Unhinged: 2 (28 page)

The wind blows through my tattered braid as I stand between Dad’s truck and Gizmo. I gulp down the last of my water, then toss the bottle into the Dumpster behind me. My gaze takes in the mid-morning sky, then drops to the plumbing trucks parked beside the school’s back entrance.

The soft buzz of bugs hums in my ears:

Well done, Alyssa … just one more war to save us all.

Every muscle tenses at their warning. It’s true. I’m nowhere close to safe yet, and neither are the people I love. Jeb is my priority now. I’ve wasted enough time here.

The fire trucks and police cars left five minutes ago. Their flashing lights still burn on the back of my eyelids. Or maybe it’s the flames. Maybe that inferno will never leave my memory. An indelible reminder of the moment I lost sight of my humanness and ruined my school career and my relationship with my dad in one fell swoop.

Dad had just picked up Gizmo from the tire place when he got the call from my principal. He could never have anticipated what awaited him on the other end of his cell.

“If you get home first,” he says, “you wait for me to get there. I want to be the one to tell your mother you’ve been suspended. All right?” The cautious restraint in his voice grates, as if he’s afraid to yell at me. He thinks I’m too unstable to handle any real emotions.

He looks defeated, hunched against the truck in his work uniform. He’s convinced—like everyone except Jenara—that I collected a ton of ants to sic on the entire student body. Then I accidentally set fire to the gym while trying to regain control of my prank gone awry.

Dad isn’t sure it was an accident at all, although he never said that to the police or me. I can see it in his eyes. He thinks I broke the mirror in the locker room, just like the one in my room. He doesn’t buy the theory that the mirror was hot from the flames and when the icy water ran over it, the glass busted, like what “happened” with the busted lightbulbs.

At least I didn’t have to try to explain the water. According to the firemen, the heat warped the wooden slats until they pressed against the rusted pipes and snapped them. It was a stroke of luck.

Luck.
Right
.

I’m anything but lucky.

I didn’t deny the accusations about the ants, because on some level, I am responsible. Dad is done suggesting I talk to the school counselor; he’s already made an appointment with a psychiatrist. He sees the broken mirror as the beginning of the same downward spiral Mom took. This time, I’m the mindless victim.

“Alyssa.” Dad presses for my answer to his question.

“I know,” I answer. “If I get home first, Mum’s the word.” It’s a joke, but he doesn’t laugh, probably because he’s never met a certain smug netherling who’s always referred to Mom in his cockney accent. I cough in the awkward silence, my throat raw from smoke inhalation.

“You should count your lucky stars the school thinks this was an accident,” Dad says, proving that even if he didn’t get the joke, he sensed my sarcasm. “And that they took your good behavior over the years into account. A one-day suspension for nearly burning down the gym? Accidental or not, they could’ve pressed charges, and then you’d be taking your final exam in juvie instead of at home.”

I nibble my inner cheek. Of course I’m glad that I won’t end up with a criminal record of vandalism. I’ll even get to attend graduation on Saturday and receive my diploma with my classmates, on one condition: I don’t show up at prom tonight.

Taelor’s father offered to hold the dance at Underland now that the gym is ruined. In the most shocking twist of all, Taelor opted not to press charges against me. She must remember on some level that I tried to help her. All she asked was that I be put under a temporary restraining order prohibiting me from coming within fifty feet of her family’s underground center.

I’m exiled from my own senior prom. Last year, I would’ve
thrown a party to celebrate. This year? I’m actually disappointed. Even though I knew in my heart that it would never be.

There’s a battle with my name on it, and I can’t procrastinate any longer. If I don’t get down the rabbit hole fast, Queen Red and her army could come through a portal next—if they’re not already here—which would make what happened in the gym look like a
Disney on Ice
show.

“Take these.” Dad doesn’t even cast a glance my way as he hands me the keys to Gizmo. “And be sure to clean your face before she sees you. Your makeup is a mess.”

