The moment there’s room enough I roll, around and around. Agonized cries intersperse with dark laughter as the creatures keep coming back for more.
Rolling, faster and faster, I coax the wind to pick me up and rise like a cyclone. I plow blindly through everyone around me, shredding everything to pieces.
I am wind.
I am fury.
I am pandemonium.
I spin and spin and spin like the Gravitron ride, until no more sound is left. Until every last cry and sick cackle is silenced.
When my revolutions slow, I land lightly on my feet, head still cloaked and arms tied. I stand in place as the sound of footsteps sloughing through sediment stirs behind me. I know who it is, even before his gentle fingers, now free of gloves, work at the bindings on my wrists and lift the bag from my head.
Morpheus stays at my back, as if giving me time to absorb the destruction my madness has wrought.
A soft mist coats the air, a precursor to a storm. I blink in the gray light. Nothing and no one is left standing in the courtyard. No walls, no stage, not even the skeletal track. Morpheus must’ve roused in time to seek shelter in one of the towers during my rampage, because only the castle itself still stands, along with the covered portico that opens to the drawbridge. I’ve leveled everything else to ash and dust.
Hart peers out from one of the tower’s highest windows.
I glare up at her. “I am the reigning Red Queen!” I shout. “You are a has-been. And you’ll be a dead one, if I ever see you again!” It’s a promise and a dare.
She lets a curtain fall, retreating behind its black folds.
Manti and the guards and goon birds look out from other openings to survey the damage, but it’s obvious they want nothing to do with me or my rage.
As Morpheus turns me to face him, my attackers’ powdery remains swallow my boots and sift on the wind. Bright red streaks cover my arms, but it’s not the blood of my victims. It’s mine.
I realize now why he asked where my gloves were earlier. He knew it would come to this.
So many emotions flicker over him—astonishment, concern, remorse . . . and the always-present adoration. I raise my hand toward his face and he winces, as if anticipating a slap. Instead, I stroke his cheek and those beautifully expressive jewels under his eyes, then lift to my toes and press my lips to his. His flavor and warmth envelop me. He moans and cups my face on either side, kissing me deeper, but I pull back.
“I love you,” I whisper, because he has a right to know the truth before I kill him.
His jaw goes slack, delicate features sparkling with the mist and the reflection of the soft blue glow of his hair. The fathoms of his eyes open to me, maelstroms of passion and hope and unbridled happiness. I see Wonderland’s wilds in them . . . a panoramic view of the kingdom I was born to rule. Another time, I would have been drawn inside those mesmerizing depths, set adrift with him. Now, those tender emotions are out of my reach.
When he opens his mouth to speak, I place a finger on his lips.
“It’s my love for you that makes this hurt so much,” I say, my voice strong and resolved. “I had faith in you and you betrayed me.”
His face falls and indignation courses through my body, so overpowering I can’t contain it. I siphon off of Red’s dormant state, conjuring her vines out from my skin, commanding they obey me now.
I snap a tendril out and catch Morpheus by his throat, lifting him high. His legs swing and his wings flap helplessly. “I was gullible enough to tell you where he was.”
“Alyssa, wait.” He hisses and struggles to loosen the vine wrapped around his windpipe and carotid artery.
“You just handed him over. You knew better than to trust them. You gambled with his life, after he put it on the line to save yours.” My tears start anew—angry and anguished. As if sympathizing, the sky opens and a cold rain sweeps in to wash the hot saltiness down my face. I lick it from my lips.
I waver, thrown off balance by Morpheus’s weight. My pulse separates into two distinctive strains and it hurts to breathe. Red’s temporary hold on my dual heart is as fragile as she is now, the strands stretching because I’m usurping her power.
I ignore the physical warnings, tighten my noose until Morpheus’s throat bulges and he claws at the ivy strangling him, desperate to breathe. I see our son in his eyes and my compassion surfaces, threatening to soften me, but the queen has tasted vengeance and is intoxicated.
“There’s nothing you can say to fix this,” I murmur darkly. “Not one thing that will merit my mercy.”
