PUBLISHERS NOTE: This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and

incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Howard, A. G. (Anita G.)
Ensnared : a novel / by A. G. Howard.
pages cm
Sequel to: Unhinged.
Summary: Alyssa travels to Wonderland once again to free both her mother and Jeb,
and to set right all thats gone wrong Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-4197-1229-6
[1. SupernaturalFiction. 2. Characters in literatureFiction. 3. RescuesFiction.
4. LoveFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H83222En 2015
[Fic]dc23
2014033275
Text copyright 2015 A. G. Howard
Title page illustration copyright 2015 Nathlia Suellen
Book design by Maria T. Middleton
Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet
Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Printed and bound in U.S.A.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for
premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions
can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected]
or the address below.

115 West 18th Street

New York, NY 10011
www.abramsbooks.com

h .. I ..i

To Mom:
I miss you. Thank you for giving me the courage to fly high
and catch my dreams, and for being the wind beneath my wings.
h .. I ..i

PUBLISHERS NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Howard, A. G. (Anita G.)
Ensnared : a novel / by A. G. Howard.
pages cm
Sequel to: Unhinged.
Summary: Alyssa travels to Wonderland once again to free both her mother and Jeb,
and to set right all thats gone wrong Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-4197-1229-6
[1. SupernaturalFiction. 2. Characters in literatureFiction. 3. RescuesFiction.
4. LoveFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H83222En 2015
[Fic]dc23
2014033275
Text copyright 2015 A. G. Howard
Title page illustration copyright 2015 Nathlia Suellen
Book design by Maria T. Middleton
Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet
Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.
Printed and bound in U.S.A.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for
premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions
can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected]
or the address below.

115 West 18th Street

New York, NY 10011
www.abramsbooks.com

h .. I ..i

To Mom:
I miss you. Thank you for giving me the courage to fly high
and catch my dreams, and for being the wind beneath my wings.
h .. I ..i

.......

MEMORY S MYS T IC
BAND
Its a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.
Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass,
and What Alice Found There
I once thought memories were something better left behind . . .
frozen pockets of time you could revisit for sentimental value, but
more of an indulgence than a necessity. That was before I realized
memories could be the key to moving forward, to recovering the
fate and future of everyone you love and treasure most in the world.
I stand outside the glossy red door of a private chamber on the
memory train. Thomas Gardner is engraved on the removable nameplate inserted inside the brackets.

.......

MEMORY S MYS T IC
BAND
Its a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.
Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass,
and What Alice Found There
I once thought memories were something better left behind . . .
frozen pockets of time you could revisit for sentimental value, but
more of an indulgence than a necessity. That was before I realized
memories could be the key to moving forward, to recovering the
fate and future of everyone you love and treasure most in the world.
I stand outside the glossy red door of a private chamber on the
memory train. Thomas Gardner is engraved on the removable nameplate inserted inside the brackets.

An unnecessary formality, since hes here in the flesh, the

experiences will lead us to AnyElsewherethe looking-glass world

conductora carpeted beetle close to my sizesaid when I first

where Wonderlands exiles are banished. A dome of iron covers it,

requested the nameplate. I shot him an angry glare, then insisted he

holding them prisoner and warping their magic somehow, should

do as I ask.

they use it while inside. Red and White knights keep watch over

Now, as I press my forehead hard against the brass, letting the

AnyElsewheres two gateways.

metal chill my skin, I consider Dads name, how it means more than

My own two knights, Jeb and Morpheus, are trapped there. A

I ever imagined . . . how he himself is more than I ever couldve

month has passed since they were swallowed up. I want to believe

dreamed.

theyre still alive.

I almost followed him into the room when we first arrived. He

was so shaky, even before we had landed in London.

I have to.
And then theres Mom, stranded in a crumbling Wonderland,

Who wouldnt be? Shrunk to the size of a bug, flying across the

hostage to the same spiteful spider creature who once held Dad in her

ocean on the back of a monarch. I can still taste the residue of salty

webby thrall. The rabbit hole, the portal into the nether-realm, has

air. At dawn, when Dad started to accept we were actually riding on

been destroyed at my hand. AnyElsewhere is the only way inside now.

butterflies, we slipped through a hole in the foundation of a giant

Were on a rescue mission, and Dads memory is the key to it all.

iron bridge and landed beside a rusted toy train in an underground

I drag my muddy feet along the red and black tiled floor, headed

tunnel. The fact that we were small enough to step into the train

toward the passenger cars front. My muscles ache from riding a

made Dads eyes so wide, I thought theyd pop out of his head.

monarch for twenty-four hours. It wouldve taken much longer had

I want to protect him, but hes not weak. I wont treat him like he
is. Not anymore.
He was ninejust two years older than Alice had beenwhen

we not been picked up by a storm and lifted several thousand feet in

the air, covering hundreds of miles in mere minutesa mad ride my
Dad and I wont soon forget.

he wandered into Wonderland and was trapped by a spidery grave

My hair drapes my shoulders in a wild snarl of platinum blond,

keeper, yet somehow he survived. Better he face that memory alone.

limp from rain. The tangles are fitting, since thats how I feel inside:

Otherwise, he might try to protect me. And I dont need protection

chaotic, yet drained. The netherling half of my heart swells to break

any more than he does.

free of the human emotions ensnared around it. There will be no

It took me losing my mind to gain my perspective. If thats what

it takes for my dad, too, so be it.
My fingertip trembles as I trace the letters: T-h-o-m-a-s. Dad

respite until Ive found my loved ones and made things right in
Wonderland.
Even then, I know none of us will ever be the same again.

will find out his real name today, not the one given him by Mom.

A half dozen queer creatures occupy the white vinyl seats. They

All the revelations, all the monstrosities he lived as a child, those

arent waiting to reunite with lost memories. Theyre here because

.................................C 2D.................................

.................................C 3D.................................

An unnecessary formality, since hes here in the flesh, the

experiences will lead us to AnyElsewherethe looking-glass world

conductora carpeted beetle close to my sizesaid when I first

where Wonderlands exiles are banished. A dome of iron covers it,

requested the nameplate. I shot him an angry glare, then insisted he

holding them prisoner and warping their magic somehow, should

do as I ask.

they use it while inside. Red and White knights keep watch over

Now, as I press my forehead hard against the brass, letting the

AnyElsewheres two gateways.

metal chill my skin, I consider Dads name, how it means more than

My own two knights, Jeb and Morpheus, are trapped there. A

I ever imagined . . . how he himself is more than I ever couldve

month has passed since they were swallowed up. I want to believe

dreamed.

theyre still alive.

I almost followed him into the room when we first arrived. He

was so shaky, even before we had landed in London.

I have to.
And then theres Mom, stranded in a crumbling Wonderland,

Who wouldnt be? Shrunk to the size of a bug, flying across the

hostage to the same spiteful spider creature who once held Dad in her

ocean on the back of a monarch. I can still taste the residue of salty

webby thrall. The rabbit hole, the portal into the nether-realm, has

air. At dawn, when Dad started to accept we were actually riding on

been destroyed at my hand. AnyElsewhere is the only way inside now.

butterflies, we slipped through a hole in the foundation of a giant

Were on a rescue mission, and Dads memory is the key to it all.

iron bridge and landed beside a rusted toy train in an underground

I drag my muddy feet along the red and black tiled floor, headed

tunnel. The fact that we were small enough to step into the train

toward the passenger cars front. My muscles ache from riding a

made Dads eyes so wide, I thought theyd pop out of his head.

monarch for twenty-four hours. It wouldve taken much longer had

I want to protect him, but hes not weak. I wont treat him like he
is. Not anymore.
He was ninejust two years older than Alice had beenwhen

we not been picked up by a storm and lifted several thousand feet in

the air, covering hundreds of miles in mere minutesa mad ride my
Dad and I wont soon forget.

he wandered into Wonderland and was trapped by a spidery grave

My hair drapes my shoulders in a wild snarl of platinum blond,

keeper, yet somehow he survived. Better he face that memory alone.

limp from rain. The tangles are fitting, since thats how I feel inside:

Otherwise, he might try to protect me. And I dont need protection

chaotic, yet drained. The netherling half of my heart swells to break

any more than he does.

free of the human emotions ensnared around it. There will be no

It took me losing my mind to gain my perspective. If thats what

it takes for my dad, too, so be it.
My fingertip trembles as I trace the letters: T-h-o-m-a-s. Dad

respite until Ive found my loved ones and made things right in
Wonderland.
Even then, I know none of us will ever be the same again.

will find out his real name today, not the one given him by Mom.

A half dozen queer creatures occupy the white vinyl seats. They

All the revelations, all the monstrosities he lived as a child, those

arent waiting to reunite with lost memories. Theyre here because

.................................C 2D.................................

.................................C 3D.................................

theyre stranded, too. Since the rabbit hole is gone, they have no way

with eyes affixed to tall, fuzzy stems that look more like rabbit ears

back to Wonderland, their home.

than eye sockets. They watch as I pass, their pupils dilating with

One creature is a pale, cone-headed humanoid whose cranium

pops open sporadically so she can argue with a smaller version of
herself. Next, the smaller versions cranium opens to reveal an even

each rotation of their ears.

The fattest one sneezes in answer to a question the conductor
asks, and a cloud of dirt puffs up from its fur.

littler likeness. The tiniest one is a male with a large nose. He bonks

Blasted dust bunnies, the beetle bellows, and drags a vacuum

his female counterparts with a teensy rolling pin before hiding away

cleaner from a holster at his waist, proceeding to suck the dirt from

again. Its like watching a nightmarish nesting-doll version of Punch

his carpeted hide.

and Judy, a vintage puppet show I studied during drama class at school.

I settle in an unoccupied row up front and hunch down by a

Two other passengers are pixies, and I wonder if they were part

window, waiting for the conductor. He was supposed to check on

of the group I met last year in Wonderlands cemetery. They look

somethinglost memories I need to see. Theyre not mine. Ill be

different without their miners caps: bald, scaly heads with tufts of

spying on someone elses missing moments.

silvery hair. A plastic bag rattles between them as they take turns

Mom felt guilty for visiting Dads lost memories behind his back.

tossing peanuts at the cone-headed creature, inciting more argu-

Her wisdom makes me cautious. But the one whose mind Ill be

ments.

violating doesnt deserve my respect. Shes vicious and vengeful. She

The pixies long tails twitch and their spider-monkey faces twist
to studious expressions as I meet their silver gazes. They have no

almost stole my body, and has managed to tear apart my life and
most of Wonderlands landscapes.

pupils or irises, and their eyelids blink vertically like theater curtains.

Morpheus always says that everyone has a weakness. If he were

They whisper to one another as I cup a hand over my nose to

here, he would tell me to find hers, so when I face her again I can

stifle the rotten meat stench oozing in silvery slime from their hides.
Alice, sparkly talkeress, one says in a breathy voice as I come
within hearing distance. No ostlay isthay times?
The dialect is an odd mix of pig latin and nonsense. He wants to
know if Im lost this time.
Not Alice, stupidess, the other shushes before I can answer.
And only thinkers ostlay here. Thinkers and omentsmays.

crush her.
I intend to do just that.
The carpet beetles vacuum whines, muffling the arguing, sneezing, and shushing going on around me. I lean back and look up at
the chandeliers made of fireflieseach half the size of my arm
bound together by brass harnesses and chains. The glowing insects
dip and dive, painting brushstrokes of yellow light across the red

I continue down the aisle, too absorbed in my problems to engage.

velvet walls. I tilt my head and stare out the window. More firefly

The beetle conductor scribbles something on a clipboard while

fixtures illuminate the darkness, rolling across the tunnels ceiling

chatting with the last three passengers. These are round and fluffy,
.................................C 4D.................................

like glittery Ferris wheels.

.................................C 5D.................................

theyre stranded, too. Since the rabbit hole is gone, they have no way

with eyes affixed to tall, fuzzy stems that look more like rabbit ears

back to Wonderland, their home.

than eye sockets. They watch as I pass, their pupils dilating with

One creature is a pale, cone-headed humanoid whose cranium

pops open sporadically so she can argue with a smaller version of
herself. Next, the smaller versions cranium opens to reveal an even

each rotation of their ears.

The fattest one sneezes in answer to a question the conductor
asks, and a cloud of dirt puffs up from its fur.

littler likeness. The tiniest one is a male with a large nose. He bonks

Blasted dust bunnies, the beetle bellows, and drags a vacuum

his female counterparts with a teensy rolling pin before hiding away

cleaner from a holster at his waist, proceeding to suck the dirt from

again. Its like watching a nightmarish nesting-doll version of Punch

his carpeted hide.

and Judy, a vintage puppet show I studied during drama class at school.

I settle in an unoccupied row up front and hunch down by a

Two other passengers are pixies, and I wonder if they were part

window, waiting for the conductor. He was supposed to check on

of the group I met last year in Wonderlands cemetery. They look

somethinglost memories I need to see. Theyre not mine. Ill be

different without their miners caps: bald, scaly heads with tufts of

spying on someone elses missing moments.

silvery hair. A plastic bag rattles between them as they take turns

Mom felt guilty for visiting Dads lost memories behind his back.

tossing peanuts at the cone-headed creature, inciting more argu-

Her wisdom makes me cautious. But the one whose mind Ill be

ments.

violating doesnt deserve my respect. Shes vicious and vengeful. She

The pixies long tails twitch and their spider-monkey faces twist
to studious expressions as I meet their silver gazes. They have no

almost stole my body, and has managed to tear apart my life and
most of Wonderlands landscapes.

pupils or irises, and their eyelids blink vertically like theater curtains.

