Splintered

Maybe I’m breathing too hard. Maybe I’m slobbering too much. Maybe I’ll never measure up to the other girls he’s been with. But it doesn’t matter, because of all the things I’ve experienced on this journey—shrinking and growing, flying sprites, living chess pieces—not a one of them is more magical than this moment.

His kisses fade to nuzzles along my face and neck, soft and poignant. “Al,” he whispers. “You taste so sweet … like honeysuckle.”

“Don’t,” I murmur, in a daze.

He draws back, eyes heavy and dark. “You want me to stop?”

“No.” I’ve fallen asleep praying for you to look at me like this. To touch me like this. “Don’t break my heart.”

Moth shadows glide above him in the mirrored ceiling, distracting me from the fierceness of his frown. “I’d cut mine out first.”

I believe he would. Stretching to tiptoe, I clasp his ponytail. This time, I kiss him. He responds with a spine-tingling growl, fingers digging into my hips. I skim my gloved palms down to find his chest, seeking the scars. Stopping at the chains on his waist, I grip them until the metal bites into my fingers and back us against the wall. A chill seeps into my shoulder blades from the mirror, but the perfect fit of his body against mine lights my blood with a thousand tiny fires, consuming me.

We’re both so into it, neither of us hears the footsteps until a snarl breaks us apart. We turn to find Morpheus standing there with enough rage in his black eyes to send the Devil packing for heaven.

Jeb tugs his fingers from the rings in my belt but keeps a hand at my lower back. I touch my lips; they’re throbbing and gluttonous, hungry for more.

“Well, now, isn’t this cozy?” Morpheus’s voice isn’t liquid this time. It grates like rusted nails along my eardrums. He peels off his gloves and slaps them against his palm, wings droopy and trailing the floor like a cape. “Perhaps you might give Alyssa her lipstick back. We haven’t time to find more before di

Jeb swipes my gloss from his mouth. I lick my lips, struck by an inexplicable stab of guilt.

Morpheus’s lullaby plays softly in my head, melancholy and pinched. The words to the song seem to have been altered to fit his mood:

Little blossom in peach and red,

Trapping boys with your pretty head;

Tease and play, be coy and smart,

For you will one day break his heart.

The lullaby sours to shrieking notes in my ears, making me wince.

Grunting deep in his chest, Morpheus turns to a mirror and brushes his clothes with his gloves. He’s wearing a white flouncy shirt under a red brocade jacket that swings at his thighs. It’s double-breasted with brassy buttons on both lapels. His pants resemble tights—crushed red velvet. Black lace-up boots stop just at his shins. He could be Romeo straight out of Shakespeare’s play if not for the blue hair and wings.

He whips his wingspan to its full magnificence. The jewels at the tips of his eye markings flash with his temper, from red to green. “Don’t you know, elfin knight”—he turns back to us—“that it is very untoward for a guard to proposition his i

I frown. What, do I have the word prude stamped across my forehead? “You don’t know anything about me.”

Morpheus twists his mouth into a wry grin. “Perhaps you were simply pretending, then? To blush like an unblemished peach?”

Jeb drags me behind him. “She’s not having this discussion with you.”

Morpheus huffs. “A little late for chivalry. Had anyone else seen that display, your masquerade as a knight would have ended before it ever began. Did you forget to tell him about a knight’s first order, pet? About keeping his hands and emotions in check?” Morpheus’s attention falls to his right shoulder. Gossamer peers out from beneath his hair. She and Jeb exchange a glance.

Morpheus’s eyes fall back on me, slicing like onyx blades. All I want to do is bask in the memory of my first kiss. Instead, I’m wrestling the notion that I’ve betrayed some nether-realm guy I haven’t seen in years, and for some reason, the thought of hurting him is unbearable.

Jeb’s stance stiffens. “Change of plans,” he says. “Al’s not going to help you play out this little game, whatever it is. You’re sending us back. Now.”

Morpheus lifts one side of his mouth in a sneer. He addresses Gossamer again while still staring at me. “Seems you were wrong. You told me the mortal wasn’t a threat. Perhaps you underestimated the allure of our crafty Alyssa.”

Gossamer studies her teensy feet. Her wings flap slowly, like a butterfly’s at rest. “I thought he preferred someone—”

“Shush! That’s not your secret to tell!” Morpheus shouts. The volume of his voice knocks Gossamer off her perch. She flutters in midair, hands slapped over pointed ears.

Morpheus touches a finger to his mouth. “Read my lips, loose-tongued little spriteling. Get. The. Bloody. Box. It’s time to show our maiden and her toy soldier what kind of welcome they’ll receive, should they turn their backs on their one ally.”

Gossamer whisks out of the corridor.

“And bring me my Cajolery Hat!” Morpheus calls after her. His command is still echoing when he spins on his heel to study us. Smug, he coaxes his gloves on. “There’s a problem with your request, pseudo elf. I can’t simply send you back. And Alyssa knows this.”

Jeb casts a glance over his shoulder, eyes wide with questions.

“Oh, dear me.” Morpheus slaps a palm to his cheek, as if stu

Jeb turns to me. “Wait … that money in your pencil box. Tae did leave her purse at the shop? You stole from her.”

Morpheus leans in between us. “Well, how else was our Alyssa to skip off to London to find me?”

Jeb’s gaze doesn’t budge, heavy with accusation. “I can’t believe you lied to my face. You stole money to get a fake passport and pla

“Two for two,” Morpheus taunts, behind me now. “A liar and a thief. That pedestal’s getting slippery, isn’t it, little plum?”

I elbow him hard enough that his wings rustle. “I did what had to be done to help Alison,” I grind out to Jeb, disregarding Morpheus’s smug smile as he walks by in my periphery. “I only borrowed the money. I’m going to pay it back.”

Morpheus stops beside Jeb. “She has a point. Motivation always justifies the crime. That’s the law of the land here.”

“Hear that?” Jeb says, piercing me with the mockery in his voice. “The local cockroach has given you his stamp of approval. And you wonder why I can’t trust you to go off on your own.”

A tiny fire burns at the base of my throat, an a

“Oh, great plan.” Jeb motions to the room around us.

“Like I could have ever seen this coming, Jeb!”

Before Jeb can respond, Morpheus steps between us, gripping us each by the shoulder. “Beg pardon, lovebirds,” he intones. “But as much as I’m enjoying this, your quarrel is in danger of upstaging my grand unveiling.”

He motions to the door, where Gossamer has returned with twenty other sprites. Five of them carry a red top hat with a wide black band holding a peacock’s feather in place. A string of iridescent blue moth corpses drapes the brim like a garland.

The other sprites bring a black bag too heavy to lift, so they drag it across the floor.

“All the guests have arrived, Master,” Gossamer says, her tiny voice quavering. She and her companions drop the top hat onto Morpheus’s head while the others leave the bag next to our backpack.