Ensnared
Page 7
Dad frowns. “Who’s that?”
“The guy behind The Annotated Alice. Some math wizard.” I shrug. “Just shows how preoccupied Mom’s thoughts were with Wonderland. When she couldn’t find your real name, she gave you one that fit into the Lewis Carroll legacy.”
“Little knowing I already did fit,” Dad says.
“Why? Who are the Skeffingtons?” I ask.
Noticing the conductor hanging on the wall, Dad doesn’t answer.
I help him free the wriggling beetle. “Mr. Bug-in-a-rug wasn’t cooperating,” I explain, working my captive’s tangled fur from the wires and hardware.
“There are other ways to be persuasive.” Dad’s expression is stern as he lowers the disheveled insect to the floor. “Less violent ways.”
I bite my tongue out of respect, though I want to tell him he’s oblivious about dealing with netherlings.
After an apology that wins a cautious albeit reverential bow from the conductor and two complimentary bags of peanuts, Dad takes my hand and we step together onto the toy train’s platform. The car door shuts behind us with a loud scrape.
I yawn, inhaling the scent of dust and powdery stones in the coolness of the dimly lit tunnel. The whispers of a hundred bugs blend together—a soothing distraction. Red’s memories keep nudging me, blurring my mind with disconcerting crimson stains: her flushed face as she tried to hold on to her mother’s spirit, the ruby shimmer of her stepsister’s hair during a painful croquet lesson as her father slipped away, and the deep bloody hue of whispering ribbons heralding Red’s most devastating mistake.
I can’t sympathize. I have to be strong.
I grip my abdomen, nauseated and unbalanced. I had no idea the earworm effect would be this powerful. I’ve got to find a way to control it.
Dad notices me rubbing my stomach and holds out a bag of peanuts. “You need to eat.”
I pop a few peanuts into my mouth. The salty crunchiness appeases my hunger, but it doesn’t quell the splashes of red drizzling in my mind.
“Tell me where your mom is,” Dad says abruptly.
I almost strangle.
“Tell me she’s not in the looking-glass world.”
After swallowing, I answer, “She’s in Wonderland.”
He lets out a relieved sigh. “Good. There are creatures in AnyElsewhere that no human—” He cuts himself short, as if remembering Mom’s the furthest thing from human. “She’s one of them. Like that winged boy who carried me through the portal. She’s a netherling.”
“Partly,” I whisper. The so am I sits on my tongue, unsaid.
“She’s stronger than I ever could’ve imagined,” he mumbles. “She can protect Jeb. They have each other to lean on.”
He’s halfway right. Mom is strong, and I have to believe she’s surviving in Wonderland. If only Jeb was with her, he’d be safer, too. I won’t tell Dad they’re not together yet. First, he needs to digest all he’s learned. “They’re okay. They all—both are.”
Dad’s struggling enough with the memory of the winged fae helping Mom break him out of Wonderland’s garden of souls. He doesn’t need to know Morpheus is part of our rescue mission just now. But later, I’ll have to explain the huge role Morpheus has played in my life since childhood. Although I can never confess the part he’s slated to play in my future, because I made a life-magic vow not to say a word. I can’t even tell Morpheus that I’ve seen what’s coming, even though he’s seen it himself.
“The problem is,” I continue, “the rabbit hole has been filled in. All the portals are tied together. So if the entrance isn’t working, neither are the ways out.”
“That’s why you brought me here for my memories.” Dad picks up the dangling threads of my explanation. “To find another way into Wonderland.”
I dread telling him the state Wonderland is in. Worst of all, that I’m to blame for it. That my ineptitude in using undernourished and neglected powers caused this entire tragedy. And that to fix it, I’ll have to face my biggest fear.
We have a lot to discuss before I toss Red into the mix.
“So what happened between you and the conductor?” Dad changes the subject, much to my relief. “Why did you bully him like that?”
I drop a peanut into my mouth. “He called me a half-blood snippet,” I say between crunches. “I thought my solution was pretty creative.” My voice is muffled by the sounds of motors and chatty people drifting from the bridge through the vents overhead.
Dad brushes crumbs off his Tom’s Sporting Goods polo. “Just like the lies you and your mother came up with were creative.”
Ouch. I shove another handful of peanuts in my mouth, wishing things were like they used to be between us. How strange that somehow the lies became the foundation to our relationship. Without them, our bond is shaky . . . precarious.
I ache to reach out and hug him, but the void between us is too vast.
“If we’re going to help her and Jeb,” Dad continues, “I need honest answers from you. The whole truth. No more sugarcoating.”
I study my bare toes, wincing as we step down onto pebbles and broken rock. My soles aren’t the only things feeling exposed and tender. “I have no idea where to start, Dad.”
He frowns. “I don’t expect answers right this minute. We have to find Humphrey’s Inn first.”
“Humphrey’s Inn?” I bite my inner cheek. The only Humphrey I’ve ever met is the egg-man creature in Wonderland, the one called Humpty Dumpty in the Lewis Carroll novel. “What’s that?”
“It’s the one clue I have to my family’s whereabouts. It was my home here.”
“Here, as in London?”
“As in this world. Humphrey’s Inn is some kind of halfway house between the magi-kind and mortal realms. It’s hidden underground.”
His outright acknowledgment of a magical otherworld leaves me reeling. Maybe I was wrong about him being oblivious in dealing with netherlings. Maybe I even suspected as much, but it’s still hard to grasp how deeply Wonderland runs through my blood—on both sides of my family.
That thought triggers another splash of Red’s memories. I waver in place.
