Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(29)

“Are they dead?” I ask.

“They are,” Morpheus answers nonchalantly. “The ultimate consequence for continuing to use their magic. Their spines curled, and their bodies withered to useless shells.”

I press my fingers over the diary beneath my tunic. Red’s memories are quiet and calm for now, but their presence brings questions to my mind. “What becomes of their spirits? Will they be looking for bodies to possess?”

Morpheus tucks the feather in his pocket. “That’s not how it works in AnyElsewhere. When you’re dead, you’re gone forever. It’s an effect of the iron. Every part of us that held magic turns to ash, from our bodies to our spirits. Our remains are caught within the wind, forming the twisters that funnel prisoners in and out.” His face grows somber. “So do not hesitate to kill if it’s the only way you can live, Alyssa. Not here.”

Dad and I trade uneasy glances.

The griffon rubs Morpheus’s leg like a giant cat, then transforms into the cane once more. Morpheus takes it in hand, wiping blood from the talons with his handkerchief.

“Now I see,” I say, watching him.

Morpheus’s dark lashes turn up, interest glittering in his eyes. “See what?”

“Why you needed a walking stick.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Good that your curiosity is quenched.”

“Except for what happened to your clothes.”

Looking down at his suit, he grumbles, “Dry-clean only, my arse.” He brushes off his jacket, frowning at the holes where his skin shows through.

“Morpheus.”

He looks up at me again.

“How are you using your magic unaffected, in spite of the all-powerful dome?”

“I believe I’ll keep that one to myself, luv. If I told you all my secrets, there would be no more mystery in our relationship.”

“I’m not a big fan of mysteries.”

That roguish smile I once hated curls his lips and curls my insides. “Rubbish. You adore them.” He steps to the edge of his miniature island and uses the cane’s clawed end to drag our floating island close—avoiding the water. “You thrive on the challenge of solving them.”

He steps onto our mat and his wings rise, their black, smooth sheen the polar opposite of the opaque bejeweled ones tucked inside my own skin. I catch a whiff of his tobacco scent. It’s different than it used to be—less licorice and more earthy-fruity—like charcoal and plums.

“Stop right there,” my dad growls when the toes of Morpheus’s shoes come to a halt about a foot from my boots.

“Dad, he’s my friend and I haven’t seen him for a month.” I won’t admit how much I’ve missed him. I know better than to give Morpheus the upper hand. “Could you please give us a second?”

Dad runs a scathing glare from Morpheus’s head to his wings. “No funny business,” he says.

Morpheus’s jewels sparkle a mischievous reddish-purple, a precursor to some snarky retort waiting to leap off his tongue. I toss him a pleading glance, and he rolls his eyes in silent resignation.

Satisfied, Dad steps aside and crouches to tuck the simulacrum suits and weapons into the duffel bag.

“Is Jeb alive?” I ask Morpheus.

White bleeds into his jeweled markings—the color of indifference. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You know it’s not. Could you for once just give me a straight answer?”

He gazes up at the smoky gray sky. “Your mortal is alive and well. In fact, you will no doubt be seeing him very soon.”

Relieved tears spring into my eyes. “So, that means you know where he is?” Is it possible Morpheus took Jeb under his wings after all?

Dad stops stuffing the fabric in the bag, as if waiting to hear the answer.

Appraising his cane, Morpheus growls. “I do know where he is.” Before I can respond, he lifts his eyes to mine, jewels now bordering on emerald green. “I suppose I should be grateful his name wasn’t the first thing that came out of your mouth.”

The jealousy and hurt looking back at me aren’t unexpected, but the effect they have on my heart is. It provokes that same ripping, twisty sensation that’s becoming all too familiar. I take a measured breath to soothe it. “I’ve been terrified for both of you. Now that I know you’re all right, of course I need to know about him.”

“You could’ve at least asked me how my ear is feeling first.”

The request is almost comical. Morpheus—Wonderland’s most confident and independent netherling—is pouting, and it makes him look like a child . . . like my playmate from all those years ago. More than that, he looks like the son we share in Ivory’s vision, which opens a flood of emotions I’m afraid to put a name to.

Dad’s footsteps fade as he picks up water bottles and protein packets to give us the privacy I asked for.

I reach up and trace the dried blood on Morpheus’s ear.

“Does it hurt?” I whisper.

He leans into my touch. “Stings a bit,” he says softly, and studies my mouth so intently, my lips feel weighted. His entire body tenses with restraint. If we were alone, there’d be no holding him back. “You could amend that, you know.”

His words knock me off balance. “Amend . . . what?”