We rush inside and slam the door, locking it behind us.
Upstairs, Dad is still sleeping. Jeb and I inch toward the porthole. Amid screeches and thundering wings, our tower shakes. Bits of the wall crumble away, forming a wide crack. More bats gather at the opening, trying to dig through the rock. The sky thickens as they circle overhead, taking turns attacking our sanctuary.
The beacon flashes across them in intervals, spotlighting hideous tentacles and veined wings. More and more holes appear in the tower as the walls fail to withstand the collisions.
Gusts from giant wings filter through the openings. The curtains swirl around Dad’s canopied bed and my bare skin chills.
Another bat hammers the tower. I struggle to keep balance. “We’re outnumbered!”
“Not even close,” Jeb answers calmly. His eyes sparkle with netherling sorcery. With a sweep of his fingers through the porthole, grainy cyclones stir up from the ground surrounding the lighthouse. “We have regiments as innumerable as the sands.”
Inspired by his ingenuity, I try my hand. “And arsenals as uncountable as the stars.” Using the trick Morpheus taught me, I reassign Jeb’s night sky a new task: guided missiles.
The stars careen in the direction of our attackers like giant flaming rocks, herding them toward Jeb’s sand funnels. Several goons avoid the cyclones by diving off their bats. They flap deteriorated wings across the ocean in hopes of escape. My star missiles catch them, ripping through feathered chests and knocking off helmeted heads. All that’s left are their corpses—bright orange cinders and black ash afloat atop the frothy waves.
The sand cyclones carry the bats away through the room’s exit.
As the dust settles, we survey the mess around us.
I snort, a bemused and nonsensical sound that’s completely out of place with what just happened.
Jeb glances over at me, grinning. “We still make a great team,” he says, his hair catching a breeze.
“Just like in Wonderland, when you didn’t have any magic at all.”
He doesn’t answer, only studies me thoughtfully. He looks away to wave his hand across the cluttered floor. The tower repairs itself, holes sealing up bit by bit, until only a powdery residue remains.
“Will there be more of those bat things?” I ask.
“They’re harmless without their riders,” Jeb answers. “I’ve got to see how the break-in happened. The graffiti army should’ve stopped it. I also need to make sure the other rooms are okay.”
The concern in his voice touches me. He’s worried about his creations.
“We should both get some clothes on first,” I remind him.
He pauses, his gaze traversing my body. My arms cross self-consciously, though such modesty seems unnecessary after all I’ve promised him. The key at my neck meets my inner wrist and I remember the lost diary.
As if sensing my thoughts, Jeb frowns. “What happened to the book?”
“One of the bats swallowed it. Red’s memories are gone.”
He curses.
Dread and nausea make my head swim. I glance over my shoulder at the bed. The curtains are tangled around the posts, exposing Dad’s peaceful, sleeping face.
“It’s going to be okay, skater girl.” Jeb’s voice is close and soft. He runs a fingertip along my left wing, sending a thousand titillating sparks through my spine.
“I hope so.”
He pulls me into a hug, stroking my frizzed-out hair. “It will. Because you’re not just a girl anymore. You’re powerful and brave. A better queen than Red could ever hope to be.” The heat from his bare torso seeps into my chest, warming me all the way to my toes.
A hissing sound erupts outside the porthole. Jeb breaks our embrace to face the cloud of orange, glittery mist seeping in.
I sigh in relief. “Chessie.”
Jeb holds out his hand for the hovering embers.
The little netherling’s smile appears, although it’s actually a frown because as he materializes on Jeb’s palm, he’s upside down, his tail skewed like a question mark. Tied to his paw is a corked vial. The label reads Stone Counteractant, just above a black-and-white drawing of a scorpion fly.
“You got the cure,” Jeb says, incredulous.
“Thank you!” I take the vial, so relieved I can’t contain a smile.
The furry netherling flips upright but his whiskers droop further downward.
“What is it?” I concentrate on his whirling eyes. “Wait. Morpheus got the cure?” I translate for Jeb. “He went into the castle? But he had a plan for tomorrow.”
He would never do something so spontaneous. Unless he really was convinced I wouldn’t survive another encounter with Red. I’m the only one he would put himself at risk for, because I’m a queen and Wonderland is his utmost priority. But even beyond that . . . because he loves me.
My soul sinks, acutely aware of how I’ve hurt him tonight. And he doesn’t even know. “Where is he?” I ask.
When the answer surfaces within Chessie’s pupils, I drop to my knees.
“Al.” Jeb kneels beside me and forces me to look at him. “What did he say?”
I grind my teeth to keep from screaming. “Morpheus has been captured. He’s scheduled to be the entertainment at the Hallowed Festival tomorrow. The queen is going to harvest his beating heart.”
We pour the curative down Dad’s throat and Jeb releases him from his dream state. Then we take turns showering, getting dressed, and explaining to Dad everything that happened while he was out. Neither Jeb nor I mention our engagement. It feels wrong, to give my dad reason to celebrate while Morpheus’s life hangs in the balance.
Our plan is back on for first thing in the morning when the gates open. We choose our clothes wisely. It would be a mistake to have the added vulnerability of water-soluble outfits on such a precarious mission.
Dad and I will wear the tunic and trousers from Uncle Bernie, while Jeb dons all that’s left of his prom tuxedo: navy blue flocked velvet vest and navy pants. Paired with a navy T-shirt from his painted wardrobe, his outfit is complete.
I’ve yet to fill Dad in on the small detail of Red’s pending possession. Now that I’ve lost the diary, it’s the only way to save Wonderland. He would never go along with the plan if he knew. I’m back to lying to him for his own good.
While Jeb and Chessie search the mountain rooms, Dad soaks in a hot tub. Although the curative dissolved the stone, the muscles and bones in his leg sustained some damage.
