Splintered

Trample an Army Beneath Her Feet—Rode across the card guards on a wave of clams.

Wake the Dead—No explanation necessary …

My dark side is thrilled at what I’ve accomplished, and pride swells my chest.

Then my other side takes the lead. “No,” I say aloud to myself. “Not my accomplishments. Morpheus’s.” Dread winds itself around my heart, deflating me.

Jeb was right all along. The things I’ve been doing weren’t to fix my great-great-great-grandmother’s messes. They were elaborate tests. Why didn’t I listen to him?

“What am I being tested for?” I take my teacup and hold it in trembling palms, willing the heat to seep inside me and stave off the chill in my heart.

Humphrey meets Sister One’s gaze as she hands him a cookie dusted with ci

“That list represents the criteria for a queen,” she answers. “The requirements were written after Grenadine took the throne. King Red heard rumors that his former wife had escaped Wonderland’s wilds and remarried. Fearing the possibility of female offspring, he insisted that if anyone was to ever step forward as Red’s lineage and try to take the crown from Grenadine, she would first have to pass eight impossible tests to prove her worth. The Red Court agreed to make the tests a royal decree. You are the first to ever pass them … well, almost all of them. Of course, you are the first of Queen Red’s offspring to come forward and try.”

I’m about to object, to say that it’s impossible because I’m not of royal lineage. I’m about to stand on my chair and stomp like a two-year-old, to refuse to believe that any of this is real …

Until Morpheus’s lullabies trickle through my mind, complete at last: “Little blossom in white and red, resting now your tiny head; grow and thrive, be strong and keen, for you will one day be their queen … Little blossom in peach and gray, grew up strong and found your way; two things more yet to be seen, until at last you’ll be their queen.”

Shivers run like icy drizzle through my wings. “No, no, no. I’m not—I didn’t actually pass anything,” I say to my hostess. “I stumbled into accomplishing each one … by accident, really.”

She and Humphrey have no comment. They’re too busy counting squares and sipping their brew.

They know, just like me, that nothing I did was by accident. Morpheus orchestrated all of it—set up familiar Wonderland scenarios by using Lewis Carroll’s book and soliciting the help of other netherling natives, then stood back and watched as I completed each “test.”

At the tea party he said he wanted to return me to my proper place, my home. Which realm does he consider home for me? Gritty discomfort fills my throat, as if I’ve swallowed the entire desert. I gulp down half my tea.

Jeb …

I need him to put his arms around me and promise it will be okay; I need him to make me feel human again.

“I want to use the looking glass to find my boyfriend.” I stand so fast, one of my wings hits the table and tips the kettle of tea.

Humphrey pats the spill with his napkin before the steaming puddle can reach his lap. “I was right! You do mean to coddle me!”

Sister One leads me to the tall pantry and opens the left door, revealing a looking glass. “Your mortal escort is already where you’re going. My pixies were in the chasm gathering Grenadine’s dead army when they saw your mortal leave in chains with Morpheus and the elfin knights. Thanks to your help defeating the card guards, the White army successfully raided and took control of the Red castle tonight in search of their Ivory Queen.”

The beat in my chest almost comes to a halt. “Morpheus has Jeb imprisoned at the Red castle?”

She pats my hand without answering. “You’ll need this.” From one of the pantry shelves, she pulls down a tattered teddy bear. She doesn’t have to explain. I already know it holds the part of Chessie that will somehow be my final test—his smile—although I’ve no idea how I’m supposed to harness it.

“Remind Morpheus that my end of the bargain is met,” Sister One says as she waves her hand across the looking glass. It crackles like ice, revealing a chamber in a castle with lush red carpets and curtains of gold. There’s a canopied bed and a fireplace; a tall Victorian parlor chair, with its back to me, faces the hearth. A silver fedora trimmed in red moths hangs from one arm of the chair. Smoke rises into the air and a gloved hand stretches into view, a hookah’s hose perched elegantly between two fingers.

Morpheus.

If I refuse to bring the teddy bear, does that mean I level his plan to dust? And Jeb—how will we get home? I bite my lip and tuck the toy beneath my left arm, snug against my rib cage.

Sister One draws out a tiny key and turns it so the surface opens to the portal. Her eight feet tap impatiently.

Everyone in this place has an agenda. In exchange for her precious spirits, she’s delivering me straight to the one who’s manipulated and used me this entire journey. My entire life.

Tears blind my vision as I step through the glass.

If only I hadn’t stepped through the first portal; if only I hadn’t found the rabbit hole.

If only I’d never been born.

I land in the Red castle, a few feet behind the chair I saw in the portal. My heels sink silently into the spongy carpet and Morpheus doesn’t even stir, still puffing in front of the fire. The scent of his licorice tobacco lights a flame inside me … a burning need to trump him in this warped game.

I squeeze the teddy bear under my arm.

“It wasn’t little Alice who came back to the mortal realm, was it?” I ask, facing the chair’s back.

“No.” Morpheus’s answer comes from behind me and I spin, almost falling. His wings sweep over him like an eclipse as he bends to steady me.

I shove him away.

Arching an eyebrow, he smooths his silver and black pin-striped suit. Between the suit and the punkish hair, he looks like an emo gangster.

“You were waiting for me to come through the portal?” I accuse. “Then who’s—” No need to finish. Rabid White tumbles over the chair’s arm into view, pink eyes aglow. Of course. He’s in league with Morpheus, which means he’s only been pretending to be my enemy. They’ve both been playing me all along.

The cadaverous creature lays the hookah hose aside and bows to me. “At your service be I, fair queen.” His high-pitched voice drips sincerity.

I exhale to steady my wobbly insides. “I’m not the queen. And I don’t want your service.” I turn back to Morpheus.

“I believe you’re being dismissed, Sir Rabid.” Morpheus keeps his fathomless gaze on me. “No doubt she’ll call upon you soon enough, just as Grenadine once did. When she’s officially queen, she shall covet your talents as an experienced and devoted advisor.”

“Highness. Loyally and always, ever yours.” Rabid bows so low on his way out that his antlers set him off balance and he almost topples. He catches himself, then hops across the threshold, a rattling bag of bones in a waistcoat.

The door latches shut and I’m alone with Morpheus in a room of shadows and flashing firelight.

“Your spy,” I say.

“Yes,” Morpheus answers. “It never set well with him what Grenadine and the Red Court did to Red. He wants to see Red’s heir upon the throne almost as much as I do, to amend the injustice done to his true queen.”

The play of the firelight across Morpheus’s wild hair and otherworldly beautiful face spins me back into my memories. He was training me to be a queen. The Red Queen. And now I stand here, vulnerable, imprisoned by feelings he inspired in my youthful dreams: happiness and comfort, affection and admiration. But nostalgia is deceptive, and I shove it aside. Because everything has been a lie.