Unhinged: 2 (36 page)

My stomach drops. “You steal human
children
? You kidnap them?”

Sister Two’s eyes narrow. “Is that disdain I smell on yer breath, child? Yer mother was so like ye, disrespected the way things had to be. Rules are there for a reason. For the survival of our world, some have to suffer in yers. And vice versa, aye?”

I’m too stunned to respond. I want to love Wonderland with all my heart, but how can I love a place that takes children from their homes?

“There have been other humanlings since that boy,” Sister Two continues, her bloody face euphoric. “But he was different. Even as he aged, his dreams were
magnificent
. The ten years he was mine, I had such tranquility among me wards.” She works off her glove, using her teeth. The rubber sheath pops off, exposing scorpion tails in place of fingers and stingers in place of nails.

I suppress a gag.

My mind races for some way to keep her talking. “Who was this boy?” Although, in some private, horrified corner of my soul, I’m starting to think I already know.

Curling and uncurling her venomous fingertips, Sister Two bows
over me. “What difference does a name make? He’s long gone now. Ye can die without that answer, just as I’ve lived without it. All ye need is the knowledge that I’ll take yer mortal knight to be our new dreamer. He has an artist’s mind. I’ve seen his work. He’ll give me spirits many years of peace and entertainment.”

“No, please. Don’t hurt Jeb …” I try to break free of the web, but it only tightens around my wing. Cold panic sluices through my blood, making me shiver.

“Aw. Don’t ye worry, little fly, he’ll never know he’s suffering.” Sister Two’s palm rakes my face. I grip her wrist and wrestle her, but those eight legs give her a better center of gravity.

“Back off!” I snarl through gritted teeth, mind shifting into netherling mode. I remember her blind spot and silently call my skeleton marionette in from the storeroom to attack her from behind. “I won’t let you have Jeb without a fight.” I wince as a stinger presses my cheek, about to break the skin. Poison wells from the tip and drizzles down my face.

“I be counting on that, devil-bug,” Sister Two says. “I like me food to have some bite.”

“You want bite?” Morpheus’s voice interrupts from somewhere on the other side of the room, breaking my concentration. Bones rattle in the storeroom as my skeletal puppet falls limp. “Take me in her stead.”

My heart soars … only to seize again when I realize what he’s just offered. I can barely make out his silhouette through the webs, standing in front of the display window: his body, his wings.

“Morpheusssss.” Sister Two shoves me backward, unintentionally freeing my wing of its trap. I swipe the poison from my face and regain my balance.

Morpheus’s wings flap slowly and cautiously. “Right here, my lovely wretch. I was feeling neglected. You were aiming all that beautiful fury at the wrong insect. After all, I’m as responsible as Alison for stealing the boy. You must know that by now.”

Hissing, she scuttles toward Morpheus.

“Alyssa,” Morpheus says, unmoving from his position, “you have a trip to take. Everything you’ll need is in my jacket.”

Wait … that was why he insisted I put the jacket on Jeb, so I'd have the tickets if we got separated. It had nothing to do with Jeb’s bloodstained shirt. He thinks I’m going on the train without him.

“No,” I insist. “Not without you.”

“Would you sacrifice the mortal you love for the netherling you hate?” he asks, and the conviction in his voice hurts as bad as a blow. I don’t know what’s more excruciating, the fact that I’ve told him I hate him enough times to make him believe it or that I’m starting to realize how far it is from the truth.

I hesitate, wishing I could rescue both of them. It’s a risk, and if I fail trying, Jeb doesn’t stand a chance against Sister Two.

Morpheus, on the other hand, does.

Eyes stinging, I sprint toward the storeroom. I make the mistake of throwing one last glance over my shoulder. Sister Two casts a web that covers Morpheus’s silhouette, and I scream.

He shouts, “Go, Alyssa!” His voice is strained and muffled as she twists him toward her like she’s reeling in a fish, building a cocoon around him on the way.

I turn because I have to, because Jeb needs me and Wonderland is running out of time. Although every pounding step I take rips my heart further down the middle.