Upstairs, Dad is still sleeping. Jeb and I inch toward the porthole. Amid screeches and thundering wings, our tower shakes. Bits of the wall crumble away, forming a wide crack. More bats gather at the opening, trying to dig through the rock. The sky thickens as they circle overhead, taking turns attacking our sanctuary.
The beacon flashes across them in intervals, spotlighting hideous tentacles and veined wings. More and more holes appear in the tower as the walls fail to withstand the collisions.
Gusts from giant wings filter through the openings. The curtains swirl around Dad’s canopied bed and my bare skin chills.
Another bat hammers the tower. I struggle to keep balance. “We’re outnumbered!”
“Not even close,” Jeb answers calmly. His eyes sparkle with netherling sorcery. With a sweep of his fingers through the porthole, grainy cyclones stir up from the ground surrounding the lighthouse. “We have regiments as innumerable as the sands.”
Inspired by his ingenuity, I try my hand. “And arsenals as uncountable as the stars.” Using the trick Morpheus taught me, I reassign Jeb’s night sky a new task: guided missiles.
The stars careen in the direction of our attackers like giant flaming rocks, herding them toward Jeb’s sand funnels. Several goons avoid the cyclones by diving off their bats. They flap deteriorated wings across the ocean in hopes of escape. My star missiles catch them, ripping through feathered chests and knocking off helmeted heads. All that’s left are their corpses—bright orange cinders and black ash afloat atop the frothy waves.
The sand cyclones carry the bats away through the room’s exit.
As the dust settles, we survey the mess around us.
I snort, a bemused and nonsensical sound that’s completely out of place with what just happened.
Jeb glances over at me, grinning. “We still make a great team,” he says, his hair catching a breeze.
“Just like in Wonderland, when you didn’t have any magic at all.”
He doesn’t answer, only studies me thoughtfully. He looks away to wave his hand across the cluttered floor. The tower repairs itself, holes sealing up bit by bit, until only a powdery residue remains.
“Will there be more of those bat things?” I ask.
“They’re harmless without their riders,” Jeb answers. “I’ve got to see how the break-in happened. The graffiti army should’ve stopped it. I also need to make sure the other rooms are okay.”
The concern in his voice touches me. He’s worried about his creations.
“We should both get some clothes on first,” I remind him.
He pauses, his gaze traversing my body. My arms cross self-consciously, though such modesty seems unnecessary after all I’ve promised him. The key at my neck meets my inner wrist and I remember the lost diary.
As if sensing my thoughts, Jeb frowns. “What happened to the book?”
“One of the bats swallowed it. Red’s memories are gone.”
He curses.
Dread and nausea make my head swim. I glance over my shoulder at the bed. The curtains are tangled around the posts, exposing Dad’s peaceful, sleeping face.
“It’s going to be okay, skater girl.” Jeb’s voice is close and soft. He runs a fingertip along my left wing, sending a thousand titillating sparks through my spine.
“I hope so.”
He pulls me into a hug, stroking my frizzed-out hair. “It will. Because you’re not just a girl anymore. You’re powerful and brave. A better queen than Red could ever hope to be.” The heat from his bare torso seeps into my chest, warming me all the way to my toes.
A hissing sound erupts outside the porthole. Jeb breaks our embrace to face the cloud of orange, glittery mist seeping in.
I sigh in relief. “Chessie.”
Jeb holds out his hand for the hovering embers.
The little netherling’s smile appears, although it’s actually a frown because as he materializes on Jeb’s palm, he’s upside down, his tail skewed like a question mark. Tied to his paw is a corked vial. The label reads Stone Counteractant, just above a black-and-white drawing of a scorpion fly.
“You got the cure,” Jeb says, incredulous.
“Thank you!” I take the vial, so relieved I can’t contain a smile.
The furry netherling flips upright but his whiskers droop further downward.
“What is it?” I concentrate on his whirling eyes. “Wait. Morpheus got the cure?” I translate for Jeb. “He went into the castle? But he had a plan for tomorrow.”
He would never do something so spontaneous. Unless he really was convinced I wouldn’t survive another encounter with Red. I’m the only one he would put himself at risk for, because I’m a queen and Wonderland is his utmost priority. But even beyond that . . . because he loves me.
My soul sinks, acutely aware of how I’ve hurt him tonight. And he doesn’t even know. “Where is he?” I ask.
When the answer surfaces within Chessie’s pupils, I drop to my knees.
“Al.” Jeb kneels beside me and forces me to look at him. “What did he say?”
I grind my teeth to keep from screaming. “Morpheus has been captured. He’s scheduled to be the entertainment at the Hallowed Festival tomorrow. The queen is going to harvest his beating heart.”
We pour the curative down Dad’s throat and Jeb releases him from his dream state. Then we take turns showering, getting dressed, and explaining to Dad everything that happened while he was out. Neither Jeb nor I mention our engagement. It feels wrong, to give my dad reason to celebrate while Morpheus’s life hangs in the balance.
Our plan is back on for first thing in the morning when the gates open. We choose our clothes wisely. It would be a mistake to have the added vulnerability of water-soluble outfits on such a precarious mission.
Dad and I will wear the tunic and trousers from Uncle Bernie, while Jeb dons all that’s left of his prom tuxedo: navy blue flocked velvet vest and navy pants. Paired with a navy T-shirt from his painted wardrobe, his outfit is complete.
I’ve yet to fill Dad in on the small detail of Red’s pending possession. Now that I’ve lost the diary, it’s the only way to save Wonderland. He would never go along with the plan if he knew. I’m back to lying to him for his own good.
While Jeb and Chessie search the mountain rooms, Dad soaks in a hot tub. Although the curative dissolved the stone, the muscles and bones in his leg sustained some damage.