Morpheus always says that everyone has a weakness. If he were

They whisper to one another as I cup a hand over my nose to

here, he would tell me to find hers, so when I face her again I can

stifle the rotten meat stench oozing in silvery slime from their hides.
Alice, sparkly talkeress, one says in a breathy voice as I come
within hearing distance. No ostlay isthay times?
The dialect is an odd mix of pig latin and nonsense. He wants to
know if Im lost this time.
Not Alice, stupidess, the other shushes before I can answer.
And only thinkers ostlay here. Thinkers and omentsmays.

crush her.
I intend to do just that.
The carpet beetles vacuum whines, muffling the arguing, sneezing, and shushing going on around me. I lean back and look up at
the chandeliers made of fireflieseach half the size of my arm
bound together by brass harnesses and chains. The glowing insects
dip and dive, painting brushstrokes of yellow light across the red

I continue down the aisle, too absorbed in my problems to engage.

velvet walls. I tilt my head and stare out the window. More firefly

The beetle conductor scribbles something on a clipboard while

fixtures illuminate the darkness, rolling across the tunnels ceiling

chatting with the last three passengers. These are round and fluffy,
.................................C 4D.................................

like glittery Ferris wheels.

.................................C 5D.................................

I suppress a yawn. Im exhausted, but too keyed up to close my

Well? I ask, looking up at him.

eyes. I cant seem to settle in time and place. Just yesterday, I was at

I found three memories. From long ago, when she was young

a table in the asylums sun-filled courtyard, tricking my dad into eat-

and unmarried. Before she washe looks around and lowers his

ing a mushroom that would shrink him. That seems like an eternity

voice to a whisperqueen.

ago, but not nearly as long as its been since Ive hugged Mom . . .
argued with Morpheus . . . kissed Jeb. I miss Moms scent, how she

Perfect, I answer. I start to stand but settle in my seat again as

he pushes my shoulder with a spiny arm.

smells after working in the gardenlike overturned soil and flow-

First you ruin the one way back to Wonderland, making me a

ers. I miss the way Morpheuss jeweled eye markings flit through a

babysitter of dust bunnies and smelly pixies. Now you want I should

rainbow of emotions when he challenges me, and I miss the arrested

endanger my life by showing you . . .he studies the passengers

expression Jeb always used to wear when he painted.

behind me, his crisscrossed mandibles tremblingher private

The littlest things I once took for granted have become priceless
treasures.

memories. Theres a clicking sound surrounding his whisper, like

snapping fingers.

My stomach growls. Dad and I didnt have breakfast, and my

I grind my teeth. Since when do netherlings respect anyones

body tells me its lunchtime. I tuck my hand into the apron tied over

privacy? Thats not in your code of ethics. In fact, most of you dont

my stiff, mud-caked hospital gown and roll the remaining mush-

know what ethics are.

rooms between my fingers. Im hungry enough to consider eating

one but wont. The magic within that made us small enough to ride

I know all I need to know. I know that shes not forgiving, that
one. Hes avoiding her name, keeping her anonymous.

butterflies will make us big once were done here. I need to preserve

I follow his lead. Shell never know you showed me.

them.

The conductor flips pages on his clipboard and scribbles some-

My outline reflects back from the windowpane: blue gown, white

apron, frazzled blond hair with a streak of crimson down one side.

thing with his pen, stalling. Theres another issue of concern, he

says louder this time. The memories are repudiates.

The first pixie was right. Im the epitome of Alice.

What does that mean?

A nightmare Alice.

She wasnt forced to forget. She chose to. Took a forgetting

An Alice gone mad, who thirsts for blood.

When I find Queen Red, shell beg me to stop at her head.
I snort at the silly rhyme, then sober as the beetle turns off his

potion.
Even better, I say. Shes afraid of them for some reason. Thats
to my advantage.

vacuum attachment. He straightens his black conductor hat and

The clicking sound grows as his mandibles quiver. Ideally, you

hobbles over on two of his six twiggy legs. The other two sets serve

could use them as a weapon. Repudiated memories are tainted with

as arms, cradling a clipboard.

volatile emotional magic. They want revenge against the one who

.................................C 6D.................................

.................................C 7D.................................

I suppress a yawn. Im exhausted, but too keyed up to close my

Well? I ask, looking up at him.

eyes. I cant seem to settle in time and place. Just yesterday, I was at

I found three memories. From long ago, when she was young

a table in the asylums sun-filled courtyard, tricking my dad into eat-

and unmarried. Before she washe looks around and lowers his

ing a mushroom that would shrink him. That seems like an eternity

voice to a whisperqueen.

ago, but not nearly as long as its been since Ive hugged Mom . . .
argued with Morpheus . . . kissed Jeb. I miss Moms scent, how she

Perfect, I answer. I start to stand but settle in my seat again as

he pushes my shoulder with a spiny arm.

smells after working in the gardenlike overturned soil and flow-

First you ruin the one way back to Wonderland, making me a

ers. I miss the way Morpheuss jeweled eye markings flit through a

babysitter of dust bunnies and smelly pixies. Now you want I should

rainbow of emotions when he challenges me, and I miss the arrested

endanger my life by showing you . . .he studies the passengers

expression Jeb always used to wear when he painted.

behind me, his crisscrossed mandibles tremblingher private

The littlest things I once took for granted have become priceless
treasures.

memories. Theres a clicking sound surrounding his whisper, like

snapping fingers.

My stomach growls. Dad and I didnt have breakfast, and my

I grind my teeth. Since when do netherlings respect anyones

body tells me its lunchtime. I tuck my hand into the apron tied over

privacy? Thats not in your code of ethics. In fact, most of you dont

my stiff, mud-caked hospital gown and roll the remaining mush-

know what ethics are.

rooms between my fingers. Im hungry enough to consider eating

one but wont. The magic within that made us small enough to ride

I know all I need to know. I know that shes not forgiving, that
one. Hes avoiding her name, keeping her anonymous.

butterflies will make us big once were done here. I need to preserve

I follow his lead. Shell never know you showed me.

them.

The conductor flips pages on his clipboard and scribbles some-

My outline reflects back from the windowpane: blue gown, white

apron, frazzled blond hair with a streak of crimson down one side.

thing with his pen, stalling. Theres another issue of concern, he

says louder this time. The memories are repudiates.

The first pixie was right. Im the epitome of Alice.

What does that mean?

A nightmare Alice.

She wasnt forced to forget. She chose to. Took a forgetting

An Alice gone mad, who thirsts for blood.

When I find Queen Red, shell beg me to stop at her head.
I snort at the silly rhyme, then sober as the beetle turns off his

potion.
Even better, I say. Shes afraid of them for some reason. Thats
to my advantage.

vacuum attachment. He straightens his black conductor hat and

The clicking sound grows as his mandibles quiver. Ideally, you

hobbles over on two of his six twiggy legs. The other two sets serve

could use them as a weapon. Repudiated memories are tainted with

as arms, cradling a clipboard.

volatile emotional magic. They want revenge against the one who

.................................C 6D.................................

.................................C 7D.................................

made and discarded them. But you would have to carry them to her,

AnyElsewheres gate. He was then coughed back up as a mutant.

keeping them dormant in your mind. Being a half-blood, you arent

Which is exactly what almost happened to Jeb and Morpheus.

strong enough.

Thankfully, they were accepted into the looking-glass world,

I bristle at his condescension. Mortals have their own way of

although the thought of them alone there opens a whole new level

making memories dormant. They write them down so the past

of horror. Morpheus wont be able to use his magic because of the

doesnt preoccupy their thoughts. All I need is a journal.

iron dome, and Jeb is only human. How does either of them stand a

He holds his pen an inch from my nose. That wont work with

chance in a land of murderous, exiled netherlings?

enchanted memories, lessen your book is filled with enchanted paper

A silent scream of frustration burns inside my lungs.

to bind them. Sadly, Ive neer heard of such a magic journal. You?

I lower my voice so only the conductor can hear. I used to collect

I glare in silence.

insects. Id pin them to corkboards. Had them plastered all over my

I thought not. The beetle taps my nose with the pens tip.

walls. Ive been thinking of taking it up again. Maybe youd like to

Snarling, I snatch it away and shove it in my pocket, daring him

be my first piece.

to get it back.
Fool girl. When repudiated memories nest inside a mind, they
become like earworms, playing over and over to a painful degree.

The conductor either grimaces or frownsa tough call with all

those moving facial features. He motions toward the aisle. This
way, madam.

Best-case scenario, they cause you to sympathize with your prey so

We head toward the private rooms. Two doors down from Dads,

youre worthless against them. Worst case, youre driven to madness.

the beetle stops, looks over his shoulder to assure we werent fol-

Are you willing to risk losing so much?

lowed, and drops a brass nameplate into place: Queen Red.

I rub my hands along my bent knees, then tuck the excess material of my hospital gown under my hips. No matter how terrifying it
is to imagine someone elses hostile memories eating away my mind,
finding Reds weakness is the only way to defeat her.
Ive already lost everything and Ive already gone mad. I meet
his bulbous gaze. Need a demonstration?
Multiple eyelids flick across his compound eyes. Bugs arent supposed to have eyelids or lashes, but this isnt a typical bug. Hes a
looking-glass insect, or reject, depending on if you choose Carrolls
terminology or the carpet beetles.
The beetle was swallowed by tulgey wood and turned away at
.................................C 8D.................................

My wing buds tingle, wanting to burst free. A brew of magic and

rage simmers just beneath my skin. Ready, waiting.
The conductor starts to unlock the door, then pauses. I attended
a garden party at her palace once. Hes whispering again. Watched
her shave the skin off that Door Mouses friend . . . that hare fellow.
I cringe, remembering when I first saw the hare at the tea party a
year ago, how he appeared to be turned inside out. March Hairless?
Red skinned him?
The beetle nods so frantically his cap nearly falls off. She caught
him nibbling the rose petals. Granted, theyd been planted in honor
of her dead father. But still. She used a garden hoe to do it, like
.................................C 9D.................................

made and discarded them. But you would have to carry them to her,

AnyElsewheres gate. He was then coughed back up as a mutant.

keeping them dormant in your mind. Being a half-blood, you arent

Which is exactly what almost happened to Jeb and Morpheus.

strong enough.

Thankfully, they were accepted into the looking-glass world,

I bristle at his condescension. Mortals have their own way of

although the thought of them alone there opens a whole new level

making memories dormant. They write them down so the past

of horror. Morpheus wont be able to use his magic because of the

doesnt preoccupy their thoughts. All I need is a journal.

iron dome, and Jeb is only human. How does either of them stand a

He holds his pen an inch from my nose. That wont work with

chance in a land of murderous, exiled netherlings?

enchanted memories, lessen your book is filled with enchanted paper

A silent scream of frustration burns inside my lungs.

to bind them. Sadly, Ive neer heard of such a magic journal. You?

I lower my voice so only the conductor can hear. I used to collect

I glare in silence.

insects. Id pin them to corkboards. Had them plastered all over my

I thought not. The beetle taps my nose with the pens tip.

walls. Ive been thinking of taking it up again. Maybe youd like to

Snarling, I snatch it away and shove it in my pocket, daring him

be my first piece.

to get it back.
Fool girl. When repudiated memories nest inside a mind, they
become like earworms, playing over and over to a painful degree.

The conductor either grimaces or frownsa tough call with all

those moving facial features. He motions toward the aisle. This
way, madam.

Best-case scenario, they cause you to sympathize with your prey so

We head toward the private rooms. Two doors down from Dads,

youre worthless against them. Worst case, youre driven to madness.

the beetle stops, looks over his shoulder to assure we werent fol-

Are you willing to risk losing so much?

lowed, and drops a brass nameplate into place: Queen Red.

I rub my hands along my bent knees, then tuck the excess material of my hospital gown under my hips. No matter how terrifying it
is to imagine someone elses hostile memories eating away my mind,
finding Reds weakness is the only way to defeat her.
Ive already lost everything and Ive already gone mad. I meet
his bulbous gaze. Need a demonstration?
Multiple eyelids flick across his compound eyes. Bugs arent supposed to have eyelids or lashes, but this isnt a typical bug. Hes a
looking-glass insect, or reject, depending on if you choose Carrolls
terminology or the carpet beetles.
The beetle was swallowed by tulgey wood and turned away at
.................................C 8D.................................

My wing buds tingle, wanting to burst free. A brew of magic and

rage simmers just beneath my skin. Ready, waiting.
The conductor starts to unlock the door, then pauses. I attended
a garden party at her palace once. Hes whispering again. Watched
her shave the skin off that Door Mouses friend . . . that hare fellow.
I cringe, remembering when I first saw the hare at the tea party a
year ago, how he appeared to be turned inside out. March Hairless?
Red skinned him?
The beetle nods so frantically his cap nearly falls off. She caught
him nibbling the rose petals. Granted, theyd been planted in honor
of her dead father. But still. She used a garden hoe to do it, like
.................................C 9D.................................

a vegetable peeler . . . flayed his hide. Blood spritzed all over the

says. Fumbling around beneath the shag that covers his thorax, he

guests. Ruined everyones best white suits and all the daisies. Ever

pulls out a package of peanuts and hands them to me. You must be

hear a rabbit scream? You dont forget a sound like that.

hungry after your journey. Have some lunch.