There must be soot on my skin, considering I didn’t wear any makeup. “Can’t you help me clean it off?” Anything to get him to look my way.

He keeps his gaze averted. “Use your car mirror.” The snub aches more than a scolding word or disappointed look would have.

Dad turns his back to unlock the truck and gives me one last instruction. “You won’t be leaving the house today or having visitors. You’re going to finish your last test. And you still have an apology to give to your mother. Go straight home. Understood?”

I nod. It’s not an actual lie. After all, he didn’t specify
which
home.

I made good use of my time, sitting in the nurse’s office while Dad had a conference with the principal and the counselor. I got the address of Ivy’s studio from Mr. Piero and entered it into my cell.

As soon as I leave this parking lot, I’m tracking down Jeb, finding my mosaics and Morpheus—begging on hands and knees if necessary for his help—and meeting Red head-on in Wonderland.

So yeah, Dad, I’m going home.

Just not to the one you have in mind.

After answering a concerned text from Jenara in which I promise to find her brother, I wait for Dad to pull out of the parking lot first so he won’t follow me. I can’t let myself think about how furious he’ll be or how much he’ll worry when I don’t show up at home. If I do, I will never have the guts to do what needs to be done.

In an attempt to look busy, I take down my braid and rub my fingers through my hair to loosen the waves. I lean toward the rearview mirror to clean the smudges off my face. One look and my stomach flips.

It’s not soot at all. My netherling eye patches have returned—a more feminine version of Morpheus’s, without the jewels. It must’ve
happened when I started losing touch with my human side. No wonder everyone was looking at me so weird in the school office.

I’m braving another glance at the marks when I notice a gray and orange striped tail hanging from my rearview mirror.

“Chessie?”

The fuzzy appendage twitches.

Dad gives me a pointed glare as he’s backing out, and I pretend to dig a Kleenex from my glove box. As soon as he’s on the street, I check the parking lot to make sure I’m alone, then tap Chessie’s tail. It wraps around my finger and dissolves into an orange mist.

When the feline netherling materializes, I hold out my palm. He perches there—furry, wiggly, and warm.

“Let me guess. Morpheus wants me to find him,” I say.

His shimmery green eyes study me for a minute before he flutters to the driver’s-side window. Breathing over the glass to fog it, he etches the letters
m-e-m-o-r-y
with a clawed fingertip.

I put my key in the ignition. “I know. He’s waiting among lost memories. Look, I don’t have time to figure out what that means right now.” The motor roars to life. “Jeb needs me.”

Chessie shakes his head, then breathes another stream of fog across the windshield in my line of vision. This time he draws a picture of a train and a set of wings.

I sigh. “Yes, you saved me and Morpheus from the train. I remember. Thank you. Now, go back and tell him he’s going to have to wait a little longer.” I wipe away the condensation from the windshield with a Kleenex.

Chessie flaps around me. The downy white tufts above his eyes furrow.

I wave him toward the dash and slide on a pair of sunglasses. “I’m
not changing my mind. I’m doing this first. You can come, but only if you don’t distract me.”

The tiny netherling plops down on the dash, arms crossed. His usual toothy smile curves to a frown, and his long whiskers droop. As I pull onto the street, a pickup passes. The driver stares at Chessie so hard he almost misses his turn.

“You’re going to have to look more … inconspicuous,” I tell my passenger.

Releasing a teensy sigh that sounds like a kitten’s sneeze, he crouches on all fours with his tail curled behind him, lays his wings flat against his back, and loosens his head so it will bob—a perfect imitation of a bobblehead car accessory.

I’d laugh if I wasn’t so worried about Jeb.

It takes twenty minutes to find the studio. It’s located at the end of a lonely dirt road eight miles south of the same housing development Morpheus and I passed yesterday.

I park on a dusty plot of land that doubles as a driveway. As soon as I kill the engine, Chessie reaffixes his head and flits to his perch on the rearview mirror, hissing.

