Unhinged: 2 (27 page)

I search for the lantern again, only to find that the other phantoms dragged it away. The one that attacked Taelor must’ve been a decoy so they could steal my light. They ooze into the holes in the lacy pattern, filling the globe until the light is extinguished.

The black void is as heavy as a wet quilt. I hold Taelor’s limp hand. Maybe Morpheus really has turned his back on me. I never thought he would leave me trapped with no way out. Even if he’s furious enough to want me to suffer, surely he’ll come around. He needs my help to save Wonderland.

As if in answer to my thoughts, a glowing light appears in the locker room’s doorway, small and sparkly like the lit fuse on a Roman candle, bobbing in midair. It dodges the plummeting wraiths on the way over, then perches atop Taelor’s knee.

The brightness fades, taking shape: two inches tall, feminine curves, lima-bean green, and naked all but for the strategic placement
of glistening scales. Coppery bulbous eyes study me. It’s like being in a staring contest with a dragonfly.

“Gossamer,” I say, as surprised as I am relieved to see her. She was once Morpheus’s most beautiful and treasured sprite before she betrayed him. Either she’s here on her own or she’s made amends.

“Queen Alyssa.” She bows, and her furred wings tremble. She looks over her shoulder at the wraiths. “It is a dark time,” she says in her tinkling voice.

“It is,” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady so I’ll sound regal. I fail miserably. “Did Morpheus send you?”

“Indeed,” she answers. “He heard your call.”

I inhale deeply, reassured that he hasn’t completely abandoned me. “So what do I do? How do I defeat them?”

“You need not defeat them. Simply lead them home.”

“To Wonderland?”

“To its foundation. Children’s dreams are the infrastructure of Wonderland. You are versed in the Lewis Carroll tale and his poetry:
A childish story take, and with a gentle hand, lay it where Childhood’s dreams are twined in Memory’s mystic band … thus grew the world of Wonderland.
”

We both duck as a wraith skims by.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble. “That’s a little different than I remember.” Not that I’m surprised.

“In either version, the truth is there, if you but look for it. There are two halves to each child’s dream. The borogoves are the frivolous and mischievous half and are used by Sister Two within the cemetery to distract and entertain the angry spirits. But wraiths are the nightmarish and horrific half. They guard the rabbit hole, keep anything that belongs in Wonderland from escaping, or retrieve by
force those things that already have. They’re tucked within the soil, and something violated their resting place.”

I remember my dream with Morpheus in Wonderland while I was drowning, how the mud seemed to breathe and bubble beneath my feet. Could that have been a collective of wraiths? Then I think of the ants, how they’re masters at moving more dirt than any other organism, including earthworms. They must’ve disrupted Wonderland’s foundation, awakened the defense mechanism to prevent the flower army from breaching the hole.

Gossamer’s wings flutter in a misty blur as she hovers in front of my face. Her green flesh shimmers. “Wraiths are much like lost children, since they are born of children. They’re fearful, vexed creatures, unless they’re tucked within their resting places. Once disturbed, they only wish to do their job so they might return to safety again. They crave the security that their brighter halves, the borogoves, once provided. Which is why they’re drawn to the light and to you. Your crown-magic forbids them to touch you, but they think you bid them here. Since they’ve found nothing that belongs to Wonderland, they are confused. They expect you to lead them back to safety, to light their way.”

I stare at the swirl of formless beings just behind Gossamer’s glowing body. They bob close to us, as if trying to decide whether Gossamer belongs in Wonderland or here. The light she emanates must be hypnotizing them—confusing them.

“So that’s why they busted the overhead bulbs and stole my lantern? They were trying to get close to the light?”

Gossamer nods. “You must show them the way to the rabbit hole.”

“Why can’t you? Let them follow your glow.”

She turns up her nose at the suggestion. “I haven’t the ability. The light you choose must be powerful enough to illuminate their footsteps so they will return to their place, while at the same time erasing their footsteps, so they will not follow them back.”

I moan. Another riddle. “They don’t even
have
feet.”