There isn’t time to hide my wings.

For safety, Jeb and I stay in the bathroom and take the mirror above the sink to London. He’s cooperative, not even asking questions as I twist the key into the crackled glass and open the portal to the bridge in the distance. Wooden slats partially block the view, as if a gate is closed just on the other side of the mirror.

I climb onto the sink and reach inside to push it open, then I plunge through. The motion sickness is as bad as the first few times I traveled via mirror. I guess it’s been too long.

Once I have my balance, I stand to face the London side of the portal—a six-foot-tall garden mirror that has two wooden panels
giving the illusion of a gated entrance. There’s no one else around, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

The sun hangs low on the horizon, streaking orange across a clear sky. A village sits on the other side of the river, complete with busy streets, people, and charming buildings set so close they could be Legos snapped together. Trees cover the hill I’m standing on, casting shade in thick patches of blue on the grassy ground. A brick cottage hunkers a few yards away from me. Though it looks abandoned, the garden is vibrant and flourishing.

Gardenia, larkspur, and hyacinth fill the air with sweet scents. Bees and butterflies flutter around the petals and leaves. Their unified whispers tickle my ears:

You’re not the first to trek this ground. Your mother was here before you.

Yes, she was. Yesterday, when she hid my mosaics. I’m about to ask if they happened to see exactly where she hid them on the bridge when Jeb ducks through the mirror wearing my backpack. He sways but takes the disorientation in stride, thinking it’s all part of the dream.

If only it
were
a dream.

I fight the prick of tears behind my eyes again. Morpheus has to be okay. I can’t believe he gave himself up so I could take Jeb with me. Of course he wants me to find the final mosaic. He wants me to save Wonderland. Maybe there’s even a deeper plan, some secret scheme. I can’t be sure where he’s involved.

Still. It took courage. And he also alluded to having a part in stealing Sister Two’s dream-boy. If the dream-boy is who I think he
is, it changes everything I’ve ever thought about my mom … about my life … even about Morpheus.

“Hey,” Jeb says, touching my cheek. He draws back his hand and studies a tear I didn’t realize had escaped. “This can’t be right. You’re never sad in my dreams.”

“It’s nothing.” I rub my face. “It’s just the rain.”

He looks up. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.” Then he levels his gaze on our surroundings. “Where is this place? I’ve never imagined it before.”

“Maybe this is my dream.” I attempt to ease his mind. “Yeah. You’re sharing mine.”

He stares at me, expression doubtful. We need to start heading for the bridge before he fully wakes up, but I wait one minute longer, hoping Morpheus will come through the portal. Sister Two can’t find us. He was careful not to reveal where we were headed.

When he doesn’t show up, I stifle the twinge in my chest and swing the wooden gate shut again to camouflage the mirror.

I grab Jeb’s hand and weave his fingers with mine. “Let’s go.”

“Just a second.” He catches my elbow with his free hand. “My stomach’s growling. That’s weird for a dream, isn’t it?” There’s a new inquisitiveness behind his eyes. “What’s really going on?”

He’s coming out of his daze, and when he’s conscious, he’ll be too savvy to fall for any more lame excuses. We don’t have much time before all the pain of unremembered and unreachable memories comes crashing in on him. I decide to take the train ride before searching for the mosaic.

Morpheus said the abandoned station is somewhere beneath the ground. I’m not sure where the secret entrance might be. I had hoped Chessie would be here to lead the way.

“Everything will make sense soon,” I answer Jeb. “I’ll find us something to eat once we get where we’re going. Trust me. Okay?”

He nods, but a shadow falls over his expression. I have to hurry before he curls up into a ball again. The bridge is so far. I’m not sure he’ll keep it together for the trek. If only I could fly him there without being seen by the people on the other side of the river. But even if it was nighttime instead of early evening, he’d be too heavy for me. I know that much from past experience.

Before I can do anything, I need to figure out how to find the underground train station.