I study the bugs blinking eyelids. Hes losing his nerve. I sym-

Im not budging until I see her memories, bug in a rug. I drop

pathize, having been on the receiving end of Reds violence myself.

the peanuts at my feet and press my back to the door, blocking the

She once used my blood veins like marionette stringsthe most

nameplate.

physically excruciating experience of my life. She even left behind an

imprint on my heart . . . one that I can still feel, a distinct pressure.
Lately, its more than just pressure. Ever since that fated night
when everything went wrong at prom, when I embraced my mad-

The beetle makes an angry gurgling sound. Doesnt matter if my

body is made of rugs. My mind works just as well as yours.
Obviously not. Youve forgotten what Morpheus told you. Im
royalty.

ness, the press upon my heart has evolved to a recurrent twinge of

Ah, but Morpheus isnt here, is he?

pain, like something inside is slowly unraveling.

I struggle to think of a comeback, but the memory of why Mor-

I havent told Dad. I was busy practicing my magic, concocting

my plan. My loved ones need me to win this battle, to be stronger
than Red for good this time.

pheus isnt here ices through me, making my tongue as ineffective as

a slab of frozen beef.
Youre nothing more than a royal pain, the conductor taunts.

I dont have the luxury of getting a doctors appointment. And it

You are aware were under an iron bridge? Netherling magic is lim-

wouldnt help anyway. Whatevers wrong with me was brought on by

ited here. Its why we store the lost memories in this placeto keep

magic. Reds magic. My gut knows. And Im going to make her fix it

them safe. So you cant force me to do anything. And I wont get

before I end her sorry existence forever.

squashed under the thumb of Queen Red for a scrawny, powerless

More determined than before, I reach for the key the conductors
holding.
He tucks it under his hat and then fiddles with the nameplate,
trying to get it out of its slot. I changed my mind, he says through
popping mandibles. A bug is wont to do that, at times.

half-blood snippet.
A hot flash of pride pulses through me, defrosting my tongue.
Maybe you should worry more about being trapped than being
squashed.
I call upon the firefly chandeliers overhead, envisioning them as

No. I grip his twiglike arm. It would be so easy to snap. A

giant metal jellyfish. Chains rattle and bolts snap loose from the ceil-

fluttering temptation shadows my thoughtstaunting me to be cut-

ing. The harnesses pop open, releasing their firefly captives. Thrilled

throatbut I pull back and lay a palm across my chest, pledging. I

to be free, the glowing insects bounce and spiral around the car like

vow on my life-magic, Ill never tell her you showed me.

a planetarium show on steroids. The other passengers screech and

Best you have a seat and wait for your father, the conductor
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 10 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

burrow under their seats.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 11 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

a vegetable peeler . . . flayed his hide. Blood spritzed all over the

says. Fumbling around beneath the shag that covers his thorax, he

guests. Ruined everyones best white suits and all the daisies. Ever

pulls out a package of peanuts and hands them to me. You must be

hear a rabbit scream? You dont forget a sound like that.

hungry after your journey. Have some lunch.

I study the bugs blinking eyelids. Hes losing his nerve. I sym-

Im not budging until I see her memories, bug in a rug. I drop

pathize, having been on the receiving end of Reds violence myself.

the peanuts at my feet and press my back to the door, blocking the

She once used my blood veins like marionette stringsthe most

nameplate.

physically excruciating experience of my life. She even left behind an

imprint on my heart . . . one that I can still feel, a distinct pressure.
Lately, its more than just pressure. Ever since that fated night
when everything went wrong at prom, when I embraced my mad-

The beetle makes an angry gurgling sound. Doesnt matter if my

body is made of rugs. My mind works just as well as yours.
Obviously not. Youve forgotten what Morpheus told you. Im
royalty.

ness, the press upon my heart has evolved to a recurrent twinge of

Ah, but Morpheus isnt here, is he?

pain, like something inside is slowly unraveling.

I struggle to think of a comeback, but the memory of why Mor-

I havent told Dad. I was busy practicing my magic, concocting

my plan. My loved ones need me to win this battle, to be stronger
than Red for good this time.

pheus isnt here ices through me, making my tongue as ineffective as

a slab of frozen beef.
Youre nothing more than a royal pain, the conductor taunts.

I dont have the luxury of getting a doctors appointment. And it

You are aware were under an iron bridge? Netherling magic is lim-

wouldnt help anyway. Whatevers wrong with me was brought on by

ited here. Its why we store the lost memories in this placeto keep

magic. Reds magic. My gut knows. And Im going to make her fix it

them safe. So you cant force me to do anything. And I wont get

before I end her sorry existence forever.

squashed under the thumb of Queen Red for a scrawny, powerless

More determined than before, I reach for the key the conductors
holding.
He tucks it under his hat and then fiddles with the nameplate,
trying to get it out of its slot. I changed my mind, he says through
popping mandibles. A bug is wont to do that, at times.

half-blood snippet.
A hot flash of pride pulses through me, defrosting my tongue.
Maybe you should worry more about being trapped than being
squashed.
I call upon the firefly chandeliers overhead, envisioning them as

No. I grip his twiglike arm. It would be so easy to snap. A

giant metal jellyfish. Chains rattle and bolts snap loose from the ceil-

fluttering temptation shadows my thoughtstaunting me to be cut-

ing. The harnesses pop open, releasing their firefly captives. Thrilled

throatbut I pull back and lay a palm across my chest, pledging. I

to be free, the glowing insects bounce and spiral around the car like

vow on my life-magic, Ill never tell her you showed me.

a planetarium show on steroids. The other passengers screech and

Best you have a seat and wait for your father, the conductor
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 10 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

burrow under their seats.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 11 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Yelping, the conductor tries to back away as the chandelier

contraptions swim toward us through the airtheir metal tentacles
propelling them in a graceful yet disturbing display. I duck and the
chains capture the bug, knocking off his hat and thrusting him
toward a wall. The bolts snap into place and form a giant metal net.
Hes pinned inside, high enough that his legs dangle off the ground.
The fireflies hover and cast a soft glow.

.......

Teeth clenched, I fish the key from beneath the conductors fallen
hat along with the bag of peanuts. Theres a new queen in town. I
glare up at him. And because of my human-tainted blood, my magic
is unaffected by iron. So Reds got nothing on me. I start toward
Queen Reds door.
Wait, the beetle pleads. Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. Youve made a fair point. But Im the conductor. I must protect
the reserves of lost memories from the stowaways. Let me down, I
beg of you!

DESC ENDING

I swivel on my heel to face the others. They peer out from under
their seatseyes ogling, tails drooping, hair frizzedsneezing and
trembling in fear.
The conductor whimpers as I toss the bag of peanuts at him. It
snags inside one of the chains close to his left arms.
Hes on his lunch break, I tell the passengers. Anyone who leaves
their seats for any reason will have to deal with me. Are we clear?
The stowaways answer with a collective nod and cautiously settle
back into their places. A tendril of satisfaction unfurls within me.
Smirking, I slip the key into place, and open the door to my
enemys past.

The instant I shut the door behind me, all my confidence wavers.
The room is small and windowless. An ivory tapestry hangs
above a cream-colored chaise lounge and a tall lamp stands beside it,
casting a glow on the checked floor.
An almond scent drifts from the moonbeam cookies that always
seem to be waiting on a plate. As hungry as I am, I cant eat them.
Everything is too painfully familiar here.
I hugged Jeb and Mom in this place, felt their love as they
embraced me back. My arms ache with longing. On the opposite
wall, red velvet curtains wait to open and unveil hidden snippets
from the past. I viewed my parents love story on this train, watched

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 12 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Yelping, the conductor tries to back away as the chandelier

contraptions swim toward us through the airtheir metal tentacles
propelling them in a graceful yet disturbing display. I duck and the
chains capture the bug, knocking off his hat and thrusting him
toward a wall. The bolts snap into place and form a giant metal net.
Hes pinned inside, high enough that his legs dangle off the ground.
The fireflies hover and cast a soft glow.

.......

Teeth clenched, I fish the key from beneath the conductors fallen
hat along with the bag of peanuts. Theres a new queen in town. I
glare up at him. And because of my human-tainted blood, my magic
is unaffected by iron. So Reds got nothing on me. I start toward
Queen Reds door.
Wait, the beetle pleads. Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. Youve made a fair point. But Im the conductor. I must protect
the reserves of lost memories from the stowaways. Let me down, I
beg of you!

DESC ENDING

I swivel on my heel to face the others. They peer out from under
their seatseyes ogling, tails drooping, hair frizzedsneezing and
trembling in fear.
The conductor whimpers as I toss the bag of peanuts at him. It
snags inside one of the chains close to his left arms.
Hes on his lunch break, I tell the passengers. Anyone who leaves
their seats for any reason will have to deal with me. Are we clear?
The stowaways answer with a collective nod and cautiously settle
back into their places. A tendril of satisfaction unfurls within me.
Smirking, I slip the key into place, and open the door to my
enemys past.

The instant I shut the door behind me, all my confidence wavers.
The room is small and windowless. An ivory tapestry hangs
above a cream-colored chaise lounge and a tall lamp stands beside it,
casting a glow on the checked floor.
An almond scent drifts from the moonbeam cookies that always
seem to be waiting on a plate. As hungry as I am, I cant eat them.
Everything is too painfully familiar here.
I hugged Jeb and Mom in this place, felt their love as they
embraced me back. My arms ache with longing. On the opposite
wall, red velvet curtains wait to open and unveil hidden snippets
from the past. I viewed my parents love story on this train, watched

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 12 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jebs memories, too. I walked in their heads and wore their emotions
as if they were mine.

Tears prick my eyes for the first time in weeks. Ive become good
at hiding my despair. It was part of my crazy act for the asylumto

I felt Moms change of heart when she gave up the ruby crown to

appear numb and detached. But thats the furthest from how I feel.

give my dad a chance at life . . . even saw Morpheus as he helped her,

Refusing to cry, I lift my chin. Morpheus would say that Im a

carrying my dad through the portal into the human realm, despite

queen, and queens dont cry. And Jeb would say, You got this, skater

that it was putting all of his meticulous plans at risk. I experienced

girl.

Jebs nobility and courage when he turned his back on his future so

Theyre both right.

I could have one instead.

I turn the dial on the wall to dim the lamp. The stage curtains

So many sacrifices have led to this moment. I would do anything

to reverse the clock and set things right. But time is merciless.
Time. Youll have no such constraints in Wonderland. Let that be your
silver lining. Now pull yourself together. We must prepare for Red. Those

open, revealing a movie screen. Picture her face in your mind whilst
staring at the empty screenI mimic the conductors instructions
from the last time I was hereand you will experience her past as
if it were today.

were Morpheuss words on prom night, mere hours before everything

Im surprised how easy it is to recall Reds image in the sketches

fell apart. The message is so resonant, its as if he were connected

from my moms Alices Adventures in Wonderland book. Before little

to my mind; but thats impossible with the iron dome between us.

Alice fell down the rabbit hole, before the queens world was shat-

Still, it makes sense that his insight echoes through my soul when

tered by an unfaithful husband . . . before she was betrayed by her

Im teetering at the edge of insecurity, considering hes Wonderlands

king. Back when Red was only a princess.

wisdom keeper, the custodian of all things mad and daring.

Jeb is an anchor; he holds me grounded to my humanity and

The screen lights up, and I burst apart into a thousand pieces,
reuniting on the screen inside Reds body and point of view.

compassion. But Morpheus is the wind; he drags me kicking and

Shes small and young, maybe ten in human years. Although chil-

screaming to the highest precipice, shoves me off, then watches me

dren are different in the netherling realmwiser and more cynical,

fly with netherling wings. When Jebs at my side, the world is a

lacking innocence and imagination. Her breath rattles in her lungs

canvasunblemished and welcoming; when Im with Morpheus,

as she chases a band of pixies. Theyre dragging a dead body draped

its a wanton playgroundwicked and addictive.

in red velvet. The pixies dont stop until theyre within the cemetery

Each guy occupies a different side of my dual heart. Together,

gate, safe inside the covered gardens.

they bridge my netherling and human worlds. What Im supposed

to do with that knowledge, Im not sure. And unless my dad emerges

Wait! Bring her back! Red screams.

from his room with memories intact, I might never get the chance

She almost trips over her gown, but flaps her wings and lifts off the

to figure it out.

ground. She lands outside the gate just as it slams closed. Standing alone,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 14 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 15 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jebs memories, too. I walked in their heads and wore their emotions
as if they were mine.

Tears prick my eyes for the first time in weeks. Ive become good
at hiding my despair. It was part of my crazy act for the asylumto

I felt Moms change of heart when she gave up the ruby crown to

appear numb and detached. But thats the furthest from how I feel.

give my dad a chance at life . . . even saw Morpheus as he helped her,

Refusing to cry, I lift my chin. Morpheus would say that Im a

carrying my dad through the portal into the human realm, despite

queen, and queens dont cry. And Jeb would say, You got this, skater

that it was putting all of his meticulous plans at risk. I experienced

girl.

Jebs nobility and courage when he turned his back on his future so

Theyre both right.

I could have one instead.

I turn the dial on the wall to dim the lamp. The stage curtains

So many sacrifices have led to this moment. I would do anything

to reverse the clock and set things right. But time is merciless.
Time. Youll have no such constraints in Wonderland. Let that be your
silver lining. Now pull yourself together. We must prepare for Red. Those

open, revealing a movie screen. Picture her face in your mind whilst
staring at the empty screenI mimic the conductors instructions
from the last time I was hereand you will experience her past as
if it were today.

were Morpheuss words on prom night, mere hours before everything

Im surprised how easy it is to recall Reds image in the sketches

fell apart. The message is so resonant, its as if he were connected

from my moms Alices Adventures in Wonderland book. Before little

to my mind; but thats impossible with the iron dome between us.

