Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(88)
I climb onto the sink and reach inside to push it open, then I plunge through. The motion sickness is as bad as the first few times I traveled via mirror. I guess it’s been too long.
Once I have my balance, I stand to face the London side of the portal—a six-foot-tall garden mirror that has two wooden panels giving the illusion of a gated entrance. There’s no one else around, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
The sun hangs low on the horizon, streaking orange across a clear sky. A village sits on the other side of the river, complete with busy streets, people, and charming buildings set so close they could be Legos snapped together. Trees cover the hill I’m standing on, casting shade in thick patches of blue on the grassy ground. A brick cottage hunkers a few yards away from me. Though it looks abandoned, the garden is vibrant and flourishing.
Gardenia, larkspur, and hyacinth fill the air with sweet scents. Bees and butterflies flutter around the petals and leaves. Their unified whispers tickle my ears:
You’re not the first to trek this ground. Your mother was here before you.
Yes, she was. Yesterday, when she hid my mosaics. I’m about to ask if they happened to see exactly where she hid them on the bridge when Jeb ducks through the mirror wearing my backpack. He sways but takes the disorientation in stride, thinking it’s all part of the dream.
If only it were a dream.
I fight the prick of tears behind my eyes again. Morpheus has to be okay. I can’t believe he gave himself up so I could take Jeb with me. Of course he wants me to find the final mosaic. He wants me to save Wonderland. Maybe there’s even a deeper plan, some secret scheme. I can’t be sure where he’s involved.
Still. It took courage. And he also alluded to having a part in stealing Sister Two’s dream-boy. If the dream-boy is who I think he is, it changes everything I’ve ever thought about my mom … about my life … even about Morpheus.
“Hey,” Jeb says, touching my cheek. He draws back his hand and studies a tear I didn’t realize had escaped. “This can’t be right. You’re never sad in my dreams.”
“It’s nothing.” I rub my face. “It’s just the rain.”
He looks up. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.” Then he levels his gaze on our surroundings. “Where is this place? I’ve never imagined it before.”
“Maybe this is my dream.” I attempt to ease his mind. “Yeah. You’re sharing mine.”
He stares at me, expression doubtful. We need to start heading for the bridge before he fully wakes up, but I wait one minute longer, hoping Morpheus will come through the portal. Sister Two can’t find us. He was careful not to reveal where we were headed.
When he doesn’t show up, I stifle the twinge in my chest and swing the wooden gate shut again to camouflage the mirror.
I grab Jeb’s hand and weave his fingers with mine. “Let’s go.”
“Just a second.” He catches my elbow with his free hand. “My stomach’s growling. That’s weird for a dream, isn’t it?” There’s a new inquisitiveness behind his eyes. “What’s really going on?”
He’s coming out of his daze, and when he’s conscious, he’ll be too savvy to fall for any more lame excuses. We don’t have much time before all the pain of unremembered and unreachable memories comes crashing in on him. I decide to take the train ride before searching for the mosaic.
Morpheus said the abandoned station is somewhere beneath the ground. I’m not sure where the secret entrance might be. I had hoped Chessie would be here to lead the way.
“Everything will make sense soon,” I answer Jeb. “I’ll find us something to eat once we get where we’re going. Trust me. Okay?”
He nods, but a shadow falls over his expression. I have to hurry before he curls up into a ball again. The bridge is so far. I’m not sure he’ll keep it together for the trek. If only I could fly him there without being seen by the people on the other side of the river. But even if it was nighttime instead of early evening, he’d be too heavy for me. I know that much from past experience.
Before I can do anything, I need to figure out how to find the underground train station.
“Help me look through your pockets,” I press Jeb. “There should be tickets in here somewhere.” They might have directions or maybe a map on the back.
Jeb frowns, as if just noticing the jacket he’s wearing isn’t his, but digs through his side pockets without asking whose it is. He drags out a handful of mushrooms with caps the size of dimes.
“Are these glow-in-the-dark gummies?” he asks. There’s a hint of apprehension behind the question.
I don’t answer, afraid to tell him that they’re real and from Wonderland. They’re fluorescent and small, which makes them look like candy. Some are neon orange and others are lime green, but all are solid and smooth on one side and speckled with tiny pink dots on the other—miniature versions of the mushrooms in Morpheus’s lair.
I search the inner pocket of Jeb’s lapel for the tickets. Something crinkles beneath my fingertips, and I draw it out. I unfold the piece of paper. It’s a sketch similar to the ones Mom had tucked in her Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland book. This one has a caterpillar sitting atop a mushroom, smoking a hookah.
The puffs of smoke form legible words: