Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(36)
“No. The magic always chooses a route unique to the crown’s bearer. For you, that’s an artistic venue. Red is a full netherling; she lacks the ability to set her imagination and subconscious free. You are part human, and an artist. Creation is your power. It’s a power she covets but will never have. Although, if she can steal what you’ve already made and decipher it …”
My windpipe tightens as I take the fork in the gravel road. My duplex community lies about a half mile on the other side of the train tracks.
“That’s why she would do anything to get them,” I answer, dread winding around my heart.
Morpheus nods. “Now do you understand why we need to get to your house?”
In that moment, the railroad crossing arms start to lower and the alarm bell rings.
My intention to “take it nice and easy” is all but forgotten. I shove the gas pedal to the floor, determined to beat the train and get to Mom, too worried for her safety to care about anything else.
The motor roars and the car speeds forward, full throttle, until there’s a loud thump in the engine. Shaking and stuttering to a stop, the Mercedes stalls and the engine dies—right in the middle of the train tracks.
The alternator light blinks on. “Oh, no,” I whisper. “No-no-no.” I grind the key and pump the gas. Nothing happens.
“Start the bloody car,” Morpheus says with a desperate glance out the window on his right, where the freight train barrels toward us.
I turn the key, and turn again, but the engine won’t start.
“Do it!” he yells.
“I can’t! I—I don’t know what’s wrong!”
The train’s whistle blares, no longer lonely but ominous.
“Get out!” Morpheus unbuckles his seat belt. Fingers stiff and trembling, I try to loosen mine, but my skirt is still bunched inside, screwing up the release button.
I sob, and every muscle strains as I put my whole body into pulling at the fabric. Morpheus wedges himself between the console and the seat. First he tries to rip the skirt. When that doesn’t work, he yells at me to take it off.
“The zipper is part of what’s stuck—” I choke on the realization that we’re both about to die. “We don’t have time!”
Snarling, he grips his hand over mine and we push the button together, but it won’t give. “Use your magic, Alyssa!”
My mind races, trying to think of something to imagine that could get us out of this. But panic climbs my spine into my skull, blotting out all thought. I tremble and slam my forehead against his shoulder. “Just leave!” The shrill scream rips from my throat and over the whistle.
The train’s oncoming roar vibrates the car’s metal frame, and I scream again for Morpheus to save himself.
Then all sense and sensation fade. The train seems mere yards away, but the only sound I hear is my pulse racing in my ears. Even when Morpheus shouts the words, “Chessie-blud, a little help!” it’s like he’s talking underwater.
I squint to see the raccoon’s tail, now orange and gray, disappear into the rearview mirror’s glass. A loud clanging bursts from under the hood. The engine roars to life. My hands are locked in place on the steering wheel, but I’m too numb to move. The train is bearing down, only feet away.
Morpheus shoves his leg over mine and gives the car gas. The tires spin, propelling us off the tracks and onto the road on the other side. The train rumbles by, whistle still bellowing, missing us by mere seconds.
Morpheus eases his foot off the gas and pulls the emergency brake. The Mercedes idles quietly. Neither one of us moves. His body is still pressed against my right side, hands gripped over mine on the steering wheel, his rasping breath beside my ear. Sound, sensation, and light sweep back in increments, until everything is too vivid, too bright.
Emotions follow in the wake: delayed terror, confusion, regret … too much, too fast. I shake, unable to hold back my tears.
Morpheus puts an arm around me. “You’re all right, blossom,” he says, his mouth at my ear. “Can you drive?”
I nod and sniffle.
“Good.” He scoots back to his seat, then grabs my chin to force me to look at him. “Next time, I expect you to figure a way out. A netherling way.”
My tears gather around his hand, smudging his fingers with makeup.
“You didn’t leave me,” I utter in disbelief. “I thought you would leave me.”
He releases my face and looks out the opposite window while rubbing his hand on his jeans to wipe off my mascara. “Nonsense. I stayed for the car.”
Before I can respond, an orange mist seeps out from the vents. A smile I recognize from my Wonderland memories appears in the vapors.
“Chessie?” I ask. The rest of the hamster-size creature materializes, looking just as I remember: the face of a kitten, the wings of a hummingbird, and the body of an orange and gray raccoon. He flits to the dashboard and perches there, cleaning the oil and grease splotches from his fluffy fur with his tongue, like a squirrel taking a spit bath.
I shake my head. “Wait … so it was you? You crawled inside and fixed the motor?” He sneezes, then winks one of his wide green eyes at me.
“Chessie’s gift is delineation,” Morpheus says matter-of-factly, still looking through his window. “He can manipulate a situation by making a diagram in his mind and then mapping out the best way to solve it. He sees things the rest of us can’t, and then he fixes them.”