must’ve painted me.
Maybe the graffiti thought I was a stray painting that didn’t belong in their scene. And they were going to shred me for being there. Or maybe it’s like Morpheus said, and they were seeking vengeance for their master.
A disturbed shudder trails my spine.
“Allie.” Dad’s voice changes tone. “There’s one more thing you need to know: Jeb hasn’t asked about his sister or mother. In fact, he talks about them as if they’re here. As if he’s spent time with them.”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally break loose, fat droplets running down my face. “It’s my fault,” I mumble, swiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I hurt him so much he’d rather stay here and create a false reality than face a world full of bad memories.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that? What aren’t you telling me?” Dad pauses rowing. We’re only a few yards from the island now. I wish he’d keep moving. I don’t want to have this conversation. I feel bad enough without his condemnation.
“Something happened on prom night,” I admit reluctantly. “Before the dance.”
“Let me guess. It has to do with Morpheus.”
I groan. “It was just a kiss! Why is Jeb so hurt over a stupid kiss?”
“Wait a minute.” Dad rocks back on his seat, causing the boat to bob. “You kissed that arrogant . . . ? I don’t even know how to process that.”
“Me neither.” He’d be even angrier if he knew the rest. That it wasn’t the first time. That Jeb also knows about the other kiss Morpheus and I shared in Wonderland. That I told Jeb it didn’t mean anything—a lie—then turned around and did it again . . . even though I hadn’t meant for it to go that far. Morpheus twisted the situation to his own end, like he always does.
“Morpheus is a mistake, Alyssa,” Dad continues, as if seeing my thoughts. “He’s manipulative. He has no scruples. And he’s not human.”
“Neither is Mom. Neither am I. Or Jeb, for that matter. Not anymore. Does that make you love us any less?”
The lighthouse swathes us in light and my face burns under Dad’s scrutiny. “Of course not. But love? Is that what you feel for Morpheus?”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure. It’s all wrapped up in my loyalties to Wonderland. But there’s something real between us. Something powerful.” I sink further into my seat. “It’s complicated.”
Dad starts rowing again. “Well, I know what you feel for Jeb. And it’s simple and pure. You two have been friends since the day you met. And it grew into something more. That’s a tangible thing, Butterfly. And so rare. The best kind of love. He was planning to ask you to marry him. Did you know that? He asked me for your hand.”
My eyes sting. It’s just like Jeb to do something so old-fashioned and beautiful. At least, like the Jeb I once knew.
“He did propose,” I finally manage. “I didn’t get to answer.”
“What was your answer going to be?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “But that was before . . .”
Dad looks up at the stars. “I know. Before he and Mom were taken.”
I consider correcting him, but it would lead to an interrogation I can’t face tonight.
“You’re the only one who can get through to that boy and help him find his way home,” Dad presses. “But you’ll have to let Wonderland go to do it.”
“No!” I prop my elbows on my knees and hold my head to keep it from exploding. “I’m a queen. I have responsibilities there you can’t even imagine. It’s wrong to deny that side of myself. To turn my back on a world that’s depending on me. I tried to do that . . .” I wave at everything around us. “Well, you can see how great it worked out. I’m never running from my responsibilities again. I have an obligation to the netherlings. I care about them. If Jeb and I are going to have any kind of future, he’ll have to make peace with the fact that Wonderland will play a role in every choice I make for the rest of my life.” I think of the diary at my neck. “In every choice I make here.”
Dad sloshes the oars harder, causing water to spritz across us. “You were human first. You have commitments there, too. People who depend on and love you. Don’t get so caught up in power and politics that you forget that. Or you’ll be doing exactly what Jeb is. Hiding from your humanity.”
So, without Morpheus’s magic, Jeb would be a sitting duck, and without Jeb, Morpheus would be magically impotent—a fate worse than death in his mind. Come to think of it, he won’t be pleased when he learns we melted his walking stick.
I lean over the edge to let my palm skim a current. “The cane turned into a puddle of paint. Jeb created it, and the water dissolved it.” I frown. “It’s the water that will protect us tonight. Not the island. But why is the rowboat still intact? And the sea horse? They’re also his creations. Why aren’t they melting?” I dry my hand on my pants.
“Jeb didn’t paint the sea horse.” Dad tows the oars through the sloshing waves. “It’s part of the wildlife here. Jeb and Morpheus tamed it. As for the boat. Maybe it has something to do with the answer he gave when I asked about that . . . thing. His image. Why it’s marred.”