I remove my sunglasses, scared enough to hiss myself. A half dozen dying mesquite trees surround a run-down cottage with a flat roof. Their trunks and branches are gnarled. A few of them appear to have grown into the cottage walls, as if they’re attacking the place. It’s not a welcoming sight.

Weathered wooden slats form the front and side walls. The only part of the cottage that looks new is the door, which is painted a deep red with shiny brass hinges and an oddly shaped knocker. The whole door seems out of place against the rotting background.

There aren’t any windows—at least from the front. How could
there be enough light for painting in a windowless cottage? I’m starting to think I made a wrong turn until I notice Jeb’s Honda lying next to what might’ve been a rabbit hutch. It’s more like a pile of kindling and wire now.

Seeing his bike on the ground validates my worst fear: He’s been here all night. He’s either alone and unprotected, or not alone—and that might be worse.

Dread and guilt wrap around my heart. I should’ve told him the truth from the beginning. If he’d known since last summer, he would have been prepared.

My cell phone rings, startling me. It’s Dad. I turn off the ringer but send him a text:

I’ll be home soon. Try not to worry. I just need to be alone, to figure out some things.

He’ll be furious and will start looking for me immediately, but at least maybe he won’t worry as much.

I drop the phone into my backpack and turn back to the cottage. I shouldn’t feel intimidated by this run-down building after what I just faced at school. But there’s a possibility Red is here—one of the few netherlings even Morpheus fears. To think of Jeb facing her alone makes me shiver.

The wind kicks dirt across my windshield in a gritty scatter of brown. Chessie hisses again—a reminder that at least I’m not alone.

“I have to go in,” I say to him.

He grabs his tail and twirls, wrapping the appendage around his body and face to hide.

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” I ask.

He peers out, fogs the window again, and writes
Find M
with the tip of his tail.

I narrow my eyes. “We’ll find Morpheus after we take care of this. Now, are you coming?”

Chessie frowns, his fur puffed up like a frightened cat’s. He shakes his head.

“Fine. Stay out here by yourself, then.”

The instant I open my door and step out, Chessie’s fluttery wings touch my ear. He lights on my shoulder and ducks underneath my hair.

Relief rushes through me. He may be little, but he’s magic, stealthy, and adept at fixing things. It’s better than going in by myself.

I hold his tail for comfort as I walk to the door. Dirt clods and pebbles crunch under my feet. The bugs whisper all around. I can’t tell if they’re cheering me on or warning me; there are too many voices to pick apart.

After stepping onto the crumbling porch, I pause and stare at the brass knocker. It’s in the shape of a pair of garden shears.

Goose bumps erupt across my flesh. I look down at my scarred palms. Whoever put this knocker here knew I would come … they’re playing games with me. I grit my teeth. It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving without Jeb, no matter how menacing his captor is.

The knob turns easily, and I push the door open but stay on the porch to look in. The place appears to be abandoned, and it occurs to me there’s one outcome that could be worse than finding Jeb here: not finding him at all.

I stick my head in farther. The scent of paint and a pungent metallic odor hit me first. Then something else … sickly sweet and fruity … familiar enough that it makes my mouth water, but I can’t place it.

Sun rays stream from the ceiling where skylight panels make up
the roof, giving the place a greenhouse effect. Cobwebs flecked with bug corpses drape from the glass and hang to the floor in places, glistening like grotesquely jeweled wedding veils. There’s one big room—not counting the loft to the left and a bathroom to my right, where a tall chest with fifty or more minidrawers stands just inside the open door. The canvas-covered walls are taller than they looked from outside. There’s no furniture, other than the portable scaffolds propped against the walls, so the sun’s reflection hazes off a dusty wooden floor.

The result is bright and ethereal … almost heavenly. Now I can see why Ivy chose this studio. I tiptoe around some art supplies, leaving the door ajar behind me. Chessie tenses under my hair.