The Moth in the Mirror (Splintered, #1.5)(5)
“What do you mean?”
Gossamer pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “Please … you’re holding it too close … the iron … it’s draining my energy.”
Jeb fell back on the mattress and moved the cuff away from the sprite. Balancing it between his fingers, he studied the iron in the candlelight. It reminded him of his iron labret and the first time Al had seen it—her enthusiastic reaction. She’d begged to touch it, asking question after question about the process of getting a piercing. Her enthusiasm and na?veté. Her insecurities. Morpheus wouldn’t hesitate to use any or all of them to manipulate her.
Jeb had to convince Al to leave Wonderland, to forget this quest to break the curse on her family, whatever it took. Something dark waited just around the corner for her, like in his dream. He could sense it looming.
“So, you want her to fix the original Alice’s mistakes, right? What if I fix them instead?” Jeb tried reasoning. “You send Al home and let me take care of things.”
“Impossible,” Gossamer answered in a breathy whisper, her pale green color starting to return. Crawling toward the sketch, she ran a tiny palm along the rose. “She’s already passed tests and proved she’s the one.”
“Tests? You mean like finding the rabbit hole to Wonderland and drying up the ocean of tears?”
She nodded.
“But I helped with those.”
“She’s the one he’s waited for. Not you.”
Jeb held the iron bracelet over her one last time. “What does he really want from her?”
Before Gossamer could answer, the domed ceiling started to shake. Pieces of plaster tumbled down in thick white chunks. Jeb held a pillow over his head and a palm over Gossamer to protect them from falling debris. The ceiling ripped at the seams, swinging the bed and pulling the chains in opposite directions so the mattress lifted several feet.
After the tremors stopped, Jeb glanced up. Morpheus’s dark silhouette appeared in the jagged opening overhead.
Subtlety was low on this guy’s priority list. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a drama queen?” Jeb growled.
Morpheus leaned in low to glance at the messy room. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a deplorable houseguest?”
His captor’s grand entrance was partly responsible for the clutter, but Jeb bit his tongue, unwilling to risk his chance to see Al.
Morpheus eased back. “Alyssa awaits you in the mirrored hall. And, by all means, wash up and shave. You are to be introduced to our dinner guests as an Elfin Knight, so you need to look the part. Gossamer shall give you tips on proper behavior.” Morpheus dropped in some clothes and boots. They hit the floor with a clump. “Here is the uniform.” He paused and gestured to the chains. “Too bad you haven’t any wings or netherling magic. You will have to climb your way out. And I can assure you, it won’t be an easy trek.”
Jeb’s muscles tensed as Morpheus vanished from view; he knew the warning referred to so much more than his exit from this room.
3
Memory Two: Carnage
Jeb wiped sweat from his brow. Morpheus had been right about the climb out of his gilded prison being difficult. But that was nothing to the trek through Wonderland he and Alyssa had taken since then. The entire day had been one crazy challenge after another, with danger and death around every turn. And now he’d lost Al. They’d become separated just before accomplishing the final test. She was facing the Twid sisters’ cemetery alone, and he was stuck here in the bottom of a chasm.
Night had fallen the instant he’d hit the ground—such a fast transition, it was as if someone had flipped a light switch.
The kinks in his muscles tightened. He hated the thought of Al being alone in this wacked-out world after dark. Then again, she’d proved herself strong enough to face almost anything. It had been she who’d ended up saving him, in more ways than one …
He thought of how she’d looked—hovering overhead, glistening and wild, fluttering with the grace of a dragonfly. Seeing her sprout wings had been both terrifying and miraculous at once. He couldn’t breathe while watching the transformation.
If he were honest, he still hadn’t recovered his breath from when she had lowered him into the abyss and he’d shouted “You’re my lifeline!” before she shot up higher into the sky. He shouldn’t have put so much pressure on her to save him. He had to do what he could to get out of here himself—meet her halfway. Otherwise, she’d never forgive herself if something went wrong.
A jubjub bird’s carcass had broken his fall. He wiped sticky goo from between his fingers onto his pants, turning up his nose at the rank remains of the army that had been chasing them and tumbled into the chasm. He pushed himself to stand in the pitch-dark gloom. His boots made sucking sounds as he walked. He’d never been squeamish; any aversion to blood and gore had been beaten out of him—a gradual desensitization reinforced each time he’d look in the mirror to find his cheeks and eyes swollen up, fat and bloody like raw steak.
But without a speck of light to go by, the carnage at his feet felt more alive than dead. His imagination pulled out files on everything from zombie movies to demons and hauntings. Nausea burned his stomach. He took solace that only the wind whistled through the chasm. He couldn’t hear any ghostly chains or undead moans.