Ensnared
Page 79
Chessie appears in front of our face. He sucks on the hookah pipe and blows a puff of smoke. The scented cloud permeates the air and coats our tongue, triggering images: licorice tobacco and a seductive fae with an agenda, ocean salt and a mortal boy’s sweat, maple syrup and a father’s love, a mother’s sacrifice and a lunar garden rich with lilies and honeysuckle.
The human within us dances for an instant, awakened by her senses. Her emotions are overwhelming . . . frightening.
We writhe in place, our vines whipping out to chase Chessie away. But it’s too late. The knife of knowing saws back and forth across the tethers We’ve secured around our heart.
We won’t allow it. It will hurt if the seams are broken.
Concentrate. Concentrate only on the man who will be our king.
Our attention shifts to Morpheus, then to Hart as she and Manti face the priest once more, having placated the bloodthirsty guests. The guards and goons barricade the stairs, forming a line between the wedding party and the audience.
“Wake up, you buffoon,” Hart says to the priest, and the lightning bugs strike him with electrical charges until he giggles so hard his bulging eyes open. “Begin the ceremony.”
The priest smacks his fat, slimy lips. “Do you come into this union free of all binds?” The croaking question bulges from his greenish throat.
Morpheus’s head hangs so low his hair cascades across the left side of his face. His bejeweled profile fades to the color of tears through spaces in the blue curtain. “A life-magic vow stands between us.”
“Then it must be broken, or forfeit the union,” the frogman says, and yawns loudly.
Silence wreathes the courtyard. We look at the flames in the sphere overhead. The brightness burns an imprint on our mind, cauterizing the human emotions trying to weaken us.
“It is time, Morpheus,” Hart presses. “Prove your loyalty to your brides and your world, and you will be rewarded with the key to the gate. Bring me the boy’s heart.”
Morpheus snarls. “First, you show me the medallion. I want to see it.”
Hart offers the shadow box to Manti. She opens the lid to reveal five pulsing life-clocks. With a squishing sound, Hart plunges her fingers into the fattest one, then drags out the medallion. She lays it across her palm, dripping with blood. “Proof enough? Now kill him.”
Morpheus takes our unresponsive hand and holds it close to his lips. His breath cloaks our fingertips, another disarming sensation. “Remember: Memories are your greatest weapons,” he whispers.
We turn back to the suffering mortal. Pictures blink through our mind: the same boy in cargo shorts and a dark tee beneath his Underland vest, black lights highlighting his toned arms with bluish flashes; the boy in his feather-duster mask for the junior prom masquerade; Jeb sand surfing with me on tea carts, then pouring out his blood to save my life over and over and over; Jeb kissing me after I broke his heart, and fighting at prom for me and every other human.
One of the threads on our heart breaks loose with a visceral twang, reviving the voice:
His tongue said beautiful words to you . . . His eyes held you in their gentle gaze. Never again. Unless you stop this. He might still be healed with magic, just as he once healed Morpheus.
It’s my voice—my reasoning—quiet and still, desperate to be heard. But my vocal cords lie dormant as if I’ve swallowed the black mist outside of AnyElsewhere’s gate. Like my body, my words are held captive by Red’s vines.
Still, she can hear my liberated thoughts.
Jeb is wounded . . . but he can be saved. Morpheus will do the right thing.
Morpheus will show no mercy, Red contradicts in my mind. He’ll do anything for Wonderland. That is his priority. That is why I chose him to be our king. That, and the fact that because of his childhood with you, he can father a dream-child. What a profoundly perfect twist of fate that turned out to be.
Another thread snaps loose from my heart, the pain precise and acute. I embrace it, because it reminds me I’m still here. I’m alive. I’m empowered.
Determination boils in my blood, scalding my skin. I concentrate on my fingers, forcing them to squeeze Morpheus’s hand.
His eyes widen. He looks from me to the medallion Hart’s holding. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Make a choice,” Hart seethes. “Either the human gives his life, or Wonderland belongs to the denizens of the looking-glass world.”
