Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(21)

I bite back a smile. He did hear me.

I send a silent explanation of what I’m after and Chessie bows, grinning that wide, mischievous smile. He’s always ready to leap into the thick of things without question, just for the fun of it. No wonder Morpheus considers him a worthy sidekick.

“About the robes,” I say to the piggish maid. “I only need one. You can just tell Hubert it sprouted legs and walked away.” I give Chessie a subtle nod. With a swish of orange and gray stripes, he tunnels into the pile of folded velvet robes on the corner of her cart.

“Do I look asleep to you?” the duchess asks me.

“No. Why?”

“Because the saying goes, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie.’ Well, I’m not asleep, so I don’t intend to lie.” She jerks the feather duster from my grasp. “Now, off with you.”

The instant the “off with you” escapes her mashed-in muzzle, a velvety robe scurries across the floor, long sleeves draped behind. The maid yelps, her orange eyes bouncing from me to the escaping robe.

“Looks like you won’t be lying after all,” I say.

She throws down her duster and gives chase. The robe floats like a magic carpet with Chessie propelling it underneath. The maid has to get on all fours to catch up.

As soon as they turn a corner, I grab the transparent coveralls and race the opposite direction toward an intersection of three halls. I have a passing thought of Chessie and send him a soundless thank-you. I’m not worried for his welfare. He won’t be captured unless he wants to be.

I round a corner and bump into Dad.

“Whoa there.” He catches my shoulders. “Where have you been?”

“Trying . . . to find you,” I fib between gulps of air. The fabric billows in my arms but can only be felt, not seen.

Dad wouldn’t condone stealing. That will change once we’re in AnyElsewhere, where his conscience will take a backseat to self-preservation.

Jeb pops into my head. He’s like Dad in so many ways. Protective, moral, and kind. Has he lost his strict sense of black-and-white, of right and wrong, to adapt to a world of netherling criminals? He’s had to. He’s a survivor. His childhood proves that.

I just hope he hasn’t forgotten how to forgive. And I hope Morpheus will forgive me, too.

Even if they have, things will still be complicated, because of the vision the Ivory Queen showed me before she went back through the rabbit hole on the day of prom, and what a life with Morpheus could mean to Wonderland.

That puncturing sensation jabs inside my chest, reminding me again of Red. Of what’s important now. Any decisions about my future will have to wait until Red has corrected whatever she put wrong in me and I destroy her.

“This way.” Dad holds my elbow. “Bernard’s waiting for us in the mirror room.”

Ignoring the sting behind my sternum, I drag the duffel from Dad’s shoulder. He’s so busy watching room numbers that he doesn’t notice me rearrange water bottles, protein packets, trail mix, fruit, first aid supplies, flares, and assorted iron weapons so I can tuck the stolen fabric beneath them.

Borrowed fabric. When I get back, I’ll return the enchanted clothes with an apology.

My breath stalls as I realize there’s no “when” in our scenario from this point on. Before Dad and I can face the looking-glass world and rescue the guys, or help Mom and repair Wonderland, we have to first make it through the portal and the gate.

Everything—our lives, our loves, our futures—hinges on one word alone: IF.



Dad takes the duffel bag back as we step into room 42.

He’s filled me in on what will happen once we enter the gate of AnyElsewhere: how we’ll jump into an otherworldly funnel of ash and wind that carries prisoners to the center of the realm and the guards from one gate to another.

First, though, we have to take the mirror portal to the gateway.

I expected the chamber’s walls to be covered with mirrors. Instead, it has cushions. The circumference is larger than our private room, and there’s no furniture, only a circular, enclosed contraption in the center of the floor. It’s so tall, it nearly touches the ceiling.

Bright colors shimmer on the metal exterior, and lines of fat white bulbs dot each separate panel—extinguished and lifeless. It resembles a small version of a Gravitron ride. That was always the first line Jenara, Jeb, and I would hit when the county fair came into town.

A sharp twinge of longing echoes through me with the taste of cotton candy and the smell of corn dogs. It was like magic, the way we’d stand against the inside of a cylinder and the ride would spin fast enough for the floor to drop out, yet we’d stay in place against the walls. I know now it wasn’t magic that held us up; it was centrifugal force. I also know now what real magic is—and that it comes with a cost.

The ache for simpler times with my two best friends is so acute, I step forward and run my fingers along the cool, slick panels to distract myself. A loud whirring sound activates as the motor kicks on and the lights start to blink—bright and garish. Dad jerks me back.

“What did I do?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s okay. Right as rain.” He’s smiling with a faraway look on his face. His eyes glisten with boyhood wonder in the blinking lights.

“Dad, you never told me . . . how did you end up going through the gate that leads to Wonderland?”