Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(22)
“Stop that.” I scowl. “There’s nothing funny about what you’ve done. The guy whose body you stole … who is he?”
Morpheus drops his hat on his head and tilts it. A line of dusty white moth corpses wiggles at the brim. “His name is Finley. He’s a loner. A failed musician. Found him drugged out of his mind in Grimsby, an old fishing town in England.”
“Out of his mind? So that’s how you convinced him to go to Wonderland?”
“It didn’t take any convincing. He was unhappy with his life here in the human realm. Look how many times he’s tried to cut out early.” He turns his inner arms. Underneath four twisted leather bracelets are two snake tattoos stretched along his skin from his elbows to his wrists. They manage to hide part of the suicide attempts and needle tracks, but they also hide Morpheus’s netherling mark, the one part of him that still remains, even while he mimicks another guy’s form.
I think of my own mark beneath my boot on my left ankle, and how it will always be a part of me no matter how many tattoos or layers of leggings I wear to cover it.
My windpipe tightens, making it difficult to breathe. “Didn’t you learn anything with Alice? You can’t just take him away from the ones who care about him. There will be ripples, consequences.”
Morpheus taps the leather braid at his neck thoughtfully. “I chose carefully. He has no one who loves him. I did him a favor. Possibly even saved his life.”
My temples pound. “No, no, no. You don’t get to make that call. He has a life he’s supposed to live here, no matter how miserable it turns out. Something could’ve been about to change, to bring him out of his slump. You’ve taken away his chance to redeem himself …”
“One damaged soul in exchange for thousands of netherling lives. It’s a fair trade.”
My frown deepens. As much as I despise his nonchalance and underhanded tactics, I understand his loyalty to Wonderland and his friends there. So why can’t he sympathize with my loyalties to this world?
“Stop worrying about Fin,” he says, his voice softening. “The boy’s being well tended to. I gave him to the Ivory Queen for a plaything.”
This sets my teeth on edge. “Ivory wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t she? Have you forgotten how she yearns for a companion? I told her his situation—that he was dying of loneliness in the human realm. That he needed love to heal him. Once you know someone’s weakness, they’re easy to manipulate. You’re intimately familiar with this strategy, are you not?”
Remembering my dream in the hospital—Jeb’s screams ringing in my head—I wince.
Morpheus steps closer. “One does what one has to do to protect what they love.” His expression is sincere, and something unreadable lurks behind his inky gaze. There’s more to that statement than a Wonderland reference. Unfortunately I’m too distracted by his looming presence to analyze it.
I brace my hand against his chest: a barrier. “Look, if you’re going to be in my world, there are social guidelines you need to follow. First, there’s a thing called personal space. So everyone you encounter, including me, you need to imagine them in an impenetrable box.” I gesture invisible lines around me with my free hand. “You don’t get any closer than the box’s boundaries. Are we clear?”
His chest muscles twitch under my palm; then he steps back, his cowboy boots scraping on the gritty floor. “Apparently, your giggly friends forgot to wear their boxes today.”
I shoot him a disgusted glare. “They aren’t my friends. And that stunt you pulled out there? Showing your true form for the whole world to see? That is not okay. I don’t know how they missed it, but you can’t do that again!”
He huffs. “Aw, bless, Alyssa. Only you could see that side of me.” He catches the strap of my backpack on the floor with his toe and drags it closer. I try to snatch it back, but he’s too fast. Unzipping the bag, Morpheus digs through my books and papers. “Had you been studying the fundamentals of Wonderland instead of this pointless mortal brain-rot, you would know how a glamour works.” He slides my AP biology book out and flips through several pages, coming to a diagram of the human body. He turns it to face me. “In order for me to become Fin, I had to imprint his form over my own before stepping through the portal into this world. It takes most of my power to hold this mask in place. Were I to let go of the glamour, even for an instant, it would be gone until I could visit Fin again for another imprint.” He snaps the book shut with one hand. “But you? There are moments you can make out glimpses of truth, penetrate the chinks in my mask and see me for what I am. Because you have learned to look through netherling lenses.”
I wish it was that easy to see him for what he is, instead of constantly wondering what he’s up to. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m tired of the games.”
He tilts his head, like a puppy trying to understand its master’s wishes. “I haven’t been playing any games.”
“Right.” I consider bringing up the clown, but there’s no point in wasting time with his denials. Better to get him off my back by pretending to cooperate. “How, exactly, am I supposed to help with Queen Red so you can return Finley”—I stare him up and down—“back to his life?”