Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(65)

I stare at the swirl of formless beings just behind Gossamer’s glowing body. They bob close to us, as if trying to decide whether Gossamer belongs in Wonderland or here. The light she emanates must be hypnotizing them—confusing them.

“So that’s why they busted the overhead bulbs and stole my lantern? They were trying to get close to the light?”

Gossamer nods. “You must show them the way to the rabbit hole.”

“Why can’t you? Let them follow your glow.”

She turns up her nose at the suggestion. “I haven’t the ability. The light you choose must be powerful enough to illuminate their footsteps so they will return to their place, while at the same time erasing their footsteps, so they will not follow them back.”

I moan. Another riddle. “They don’t even have feet.”

Gossamer lands on my thigh, where my oily handprint from earlier is still damp. She drops to her hands and knees, tracing the shape with a palm the size of a ladybug. “Footprints are unique to every creature.”

I glance at the oily streaks they’ve left upon the floor and walls.

“Use what my master taught you,” she says. The affection in her voice indicates that Morpheus has forgiven her. It also gives me hope that he’ll forgive me. “Send them home.” She takes to the air.

The phantom shapes close in as she floats away. I cover my head with my arms. Even knowing they’re forbidden to touch me doesn’t ward off my fear. “Wait! Don’t leave me. Tell Morpheus I’m sorry I hurt him. Tell him I need him here. Please, it’s important!”

“I must leave. Before the wraiths take me forcibly. And Morpheus is seeing to Rabid’s safety. Do you not consider that important?”

Ashamed, I let my silence answer for me. I was one step away from getting on my knees and begging for his return … just like he said I would.

“He wants you to find him when this is over.” Gossamer flutters into the locker room, leaving me alone to take care of Taelor and the wraiths, the two sides of me now entwined inexorably. I was delusional to think I could ever keep them separate.

The school’s 8:05 warning bell rings, and someone jiggles the handles on the gym doors. Shouts escalate from the other side.

“It’s stuck,” the principal hollers.

“I’ll find the janitor,” a teacher answers back.

My temples throb—thoughts bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls in my head—as I attempt to formulate a plan.

The wraiths wail and shriek, agitated by the human voices. They flap and ruffle through my hair, sucking my breath away in gasps. They rip through Taelor’s fluttery dress and leave the sleeves in rags. I slap them away and shout. They cower, but I know their retreat is only temporary. They’re becoming less like frightened children and more like volatile monsters the longer they’re stuck here.

I have to send them back before someone from the Pleasance High staff opens the doors and experiences full-blown cardiac arrest.

I consider grabbing a strand of lanterns to try to “light their way,” but they’ll only rupture the lightbulbs. How am I supposed to lead these creatures home if they keep destroying my efforts to help?

In that moment I feel my netherling sense awaken, like a flutter behind my eyes, revealing the logic behind the illogical: Only one thing can stand up to living shadows, and that’s living light.

Flames can breathe. They also have the ability to eat away certain kinds of oil, like kerosene. If the oily streaks left by the wraiths are flammable, that could be the answer to Gossamer’s riddle.

In this realm, lighting footsteps while erasing them would be impossible and nonsensical, but not in Wonderland. And now that Wonderland has crossed our borders, it’s reasonable and makes perfect sense here.

My idea is mad and dangerous. I could end up burning down the school. But I’m out of options; not to mention the thought of having so much power at my fingertips is too tempting to resist.

My body thrums with anticipation and a hunger to meet the challenge head-on. To prove to Morpheus I can handle this, that he was right to put his faith in me.

I scramble out from under the table and stand in the darkness, plugging my ears against the wraiths’ shrill screeches. Eyes closed, I concentrate on the lantern garlands hanging on the trees and the ones still scattered across the floor. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there, and I envision the tiny lightbulbs animating, breathing and burning like real candles. My pulse becomes slow and steady, and in the resulting peace and darkness, I give life to the lifeless.

When I open my eyes again, the lanterns glimmer with a flickering orange glow. Wraiths hover over them but don’t attack, as if awaiting direction.

Now the fire has to make contact with the oily streaks. I coax the candlelight to grow within the lanterns until they erupt to balls of flame. The strings between each lantern catch fire, like a dragon float in a Chinese New Year’s parade—lit up in oranges and yellows and reds.

Building on that image, I imagine the blazing strands can move. They slink from the trees—the spray-painted branches igniting in their wake—and slither along the ground to join the others already there. They spread out until no puddle or streak is left untouched.

In seconds, the “footprints” catch fire and the wraiths fall in line.

“Go home!” I yell at them. “There’s nothing here to be collected!”