Gossamer lands on my thigh, where my oily handprint from earlier is still damp. She drops to her hands and knees, tracing the shape with a palm the size of a ladybug. “Footprints are unique to every creature.”

I glance at the oily streaks they’ve left upon the floor and walls.

“Use what my master taught you,” she says. The affection in her voice indicates that Morpheus has forgiven her. It also gives me hope that he’ll forgive me. “Send them home.” She takes to the air.

The phantom shapes close in as she floats away. I cover my head with my arms. Even knowing they’re forbidden to touch me doesn’t ward off my fear. “Wait! Don’t leave me. Tell Morpheus I’m sorry I hurt him. Tell him I need him here. Please, it’s important!”

“I
must
leave. Before the wraiths take me forcibly. And Morpheus is seeing to Rabid’s safety. Do you not consider that important?”

Ashamed, I let my silence answer for me. I was one step away from getting on my knees and begging for his return … just like he said I would.

“He wants you to find him when this is over.” Gossamer flutters into the locker room, leaving me alone to take care of Taelor and the wraiths, the two sides of me now entwined inexorably. I was delusional to think I could ever keep them separate.

The school’s 8:05 warning bell rings, and someone jiggles the handles on the gym doors. Shouts escalate from the other side.

“It’s stuck,” the principal hollers.

“I’ll find the janitor,” a teacher answers back.

My temples throb—thoughts bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls in my head—as I attempt to formulate a plan.

The wraiths wail and shriek, agitated by the human voices. They flap and ruffle through my hair, sucking my breath away in gasps. They rip through Taelor’s fluttery dress and leave the sleeves in rags. I slap them away and shout. They cower, but I know their retreat is only temporary. They’re becoming less like frightened children and more like volatile monsters the longer they’re stuck here.

I have to send them back before someone from the Pleasance High staff opens the doors and experiences full-blown cardiac arrest.

I consider grabbing a strand of lanterns to try to “light their way,” but they’ll only rupture the lightbulbs. How am I supposed to lead these creatures home if they keep destroying my efforts to help?

In that moment I feel my netherling sense awaken, like a flutter behind my eyes, revealing the logic behind the illogical: Only one thing can stand up to living shadows, and that’s living
light
.

Flames can breathe. They also have the ability to eat away certain kinds of oil, like kerosene. If the oily streaks left by the wraiths are flammable, that could be the answer to Gossamer’s riddle.

In this realm, lighting footsteps while erasing them would be impossible and nonsensical, but not in Wonderland. And now that Wonderland has crossed our borders, it’s reasonable and makes perfect sense here.

My idea is mad and dangerous. I could end up burning down the school. But I’m out of options; not to mention the thought of having so much power at my fingertips is too tempting to resist.

My body thrums with anticipation and a hunger to meet the challenge head-on. To prove to Morpheus I can handle this, that he was right to put his faith in me.

I scramble out from under the table and stand in the darkness, plugging my ears against the wraiths’ shrill screeches. Eyes closed, I concentrate on the lantern garlands hanging on the trees and the ones still scattered across the floor. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there, and I envision the tiny lightbulbs animating, breathing and burning like real candles. My pulse becomes slow and steady, and in the resulting peace and darkness, I give life to the lifeless.

When I open my eyes again, the lanterns glimmer with a flickering orange glow. Wraiths hover over them but don’t attack, as if awaiting direction.

Now the fire has to make contact with the oily streaks. I coax the candlelight to grow within the lanterns until they erupt to balls of flame. The strings between each lantern catch fire, like a dragon float in a Chinese New Year’s parade—lit up in oranges and yellows and reds.

Building on that image, I imagine the blazing strands can move. They slink from the trees—the spray-painted branches igniting in their wake—and slither along the ground to join the others already there. They spread out until no puddle or streak is left untouched.

In seconds, the “footprints” catch fire and the wraiths fall in line.

“Go home!” I yell at them. “There’s nothing here to be collected!”

