because he made perfect sense, in some crafty yet absurd way. After all of his badgering about using my words wisely, I was starting to see everything differently already: connotation versus denotation, instinct versus logic, infinity versus . . .
“Time,” I whispered, answering his riddle.
“Indeed.” He stood, drawing out a small key on a chain from his lapel. He held it up so it glistened in the moonlight. “Time to train you, time to outsmart the tests, and time to win over your subjects.”
“How long will that take? And what’s in it for you? You said we’d be striking a bargain.”
“Sorry, Alison. You’ve run out of questions. All you need to know is it’s as much to my advantage as yours to see you crowned.” He tossed the key to me, and I caught it in midair. “Nothing will get in our way, however long it takes. You give me time, and I’ll give you all the tools you need to claim your birthright, to change everything you once thought you were. And then, time will matter no more, for you will don the robes of netherling immortality. Starting tonight, we reshape your destiny.”
TRAIN TRACKS
The absence of the shower’s lull shatters my nostalgic haze.
I stretch and sit up on the bed, glancing at the half-opened door where steam drifts out in a ghostly dance. Thomas is shaving. Water swishes in the sink, then pauses as he hums softly while passing the razor over his skin. The song is one he used to sing to me when we were dating. The words spin through my memory: a man begging forgiveness for loving his lady too much, telling her he’d want no other but her forever, that it was worth any amount of pain to be with her.
He’d upheld the message from the song, stood by me when any other man would’ve thrown up his arms and left. I’ve never once regretted choosing him over my netherling destiny. I only regret hurting him. Just as I regret almost robbing Alyssa of her chance to be immortal.
I thought at the time that I was doing the right thing, keeping silent to save her from Wonderland’s barbaric practices. I was only sixteen when I stumbled upon Sister Two’s lair and saw what she was using human children for, but even at that age, I couldn’t close my eyes to the tragedy, or the similarities: how the grave keeper siphoned away their dreams to feed the restless souls in the cemetery. Similar to what had been done to me by unnameable monsters throughout my life—siphoning away my dreams for their own pleasure and satisfaction. But unlike me, Sister Two’s victims never escaped.
Seeing Thomas wrapped inside her webs after having been imprisoned there for ten years—all of his life draining away—changed me. And my betrayal changed Morpheus. It was a tragic chain reaction.
I shudder and turn away from the bathroom, staring down at my bare feet, my mind stalled in that awful place and time.
The mattress sinks as Thomas settles behind me in a pair of gray slacks and a lavender dress shirt hanging from his broad shoulders, loose and unbuttoned.
“Ali-bear. What are you thinking of?” He kisses my neck, surrounding me with the scent of his aftershave. His fingers mold around my abdomen, sending shivers of pleasure through every inch of my skin.
I smile as I melt into his lips, my back snuggling against his bare chest as he kisses the spot beneath my ear.
“You, now,” I answer, running my fingers over the slick fabric covering his arms.
“Perfect,” he whispers. “Because I’m thinking of you, and how beautiful you are.”
“You approve of the dress, then?”
“Not just that . . .” His teasing mouth finds its way to my nape. “You smell good, too.”
I giggle and he smiles against me.
“If we’re going to go anywhere tonight,” I press, trying to concentrate in spite of his soft kisses, “we should leave soon.”
He sighs—petals of warm breath blossoming around my left shoulder blade and wing bud. “I guess you’re right. Especially since we’re not just going out. We’re going away.”
I glance over my shoulder where his mouth makes contact and leaves an imprint of sensation. “Away . . . where?”
“Faraway London.” He grins. His damp hair catches the sunset filtering through the blinds—a glossy mess of chocolate waves. When he smiles at me like that, he looks nineteen again.
“You want to go to London, tonight.” I shift around on the mattress to help him button the shirt. It’s