Alice fell down the rabbit hole, before the queens world was shat-

Still, it makes sense that his insight echoes through my soul when

tered by an unfaithful husband . . . before she was betrayed by her

Im teetering at the edge of insecurity, considering hes Wonderlands

king. Back when Red was only a princess.

wisdom keeper, the custodian of all things mad and daring.

Jeb is an anchor; he holds me grounded to my humanity and

The screen lights up, and I burst apart into a thousand pieces,
reuniting on the screen inside Reds body and point of view.

compassion. But Morpheus is the wind; he drags me kicking and

Shes small and young, maybe ten in human years. Although chil-

screaming to the highest precipice, shoves me off, then watches me

dren are different in the netherling realmwiser and more cynical,

fly with netherling wings. When Jebs at my side, the world is a

lacking innocence and imagination. Her breath rattles in her lungs

canvasunblemished and welcoming; when Im with Morpheus,

as she chases a band of pixies. Theyre dragging a dead body draped

its a wanton playgroundwicked and addictive.

in red velvet. The pixies dont stop until theyre within the cemetery

Each guy occupies a different side of my dual heart. Together,

gate, safe inside the covered gardens.

they bridge my netherling and human worlds. What Im supposed

to do with that knowledge, Im not sure. And unless my dad emerges

Wait! Bring her back! Red screams.

from his room with memories intact, I might never get the chance

She almost trips over her gown, but flaps her wings and lifts off the

to figure it out.

ground. She lands outside the gate just as it slams closed. Standing alone,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 14 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 15 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

she peers through the bars. Sister One scuttles out from the labyrinth of
shrubbery, her eight shiny spider legs kicking up her skirts hem. The gardeners humanoid torso leans over Reds mother and coaxes the spirit from
her body. It wriggles, rising from the corpse like a fluorescent vine.
Sister One winds the spirit around her wrist and sends the pixies off
with the empty body.
No, you cant have her! Red shouts, a weight in her chest so heavy
it hurts to breathe. The stench of mildew and scorched leaves stings her
nostrils. Shes never been this close to the garden of souls, having grown
up on horror stories of the keepers and the grounds. But tales of scissored
hands and trespassers left in bloody shreds hold no sway today. Not with
her mother being taken away forever.
Sister One stares back from inside the gate, a frown on her face. This
is hallowed ground, child-queen. Whatever you be thinking, tis foolish.
You havent the power here that you wield in your kingdom.
Red scowls. Her entire body glows crimson as she concentrates on the
spidery womans hair. Strands, as shimmery and fine as pencil shavings,
flutter around the gardeners face with a breeze, but Reds magic has no
effect.

Reds kingly father arrives, his face flushed from trying to catch his
daughter.
Whats the good of being immortal, Red asks, her nose wedged against
the gate and cold from the metal, if we cant be together eternally?
Immortality merely means you reach a point and stop aging . . . and
your spirit never dies, he responds between panting. He squeezes her
shoulder. But the body is vulnerable to some things, and can be left but
a shell.
Reds arms and legs go numb. Her own body feels like a shell. Empty
and brittle, as if it might blow away at the first gust of wind.
She clasps the bars, holding herself steady. But why cant we bury her
in the ground, amongst the begonias and daisies in our palace courtyard?
Like the humans do? If she lived in the flowers, we could visit her every
day.
Her father frowns, as if considering. You know our spirits need
dreams to satiate them, to keep them from being restless . . . from possessing
living bodies. Only the Twidsters can find and supply such things.
Dreams. Red sniffles. One day, Ill bring dreams to our kind, Father.
Theyll be in abundance everywhere, not just in the cemetery. One day, Ill

Red looks up and down the tall fence and the thorny branches that

free the spirits, so they can sleep inside our gardens, brushing our windows

stretch over the expanse of the cemetery gardens like a roof. Theres no way

at night, and bumping against our feet in the day. Ill bring imagination

to breach the defenses.

to our world so everyone might always be with those they treasure.

Sister One smirks haughtily. It would be a mistake to attempt to find

He pats her head, a tender gesture that almost fills the gaping hole

a way in, little princess, lest you wish to know my sister personally. She

in her chest. That would make you the most beloved queen of all time,

has a gift for making confetti of delicate little imps like yourself.

scarlet rosebud. But until then we are bound to follow rules like everyone

A shudder races from Reds spine to the tips of her wings.

else. We cannot abuse our power and status, or endanger our subjects. No

With a final glare at Red, Sister One winds the whimpering, glowing

matter how much we love her. He blots his eyes with a handkerchief.

spirit through her fingers. In a sweep of skirts and spidery legs, she disappears into the maze of foliage.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 16 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Understand?
Red nods.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 17 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

she peers through the bars. Sister One scuttles out from the labyrinth of
shrubbery, her eight shiny spider legs kicking up her skirts hem. The gardeners humanoid torso leans over Reds mother and coaxes the spirit from
her body. It wriggles, rising from the corpse like a fluorescent vine.
Sister One winds the spirit around her wrist and sends the pixies off
with the empty body.
No, you cant have her! Red shouts, a weight in her chest so heavy
it hurts to breathe. The stench of mildew and scorched leaves stings her
nostrils. Shes never been this close to the garden of souls, having grown
up on horror stories of the keepers and the grounds. But tales of scissored
hands and trespassers left in bloody shreds hold no sway today. Not with
her mother being taken away forever.
Sister One stares back from inside the gate, a frown on her face. This
is hallowed ground, child-queen. Whatever you be thinking, tis foolish.
You havent the power here that you wield in your kingdom.
Red scowls. Her entire body glows crimson as she concentrates on the
spidery womans hair. Strands, as shimmery and fine as pencil shavings,
flutter around the gardeners face with a breeze, but Reds magic has no
effect.

Reds kingly father arrives, his face flushed from trying to catch his
daughter.
Whats the good of being immortal, Red asks, her nose wedged against
the gate and cold from the metal, if we cant be together eternally?
Immortality merely means you reach a point and stop aging . . . and
your spirit never dies, he responds between panting. He squeezes her
shoulder. But the body is vulnerable to some things, and can be left but
a shell.
Reds arms and legs go numb. Her own body feels like a shell. Empty
and brittle, as if it might blow away at the first gust of wind.
She clasps the bars, holding herself steady. But why cant we bury her
in the ground, amongst the begonias and daisies in our palace courtyard?
Like the humans do? If she lived in the flowers, we could visit her every
day.
Her father frowns, as if considering. You know our spirits need
dreams to satiate them, to keep them from being restless . . . from possessing
living bodies. Only the Twidsters can find and supply such things.
Dreams. Red sniffles. One day, Ill bring dreams to our kind, Father.
Theyll be in abundance everywhere, not just in the cemetery. One day, Ill

Red looks up and down the tall fence and the thorny branches that

free the spirits, so they can sleep inside our gardens, brushing our windows

stretch over the expanse of the cemetery gardens like a roof. Theres no way

at night, and bumping against our feet in the day. Ill bring imagination

to breach the defenses.

to our world so everyone might always be with those they treasure.

Sister One smirks haughtily. It would be a mistake to attempt to find

He pats her head, a tender gesture that almost fills the gaping hole

a way in, little princess, lest you wish to know my sister personally. She

in her chest. That would make you the most beloved queen of all time,

has a gift for making confetti of delicate little imps like yourself.

scarlet rosebud. But until then we are bound to follow rules like everyone

A shudder races from Reds spine to the tips of her wings.

else. We cannot abuse our power and status, or endanger our subjects. No

With a final glare at Red, Sister One winds the whimpering, glowing

matter how much we love her. He blots his eyes with a handkerchief.

spirit through her fingers. In a sweep of skirts and spidery legs, she disappears into the maze of foliage.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 16 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Understand?
Red nods.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 17 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The scene scrambles and blurs. Im dragged out of the memory

We follow the circuit of wickets, the king says gently. My red color

and dropped back into my seat, cradled by the darkness around me.

races against your silver. The first side to get their balls through the wick-

A knocking sensation shakes my skull, as if a fist punches it from the

ets in order and hit the peg wins.

inside. I press my hands to my temples until it stops.

It must be the repudiated memory nesting inside my cranium,
because I didnt experience anything like that the last time I was here.

Grenadine shakes her head, her ruby curls bouncing about her shoulders. What is a peg, again?
The stake, at the end of the run.

The screen flicks on again. A vivid rainbow smears across the

And a wicket . . . is that this? Grenadine holds up a flamingo-

room to jerk me back to the stage. My bones settle into Reds, and

necked fae whose body has been magically stiffened to the shape of a

my skin conforms to hers.

hockey stick. The blush-colored feathers ruffle as if the fae is offended by

Shes older by six years or so. Her father married a widowed

netherling after her mothers death, so the Red Court would have a
queen to rule until Red was of age. But in just a few more months,
Red will have her coronation, and the crown-magic will fill her
blood . . .

the misnomer.
That is a mallet, darling. Wickets are the hoops we hit our balls
through.
Grenadines dimples appear like they always do when shes bewildered.
Oh, Father, I simply cant remember.
He smiles, charmed by her mindless grace. Ive found a way around

Red hides behind some bushes in the castle courtyards garden. The

that, I think. Sir Bill? He waves someone into the scene.

purple-striped zinnias wilt from the anger seeping off of her as she spies

Bill the Lizarda reptilian netherling with the ability to write

on her father and younger stepsister. Grenadine is the daughter from the

without inkscrambles into view and bows. His red tailcoat and pants

new queens prior marriage, and has proven to be a thorn in Reds side.

shift to green leaves, matching the bush hes beside so convincingly, he

It isnt enough that her hair shimmers with the sheen of rubies, and her

appears to be a decapitated head and clawed hands floating in midair.

silver eyes dance beneath thick lavender lashes. Shes constantly forgetful

Grenadine curtsies in return. Nice to meet you, sir.

a blank slate waiting to be written upon. Her frailty and dependence offer

The lizard smiles, beguiled by her sweetness like everyone.

a distraction for the kings grieving heart, one that Reds strength and

Sir Bill is the Red Courts stenographer. He has the ability to eat

independence cant.
The king leans down to show Grenadine for the hundredth time how
to play croquet, having already reminded her for the thousandth time

whispers, the king explains. And afterward, he can write them out on
any surface, where theyll adhere forever as quiet murmurings, so they can
be heard and not seen. Whisper something you wish to remember.

hes her new father. He points to the U-shaped metal hoops that form a

Grenadine mumbles the rules of croquet she heard moments before.

diamond-patterned run in the ground. Pink and gray stakes mark each

Bills chameleon-like jaws unhinge, and his tongue snaps out in mid-

end, and two sets of balls lie in a box lined with satin.

air, capturing the echo of her whispers. His bulbous eyes rotate in different

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 18 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 19 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The scene scrambles and blurs. Im dragged out of the memory

We follow the circuit of wickets, the king says gently. My red color

and dropped back into my seat, cradled by the darkness around me.

races against your silver. The first side to get their balls through the wick-

A knocking sensation shakes my skull, as if a fist punches it from the

ets in order and hit the peg wins.

inside. I press my hands to my temples until it stops.

It must be the repudiated memory nesting inside my cranium,
because I didnt experience anything like that the last time I was here.

Grenadine shakes her head, her ruby curls bouncing about her shoulders. What is a peg, again?
The stake, at the end of the run.

The screen flicks on again. A vivid rainbow smears across the

And a wicket . . . is that this? Grenadine holds up a flamingo-

room to jerk me back to the stage. My bones settle into Reds, and

necked fae whose body has been magically stiffened to the shape of a

my skin conforms to hers.

hockey stick. The blush-colored feathers ruffle as if the fae is offended by

Shes older by six years or so. Her father married a widowed

netherling after her mothers death, so the Red Court would have a
queen to rule until Red was of age. But in just a few more months,
Red will have her coronation, and the crown-magic will fill her
blood . . .

the misnomer.
That is a mallet, darling. Wickets are the hoops we hit our balls
through.
Grenadines dimples appear like they always do when shes bewildered.
Oh, Father, I simply cant remember.
He smiles, charmed by her mindless grace. Ive found a way around

Red hides behind some bushes in the castle courtyards garden. The

that, I think. Sir Bill? He waves someone into the scene.

purple-striped zinnias wilt from the anger seeping off of her as she spies

Bill the Lizarda reptilian netherling with the ability to write

on her father and younger stepsister. Grenadine is the daughter from the

without inkscrambles into view and bows. His red tailcoat and pants

new queens prior marriage, and has proven to be a thorn in Reds side.

shift to green leaves, matching the bush hes beside so convincingly, he

It isnt enough that her hair shimmers with the sheen of rubies, and her

appears to be a decapitated head and clawed hands floating in midair.

silver eyes dance beneath thick lavender lashes. Shes constantly forgetful

Grenadine curtsies in return. Nice to meet you, sir.

a blank slate waiting to be written upon. Her frailty and dependence offer

The lizard smiles, beguiled by her sweetness like everyone.

a distraction for the kings grieving heart, one that Reds strength and

Sir Bill is the Red Courts stenographer. He has the ability to eat

independence cant.
The king leans down to show Grenadine for the hundredth time how
to play croquet, having already reminded her for the thousandth time

whispers, the king explains. And afterward, he can write them out on
any surface, where theyll adhere forever as quiet murmurings, so they can
be heard and not seen. Whisper something you wish to remember.

hes her new father. He points to the U-shaped metal hoops that form a

Grenadine mumbles the rules of croquet she heard moments before.

diamond-patterned run in the ground. Pink and gray stakes mark each

Bills chameleon-like jaws unhinge, and his tongue snaps out in mid-

end, and two sets of balls lie in a box lined with satin.

air, capturing the echo of her whispers. His bulbous eyes rotate in different

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 18 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 19 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

directions as he swallows a rather large lump. Next, he takes a velvet

ribbon from his pocket and writes on it with a clawed fingertip.
Blinking, he hands the red strip to the king.

