Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(28)
Morpheus rolls out of the chaos and stands. More gaps mar his jacket now, along with a few in his shirt where his smooth chest peeks through. Even his pant legs have some holes, as if the suit was hung in a moth-infested closet. He picks up his hat and brushes it off. His eyes lock on mine. Heat rushes through my cheeks as he wipes his smudged face with a handkerchief.
The seven birds don’t budge under the griffon. Snarling a warning, the mythological creature takes to the sky, chasing the other five birds and the rock lobsters until they disappear over the hill.
As Dad struggles out of his simulacrum suit, Morpheus holds our stare. He tucks away his handkerchief, his expression somewhere between fascination and pride. It’s hard to pinpoint, because the jewels under his eyes are flashing through uncountable emotions.
“My Queen,” he finally speaks, and his usually strong voice holds the slightest tremor.
“My Footman.” I don’t even blink, playing along with his nonchalance. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m here.”
“Oh, I knew you would find your way. It was just a matter of when. You actually made it sooner than I expected.” He gestures around him. “Thus, the deplorable state of my house.”
“Good help is so hard to find,” I tease.
His dark, inky irises sparkle like onyx, and a grin plays at his lips. I can’t fight it another second and smile back. The moment shatters as the seven bird mutants rise behind him.
“Look out!” I shout.
Four attack him. The other three fly toward me and Dad.
“Allie, get down!” Dad opens the duffel bag.
One of the birds swoops at Dad’s head. The other two collide in midair and flop to the ground. Dad parries, an iron dagger in one hand and a chain mace in the other. Shifting his feet gracefully, he swings the iron-studded ball, taking a chunk out of his attacker’s beak.
The two birds on the ground roll into Dad, sending him to his knees. He groans, sprawled next to scattered water bottles and protein packets. Mom’s capture flashes through my thoughts in vivid, techno-colored pain.
The madness beneath the surface of my skin awakens. I concentrate on the miniature geysers closest to us, envisioning them as tongues unfurling from water serpents’ mouths. The cascades grow until they’re big enough to lash in midair and snatch up Dad’s attackers, capturing the bird with the wounded beak on the way back. The liquid tongues jerk the giant birds into the moats to immerse them.
Dad teeters at the water’s edge with dagger ready. Bubbles rise from the depths, becoming fewer and farther between.
“Alyssa,” he prompts.
I don’t acknowledge the fact that he used my full name, or the concern in his voice.
Instead, I let the coils of madness creep around my human compassion—caging it so it’s oblivious to my actions. Then I stare at the bubbles, willing the air to dissipate, waiting for the birds’ lungs to cave in. Craving their deaths.
“You’ve never murdered anyone, Allie. Be sure it’s the only way. Otherwise, it will haunt you . . .” Dad’s logic breaks through.
A sick pang roils through my stomach.
He’s wrong. I have killed. There were so many bugs in my lifetime, I could fill up a grain elevator with their corpses if I hadn’t used them for mosaics. I also contributed to the deaths of countless card guards and juju birds in Wonderland, not to mention an octowalrus.
That’s enough. For now.
With a silent command, I resurrect the geysers. They rise, carrying the mutant birds atop them. A hot spray spatters across me as I guide the cascading water to the closest tree, imagining the bare branches opening like flower petals. The water plops its passengers inside, and the branches curl closed around them, leaving my dripping, gasping prisoners to glare down at me. The geysers sink back into the moats.
“That’s my girl,” Dad says.
The power I’m learning to wield scares me, but not enough to make me stop and think things through. And that scares me even more.
I turn to check on Morpheus. The griffon has returned and holds the remaining four birds pinned beneath his giant claws. Blood drizzles from his talons, leaving no question as to what became of the five birds he chased over the hill.
Morpheus stands over the captives. “All it would take is one word for my pet to slice you in twain like he did your accomplices.”
The duckbilled creature makes a sound between a sob and a quack as the others shiver beneath the sharp talons indenting their feathers.
Morpheus crouches beside the osprey. “You fellows owe the lady a debt of gratitude.” He plucks a feather from the bird’s ugly face. “Since I’m trying to impress her, I’m going to follow her example and be merciful. Take a message to Manti, though, won’t you? Tell him he doesn’t stand a chance to win any races if he can’t even fight his own battles.” Morpheus traces the osprey’s quivering beak with the feather’s tip. “Oh, and thank you for the new quill.”
Nodding at the griffon, Morpheus stands as the bird mutants are set free. I turn to my prisoners in the tree and release them, too. With defeated squawks and screeches, they scatter into the purplish sky without their parasols, becoming more deformed with every flap of their wings.
Two of them begin to lose their feathers. Their bodies contort in midair until they can no longer stay afloat. They fall from the heights. Plumes of ash puff from the ground in the distance to mark their contact.