Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(76)
Crouched beside me, he weaves his fingers through my hair on either side of my face, his expression changing to reverence. “You were magnificent today, little blossom. My one regret is the same as yours. That we didn’t share a dance in the flames.”
I gasp. He was at school this morning, luring me into the fire, daring me to give over to the darkness. Before I can react, Chessie flies between us in the same instant Morpheus is jerked away.
“Get off of her!” Jeb flings him across the room, surprisingly strong for someone who was unconscious seconds ago. Morpheus hits the floor and rolls, wings acting as a cushion. His hat slaps the wall, dispersing into the moths once more. Some fly up to the skylights, others toward the closet, and the remainder flutter to the loft.
Jeb staggers, struggling with his balance. In wide-eyed wonder, he watches Chessie buzz along the ceiling with the moths. “That’s no costume.”
“Bloody genius observation.” Morpheus stands and shakes out his wings.
“What … is … that thing?” Jeb asks, staring at Morpheus now.
“You don’t remember?” I respond. I motion to the paintings around us. Jeb turns on his heel to take them in, then pales. “Agh!” He grabs his temples, crumpling to a fetal position on the floor.
Horrified, I kneel down, dragging his head into my lap. He wails.
“Jeb, open your eyes, please.”
He grips his temples with white-knuckled hands—face scrunched up in pain.
“What’s wrong with him?” I shout to Morpheus.
Morpheus brushes himself off leisurely, as if Jeb’s screaming were a trivial inconvenience. “Those weren’t his memories he painted. They were yours, held within your blood. Some residual blood on the paintbrushes must have gotten mixed in with the regular paint.”
Jeb moans and curls into a ball. He convulses—his chest and arm muscles contracting.
My body twitches and aches in sympathy. It’s like barbed wire wraps my joints and tendons, tightening with Jeb’s movements. “What’s happening to him?” I whimper.
Morpheus looks up at the moths bumping against the ceiling’s glass panes, unconcerned. He squints in the sunlight. “Seeing your memories has made his subconscious aware that there are holes in his own. It must be an excruciating sensation, having Swiss cheese for your brain. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to remedy my hat.”
I struggle to contain the rage rising in me. “Who cares about your stupid hat! For once think of someone besides yourself!”
My outburst catches Morpheus’s attention. He looks at me curiously, almost detached.
“Help Jeb. For me,” I urge, feeling only a sliver of guilt for exploiting his affections. After all, he’s the one who taught me how to use people’s weaknesses.
There’s a crack in his veneer of indifference. He strides over, kneels down, and cups his palms around Jeb’s temples. Blue light pulses through Jeb from his head to his bare feet, and he relaxes.
Clearing his throat, Morpheus stands and walks away. “I made him sleep. His dreams will keep him out of pain for now. But the only way to save him from madness is to reunite him with his lost memories. That means a train ride. And I am not getting on any train without my Peregrination Cap.”
With Chessie’s help, he coaxes the frightened moths down from the skylights, rebuilding his hat piece by piece. Enough insects are still missing to leave noticeable gaps. He and Chessie head toward the bathroom to search for more.
I clench my fists until my nails leave imprints on my skin, fighting the urge to yell at him for his vanity, but it won’t do any good. Morpheus is Morpheus. At least he made Jeb comfortable.
I push back a lock of dark hair hanging over Jeb’s eyes, then lean down and kiss his forehead. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you everything. I’ll never keep the truth from you again.”
I make the promise even though it means I’ll have to tell him about the deal I made with Morpheus, and what precipitated it. Jeb will end up knowing that he attacked me, so I made the deal for nothing. But I can’t lie to him anymore.
I stretch out my leg and catch Jeb’s discarded shirt with my heel. After dragging it over, I fluff it into a cushion. He mumbles my name subconsciously as I ease his head onto the makeshift pillow. I cover him up to his shoulders with a drop cloth to keep him warm.
“We’re going to fix you,” I say, stroking his hair.
I stand and retie my bootlaces, impatience building in my blood. Jeb needs his memories, and I still have to decipher the final mosaic so I can face Red. The first point of business is to find a mirror big enough to climb through.
But Morpheus is too stubborn to leave without his hat. While he’s busy sifting through drawers in the bathroom, I head to the ladder. I saw at least two or three moths fly up to the loft.
Two moths flitter in and out of the sunlight as I arrive on the upper level. They perch atop the box mattress. Scooping them up, I release them over the railing, sending them down to Chessie.
“There’s one still missing,” Morpheus says from the ground floor.
“It’s here,” I answer. “Caught in some web.”
The insect cries as it jerks against the sticky tangles, helpless and frightened. Whispering comforting words, I work it free, careful not to damage its wings. As soon as I turn the moth loose, I notice something in the far corner where the web is thickest. I edge closer, eyes adjusting to the shadows.