Thats why Im going to be queen, Red says, trying to harden her

heart.
Yes, because you embrace the things that remind you of her. You drink

Listen, the king says, holding it to Grenadines ear.

ash in your tea, to remember how she shushed you when you were a babe.

She waits, then bursts into rosy-cheeked giggles. It whispered the

You ask Cook for her favorite Tumtum-berry tarts, so you might remem-

rules!
The king ties the ribbon in a bow around her pinky. Now youll never
forget them. Ive asked Sir Bill to be your very own royal consultant. Hell
make enchanted ribbons for as long as you need.

ber sharing them with her. And you hum her songs.
Red doesnt answer.
Please understand, dearest daughter. I only avoid you so I wont drag
you down. Youre too important to the kingdom for me to hinder you. So I

Grenadine crinkles her nose. Bill? I dont believe Ive met him.

watch from afar. Im a lucky man, to have a daughter who has grown into

The king chuckles. Of course you have. Hes right here.

such a strong young woman.

Bill the Lizard takes another bow.

Red scorns the empty flattery. Grenadine is the lucky one. Because she

Weary of the spectacle, Red concentrates on the ribbon tied upon her

has no memory. She can forget any rule that would confine her actions,

sisters finger. Her body glows crimson as her magic unties the bow. The

blot out any failure that would cripple her confidence, misplace any sad-

velvet strip flutters from Grenadine to land in Reds palm. She steps out

ness that would inhibit her to love. She has no standards to live by. Shes

from her hiding place.

immuneby her own limitationsto everything that would limit her.

The kings face flushes. He dismisses Bill, sending him with Grenadine
into the palace so they can bring more whispers to life.
Why would you do that? Reds father asks her, reaching for the stolen
ribbon.
Red curls her fingers around it. Perhaps I should appoint Bill to make
ribbons for you, so you might remember you have another daughter. One
whom you never spend time with.
The king looks down at his red slippers. Ribbons wouldnt help. For
I havent forgotten.
Reds chin stiffens. Shes not even yours! I am, by blood.
Yes, my scarlet rosebud. Every day you look more and more like your
mother. And every day I feel the pain of being torn away from her anew.
Youre braver than me.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 20 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She views the world with the wide-eyed cheeriness of a slithy tove pup
who has never been kicked or strapped to a chain.
The king nudges the croquet-ball box with his toe. It doesnt make her
stronger to forget. Youre the one whos strong. For you remember, and yet
you go on. That is what will make you a wonderful ruler one day, just like
your mothersympathetic and understanding.
Reds fist tightens around the ribbon. Emotions born of weakness. I
want nothing to do with them.
Oh? Her fathers stern voice startles her. Would you disrespect your
mothers memory? All for a small seed of jealousy?
Red grits her teeth, feeling her mothers gaze on her even though shes
far awaya crystalline rose inside the garden of souls.
The king narrows his eyes beneath his crowns shadow. You have the
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 21 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

directions as he swallows a rather large lump. Next, he takes a velvet

ribbon from his pocket and writes on it with a clawed fingertip.
Blinking, he hands the red strip to the king.

Thats why Im going to be queen, Red says, trying to harden her

heart.
Yes, because you embrace the things that remind you of her. You drink

Listen, the king says, holding it to Grenadines ear.

ash in your tea, to remember how she shushed you when you were a babe.

She waits, then bursts into rosy-cheeked giggles. It whispered the

You ask Cook for her favorite Tumtum-berry tarts, so you might remem-

rules!
The king ties the ribbon in a bow around her pinky. Now youll never
forget them. Ive asked Sir Bill to be your very own royal consultant. Hell
make enchanted ribbons for as long as you need.

ber sharing them with her. And you hum her songs.
Red doesnt answer.
Please understand, dearest daughter. I only avoid you so I wont drag
you down. Youre too important to the kingdom for me to hinder you. So I

Grenadine crinkles her nose. Bill? I dont believe Ive met him.

watch from afar. Im a lucky man, to have a daughter who has grown into

The king chuckles. Of course you have. Hes right here.

such a strong young woman.

Bill the Lizard takes another bow.

Red scorns the empty flattery. Grenadine is the lucky one. Because she

Weary of the spectacle, Red concentrates on the ribbon tied upon her

has no memory. She can forget any rule that would confine her actions,

sisters finger. Her body glows crimson as her magic unties the bow. The

blot out any failure that would cripple her confidence, misplace any sad-

velvet strip flutters from Grenadine to land in Reds palm. She steps out

ness that would inhibit her to love. She has no standards to live by. Shes

from her hiding place.

immuneby her own limitationsto everything that would limit her.

The kings face flushes. He dismisses Bill, sending him with Grenadine
into the palace so they can bring more whispers to life.
Why would you do that? Reds father asks her, reaching for the stolen
ribbon.
Red curls her fingers around it. Perhaps I should appoint Bill to make
ribbons for you, so you might remember you have another daughter. One
whom you never spend time with.
The king looks down at his red slippers. Ribbons wouldnt help. For
I havent forgotten.
Reds chin stiffens. Shes not even yours! I am, by blood.
Yes, my scarlet rosebud. Every day you look more and more like your
mother. And every day I feel the pain of being torn away from her anew.
Youre braver than me.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 20 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

She views the world with the wide-eyed cheeriness of a slithy tove pup
who has never been kicked or strapped to a chain.
The king nudges the croquet-ball box with his toe. It doesnt make her
stronger to forget. Youre the one whos strong. For you remember, and yet
you go on. That is what will make you a wonderful ruler one day, just like
your mothersympathetic and understanding.
Reds fist tightens around the ribbon. Emotions born of weakness. I
want nothing to do with them.
Oh? Her fathers stern voice startles her. Would you disrespect your
mothers memory? All for a small seed of jealousy?
Red grits her teeth, feeling her mothers gaze on her even though shes
far awaya crystalline rose inside the garden of souls.
The king narrows his eyes beneath his crowns shadow. You have the
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 21 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

same dark strain as all of the Red royal lineage. Your mother was the first

Gradually, Red watched her husband try to befriend her sister,

to learn to balance madness with wisdom. Do not forsake that legacy.

although Grenadine always pushed him away. When Reds king would

Make her proud. He holds out his hand.

return to her side like a wounded puppy, his sadness stoked her jealousy.

Tears singe Reds eyes as she drops the whispering ribbon into his
palm, an unspoken promise to honor her mothers memory, to never forget
her example.

She did the only thing she could: She stole her sisters ribbons to show her
husband what a forgetful buffoon Grenadine was.
Every day for months, each time her sister tied bows to her fingers or
toes, Red would magically coax them away and send them fluttering into

My bones jitter and my head hurts as again Im thrown into the

the sky. Soon, they eclipsed the sun like a cloud of glimmering crimson

chaise lounge, only to be jerked back on-screen for the final memory:

butterflies. Darkness fell upon the kingdom, but Red didnt care. She had

Red kneels beside a rosebush, breathing in the sweet scent. The

no desire to call the ribbons back or to listen to Grenadines mundane and

blooms are such a deep red, they look like puddles of fresh blood

irrelevant reminders.

against the unnaturally bright teal leaves. She planted the bush in

Reds ribbon stealing became a game of malice and great satisfaction,

the courtyard as a tribute to her father after his death. She yearns for

until at last Grenadine stopped wearing them altogether. And soon there-

his spirit. She wishes he were here in the ground instead of locked

after, she stopped fighting the Red Kings advances.

inside the garden of souls, though shes comforted to know hes been
reunited with her mother at last.

The two fell in love each day, anew, and Red witnessed it over and
over again. Furious, she called the ribbons from the sky. They scattered
across the castle courtyard in a sweep of crimson rain. Red stood in their

I should be with you both in the cemetery, she mumbles to the roses.

midst as hundreds of whispers spun around her, repeating the same words:

Now that my life is over. She rotates a bottle in her hand to reveal the

Keep Reds husband from your heart. She is your sister, a love thats

label: Forgetting Potion.

precious. Always be faithful to Red.

Her shoulders hunch, as in the distance her stepsisters giggle rings out,

Grenadine had been reminding herself daily to do the right thing, and

accompanied by the chortle of Reds husband. Red met him one week after

Red had made it impossible for her to remember. The responsibility for her

her father died. He had a kind heart like her fathers, and proved to be

broken marriage was upon her own shoulders. The only way Red could

the only man who could reason with her anger, temper her bitterness. His

survive was to become like Grenadine and forget her role in everything.

strength was his compassion, and he adored Red. But the queen became

Red determined to remember only the betrayals of others, so their wrongs

obsessed with her pursuit to bring dreams to Wonderland and neglected

could harden her heart.

her marriage, never even taking the time to give her king the children

Stroking a rose petal, Red whispers one last time: Mother, Father,

he yearned for. In her absence, her husband was often left alone with

I hope you both can forgive me, because unless I forget, Ill never forgive

Grenadine.

myself. Then she lifts the bottle to her lips.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 22 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 23 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

same dark strain as all of the Red royal lineage. Your mother was the first

Gradually, Red watched her husband try to befriend her sister,

to learn to balance madness with wisdom. Do not forsake that legacy.

although Grenadine always pushed him away. When Reds king would

Make her proud. He holds out his hand.

return to her side like a wounded puppy, his sadness stoked her jealousy.

Tears singe Reds eyes as she drops the whispering ribbon into his
palm, an unspoken promise to honor her mothers memory, to never forget
her example.

She did the only thing she could: She stole her sisters ribbons to show her
husband what a forgetful buffoon Grenadine was.
Every day for months, each time her sister tied bows to her fingers or
toes, Red would magically coax them away and send them fluttering into

My bones jitter and my head hurts as again Im thrown into the

the sky. Soon, they eclipsed the sun like a cloud of glimmering crimson

chaise lounge, only to be jerked back on-screen for the final memory:

butterflies. Darkness fell upon the kingdom, but Red didnt care. She had

Red kneels beside a rosebush, breathing in the sweet scent. The

no desire to call the ribbons back or to listen to Grenadines mundane and

blooms are such a deep red, they look like puddles of fresh blood

irrelevant reminders.

against the unnaturally bright teal leaves. She planted the bush in

Reds ribbon stealing became a game of malice and great satisfaction,

the courtyard as a tribute to her father after his death. She yearns for

until at last Grenadine stopped wearing them altogether. And soon there-

his spirit. She wishes he were here in the ground instead of locked

after, she stopped fighting the Red Kings advances.

inside the garden of souls, though shes comforted to know hes been
reunited with her mother at last.

The two fell in love each day, anew, and Red witnessed it over and
over again. Furious, she called the ribbons from the sky. They scattered
across the castle courtyard in a sweep of crimson rain. Red stood in their

I should be with you both in the cemetery, she mumbles to the roses.

midst as hundreds of whispers spun around her, repeating the same words:

Now that my life is over. She rotates a bottle in her hand to reveal the

Keep Reds husband from your heart. She is your sister, a love thats

label: Forgetting Potion.

precious. Always be faithful to Red.

Her shoulders hunch, as in the distance her stepsisters giggle rings out,

Grenadine had been reminding herself daily to do the right thing, and

accompanied by the chortle of Reds husband. Red met him one week after

Red had made it impossible for her to remember. The responsibility for her

her father died. He had a kind heart like her fathers, and proved to be

broken marriage was upon her own shoulders. The only way Red could

the only man who could reason with her anger, temper her bitterness. His

survive was to become like Grenadine and forget her role in everything.

strength was his compassion, and he adored Red. But the queen became

Red determined to remember only the betrayals of others, so their wrongs

obsessed with her pursuit to bring dreams to Wonderland and neglected

could harden her heart.

her marriage, never even taking the time to give her king the children

Stroking a rose petal, Red whispers one last time: Mother, Father,

he yearned for. In her absence, her husband was often left alone with

I hope you both can forgive me, because unless I forget, Ill never forgive

Grenadine.

myself. Then she lifts the bottle to her lips.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 22 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 23 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

h .. I ..i

The image flicks off, the curtains drop, and the lamp snaps on.
Slumped in the chaise lounge, I hold my temples until the drumming inside my skull subsides. I almost choke on the bittersweet
tang of roses firmly pressed on my senses. At last I can acknowledge

what Ive never let myself admit: Im a descendant of Queen Red.

.......

Shes an eternal part of me. I can accept it because she did have a
heart once. A heart that felt similar losses to mine: the absence of
a mother she adored; the fear of losing her fathers admiration; the
regret of a mistake so monumental, it cost her the love of her life.
Red locked away her most vulnerable moments so she wouldnt
hesitate in her quest for vengeance. So she could make the descent
into ruthless abandon without remorse.
Empathy pricks my conscience, but I push it away. Mercy has no
place on any battlefield . . . magical or otherwise.
If I can contain her scorned memories long enough to reunite
them with her mind, theyll rail against her, fill her with regret.

PINT - SIZE
PRE DICAMENTS

Then, while shes vulnerable, Ill swoop in and Wonderland will

never have to fear her rage again.
Adrift in a dark swirl of emotions, I stand and smooth the
wrinkles from my hospital gown. Im only a few steps from the door
when it flings open to reveal Dadhis brown eyes lit with a fiery
light.
Allie, I remember . . . everything.

Dad tells me his real name is David Skeffington.

