Unhinged (Splintered, #2)(93)
“But that’s exactly what I did.” Mom’s voice speaks out of sync with what’s happening on-screen, and suddenly the lamp flips on beside me. The curtains fall to cover the screen, and I’m slammed back to reality, slumped in the chaise lounge.
I turn to see Mom standing by the wall next to the closed door. She’s barefoot, wearing my favorite polka-dot dress, and carrying her canvas tote on her shoulder. I have no idea when she came in or how long she’s been reliving the memories with me.
“I made him regret it,” she says again, “and now look what’s become of us all.”
She crumples to the floor in a puddle of purple satin and lime green netting, pretty legs curled beside her, and eyes filled with enough remorse to launch an ocean of tears.
I can’t contain the sobs clogging my chest. I jump up from the chaise and cross the room in four steps. Dropping next to Mom on the floor, my wings sweep out to one side of me. She opens her arms and I cling to her, clutching the slick fabric along her ribs, face pressed against her breasts and surrounded by her perfume.
“It’s okay, sweet girl,” she whispers and kisses my forehead, leaving behind a warm smudge. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I hug her tighter. I should be the one comforting her, but right now I’m that little five-year-old child watching my mommy leave for the asylum. “I thought it was because of me.” I choke on the words. “But you had yourself committed for Dad, too.”
Mom’s body trembles as she takes a ragged breath. “After you were born, everything changed. I kept messing up, letting things slip. He started to have dreams about Wonderland … his mind was seeking memories that were no longer his.” She strokes my hair behind my ear. “Your father was special to Sister Two. He somehow got into Wonderland on his own as a child. She found him, and for the first time, she didn’t have to steal a humanling for her cemetery. She’s never liked that part of her job. Not that she feels guilty for it.” Mom’s voice is bitter. “It’s just an inconvenience.”
I lick away the tears lining my lips. “And he doesn’t remember anything?”
“It’s as if he never lived it. That day I cut your hands”—her voice breaks, buried beneath the sound of both our sniffles—“I wanted to heal you. But I couldn’t. Not without shattering all that remained of his peace. I had to get away. From you both. To keep you safe.”
I nod against her. “I’m so sorry for doubting you. For saying those horrible things.” Wet streams scorch my cheeks and under my nose.
“No,” Mom mumbles, her breath comforting on the top of my head. “I’m the one who’s sorry. If only I’d told you the truth from the beginning. But I kept hoping the nether-call would pass you by. And when it didn’t … I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I didn’t want you to get trapped there.”
Ivory’s vision of my future flashes through my mind. Funny, but I didn’t feel trapped in that future. I felt happy, powerful, and treasured. I want to share that epiphany with Mom, but I vowed not to tell anyone. Maybe it’s better this way. It’s one secret I’ll never have to feel guilty for keeping, because I can’t afford to lose my powers by breaking a life-magic vow.
Mom’s hand glides from my back to the base of my right wing. She skims a finger over the gossamer surface. It sends a tickle through my shoulder blade.
“What made them manifest?” she asks. There’s no scolding or anxiety like in the past. Just curiosity.
My snuffles echo as I try to figure out how to answer. What can I tell her about Morpheus, who’s lied and manipulated me and yet managed to coax me into my wings anyway? How do I answer that, when Jeb is down the hall, tormented by half-remembered moments he never lived in this reality? It feels like a betrayal somehow.
I hold my necklaces against my chest. “It doesn’t matter,” I answer. “They’re a part of me. Just like the streak in my hair. Just like the magic in my blood. Traits from your side of the family. It’s time I embrace all of it. It’s time we both do.”
Mom squeezes me tighter. “I can teach you how to reabsorb the wings into your skin. The eye patches, too. It’s an ability only half-lings have. There’s a trick to it.”
It’s bizarre to be talking to her about netherling traits the same way we would talk about fashion or makeup. “Maybe later. I’m kind of happy to have them right now.”
She presses her lips to the top of my head, and I rub my heart locket and key together between my fingers to make a scraping, metallic song. The irony hits me: It must’ve been so hard for her to learn to accept her human side, just as it’s been for me to accept my netherling one.
I force us apart so I can see her face. She’s used her magic recently. Her skin glitters and her hair moves like an underwater plant. I touch a platinum strand. “I don’t understand. You made a life-magic vow to Sister One and broke it. How do you still have your power?”
“I never broke the vow.” She smirks. “It’s all in the wording. I told her when I came back to claim the crown. Technically, I never did.”
Her knack for word wizardry surprises me—she thinks just like they do, takes everything said as literal, twisting it this way and that until it means what she wants it to mean. Morpheus was right. She would’ve made a magnificent Red Queen.