Morpheus’s fingernails gouge at the vine and he sips enough air to rasp three words: “You . . . are . . . Wonderland.”
I slacken my hold on Morpheus’s neck enough to let him breathe.
He gulps air hungrily. “I”—he coughs—“will always”—another breath—“do what’s best for you.”
I blink rain and tears from my lashes. “Jeb is dead!” My shout strains my throat and the tendrils holding my heart together. Dizziness rushes in and I wobble. I gather my bearings and drag Morpheus closer. More vines erupt from my skin, wrapping him from his waist to his chest. “How can that be what’s best for me? Answer me!”
“Skater girl.”
The voice comes from behind, not from Morpheus’s compressed vocal cords. I drop the vine from his neck, but the others hold position. I can’t turn around, afraid I’m imagining things.
“Look, I get that he’s a pain in the ass.” A strong, familiar hand touches my bare elbow and the heat stings my cuts. “But it’d be more sporting with a king-size flyswatter. Set him down, huh?”
Morpheus holds my gaze, a smug smirk quivering at his lips. “Told you.” Then he glances over my head and takes another gulp of air. “About bloody time you got back.”
My limbs tremble and I lower Morpheus to the ground. The vines retract into my body as I spin on my heel.
It’s CC facing me. The harlequin doppelganger now wears a knight’s tunic and pants. Chessie sits on his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear. Two of Jeb’s shadow creatures stand under the portico next to the drawbridge to stay dry, their wings at rest as they await further commands.
I watch in wonder as CC transforms in the rain.
The sleeves of his tunic are rolled up, and a glowing purple tattoo begins to appear on his right inner wrist, a sheet of flesh-colored paint rinsing away. The points of his ears, the heart-shaped eye patch, and the mutilations under his left eye melt away, too. His porcelain coloring vanishes as rivulets of black, red, and white track down to reveal Jeb’s clear, olive complexion. Everything—the gashes and the dislocated eyeball, the elfin jewels and ear tips—were painted on . . . made alive at Jeb’s command.
Rolling, faster and faster, I coax the wind to pick me up and rise like a cyclone. I plow blindly through everyone around me, shredding everything to pieces.
I am wind.
I am fury.
I am pandemonium.
I spin and spin and spin like the Gravitron ride, until no more sound is left. Until every last cry and sick cackle is silenced.
When my revolutions slow, I land lightly on my feet, head still cloaked and arms tied. I stand in place as the sound of footsteps sloughing through sediment stirs behind me. I know who it is, even before his gentle fingers, now free of gloves, work at the bindings on my wrists and lift the bag from my head.
Morpheus stays at my back, as if giving me time to absorb the destruction my madness has wrought.
A soft mist coats the air, a precursor to a storm. I blink in the gray light. Nothing and no one is left standing in the courtyard. No walls, no stage, not even the skeletal track. Morpheus must’ve roused in time to seek shelter in one of the towers during my rampage, because only the castle itself still stands, along with the covered portico that opens to the drawbridge. I’ve leveled everything else to ash and dust.
Hart peers out from one of the tower’s highest windows.
I glare up at her. “I am the reigning Red Queen!” I shout. “You are a has-been. And you’ll be a dead one, if I ever see you again!” It’s a promise and a dare.
She lets a curtain fall, retreating behind its black folds.
Manti and the guards and goon birds look out from other openings to survey the damage, but it’s obvious they want nothing to do with me or my rage.
As Morpheus turns me to face him, my attackers’ powdery remains swallow my boots and sift on the wind. Bright red streaks cover my arms, but it’s not the blood of my victims. It’s mine.
I realize now why he asked where my gloves were earlier. He knew it would come to this.
So many emotions flicker over him—astonishment, concern, remorse . . . and the always-present adoration. I raise my hand toward his face and he winces, as if anticipating a slap. Instead, I stroke his cheek and those beautifully expressive jewels under his eyes, then lift to my toes and press my lips to his. His flavor and warmth envelop me. He moans and cups my face on either side, kissing me deeper, but I pull back.