Dad steadies me. “You okay?”
“The guy behind The Annotated Alice. Some math wizard.” I shrug. “Just shows how preoccupied Mom’s thoughts were with Wonderland. When she couldn’t find your real name, she gave you one that fit into the Lewis Carroll legacy.”
“Little knowing I already did fit,” Dad says.
“Why? Who are the Skeffingtons?” I ask.
Noticing the conductor hanging on the wall, Dad doesn’t answer.
I help him free the wriggling beetle. “Mr. Bug-in-a-rug wasn’t cooperating,” I explain, working my captive’s tangled fur from the wires and hardware.
“There are other ways to be persuasive.” Dad’s expression is stern as he lowers the disheveled insect to the floor. “Less violent ways.”
I bite my tongue out of respect, though I want to tell him he’s oblivious about dealing with netherlings.
After an apology that wins a cautious albeit reverential bow from the conductor and two complimentary bags of peanuts, Dad takes my hand and we step together onto the toy train’s platform. The car door shuts behind us with a loud scrape.
I yawn, inhaling the scent of dust and powdery stones in the coolness of the dimly lit tunnel. The whispers of a hundred bugs blend together—a soothing distraction. Red’s memories keep nudging me, blurring my mind with disconcerting crimson stains: her flushed face as she tried to hold on to her mother’s spirit, the ruby shimmer of her stepsister’s hair during a painful croquet lesson as her father slipped away, and the deep bloody hue of whispering ribbons heralding Red’s most devastating mistake.
I can’t sympathize. I have to be strong.
I grip my abdomen, nauseated and unbalanced. I had no idea the earworm effect would be this powerful. I’ve got to find a way to control it.
Dad notices me rubbing my stomach and holds out a bag of peanuts. “You need to eat.”
I pop a few peanuts into my mouth. The salty crunchiness appeases my hunger, but it doesn’t quell the splashes of red drizzling in my mind.
“Tell me where your mom is,” Dad says abruptly.
I almost strangle.
“Tell me she’s not in the looking-glass world.”
After swallowing, I answer, “She’s in Wonderland.”
He lets out a relieved sigh. “Good. There are creatures in AnyElsewhere that no human—” He cuts himself short, as if remembering Mom’s the furthest thing from human. “She’s one of them. Like that winged boy who carried me through the portal. She’s a netherling.”
“Partly,” I whisper. The so am I sits on my tongue, unsaid.
“She’s stronger than I ever could’ve imagined,” he mumbles. “She can protect Jeb. They have each other to lean on.”
He’s halfway right. Mom is strong, and I have to believe she’s surviving in Wonderland. If only Jeb was with her, he’d be safer, too. I won’t tell Dad they’re not together yet. First, he needs to digest all he’s learned. “They’re okay. They all—both are.”
Dad’s struggling enough with the memory of the winged fae helping Mom break him out of Wonderland’s garden of souls. He doesn’t need to know Morpheus is part of our rescue mission just now. But later, I’ll have to explain the huge role Morpheus has played in my life since childhood. Although I can never confess the part he’s slated to play in my future, because I made a life-magic vow not to say a word. I can’t even tell Morpheus that I’ve seen what’s coming, even though he’s seen it himself.
“The problem is,” I continue, “the rabbit hole has been filled in. All the portals are tied together. So if the entrance isn’t working, neither are the ways out.”
“That’s why you brought me here for my memories.” Dad picks up the dangling threads of my explanation. “To find another way into Wonderland.”
I dread telling him the state Wonderland is in. Worst of all, that I’m to blame for it. That my ineptitude in using undernourished and neglected powers caused this entire tragedy. And that to fix it, I’ll have to face my biggest fear.
We have a lot to discuss before I toss Red into the mix.
“So what happened between you and the conductor?” Dad changes the subject, much to my relief. “Why did you bully him like that?”
I drop a peanut into my mouth. “He called me a half-blood snippet,” I say between crunches. “I thought my solution was pretty creative.” My voice is muffled by the sounds of motors and chatty people drifting from the bridge through the vents overhead.
Dad brushes crumbs off his Tom’s Sporting Goods polo. “Just like the lies you and your mother came up with were creative.”
Ouch. I shove another handful of peanuts in my mouth, wishing things were like they used to be between us. How strange that somehow the lies became the foundation to our relationship. Without them, our bond is shaky . . . precarious.
I ache to reach out and hug him, but the void between us is too vast.
“If we’re going to help her and Jeb,” Dad continues, “I need honest answers from you. The whole truth. No more sugarcoating.”
I study my bare toes, wincing as we step down onto pebbles and broken rock. My soles aren’t the only things feeling exposed and tender. “I have no idea where to start, Dad.”
He frowns. “I don’t expect answers right this minute. We have to find Humphrey’s Inn first.”
“Humphrey’s Inn?” I bite my inner cheek. The only Humphrey I’ve ever met is the egg-man creature in Wonderland, the one called Humpty Dumpty in the Lewis Carroll novel. “What’s that?”
“It’s the one clue I have to my family’s whereabouts. It was my home here.”
“Here, as in London?”
“As in this world. Humphrey’s Inn is some kind of halfway house between the magi-kind and mortal realms. It’s hidden underground.”
His outright acknowledgment of a magical otherworld leaves me reeling. Maybe I was wrong about him being oblivious in dealing with netherlings. Maybe I even suspected as much, but it’s still hard to grasp how deeply Wonderland runs through my blood—on both sides of my family.
That thought triggers another splash of Red’s memories. I waver in place.
Dad steadies me. “You okay?”