“Help me look through your pockets,” I press Jeb. “There should be tickets in here somewhere.” They might have directions or maybe a map on the back.

Jeb frowns, as if just noticing the jacket he’s wearing isn’t his, but digs through his side pockets without asking whose it is. He drags out a handful of mushrooms with caps the size of dimes.

“Are these glow-in-the-dark gummies?” he asks. There’s a hint of apprehension behind the question.

I don’t answer, afraid to tell him that they’re real and from Wonderland. They’re fluorescent and small, which makes them look like candy. Some are neon orange and others are lime green, but all are solid and smooth on one side and speckled with tiny pink dots on the other—miniature versions of the mushrooms in Morpheus’s lair.

I search the inner pocket of Jeb’s lapel for the tickets. Something crinkles beneath my fingertips, and I draw it out. I unfold the piece of paper. It’s a sketch similar to the ones Mom had tucked in her
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
book. This one has a caterpillar sitting atop a mushroom, smoking a hookah.

The puffs of smoke form legible words:

One side makes you taller, the other side shorter.

It’s from the scene in Lewis Carroll’s tale when Alice complains to the caterpillar that she wishes to be taller and he suggests she eat the mushroom to grow but leaves her without telling which side does what.

I crumple the piece of paper, frustrated that everything always has to be so difficult.

“Where are the tickets?” I vent to no one in particular. “He said everything we need is here.”

A large monarch butterfly flitters over on a breeze and lands on my shoulder. One flapping wing tickles my neck as she whispers:
The ticket is your
size,
silly. You could never fit on the train as you are.

I stare at the bulbous-eyed insect.

“Don’t try the candy,” Jeb says, making me turn back to him. “It’s stale.” He’s chewing something.

“Jeb!” I grab the mushroom pinched between his finger and thumb. Half of its cap has been bitten off, leaving only the speckled side. “Spit it out!” In my haste to get closer to him, I knock all of the mushrooms out of his palm. They scatter on the ground.

He swallows and meets my gaze. Before I can react, he starts to shrink and doesn’t stop until he’s the size of a small beetle—the similarity enhanced by the tiny backpack on his shoulders.

That’s all it takes to bust his dream trance. He rolls into a fetal position and screams. Even as tiny as he is, the sound scrapes through me like claws. I crouch to scoop him up, but the butterfly swoops in and snatches him with her legs. She hovers just out of my reach, at eye level.

“Hey, give him back!” I jump to my feet but refrain from swatting her. The backpack tumbles off him and hits the ground. If Jeb falls from that height, it could kill him.

The monarch gracefully dances in midair and whispers:
Your boy makes a far better flower than you.

“Huh?” I ask.

Any wise flower knows: Stretch for the sunlight and shrink from the shadows.

And then she’s off toward the bridge with my groaning boyfriend in tow.

In full panic mode, I’m about take to the sky and risk being seen by the entire village, when everything starts to make sense: The ticket is our
size
; to get on the train, we have to be small. That’s what the mushrooms are for. According to the butterfly’s riddle and Jeb’s transformation, the side that faces the sun and becomes freckled will make you grow, and the side that faces the shadows and is smooth will shrink you.

I shove all the remaining mushrooms in my jeans pocket except one. I’ve done this before, but with a bottle that said
Drink Me
. My clothes and everything touching me shrank, just like Jeb’s did.

I nibble off half of the mushroom’s cap, taking care not to ingest any of the speckled side. My first taste is sweet, like paper soaked in sugar water; then a fizzy sensation leaves my tongue numb.

My muscles contract, my bones narrow, and my skin and cartilage tighten to hold everything together. The surroundings shoot up around me, flowers becoming the size of trees, and the trees the size of skyscrapers. Tall fronds of grass bend across me. It’s like I’m in a jungle.

As soon as my metamorphosis is complete, I shake off the nausea,
swing the backpack over one shoulder, and use my wings like I’ve been itching to for months. I clench my shoulders and arch my spine, my muscles falling into a rhythm with almost no effort. Just like skateboarding, it feels natural.