They follow the fiery trails back into the locker room. The oily streaks burn away as they go, erasing each greasy line. As the last phantom swoops around the partition and the sound of cracking glass drifts from the locker room, a sense of accomplishment washes over me.

I did it. I led Wonderland’s lost defenders home while rescuing my classmates and teachers.

All that remains is the cleanup.

The gym is on fire. I should be afraid. Instead I feel a sense of pride. This is my creation, born of my magic.

The blaze from the trees spreads to tablecloths and crepe paper—a chain reaction so brilliantly spectacular and terrible, I ache to be a part of it … to devour and destroy, then relish in the plunder.

I could do it. I could stand here amid the flames, let them lap at my skin, and laugh in a death-defying haze—because they belong to me. I could watch the world crumble and then dance, triumphant, in the snowfall of ash left behind.

All I have to do is set the power free. Escape the chains of my humanity, let madness be my guide. If I forget everything but Wonderland, I can become
beautiful pandemonium.

The flames rise higher … tantalizing … tempting …

Smoke fills the room, gray and sylphlike, lovely in its deadly grace. It trails into the fire and forms what appear to be wings—black and magnificent. A man’s silhouette fills out the image, two arms reaching for me.

Morpheus, or a mirage?

My mind trips back to our dance across the starlit sky in Wonderland, how amazing it felt to be so free. What would it feel like to dance with him in the middle of a blazing inferno, surrounded by an endless power that breathes and grows at our will?

The school bell sounds—three consecutive rings—the signal for a fire alarm. It doesn’t affect me. Let the humans run from the flame. I’ll walk straight into it.

Relishing the heat that magnifies with each step, I move closer
to the shadowy wings and beckoning hands, only pausing as a faint sound breaks through my euphoria.

Taelor is coughing.

It makes me hesitate. Makes me listen. Makes me remember.

She didn’t get out with the others.
She’s in danger
.

I shake off the netherling tendrils wrapped around my mind, shut down my tyrannical desires. The smoky wings and silhouette disappear. I’m not sure they were ever there. In spite of the heat, I shiver, appalled at how easy it was to almost abandon my humanness.

I can’t see Taelor for the flames rising between us, but I hear her coughing. Either she’s waking up or her lungs are instinctually flushing out the pollutants. Whichever it is, she needs my help. I gulp down scorched air. My eyes sting and blur.

In order to get Taelor to safety, I have to kill the fire I gave birth to. I pause for a split second, frozen by a bizarre maternal anguish.

If I could make it rain, I could destroy the flames quickly. Douse them before they feel any pain. I remember the moldy girls’ bathroom where I met Morpheus, in the basement beneath the gym. Those faulty water pipes are right under my feet.

I envision the rusted conduits coming alive, stretching and bending awake, like a salamander rousing from hibernation inside a decaying log. Flexing metal thumps the underside of the floor and radiates through my boot soles. Water pools around me, seeping between the wooden slats. Metallic pings echo as the pipes snap. Spurts of water hiss through every crack and split in the floor, shooting straight up, then coming down to douse the flames.

As the inferno shrinks and the gym gets darker by the second, I race through the water, my wet, cold clothes sticking to my skin. I skid to a stop beside the table.

Taelor grunts and rubs her eyes. I help her up and prop her against the table’s edge. She coughs again. I won’t leave her side. She can barely stand on her own.

The main doors fly open with a thud. A handful of firemen step inside with flashlights flaring. They pause at the door, stupefied by the sight of the gym.

Their waving lights expose my rampage: scorched wood, paper, and paint; sooty puddles along every inch of the floor; and somewhere under it all, the school mascot warped beyond recognition, blistered and black.

“What happened?” Taelor mumbles, her bloodshot eyes taking in our ruined surroundings. She’s up to her ankles in black water. Her boots lie in a smoky heap a few inches away, the stink of cooked leather enough to make me gag.

Instead of trying to answer, I slump on the table beside her.

I’m like the flames. Used up. Burned out. And I haven’t even begun to fight, because the battle I just won against Wonderland and myself is nothing compared to the accusations I’m about to face, and the answers I don’t have.