Interesting, I say as we stride down the aisle. And here I
thought wed end up related to Martin Gardner.
Dad frowns. Whos that?
The guy behind The Annotated Alice. Some math wizard. I
shrug. Just shows how preoccupied Moms thoughts were with
Wonderland. When she couldnt find your real name, she gave you
one that fit into the Lewis Carroll legacy.
Little knowing I already did fit, Dad says.
Why? Who are the Skeffingtons? I ask.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 24 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

h .. I ..i

The image flicks off, the curtains drop, and the lamp snaps on.
Slumped in the chaise lounge, I hold my temples until the drumming inside my skull subsides. I almost choke on the bittersweet
tang of roses firmly pressed on my senses. At last I can acknowledge

what Ive never let myself admit: Im a descendant of Queen Red.

.......

Shes an eternal part of me. I can accept it because she did have a
heart once. A heart that felt similar losses to mine: the absence of
a mother she adored; the fear of losing her fathers admiration; the
regret of a mistake so monumental, it cost her the love of her life.
Red locked away her most vulnerable moments so she wouldnt
hesitate in her quest for vengeance. So she could make the descent
into ruthless abandon without remorse.
Empathy pricks my conscience, but I push it away. Mercy has no
place on any battlefield . . . magical or otherwise.
If I can contain her scorned memories long enough to reunite
them with her mind, theyll rail against her, fill her with regret.

PINT - SIZE
PRE DICAMENTS

Then, while shes vulnerable, Ill swoop in and Wonderland will

never have to fear her rage again.
Adrift in a dark swirl of emotions, I stand and smooth the
wrinkles from my hospital gown. Im only a few steps from the door
when it flings open to reveal Dadhis brown eyes lit with a fiery
light.
Allie, I remember . . . everything.

Dad tells me his real name is David Skeffington.

Interesting, I say as we stride down the aisle. And here I
thought wed end up related to Martin Gardner.
Dad frowns. Whos that?
The guy behind The Annotated Alice. Some math wizard. I
shrug. Just shows how preoccupied Moms thoughts were with
Wonderland. When she couldnt find your real name, she gave you
one that fit into the Lewis Carroll legacy.
Little knowing I already did fit, Dad says.
Why? Who are the Skeffingtons? I ask.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 24 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Noticing the conductor hanging on the wall, Dad doesnt answer.

Tell me where your mom is, Dad says abruptly.

I help him free the wriggling beetle. Mr. Bug-in-a-rug wasnt

I almost strangle.

cooperating, I explain, working my captives tangled fur from the

Tell me shes not in the looking-glass world.

wires and hardware.

After swallowing, I answer, Shes in Wonderland.

There are other ways to be persuasive. Dads expression is stern

as he lowers the disheveled insect to the floor. Less violent ways.
I bite my tongue out of respect, though I want to tell him hes
oblivious about dealing with netherlings.
After an apology that wins a cautious albeit reverential bow from
the conductor and two complimentary bags of peanuts, Dad takes
my hand and we step together onto the toy trains platform. The car
door shuts behind us with a loud scrape.

He lets out a relieved sigh. Good. There are creatures in AnyElsewhere that no human He cuts himself short, as if remembering
Moms the furthest thing from human. Shes one of them. Like that
winged boy who carried me through the portal. Shes a netherling.
Partly, I whisper. The so am I sits on my tongue, unsaid.
Shes stronger than I ever couldve imagined, he mumbles. She
can protect Jeb. They have each other to lean on.
Hes halfway right. Mom is strong, and I have to believe shes

I yawn, inhaling the scent of dust and powdery stones in the

surviving in Wonderland. If only Jeb was with her, hed be safer, too.

coolness of the dimly lit tunnel. The whispers of a hundred bugs

I wont tell Dad theyre not together yet. First, he needs to digest all

blend togethera soothing distraction. Reds memories keep nudg-

hes learned. Theyre okay. They allboth are.

ing me, blurring my mind with disconcerting crimson stains: her

Dads struggling enough with the memory of the winged fae

flushed face as she tried to hold on to her mothers spirit, the ruby

helping Mom break him out of Wonderlands garden of souls. He

shimmer of her stepsisters hair during a painful croquet lesson as

doesnt need to know Morpheus is part of our rescue mission just

her father slipped away, and the deep bloody hue of whispering rib-

now. But later, Ill have to explain the huge role Morpheus has

bons heralding Reds most devastating mistake.

played in my life since childhood. Although I can never confess the

I cant sympathize. I have to be strong.

part hes slated to play in my future, because I made a life-magic vow

I grip my abdomen, nauseated and unbalanced. I had no idea

not to say a word. I cant even tell Morpheus that Ive seen whats

the earworm effect would be this powerful. Ive got to find a way to
control it.
Dad notices me rubbing my stomach and holds out a bag of
peanuts. You need to eat.

coming, even though hes seen it himself.

The problem is, I continue, the rabbit hole has been filled in.
All the portals are tied together. So if the entrance isnt working,
neither are the ways out.

I pop a few peanuts into my mouth. The salty crunchiness

Thats why you brought me here for my memories. Dad picks

appeases my hunger, but it doesnt quell the splashes of red drizzling

up the dangling threads of my explanation. To find another way

in my mind.

into Wonderland.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 26 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Noticing the conductor hanging on the wall, Dad doesnt answer.

Tell me where your mom is, Dad says abruptly.

I help him free the wriggling beetle. Mr. Bug-in-a-rug wasnt

I almost strangle.

cooperating, I explain, working my captives tangled fur from the

Tell me shes not in the looking-glass world.

wires and hardware.

After swallowing, I answer, Shes in Wonderland.

There are other ways to be persuasive. Dads expression is stern

as he lowers the disheveled insect to the floor. Less violent ways.
I bite my tongue out of respect, though I want to tell him hes
oblivious about dealing with netherlings.
After an apology that wins a cautious albeit reverential bow from
the conductor and two complimentary bags of peanuts, Dad takes
my hand and we step together onto the toy trains platform. The car
door shuts behind us with a loud scrape.

He lets out a relieved sigh. Good. There are creatures in AnyElsewhere that no human He cuts himself short, as if remembering
Moms the furthest thing from human. Shes one of them. Like that
winged boy who carried me through the portal. Shes a netherling.
Partly, I whisper. The so am I sits on my tongue, unsaid.
Shes stronger than I ever couldve imagined, he mumbles. She
can protect Jeb. They have each other to lean on.
Hes halfway right. Mom is strong, and I have to believe shes

I yawn, inhaling the scent of dust and powdery stones in the

surviving in Wonderland. If only Jeb was with her, hed be safer, too.

coolness of the dimly lit tunnel. The whispers of a hundred bugs

I wont tell Dad theyre not together yet. First, he needs to digest all

blend togethera soothing distraction. Reds memories keep nudg-

hes learned. Theyre okay. They allboth are.

ing me, blurring my mind with disconcerting crimson stains: her

Dads struggling enough with the memory of the winged fae

flushed face as she tried to hold on to her mothers spirit, the ruby

helping Mom break him out of Wonderlands garden of souls. He

shimmer of her stepsisters hair during a painful croquet lesson as

doesnt need to know Morpheus is part of our rescue mission just

her father slipped away, and the deep bloody hue of whispering rib-

now. But later, Ill have to explain the huge role Morpheus has

bons heralding Reds most devastating mistake.

played in my life since childhood. Although I can never confess the

I cant sympathize. I have to be strong.

part hes slated to play in my future, because I made a life-magic vow

I grip my abdomen, nauseated and unbalanced. I had no idea

not to say a word. I cant even tell Morpheus that Ive seen whats

the earworm effect would be this powerful. Ive got to find a way to
control it.
Dad notices me rubbing my stomach and holds out a bag of
peanuts. You need to eat.

coming, even though hes seen it himself.

The problem is, I continue, the rabbit hole has been filled in.
All the portals are tied together. So if the entrance isnt working,
neither are the ways out.

I pop a few peanuts into my mouth. The salty crunchiness

Thats why you brought me here for my memories. Dad picks

appeases my hunger, but it doesnt quell the splashes of red drizzling

up the dangling threads of my explanation. To find another way

in my mind.

into Wonderland.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 26 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 27 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I dread telling him the state Wonderland is in. Worst of all, that
Im to blame for it. That my ineptitude in using undernourished and
neglected powers caused this entire tragedy. And that to fix it, Ill
have to face my biggest fear.

Ive ever met is the egg-man creature in Wonderland, the one called
Humpty Dumpty in the Lewis Carroll novel. Whats that?
Its the one clue I have to my familys whereabouts. It was my
home here.

We have a lot to discuss before I toss Red into the mix.

Here, as in London?

So what happened between you and the conductor? Dad

As in this world. Humphreys Inn is some kind of halfway house

changes the subject, much to my relief. Why did you bully him like

between the magi-kind and mortal realms. Its hidden underground.

that?

His outright acknowledgment of a magical otherworld leaves me

I drop a peanut into my mouth. He called me a half-blood

reeling. Maybe I was wrong about him being oblivious in dealing

snippet, I say between crunches. I thought my solution was pretty

with netherlings. Maybe I even suspected as much, but its still hard

creative. My voice is muffled by the sounds of motors and chatty

to grasp how deeply Wonderland runs through my bloodon both

people drifting from the bridge through the vents overhead.

sides of my family.

Dad brushes crumbs off his Toms Sporting Goods polo. Just
like the lies you and your mother came up with were creative.
Ouch. I shove another handful of peanuts in my mouth, wishing

That thought triggers another splash of Reds memories. I waver

in place.
Dad steadies me. You okay?

things were like they used to be between us. How strange that some-

Just a headache, I answer as the sensation subsides. Ill have

how the lies became the foundation to our relationship. Without

to make a concerted effort not to think of my great-great-great-

them, our bond is shaky . . . precarious.

grandmother until I can figure out a way to suppress these episodes.

I ache to reach out and hug him, but the void between us is too
vast.
If were going to help her and Jeb, Dad continues, I need honest answers from you. The whole truth. No more sugarcoating.

You were telling me about the inn.

Yeah. Its somewhere in Oxford.
Seriously? Thats where Alice Liddell grew up. Where she met
Lewis Carroll.

I study my bare toes, wincing as we step down onto pebbles and

Dad rubs the stubble on his chin. Somehow, way down the line,

broken rock. My soles arent the only things feeling exposed and

the Skeffingtons were related to the Dodgsons, which was Carrolls

tender. I have no idea where to start, Dad.

surname before he took on a pseudonym. I hope to get more details

He frowns. I dont expect answers right this minute. We have to

find Humphreys Inn first.
Humphreys Inn? I bite my inner cheek. The only Humphrey

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 28 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

once we find the inn.

I dont press any further. I cant imagine the information overload
hes experiencing.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 29 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I dread telling him the state Wonderland is in. Worst of all, that
Im to blame for it. That my ineptitude in using undernourished and
neglected powers caused this entire tragedy. And that to fix it, Ill
have to face my biggest fear.

Ive ever met is the egg-man creature in Wonderland, the one called
Humpty Dumpty in the Lewis Carroll novel. Whats that?
Its the one clue I have to my familys whereabouts. It was my
home here.

We have a lot to discuss before I toss Red into the mix.

Here, as in London?

So what happened between you and the conductor? Dad

As in this world. Humphreys Inn is some kind of halfway house

changes the subject, much to my relief. Why did you bully him like

between the magi-kind and mortal realms. Its hidden underground.

that?

His outright acknowledgment of a magical otherworld leaves me

I drop a peanut into my mouth. He called me a half-blood

reeling. Maybe I was wrong about him being oblivious in dealing

snippet, I say between crunches. I thought my solution was pretty

with netherlings. Maybe I even suspected as much, but its still hard

creative. My voice is muffled by the sounds of motors and chatty

to grasp how deeply Wonderland runs through my bloodon both

people drifting from the bridge through the vents overhead.

sides of my family.

Dad brushes crumbs off his Toms Sporting Goods polo. Just
like the lies you and your mother came up with were creative.
Ouch. I shove another handful of peanuts in my mouth, wishing

That thought triggers another splash of Reds memories. I waver

in place.
Dad steadies me. You okay?

things were like they used to be between us. How strange that some-

Just a headache, I answer as the sensation subsides. Ill have

how the lies became the foundation to our relationship. Without

to make a concerted effort not to think of my great-great-great-

them, our bond is shaky . . . precarious.

grandmother until I can figure out a way to suppress these episodes.

I ache to reach out and hug him, but the void between us is too
vast.
If were going to help her and Jeb, Dad continues, I need honest answers from you. The whole truth. No more sugarcoating.

You were telling me about the inn.

Yeah. Its somewhere in Oxford.
Seriously? Thats where Alice Liddell grew up. Where she met
Lewis Carroll.

I study my bare toes, wincing as we step down onto pebbles and

Dad rubs the stubble on his chin. Somehow, way down the line,

broken rock. My soles arent the only things feeling exposed and

the Skeffingtons were related to the Dodgsons, which was Carrolls

tender. I have no idea where to start, Dad.

surname before he took on a pseudonym. I hope to get more details

He frowns. I dont expect answers right this minute. We have to

find Humphreys Inn first.
Humphreys Inn? I bite my inner cheek. The only Humphrey

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 28 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

once we find the inn.

I dont press any further. I cant imagine the information overload
hes experiencing.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 29 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Off in the distance, the monarchs that provided our rides are

what she did for me, he murmurs, and I wonder if I was supposed

hanging on the tunnel walls, wings flapping slow and relaxed. The

to hear, or if its a private moment. Ive never doubted how strong

firefly chandeliers reflect off their orange and black markings. It

Dads love is for her, but only recently did I learn how strong hers

reminds me of tigers gliding through the silhouettes of jungle trees

is for him.

during a nature show.