“Yeah?”
“He said something about the boundaries of a painting’s reality. That whatever originates on the same canvas can coexist. Most of his paintings are contained within a setting he creates. But the few that aren’t—that he paints on blank canvases—when they stumble into another painting’s territory, unpredictable things can happen.”
I pull apart the threads of his explanation. That explains how Nikki can fly outside in the looking-glass world, and how the elfin doppelganger—CC—could wander the halls. “So, if something is painted in a scene with water, it won’t erode. But if it’s not . . .”
“Right. And I guess in the case of Jeb’s image, it got mixed up with some territorial paintings and its face was ripped to pieces.”
Dad’s words trigger the graffiti’s reaction to me: You should be in pieces. Morpheus said that all the creations know my image, and Jeb had mentioned something about my face turning up in his art. Which means he must’ve painted me.
Maybe the graffiti thought I was a stray painting that didn’t belong in their scene. And they were going to shred me for being there. Or maybe it’s like Morpheus said, and they were seeking vengeance for their master.
A disturbed shudder trails my spine.
“Allie.” Dad’s voice changes tone. “There’s one more thing you need to know: Jeb hasn’t asked about his sister or mother. In fact, he talks about them as if they’re here. As if he’s spent time with them.”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally break loose, fat droplets running down my face. “It’s my fault,” I mumble, swiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I hurt him so much he’d rather stay here and create a false reality than face a world full of bad memories.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that? What aren’t you telling me?” Dad pauses rowing. We’re only a few yards from the island now. I wish he’d keep moving. I don’t want to have this conversation. I feel bad enough without his condemnation.
“Something happened on prom night,” I admit reluctantly. “Before the dance.”
“Let me guess. It has to do with Morpheus.”
I groan. “It was just a kiss! Why is Jeb so hurt over a stupid kiss?”
“Wait a minute.” Dad rocks back on his seat, causing the boat to bob. “You kissed that arrogant . . . ? I don’t even know how to process that.”
“Me neither.” He’d be even angrier if he knew the rest. That it wasn’t the first time. That Jeb also knows about the other kiss Morpheus and I shared in Wonderland. That I told Jeb it didn’t mean anything—a lie—then turned around and did it again . . . even though I hadn’t meant for it to go that far. Morpheus twisted the situation to his own end, like he always does.
“Morpheus is a mistake, Alyssa,” Dad continues, as if seeing my thoughts. “He’s manipulative. He has no scruples. And he’s not human.”
“Neither is Mom. Neither am I. Or Jeb, for that matter. Not anymore. Does that make you love us any less?”
The lighthouse swathes us in light and my face burns under Dad’s scrutiny. “Of course not. But love? Is that what you feel for Morpheus?”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure. It’s all wrapped up in my loyalties to Wonderland. But there’s something real between us. Something powerful.” I sink further into my seat. “It’s complicated.”
Dad starts rowing again. “Well, I know what you feel for Jeb. And it’s simple and pure. You two have been friends since the day you met. And it grew into something more. That’s a tangible thing, Butterfly. And so rare. The best kind of love. He was planning to ask you to marry him. Did you know that? He asked me for your hand.”
My eyes sting. It’s just like Jeb to do something so old-fashioned and beautiful. At least, like the Jeb I once knew.
“He did propose,” I finally manage. “I didn’t get to answer.”
“What was your answer going to be?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “But that was before . . .”
Dad looks up at the stars. “I know. Before he and Mom were taken.”
I consider correcting him, but it would lead to an interrogation I can’t face tonight.
“You’re the only one who can get through to that boy and help him find his way home,” Dad presses. “But you’ll have to let Wonderland go to do it.”
“No!” I prop my elbows on my knees and hold my head to keep it from exploding. “I’m a queen. I have responsibilities there you can’t even imagine. It’s wrong to deny that side of myself. To turn my back on a world that’s depending on me. I tried to do that . . .” I wave at everything around us. “Well, you can see how great it worked out. I’m never running from my responsibilities again. I have an obligation to the netherlings. I care about them. If Jeb and I are going to have any kind of future, he’ll have to make peace with the fact that Wonderland will play a role in every choice I make for the rest of my life.” I think of the diary at my neck. “In every choice I make here.”
Dad sloshes the oars harder, causing water to spritz across us. “You were human first. You have commitments there, too. People who depend on and love you. Don’t get so caught up in power and politics that you forget that. Or you’ll be doing exactly what Jeb is. Hiding from your humanity.”