Morpheus looks at the crowd of deranged guests salivating and brutal, then down at Jeb’s kneeling form. The blood on Jeb’s chin has dribbled to the T-shirt under his tuxedo vest, bright red against the white fabric.
My feet twitch . . . My legs ache . . . My stomach knots. Every part of me slowly wakes, but my vocal cords shrivel under Red’s clutches. I fight for the use of my limbs. Her vines hold me too high; I can’t get my feet on the ground. A grinding sensation shuttles through my bones as punishment for even trying. Red winds my arms within her ivy and pins them to my sides.
A whimper dies in my throat.
Memory nudges beneath the pain. A reminder that I overpowered her once before. I move, ignoring the splitting sensation inside me, and clamp my fingers around a vine. I tug it. Rivulets of blood spurt from where the ivy stretches my skin.
Another one of my heart’s seams snap . . . then another and another. I yelp from the excruciating burn. I can’t tear her out without ripping my own heart in half.
Defeated, I go limp.
“Hurry,” Red says aloud, using me as her mouthpiece, desperate now. “Kill the boy, and she’ll be your queen forever, Morpheus. Simple as that.”
“Give me his life-clock!” Hart shouts to Morpheus. She holds the medallion high, swinging it like a pendulum to tempt him.
Morpheus grips Jeb’s vest and forces him to stand. Jeb wavers, unbalanced by the inability to see. He strains against the cuffs binding his hands. He kicks his legs blindly in self-defense.
Morpheus turns his gaze to me, the black depths filled with so much remorse I know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “Alyssa, forgive me. But I will always do what’s best for Wonderland.”
“No!” I shout, freeing my vocal cords at last.
The crowd surges, provoking the guards and goon birds to strengthen their barricade.
Still holding Jeb’s vest, Morpheus glances over his shoulder at the chaos. “Now!” he shouts.
Chessie and Nikki appear from out of nowhere, hovering over Hart. Nikki distracts the queen as Chessie dips down and snags the medallion, taking off toward the gate. Manti sends the doppelganger after the feline fae. The crowd’s fervor reaches manic intensity as they turn on the royal party and the stage.
The human within us dances for an instant, awakened by her senses. Her emotions are overwhelming . . . frightening.
We writhe in place, our vines whipping out to chase Chessie away. But it’s too late. The knife of knowing saws back and forth across the tethers We’ve secured around our heart.
We won’t allow it. It will hurt if the seams are broken.
Concentrate. Concentrate only on the man who will be our king.
Our attention shifts to Morpheus, then to Hart as she and Manti face the priest once more, having placated the bloodthirsty guests. The guards and goons barricade the stairs, forming a line between the wedding party and the audience.
“Wake up, you buffoon,” Hart says to the priest, and the lightning bugs strike him with electrical charges until he giggles so hard his bulging eyes open. “Begin the ceremony.”
The priest smacks his fat, slimy lips. “Do you come into this union free of all binds?” The croaking question bulges from his greenish throat.
Morpheus’s head hangs so low his hair cascades across the left side of his face. His bejeweled profile fades to the color of tears through spaces in the blue curtain. “A life-magic vow stands between us.”
“Then it must be broken, or forfeit the union,” the frogman says, and yawns loudly.
Silence wreathes the courtyard. We look at the flames in the sphere overhead. The brightness burns an imprint on our mind, cauterizing the human emotions trying to weaken us.
“It is time, Morpheus,” Hart presses. “Prove your loyalty to your brides and your world, and you will be rewarded with the key to the gate. Bring me the boy’s heart.”
Morpheus snarls. “First, you show me the medallion. I want to see it.”
Hart offers the shadow box to Manti. She opens the lid to reveal five pulsing life-clocks. With a squishing sound, Hart plunges her fingers into the fattest one, then drags out the medallion. She lays it across her palm, dripping with blood. “Proof enough? Now kill him.”