The butterflies whisper: We know the way to Humphreys Inn.
Would you like an escort, little flower queen?

Im curious how much hes remembered, if he understands that

she was going to be queen before she found him.
Dads jaw clenches as he slides the picture back into its sleeve.

Goose bumps coat my arms when I think of jostling through

We dont have the right currency. Well have to use my credit cards.

another bout of wind and rain. Its not fear. Its electrified anticipa-

It should be around dinnertime when we arrive. While we eat, well

tionlike standing in line for a favorite roller coaster. My wing buds

discuss things. He looks tired, yet more alert than Ive seen him

nudge. The right one isnt fully healed yet. Maybe I can let it out

in years. Well plan our next move. But its important we lay low

while riding, exercise my wings without the danger of falling.

and try not to draw attention to ourselves. Considering my familys

Yes, please take us. I send the silent answer back to the butterflies.

profession, they couldve made some very dangerous enemies.

Are they talking to you now? Dad asks when he catches me

An uneasy knot forms in my throat. What profession?

staring at them.
I swallow. Its hard to get used to not pretending with someone
Ive been fooling my whole life. Uh-huh.
He studies me, his complexion almost green in the dim light. I
wonder if its hit him yet, that we allowed Mom to be locked in an
asylum for something that was really happening and not a delusion.
The butterflies know where the inn is, I say.
Dad makes a disgruntled sound. After we get there, can we
please return to our normal size?
Sure. Ive got just what well need. I pat my pocket where the
mushrooms wait, surprised to feel the conductors pen alongside
them. Id forgotten I still have it.

He tucks his wallet into his pocket. Gatekeepers. Theyre the

guardians of AnyElsewhere.
My knees wobble. What?
Thats enough discussion for now. Im still processing.
His curtness stings. But what right do I have to feel wounded? I
made him wait seventeen years to learn the truth about me.
Okay. I stifle an apology and study my ragged gown. It wont
be easy to stay under the radar while wearing asylum clothes. Youll
need to change, too.
Any ideas? Dad asks, then holds up a hand. And before you say
it, were not stealing something off a clothesline.
Its like he read my mind. Why not? Motivation always justifies

Dad slips out his wallet and sifts through receipts, money, and

the crime. I clamp down on my tongue. Thats Morpheuss reason-

pictures. He pauses at the family portrait we had made a few months

ing, not mine. Its both frightening and liberating that his illogic is

ago and traces Moms outline with a shaky fingertip. I cant believe

starting to make perfect sense.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 30 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 31 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Off in the distance, the monarchs that provided our rides are

what she did for me, he murmurs, and I wonder if I was supposed

hanging on the tunnel walls, wings flapping slow and relaxed. The

to hear, or if its a private moment. Ive never doubted how strong

firefly chandeliers reflect off their orange and black markings. It

Dads love is for her, but only recently did I learn how strong hers

reminds me of tigers gliding through the silhouettes of jungle trees

is for him.

during a nature show.

The butterflies whisper: We know the way to Humphreys Inn.
Would you like an escort, little flower queen?

Im curious how much hes remembered, if he understands that

she was going to be queen before she found him.
Dads jaw clenches as he slides the picture back into its sleeve.

Goose bumps coat my arms when I think of jostling through

We dont have the right currency. Well have to use my credit cards.

another bout of wind and rain. Its not fear. Its electrified anticipa-

It should be around dinnertime when we arrive. While we eat, well

tionlike standing in line for a favorite roller coaster. My wing buds

discuss things. He looks tired, yet more alert than Ive seen him

nudge. The right one isnt fully healed yet. Maybe I can let it out

in years. Well plan our next move. But its important we lay low

while riding, exercise my wings without the danger of falling.

and try not to draw attention to ourselves. Considering my familys

Yes, please take us. I send the silent answer back to the butterflies.

profession, they couldve made some very dangerous enemies.

Are they talking to you now? Dad asks when he catches me

An uneasy knot forms in my throat. What profession?

staring at them.
I swallow. Its hard to get used to not pretending with someone
Ive been fooling my whole life. Uh-huh.
He studies me, his complexion almost green in the dim light. I
wonder if its hit him yet, that we allowed Mom to be locked in an
asylum for something that was really happening and not a delusion.
The butterflies know where the inn is, I say.
Dad makes a disgruntled sound. After we get there, can we
please return to our normal size?
Sure. Ive got just what well need. I pat my pocket where the
mushrooms wait, surprised to feel the conductors pen alongside
them. Id forgotten I still have it.

He tucks his wallet into his pocket. Gatekeepers. Theyre the

guardians of AnyElsewhere.
My knees wobble. What?
Thats enough discussion for now. Im still processing.
His curtness stings. But what right do I have to feel wounded? I
made him wait seventeen years to learn the truth about me.
Okay. I stifle an apology and study my ragged gown. It wont
be easy to stay under the radar while wearing asylum clothes. Youll
need to change, too.
Any ideas? Dad asks, then holds up a hand. And before you say
it, were not stealing something off a clothesline.
Its like he read my mind. Why not? Motivation always justifies

Dad slips out his wallet and sifts through receipts, money, and

the crime. I clamp down on my tongue. Thats Morpheuss reason-

pictures. He pauses at the family portrait we had made a few months

ing, not mine. Its both frightening and liberating that his illogic is

ago and traces Moms outline with a shaky fingertip. I cant believe

starting to make perfect sense.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 30 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 31 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dad narrows his eyes. Tell me you did not just say that.

and a few rubber jacks bigger than the tumbleweeds Ive seen bounce

I push away the desire to argue my point. Justifying crimes may

alongside the roads in Pleasance, Texas.

be the law of the land in the nether-realm, but that doesnt make it
lawful to my dad at this moment. I just meant it would be borrowing, if we bought new clothes later and returned the others.

A sign hangs over the toys. The words

lost and found

have

been marked out and replaced by train of thought.

Past a pile of mildewed picture books, theres a childs round

Too many steps. We need a quick fix. Makeshift clothes.

suitcase propped up so the front is visible. The style is retropink,

Makeshift clothes. If only Jenara were here with her designer tal-

cushiony vinyl with a ponytailed girl standing in front of an airplane.

ents. I miss her more than ever. Over the past month in the asylum,

Her faded dress was blue at one time. Under the zipper, scribbled in

I wasnt allowed any visitors other than Dad. But Jen sent notes, and

black marker, is a childs handwriting: Emilys Dress Shoppe. Sprawled

Dad always saw that I got them. Jen didnt blame me for her missing

on the ground beside the case is a half-naked vintage Barbie.

brother, in spite of the rumors that I was in a cult that victimized

Doll clothes, I whisper.

him and Mom. She refused to believe Id be involved in anything

Dad squints. We need things thatll fit when were normal-size,

that would hurt either of them.

Allie.

If only I deserved her faith.

They grow and shrink with you. Its part of the magic.

I wish she was here. Shed know what to do about the clothes.

He glances down at his muddy, torn work uniform. Oh. Right . . .

Jenara can make outfits out of anything. One time, for a mythology

Cmon. I catch his hand and weave toward the case, suppress-

project, she transformed a Barbie into Medusa by spray-painting the

ing yelps as the rocky terrain jabs my feet. Dad stops long enough to

doll silver and crafting a stone gown out of a strip of aluminum foil

take off his shoes and help me step into them.

and white chalk.

Theyre too big, of course, but the tender gesture reminds me

Dolls . . .

of times when I used to stand on the toes of his shoes so we could

Hey! I shout up at the closest Ferris-wheel-firefly chandelier.

dance together. I smile. He smiles back, and Im his little girl again.

Could you guys give us some light, please?

They roll across the ceiling and stop overhead, illuminating our
surroundings. This place was once an elevator passageway where

Then his expression changes from awe to disappointment, as if hes

coming to terms all over again with what I am, what Mom is, and
how long weve kept it hidden from him.

train passengers would wait for rides up to the village after arriving

My stomach feels like its caving in. Why did we rob him of such

on the train. Distracted parents and careless children left behind

a big part of ourselves? Such an integral part of him? Dad, Im so

toys which are comparable to our size: wooden blocks that could

sorr

double as garden sheds, a pinwheel that could pass for a windmill,

No, Allie. I cant hear that yet. His left eyelid starts to twitch

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 32 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 33 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dad narrows his eyes. Tell me you did not just say that.

and a few rubber jacks bigger than the tumbleweeds Ive seen bounce

I push away the desire to argue my point. Justifying crimes may

alongside the roads in Pleasance, Texas.

be the law of the land in the nether-realm, but that doesnt make it
lawful to my dad at this moment. I just meant it would be borrowing, if we bought new clothes later and returned the others.

A sign hangs over the toys. The words

lost and found

have

been marked out and replaced by train of thought.

Past a pile of mildewed picture books, theres a childs round

Too many steps. We need a quick fix. Makeshift clothes.

suitcase propped up so the front is visible. The style is retropink,

Makeshift clothes. If only Jenara were here with her designer tal-

cushiony vinyl with a ponytailed girl standing in front of an airplane.

ents. I miss her more than ever. Over the past month in the asylum,

Her faded dress was blue at one time. Under the zipper, scribbled in

I wasnt allowed any visitors other than Dad. But Jen sent notes, and

black marker, is a childs handwriting: Emilys Dress Shoppe. Sprawled

Dad always saw that I got them. Jen didnt blame me for her missing

on the ground beside the case is a half-naked vintage Barbie.

brother, in spite of the rumors that I was in a cult that victimized

Doll clothes, I whisper.

him and Mom. She refused to believe Id be involved in anything

Dad squints. We need things thatll fit when were normal-size,

that would hurt either of them.

Allie.

If only I deserved her faith.

They grow and shrink with you. Its part of the magic.

I wish she was here. Shed know what to do about the clothes.

He glances down at his muddy, torn work uniform. Oh. Right . . .

Jenara can make outfits out of anything. One time, for a mythology

Cmon. I catch his hand and weave toward the case, suppress-

project, she transformed a Barbie into Medusa by spray-painting the

ing yelps as the rocky terrain jabs my feet. Dad stops long enough to

doll silver and crafting a stone gown out of a strip of aluminum foil

take off his shoes and help me step into them.

and white chalk.

Theyre too big, of course, but the tender gesture reminds me

Dolls . . .

of times when I used to stand on the toes of his shoes so we could

Hey! I shout up at the closest Ferris-wheel-firefly chandelier.

dance together. I smile. He smiles back, and Im his little girl again.

Could you guys give us some light, please?

They roll across the ceiling and stop overhead, illuminating our
surroundings. This place was once an elevator passageway where

Then his expression changes from awe to disappointment, as if hes

coming to terms all over again with what I am, what Mom is, and
how long weve kept it hidden from him.

train passengers would wait for rides up to the village after arriving

My stomach feels like its caving in. Why did we rob him of such

on the train. Distracted parents and careless children left behind

a big part of ourselves? Such an integral part of him? Dad, Im so

toys which are comparable to our size: wooden blocks that could

sorr

double as garden sheds, a pinwheel that could pass for a windmill,

No, Allie. I cant hear that yet. His left eyelid starts to twitch

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 32 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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and he looks away, his socked feet cautiously feeling around the
debris.
I follow and sniffle, telling myself its the dust making my eyes
water.
When we arrive at the doll-clothing case, its as tall as a twostory building, and the zipper handle is the length of my leg.

I shove aside silver bell-bottom pants and a black-and-white

striped swimsuit, uncovering a leotard and matching attached tutu
the same watery green as Jebs eyes at times when hes upset. The
exact shade they were when he caught me and Morpheus kissing in
my room before prom.
Regret gnaws at my stomach. All these weeks, Jebs been thinking

How are we supposed to open this thing? I ask.

I betrayed him. In the last moment we shared at prom, he grabbed

Better question: How are you supposed to fit into her clothes?

the pendant at my necka metal clump that had once been my

Dad points to the dust-caked Barbie. Youre barely the size of her

Wonderland key, his heart locket, and his engagement ringand

head.

kissed me. He promised we were far from over. Even after Id

The dolls irises are painted as if shes looking off to one side.

destroyed his trust, he was still planning to fight for me.

Paired with her catty makeup, she appears to be sneering at me.

A ticklish sensation brings my attention to my ankle where a

Exasperated, I thrust my hands in my apron pockets. My knuckle

spiderweb dangles at the edges of my wing tattoo. I got it months

nudges the conductors pen. Digging deeper, I hit the mushrooms

ago to camouflage my netherling birthmark. Here in the shadows,

and an idea forms in my mind. Lets sit her against the case.

I realize how much the tattoo really does look like a moth, just as

Dad shoots me a puzzled glance but doesnt hesitate. He grabs

her shoulders and I take her ankles. A yellowish spider the size of
a cocker spaniel scuttles out, grumbling at us for ruining its web. It
disappears into the pile of books. Once we have the Barbie seated
upright, I settle beside her.
I hand Dad a mushroom and kick off his shoes so he can put
them on again. Next, I take a mushroom for myself and nibble
the speckled side. I grit my teeth against the discomfort of sinews
extending, bones enlarging, and skin and cartilage expanding. The
surroundings shrink as I continue to eat until Im head to head with
the doll.

