Splintered

Maybe I could explain the eye patches and wings by saying it’s a costume, but creeping through a mirror? Best thing to do is leave and let her convince herself she’s overworked. It’s unlikely she recognizes me, anyway.

I tuck my key into my bodice and breathe deeply, disinfectant stinging my nose. My petticoats crinkle as I hop down from the sink. Freshly mopped cold tiles meet my bare feet.

On my way to the door, I hear Nurse Jenkins squeak. I pause. She’s still sprawled out, in such a state of shock, she’s practically drooling. A full syringe has fallen from her pocket along with her keys. I almost pity her, until I see Alison’s name on the syringe’s label.

I kneel beside her and clamp her keys between my fingers. “I need to borrow these.”

The nurse stares at me, gaping.

A sense of retribution takes over, and I give in to my wicked side. “You know, you seem a little high-strung today.” I roll the syringe her way with my toes as I stand. “Maybe you should take something … sleep it off.”

I tip Morpheus’s fedora, turn to the door, and shake out my wings for good measure. Checking to make sure the hall’s empty, I step out, biting back a smile.

The sterile corridors that used to intimidate me hold no terror now. I duck in corners and stick to the shadows, close to being caught once or twice, but since only the night crew is here, I’m soon on the third floor where the padded cells wait—alone. I don’t have to guess which one she’s in. Call it netherling intuition, but I know. Unlocking her door, I creep inside and shut it behind me.

Curled up in a corner, she turns her shaved head and squints my direction. “Allie?” Her voice sounds tiny and muffled.

I take the hat off and drop it. The dim lighting makes her look fragile and weak. My heart caves in. Maybe she’s still too sedated to do this. She proves me wrong when she pushes herself up to lean against the cushioned wall, wrestling with her straitjacket.

“W-w-wings?” Understanding creeps over her features. “You found the rabbit hole.”

“It’s over, Mom,” I whisper, moving cautiously toward her across the padded floor. I’ve no sooner ripped open the Velcro belts holding her arms in place than she pulls me into a hug. We kneel, clutching each other tightly.

“But you’re one of them,” she sobs against my neck. “The curse …”

“No more curse,” I whisper, rubbing my cheek along the fuzz of her head. “There never was one. I have so much to tell you.”

I wake up to a growling stomach. White noise buzzes all around and sunlight seeps under the curtains. Still groggy, I glance at the calendar over my bed. Saturday, June 1st. The morning after prom.

Perfect timing. When I used the mirror in the asylum’s bathroom to come home, I made it back in time to change and crawl into bed for a few hours. Although I don’t really remember anything once I stepped out of my cheval glass.

Maybe because I didn’t step through. Maybe I never went to Wonderland to begin with. Maybe I dreamed everything …

Panicked, I throw off my covers and swing my feet over the bed’s edge. Something drops to the floor: the jade caterpillar. It lands next to Morpheus’s hat.

I feel around my neck and find the necklace with the tiny key.

Relief untangles the knots in my stomach.

Picking up the caterpillar carving, I make a beeline to my mirror—unbroken and as smooth as crystal—to face my reflection.

There it is: proof positive that I rode a wave of clams and captured an ocean in a sponge. The glistening skin and streaks of flaming red in my platinum hair are still there. The tattoos around my eyes are gone, as are my wings—although by wrenching my arm around, I can feel ridges at my shoulder blades. Buds ready to sprout if I need them.

I turn around and stare at my eels in their aquarium. The memory of the bandersnatch’s tongues shakes my core. Then I glance at my cello and recount another memory … Chessie’s song, warped and weird. Even looking toward my desk and the dried spider mosaic takes me back to the amazing spiral constellations I saw while in the rowboat.

Memories, real and irreplaceable, all of them. The happy ones, the bitter ones, the terrified and the poignant. Two guys willing to sacrifice their lives for me.

Morpheus, who’s imprisoned forever in the belly of a bander-snatch. And Jeb, who probably spent last night at a hotel with Taelor after prom. It’s possible they didn’t break up in this reality. Since I never answered the door when Jeb first came by, he wasn’t in my house when Taelor came to get him.

I race out of my bedroom, forgetting to throw a robe over my camisole and fla

“Whoa there, Butterfly.” Dad catches me as my fluffy ankle socks lose traction and I skid across the wooden floor.

It’s so good to see his face again, I laugh to keep from crying. “Trying to skate without a board.” I motion to the slick floor.

He slaps me with the Elvis smirk. “Just be careful, or you’ll hurt your other ankle, too.”

I throw myself against his chest in a hug.

One of his arms wraps around me, and he holds the other one between us. “Hey … you all right?”

I nod, unable to speak over the torrent of emotions. I let my hug say everything for me. I missed you. I love you. And I’m so sorry for fighting with you.

The arm Dad holds between us wiggles. He has the cordless phone against his sternum. I pull back.

My first thought is Taelor. She figured out I stole from her. Maybe Persephone found the purse in the trash. I can’t believe I didn’t think to use the mirrors at the store and put the money back before coming home.

I was wrong to steal it in the first place. So I guess, just like Morpheus said before the bandersnatch swallowed him whole, I’ll have to take my medicine. I’ll have to tell her that I’m the thief and hope she won’t press charges.

I squeeze the caterpillar carving between my fingers to give me courage. “Who are you talking to?”

Dad winks, then lifts the phone to his ear. “Hey, sweetie. Would you like to say good morning to our daughter?” He holds out the phone.

I’m relieved it’s not Taelor but twist my face into a confused expression. I have a part to play.

“Patients in Alison’s ward never get to use the phone,” I say, making my voice tremble for effect.

Dad shrugs and grins.

The phone’s cold against my ear when I finally take it. “Alison?”

“It’s working, Allie.” Her voice sounds strong and clear.

“Yeah?” I ask, still feigning shock.

“Dad will tell you the details. Come visit me later today, okay?”

“Have they given you anything this morning?”

“No,” she answers. “I did what we agreed on. I’m letting them see that I’m sane. For some reason, they think it was the sedatives causing my delusions. How’s that for irony?”

I smile. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Yours, too. I want to see you again, to hug you … to tell you how proud I am. I love you—” Her voice cracks.

I tear up, and this time I’m not pretending. “I love you, too … Mom.”

I stand there, rooted to the floor. Dad gently pries the phone loose and says his good-byes before leading me to the couch in the living room.

“The asylum called this morning, before the crack of dawn.” His eyes mist, smile lines framing them. “I went and visited right after, while you were still asleep. She’s lucid … really lucid. She’s not talking to anything but people. And she ate an omelet off a di