Morpheus takes our unresponsive hand and holds it close to his lips. His breath cloaks our fingertips, another disarming sensation. “Remember: Memories are your greatest weapons,” he whispers.
We turn back to the suffering mortal. Pictures blink through our mind: the same boy in cargo shorts and a dark tee beneath his Underland vest, black lights highlighting his toned arms with bluish flashes; the boy in his feather-duster mask for the junior prom masquerade; Jeb sand surfing with me on tea carts, then pouring out his blood to save my life over and over and over; Jeb kissing me after I broke his heart, and fighting at prom for me and every other human.
One of the threads on our heart breaks loose with a visceral twang, reviving the voice:
His tongue said beautiful words to you . . . His eyes held you in their gentle gaze. Never again. Unless you stop this. He might still be healed with magic, just as he once healed Morpheus.
It’s my voice—my reasoning—quiet and still, desperate to be heard. But my vocal cords lie dormant as if I’ve swallowed the black mist outside of AnyElsewhere’s gate. Like my body, my words are held captive by Red’s vines.
Still, she can hear my liberated thoughts.
Jeb is wounded . . . but he can be saved. Morpheus will do the right thing.
Morpheus will show no mercy, Red contradicts in my mind. He’ll do anything for Wonderland. That is his priority. That is why I chose him to be our king. That, and the fact that because of his childhood with you, he can father a dream-child. What a profoundly perfect twist of fate that turned out to be.
Another thread snaps loose from my heart, the pain precise and acute. I embrace it, because it reminds me I’m still here. I’m alive. I’m empowered.
Determination boils in my blood, scalding my skin. I concentrate on my fingers, forcing them to squeeze Morpheus’s hand.
His eyes widen. He looks from me to the medallion Hart’s holding. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
“Make a choice,” Hart seethes. “Either the human gives his life, or Wonderland belongs to the denizens of the looking-glass world.”
Morpheus looks at the crowd of deranged guests salivating and brutal, then down at Jeb’s kneeling form. The blood on Jeb’s chin has dribbled to the T-shirt under his tuxedo vest, bright red against the white fabric.
My feet twitch . . . My legs ache . . . My stomach knots. Every part of me slowly wakes, but my vocal cords shrivel under Red’s clutches. I fight for the use of my limbs. Her vines hold me too high; I can’t get my feet on the ground. A grinding sensation shuttles through my bones as punishment for even trying. Red winds my arms within her ivy and pins them to my sides.
A whimper dies in my throat.
Memory nudges beneath the pain. A reminder that I overpowered her once before. I move, ignoring the splitting sensation inside me, and clamp my fingers around a vine. I tug it. Rivulets of blood spurt from where the ivy stretches my skin.
Another one of my heart’s seams snap . . . then another and another. I yelp from the excruciating burn. I can’t tear her out without ripping my own heart in half.
Defeated, I go limp.
“Hurry,” Red says aloud, using me as her mouthpiece, desperate now. “Kill the boy, and she’ll be your queen forever, Morpheus. Simple as that.”
“Give me his life-clock!” Hart shouts to Morpheus. She holds the medallion high, swinging it like a pendulum to tempt him.
Morpheus grips Jeb’s vest and forces him to stand. Jeb wavers, unbalanced by the inability to see. He strains against the cuffs binding his hands. He kicks his legs blindly in self-defense.
Morpheus turns his gaze to me, the black depths filled with so much remorse I know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “Alyssa, forgive me. But I will always do what’s best for Wonderland.”
“No!” I shout, freeing my vocal cords at last.
The crowd surges, provoking the guards and goon birds to strengthen their barricade.
Still holding Jeb’s vest, Morpheus glances over his shoulder at the chaos. “Now!” he shouts.
Chessie and Nikki appear from out of nowhere, hovering over Hart. Nikki distracts the queen as Chessie dips down and snags the medallion, taking off toward the gate. Manti sends the doppelganger after the feline fae. The crowd’s fervor reaches manic intensity as they turn on the royal party and the stage.
