Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(30)

Several minutes pass and the door to the hallway begins to open slowly. I fold my knees to my chest, preparing to use my magic again.

The toe of a cowboy boot comes into view, and Morpheus steps in.

Relief washes over me, chased by a flash of annoyance.

Seeing me surrounded by paper towels on the floor, Morpheus lifts his eyebrows. “Building a nest?” he asks. “There’s no need to start acting like a bird simply because you have a propensity for flying.”

“Just … shut up.” I struggle to get to my feet, but my soles keep slipping on paper towels. He reaches out a hand. I reluctantly take it and stand.

Before I can break away, he clasps my fingers and rotates my arm in the dim light, observing my sparkly skin. It’s a visual manifestation of my magic … a result of using my powers.

“Well, well. What have you been up to?” he asks, grinning. There’s a glint of pride behind his teasing eyes.

“As if you don’t know.” I escape his grip, frowning at him as I check over my shoulder in the mirror to be sure my eye patches haven’t appeared. “What are you trying to prove?” I ask, relieved to see I still look normal although I feel anything but. “Why do you keep bringing that thing around?”

Silence. His confused frown in the reflection makes me furious. He has the ability to look completely innocent even when I know he’s as pure as a pirate.

I turn to face him. “If you didn’t bring it here, you had to at least see it.”

“It,” he says.

“That freak-show toy!”

He smirks, a familiar look on Finley’s unfamiliar face. “Well, seeing as there are boxes all over your school with toys inside, I should say yes. Yes, I have seen a toy or twenty.”

“I’m talking about the clown you sent me at the hospital. Don’t pretend you had nothing to do with that.”

“I didn’t send you any toy at the hospital.”

I growl. Of course he’s not going to admit sending it, any more than he would admit bringing it here.

I push by him, glancing out the door. First one side of the hall, then the other. There’s no one and nothing besides the charity boxes. I start to step out to dig through the donations. If I shove the proof in his face, he’ll have to come clean.

Morpheus grips my elbow and drags me back inside, putting his body between me and the door. “You’re not going anywhere. We have mosaics to decipher and a war to win.”

I glare at him. “I don’t have the mosaics.”

“Pardon?” Morpheus asks, the anger in his voice edging me closer to the wall. Paper towels slide under my feet. “I gave you one thing to do. One. You’ve no idea how important they are to our cause.”

Squaring my shoulders in determination, I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving yet anyway. So stop bullying me.”

“Bullying?” His true face appears, barely visible beneath Finley’s features. The jewels under his eyes flash, as if someone implanted multicolored fiber-optic lights beneath his skin. The dark markings they’re connected to are nothing but faint shadows, an echo of the brilliant weirdness that is Morpheus.

“There’s no need for me to bully. You are coming to Wonderland. Your heart, your soul—they’re already there. Try as you might, you will never be able to remove yourself from a world that beckons to your very blood. From a power that begs to be unleashed.”

I cringe, thinking of my bizarre dance with the clown minutes ago and my magical mishap last night with the willow branches.

“You will meet me after school,” he continues, “in the north parking lot. And bring your mosaics. After we decipher them, we’ll decide our next step. No more excuses. You belong to Wonderland now.”

I lift my chin. “I belong to myself, and I’m not leaving until I’m ready.”

Morpheus scowls, and the hint of jewels blinks a brassy orange—daring and impatient. He studies Jeb’s necklace. “You belong to yourself, aye? You expect me to believe this isn’t about your human toy?”

“No, this is about the Shop of Human Eccentricities.”

His smudged eyes narrow, lit by a glint of interest. “You had a memory, did you?”

“As if you’re surprised. You triggered it.”

“Ah,” he says and pulls back with a dreamy look on his face, neither denying nor confirming my observation. “Those were good times. Mutants, butterfly wings, and tulgey shelves.”

I shoot him an irritated glare. “That’s just it. What do tulgey shelves have to do with anything? Why that memory?”

He shakes his head. “Why are you asking me? Your subconscious was the one that chose to remember it. Perhaps it had less to do with the shelves than how you were triumphant against them. Hmm?”

“Stop dancing around my questions. I want to know … since when is being only half of something the best of anything?”

His mouth purses. “Being a full-blood netherling does make Red superior,” he agrees, and I suppress a flush of annoyance at his egotism. “But weaknesses can also be advantages in the right hands. Pure netherlings can only use what is in front of us, as it is. Queen Red can animate loose vines, chains, other things. But you can create life out of the lifeless by making something entirely different. As a human child, innocent and filled with fancies, you learned to use your imagination. That’s something we don’t experience.”