Morpheus has always said. I can almost see his lips curl up in smug
delight at the acknowledgement.
That strange unraveling pain gnaws in my chest again. It hits
most often when Im teetering between my two worlds.
What did Red do to me?
Red . . .
Her repudiated memories thunder through my skull once more.
I groan softly.
Did you say something, Allie? Dad looks up from the Ken
clothes hes sorting through.
After rubbing my temples, I lift out a sleeveless shirtdress with

Dad follows my lead, nibbling his mushroom until were both big

snaps down the front and a cherry and green-stem print that matches

enough to unzip the case and wear the 1950s-style Barbie and Ken

the leotard. Just that I think I found something. I hold it up for

outfits that slide out.

Dads inspection.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 34 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 35 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

and he looks away, his socked feet cautiously feeling around the
debris.
I follow and sniffle, telling myself its the dust making my eyes
water.
When we arrive at the doll-clothing case, its as tall as a twostory building, and the zipper handle is the length of my leg.

I shove aside silver bell-bottom pants and a black-and-white

striped swimsuit, uncovering a leotard and matching attached tutu
the same watery green as Jebs eyes at times when hes upset. The
exact shade they were when he caught me and Morpheus kissing in
my room before prom.
Regret gnaws at my stomach. All these weeks, Jebs been thinking

How are we supposed to open this thing? I ask.

I betrayed him. In the last moment we shared at prom, he grabbed

Better question: How are you supposed to fit into her clothes?

the pendant at my necka metal clump that had once been my

Dad points to the dust-caked Barbie. Youre barely the size of her

Wonderland key, his heart locket, and his engagement ringand

head.

kissed me. He promised we were far from over. Even after Id

The dolls irises are painted as if shes looking off to one side.

destroyed his trust, he was still planning to fight for me.

Paired with her catty makeup, she appears to be sneering at me.

A ticklish sensation brings my attention to my ankle where a

Exasperated, I thrust my hands in my apron pockets. My knuckle

spiderweb dangles at the edges of my wing tattoo. I got it months

nudges the conductors pen. Digging deeper, I hit the mushrooms

ago to camouflage my netherling birthmark. Here in the shadows,

and an idea forms in my mind. Lets sit her against the case.

I realize how much the tattoo really does look like a moth, just as

Dad shoots me a puzzled glance but doesnt hesitate. He grabs

her shoulders and I take her ankles. A yellowish spider the size of
a cocker spaniel scuttles out, grumbling at us for ruining its web. It
disappears into the pile of books. Once we have the Barbie seated
upright, I settle beside her.
I hand Dad a mushroom and kick off his shoes so he can put
them on again. Next, I take a mushroom for myself and nibble
the speckled side. I grit my teeth against the discomfort of sinews
extending, bones enlarging, and skin and cartilage expanding. The
surroundings shrink as I continue to eat until Im head to head with
the doll.

Morpheus has always said. I can almost see his lips curl up in smug
delight at the acknowledgement.
That strange unraveling pain gnaws in my chest again. It hits
most often when Im teetering between my two worlds.
What did Red do to me?
Red . . .
Her repudiated memories thunder through my skull once more.
I groan softly.
Did you say something, Allie? Dad looks up from the Ken
clothes hes sorting through.
After rubbing my temples, I lift out a sleeveless shirtdress with

Dad follows my lead, nibbling his mushroom until were both big

snaps down the front and a cherry and green-stem print that matches

enough to unzip the case and wear the 1950s-style Barbie and Ken

the leotard. Just that I think I found something. I hold it up for

outfits that slide out.

Dads inspection.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 34 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 35 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Looks good. Ill be over here. Dad grabs his bundle and goes to
the other side of the case.

As I stand, my foot kicks a Barbie-size diary with a key that must

be one quarter the size of a straight pin to a normal human.

I peel off my asylum clothes, careful not to let the remaining

The conductor said it would take enchanted paper to contain

mushrooms spill from the apron pocket. Ill have to find another

repudiated memories. A year ago in Wonderlands cemetery, Sister

way to carry them.

One told me that toys from the human realm were used to trap souls

Before I undress, I search for some lacy lingerie. Ive been

in her twins lair.

wearing generic cotton underthings since Ive been at the asylum.

Sister One said that when the most cherished toys are aban-

Something pretty would be nice. Unable to find anything, I settle

doned, they want those things that once filled and warmed them.

for what I have on and slip into the green leotard. The ballet outfits

They become lonely and crave what they had. And if someone gives

best feature is the open back. It will make it easy to free my wings.

them those things, theyll hold on to it with every portion of their

The satiny fabric smells of crayons and gumdrops, making me long

strength and will.

for my childhood before Mom was committed.

I flip through the diary. A few of the tiny pages have been written

Next, I shrug into the shirtdress and secure the metal snaps along

onhearts and initials and flowers, because writing actual words

the cherry-print bodice, leaving the skirt open to display the three

this size would be difficult for any child. The last two thirds of the

tiers of green netting that puff out above my knees.

pages are bare.

A fuchsia ribbon serves as a belt. Pink stockings complete the

Maybe this diary has missed being written upon.

outfit. They fit perfectly from my thighs to my calves, but the toes

Morpheus himself said toys harbor the residue of a childs inno-

are pointed. I fold the excess under before slipping into a pair of

cent love, the worlds most binding magic. If thats true, then maybe

squishy, knee-high red boots.

these pages are enchanted enough to contain Reds memories, to

Red boots. Reds memories bash against my cranium until I feel

so much sadness for her I drop onto the pile of leftover clothes. I fist
my hands against my head until it passes. When I open my eyes, Im
half-buried in Barbie shoes and accessories, as if I thrashed around
half-consciously.
Everything okay over there? Dad asks from his side of the case.
I grunt softly, clearing everything off me. Having trouble with
my stockings. Maybe stealing Reds memories was a big mistake
after all. Im going to end up wearing a straitjacket againthis time
for real.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 36 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

keep the emotional ties out of my mind.

I bite my lower lip. Look at that, bug in a rug. I just found a magic
journal.
Almost done? Dad moves around on the other side of the case,
as if hes pacing.
Just a sec! I scramble to find the apron I was wearing earlier and
pull the pen from the pocket.
Netherling logic resides in the hazy border between sense and
nonsense. I mouth Morpheuss words so Dad wont hear.
I jot down Reds memories on the remaining pages, writing as
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 37 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Looks good. Ill be over here. Dad grabs his bundle and goes to
the other side of the case.

As I stand, my foot kicks a Barbie-size diary with a key that must

be one quarter the size of a straight pin to a normal human.

I peel off my asylum clothes, careful not to let the remaining

The conductor said it would take enchanted paper to contain

mushrooms spill from the apron pocket. Ill have to find another

repudiated memories. A year ago in Wonderlands cemetery, Sister

way to carry them.

One told me that toys from the human realm were used to trap souls

Before I undress, I search for some lacy lingerie. Ive been

in her twins lair.

wearing generic cotton underthings since Ive been at the asylum.

Sister One said that when the most cherished toys are aban-

Something pretty would be nice. Unable to find anything, I settle

doned, they want those things that once filled and warmed them.

for what I have on and slip into the green leotard. The ballet outfits

They become lonely and crave what they had. And if someone gives

best feature is the open back. It will make it easy to free my wings.

them those things, theyll hold on to it with every portion of their

The satiny fabric smells of crayons and gumdrops, making me long

strength and will.

for my childhood before Mom was committed.

I flip through the diary. A few of the tiny pages have been written

Next, I shrug into the shirtdress and secure the metal snaps along

onhearts and initials and flowers, because writing actual words

the cherry-print bodice, leaving the skirt open to display the three

this size would be difficult for any child. The last two thirds of the

tiers of green netting that puff out above my knees.

pages are bare.

A fuchsia ribbon serves as a belt. Pink stockings complete the

Maybe this diary has missed being written upon.

outfit. They fit perfectly from my thighs to my calves, but the toes

Morpheus himself said toys harbor the residue of a childs inno-

are pointed. I fold the excess under before slipping into a pair of

cent love, the worlds most binding magic. If thats true, then maybe

squishy, knee-high red boots.

these pages are enchanted enough to contain Reds memories, to

Red boots. Reds memories bash against my cranium until I feel

so much sadness for her I drop onto the pile of leftover clothes. I fist
my hands against my head until it passes. When I open my eyes, Im
half-buried in Barbie shoes and accessories, as if I thrashed around
half-consciously.
Everything okay over there? Dad asks from his side of the case.
I grunt softly, clearing everything off me. Having trouble with
my stockings. Maybe stealing Reds memories was a big mistake
after all. Im going to end up wearing a straitjacket againthis time
for real.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 36 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

keep the emotional ties out of my mind.

I bite my lower lip. Look at that, bug in a rug. I just found a magic
journal.
Almost done? Dad moves around on the other side of the case,
as if hes pacing.
Just a sec! I scramble to find the apron I was wearing earlier and
pull the pen from the pocket.
Netherling logic resides in the hazy border between sense and
nonsense. I mouth Morpheuss words so Dad wont hear.
I jot down Reds memories on the remaining pages, writing as
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 37 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

fast as I can. The emotions drain from me onto the page, a cathartic

outfit: black-and-white plaid jacket, gray flannel pleated pants, and

experience, like journaling to soften the blow of something tragic.

white dress shirt.

When Im done, I close the book. It wriggles in my hands, opening enough to rustle the paper. The memories are trying to break
free. Clamping my fingers tight around the covers, I clasp the latch
and lock it with the key and the wiggling stops.
My head feels better, my thoughts clearer, and my sympathies are

I pat the skin under my eyes, worried my netherling markings are

showing after all the magic Ive performed. Do I look okay?
You look beautiful, Butterfly, he says. His fingertip traces the
edges of my eyes, following a phantom pattern that can only mean
my markings are in full bloom.

dulled. The transfer mustve worked. I can still recall Reds forgot-

His use of my nickname fills me with gratitude. Hes trying to

ten past, but they feel like events that happened to someone else,

accept me with all my peculiarities, even though hes been dealt a

not ones I experienced and felt myself. The memories grow distant,

huge shock.

silencing the sympathetic thunder in my head.

I straighten his collar and brush dust off his jacket. Best thing

Allie, we need to get going.

about these clothes? We know were the first people to ever wear

Im looking for something to keep the mushrooms safe, I stall.

them, I tease.

As I dig, a pink ballet bag with a drawstring appears. I tuck the

Dad snorts. The sound echoes in the tunnel as we nibble our

diary inside and thread a piece of cording through the diarys key

mushroomsthe smooth sidesuntil we shrink enough to fit on

to fashion a necklace. Ever since the prom disaster, Ive felt lost

the butterflies backs again. We climb atop our winged mounts, flut-

without my Wonderland key. This one isnt ruby-tipped and wont

ter through the hole in the bridges foundation, and take to the sky

open another world. Still, its a comfort to have it dangling at my

for Oxford.

collarbone.
Setting aside two mushrooms for me and Dad, I stuff the rest
into the bag with the diary, pull the drawstring shut, knot it securely,
then hang it over my shoulder.
With a plastic brush, I work the tangles out and braid my hair
down both sides. I stare at a crocheted hat and scarf made of soft
purple and scarlet yarn, testing to see if Reds memories stay dormant. I have to be sure before we leave. I cant risk losing control
when Im thousands of miles in the air.
When nothing happens, I pull on the scarf and hat.
I step around to the front of the case. Dads waiting in a Ken
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 38 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 39 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

fast as I can. The emotions drain from me onto the page, a cathartic

outfit: black-and-white plaid jacket, gray flannel pleated pants, and

experience, like journaling to soften the blow of something tragic.

white dress shirt.

When Im done, I close the book. It wriggles in my hands, opening enough to rustle the paper. The memories are trying to break
free. Clamping my fingers tight around the covers, I clasp the latch
and lock it with the key and the wiggling stops.
My head feels better, my thoughts clearer, and my sympathies are

I pat the skin under my eyes, worried my netherling markings are

showing after all the magic Ive performed. Do I look okay?
You look beautiful, Butterfly, he says. His fingertip traces the
edges of my eyes, following a phantom pattern that can only mean
my markings are in full bloom.

dulled. The transfer mustve worked. I can still recall Reds forgot-

His use of my nickname fills me with gratitude. Hes trying to

ten past, but they feel like events that happened to someone else,

accept me with all my peculiarities, even though hes been dealt a

not ones I experienced and felt myself. The memories grow distant,

huge shock.

silencing the sympathetic thunder in my head.

I straighten his collar and brush dust off his jacket. Best thing

Allie, we need to get going.

about these clothes? We know were the first people to ever wear

Im looking for something to keep the mushrooms safe, I stall.

them, I tease.

As I dig, a pink ballet bag with a drawstring appears. I tuck the

Dad snorts. The sound echoes in the tunnel as we nibble our

diary inside and thread a piece of cording through the diarys key

mushroomsthe smooth sidesuntil we shrink enough to fit on

to fashion a necklace. Ever since the prom disaster, Ive felt lost

the butterflies backs again. We climb atop our winged mounts, flut-

without my Wonderland key. This one isnt ruby-tipped and wont

ter through the hole in the bridges foundation, and take to the sky

open another world. Still, its a comfort to have it dangling at my

for Oxford.

collarbone.
Setting aside two mushrooms for me and Dad, I stuff the rest
into the bag with the diary, pull the drawstring shut, knot it securely,
then hang it over my shoulder.
With a plastic brush, I work the tangles out and braid my hair
down both sides. I stare at a crocheted hat and scarf made of soft
purple and scarlet yarn, testing to see if Reds memories stay dormant. I have to be sure before we leave. I cant risk losing control
when Im thousands of miles in the air.
When nothing happens, I pull on the scarf and hat.
I step around to the front of the case. Dads waiting in a Ken
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 38 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C 39 D . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .