Ensnared

I squint. So Morpheus is the one flaunting his powers under the iron dome? That’s better than it being Red, but how is he using his magic without being warped by it? Is it the iron that’s made his magic purple instead of blue?

“Please!” the rock lobsters plead in unison.

“Well enough,” Morpheus says, reeling in the enchanted strands along the walking stick’s shaft until they disappear into his fingertips. “Leave your king to his consideration. Once a decision has been made, I will call for you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, c-c-crystal.” The largest rock’s color drains away until he’s almost transparent, as if he’s made of crystal himself. His shell is like a pearl shimmering under the orange sky. The smaller pearlescent rocks follow him, scuttling up the hill and burying themselves in the ash piles until they’re as covert as me.

“Cursed realm,” Morpheus says. He stands the cane on its four paws and drags some gloves from his pocket to slide them on. “Everyone and everything wants a piece of the royal pie. Even the landscape has an agenda.”

I bite back a smile. He’s exactly the same as when he was taken—narcissistic, disarmingly snarky, and clever. I’m glad he’s found a way to rule the creatures here. Even if his powers have caused unrest among the prisoners and trouble for Dad’s relatives, at least they’ve kept him alive.

He turns to leave, stroking the feathers on his cane as he walks.

I fumble to peel the simulacrum from my face and hands, but it clings to my sweaty skin. I drop my palms to my sides, concentrating on my clothes. Maybe if I envision what I’m wearing underneath, it will reverse the magic that made me invisible.

“Morpheus, wait.” My voice is weak and comes out as a whisper. Still, it stops him in his tracks.

Silence . . . all but his sharp intake of breath. Ash sifts under his feet as he swivels on his heel. I hold out my palm to him, transparent with a vaguely discernible outline.

“Someone there?” Morpheus narrows his eyes.

A hand clenches my shoulder from behind. Felt, but not seen. “Allie.” Dad’s whisper grazes my ear. “Don’t show yourself.”

I grip his hand back, relieved he’s safe. Before I can respond, the ground shakes, coming apart like puzzle pieces. Dad’s arm tightens around me and we both teeter in place. In an instant, the terrain has shifted and cracked. Water burbles through the broken seams, filling the rivulets between us. Tiny geysers spurt up—the size of a drinking fountain’s stream.

The trees, the hill, Morpheus, me and Dad, we’re all afloat on our own miniature islands.

Hot, balmy air blows in gusts, the humidity rising.

“Blast it,” Morpheus mumbles, wings splayed low to stabilize the fragment of land under his feet. He lifts his face to the sky as it darkens to gray. “Really?” He yells to no one in particular. “Geysers? Is this your idea of a joke?”

I scoot my foot next to Dad’s, balancing on our own floating island, trying to make sense of Morpheus’s tirade. A mechanical whir stirs overhead as a flock of giant birds comes into view. Instead of using their wings, they hold on to lacy parasols in bright floral prints that spin to give the birds lift. Each one looks like a monstrous Mary Poppins soaring across the sky. On their descent, the parasols invert, and the bird creatures crash into the water. The spray sinks through the simulacrum and my clothes, hot on my skin.

Most of the birds abandon their umbrella contraptions, using their beaks for leverage to drag their steaming, feathery bodies ashore. A few carry their parasols with them.

Though some resemble ducks, others eaglets and ospreys, they’re all hideously deformed: the size of gorillas, with four furry arms and hands co

Dad draws me closer. Our floating island seesaws as three birds hobble by on ostrichlike legs. The stench of scalded, wet feathers makes me gag. Something tells me they wouldn’t notice us even if we were visible, because their sights are set on Morpheus.

He stands his ground as seven of them flap across the moats and surround him, clicking their razor-sharp beaks. Five more climb the hill where the rock lobsters are hiding.

“My, my.” Morpheus smiles pleasantly. “If it isn’t the doltish dozen. That was quite an entrance. I see you’re doing your best to control your mutations. But I’m afraid the real damage is done. I do hope you haven’t come for fashion advice. There’s no amount of style or suave that can conceal that much ugly.”

“Shut up,” caws a bird that looks like a kingfisher. “You won’t be so cocky once you hear that Manti’s found your weakness.”

“Yeah, weakness.” An eaglet creature snaps his beak close to Morpheus’s ear, leaving behind a bloody scratch on his lobe. Morpheus winces but doesn’t budge. He performed magic earlier. Why doesn’t he take flight and escape? I try to break loose from Dad’s grip, but he tightens it.

“This isn’t your fight,” he whispers, barely audible over the rustling wet feathers and bubbling geysers.

I stifle a growl.

“The jig is up, pretty boy,” an osprey says, jerking Morpheus’s lapel with one wet, apish hand. The walking stick slips from Morpheus’s grasp. “Manti’s been spying on you. He knows you disappear after magical stints to recharge. What he wants to know is how you recharge, and how you use your magic without it affecting you.” The osprey looks at Morpheus’s jacket where the fabric he was clenching has disintegrated, leaving a jagged hole. “How did that happen?”

Morpheus snorts. “It would appear my clothes have an aversion to your grimy touch and choose to avoid it at all costs.”

My body shakes with an involuntary giggle. Dad squeezes my shoulder again—a warning.

The osprey leans closer to Morpheus’s face. “Best to get all that drollery out of your system. Manti doesn’t have the sense of humor we do.”

Morpheus clucks his tongue. “Well then, perhaps we should try for another afternoon. I’m feeling particularly facetious today. Now, if you’ll step aside, I’ll just get my walking stick . . .”

“Not happening.” The kingfisher mutant closes in. “We sent the rock lobsters to drain you of your magic in exchange for their eggs. You’re used up. So you have no choice but to come with us and answer Manti’s questions.”

Morpheus glances toward the hilltop, where the other five bird creatures are paying the rocks with what appear to be strands of pearls as big as baseballs. His gloved fingers tap his thigh. “Traitorous little crustaceans. Should’ve known they were up to no good.” He turns back to his captors. “So, your boss would like to toss his hat into the ring, aye?”

“You’re the one who insisted on rocking the boat and forming a royal dictatorship. We all know the crown belongs to Manti. He’s been the queen’s knave since before they were even exiled here. Centuries ago. Did you really think you could become king without another candidate stepping up to challenge you?” The osprey kicks Morpheus’s walking cane, causing the feathers to flutter. “Nay. The Queen of Hearts has called for a Hallowed Festival day after next, and there’s to be a caucus race to elect an official king. The one who wins the race will rule by the queen’s side. And those who are defeated will lose their beating hearts.”

“Them’s the rules,” a duckbilled bird scoffs, shaking his parasol in Morpheus’s face. “Made by the queen herself.”

“Them’s the rules?” Morpheus chuckles, deep and soft. “You need to work on your scare tactics, Ducky. Incorrect grammar wielded by a goon bird who carries a frilly sunshade. Doesn’t have quite the effect you’re hoping for.”

The seven birds tackle him, slamming him to the ground.

I struggle against Dad, but he refuses to relent.

“No eating him!” the duckbilled creature shouts. “The boss man said!”