“I love you,” I whisper, because he has a right to know the truth before I kill him.
His jaw goes slack, delicate features sparkling with the mist and the reflection of the soft blue glow of his hair. The fathoms of his eyes open to me, maelstroms of passion and hope and unbridled happiness. I see Wonderland’s wilds in them . . . a panoramic view of the kingdom I was born to rule. Another time, I would have been drawn inside those mesmerizing depths, set adrift with him. Now, those tender emotions are out of my reach.
When he opens his mouth to speak, I place a finger on his lips.
“It’s my love for you that makes this hurt so much,” I say, my voice strong and resolved. “I had faith in you and you betrayed me.”
His face falls and indignation courses through my body, so overpowering I can’t contain it. I siphon off of Red’s dormant state, conjuring her vines out from my skin, commanding they obey me now.
I snap a tendril out and catch Morpheus by his throat, lifting him high. His legs swing and his wings flap helplessly. “I was gullible enough to tell you where he was.”
“Alyssa, wait.” He hisses and struggles to loosen the vine wrapped around his windpipe and carotid artery.
“You just handed him over. You knew better than to trust them. You gambled with his life, after he put it on the line to save yours.” My tears start anew—angry and anguished. As if sympathizing, the sky opens and a cold rain sweeps in to wash the hot saltiness down my face. I lick it from my lips.
I waver, thrown off balance by Morpheus’s weight. My pulse separates into two distinctive strains and it hurts to breathe. Red’s temporary hold on my dual heart is as fragile as she is now, the strands stretching because I’m usurping her power.
I ignore the physical warnings, tighten my noose until Morpheus’s throat bulges and he claws at the ivy strangling him, desperate to breathe. I see our son in his eyes and my compassion surfaces, threatening to soften me, but the queen has tasted vengeance and is intoxicated.
“There’s nothing you can say to fix this,” I murmur darkly. “Not one thing that will merit my mercy.”
Morpheus’s fingernails gouge at the vine and he sips enough air to rasp three words: “You . . . are . . . Wonderland.”
I slacken my hold on Morpheus’s neck enough to let him breathe.
He gulps air hungrily. “I”—he coughs—“will always”—another breath—“do what’s best for you.”
I blink rain and tears from my lashes. “Jeb is dead!” My shout strains my throat and the tendrils holding my heart together. Dizziness rushes in and I wobble. I gather my bearings and drag Morpheus closer. More vines erupt from my skin, wrapping him from his waist to his chest. “How can that be what’s best for me? Answer me!”
“Skater girl.”
The voice comes from behind, not from Morpheus’s compressed vocal cords. I drop the vine from his neck, but the others hold position. I can’t turn around, afraid I’m imagining things.
“Look, I get that he’s a pain in the ass.” A strong, familiar hand touches my bare elbow and the heat stings my cuts. “But it’d be more sporting with a king-size flyswatter. Set him down, huh?”
Morpheus holds my gaze, a smug smirk quivering at his lips. “Told you.” Then he glances over my head and takes another gulp of air. “About bloody time you got back.”
My limbs tremble and I lower Morpheus to the ground. The vines retract into my body as I spin on my heel.
It’s CC facing me. The harlequin doppelganger now wears a knight’s tunic and pants. Chessie sits on his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear. Two of Jeb’s shadow creatures stand under the portico next to the drawbridge to stay dry, their wings at rest as they await further commands.
I watch in wonder as CC transforms in the rain.
The sleeves of his tunic are rolled up, and a glowing purple tattoo begins to appear on his right inner wrist, a sheet of flesh-colored paint rinsing away. The points of his ears, the heart-shaped eye patch, and the mutilations under his left eye melt away, too. His porcelain coloring vanishes as rivulets of black, red, and white track down to reveal Jeb’s clear, olive complexion. Everything—the gashes and the dislocated eyeball, the elfin jewels and ear tips—were painted on . . . made alive at Jeb’s command.
