“Unless said ‘body’ is willing, and of the same bloodline. In the absence of magic, lineage becomes the strongest bind. The flower fae that Red arrived in was damaged. In fact, when I last saw her, I thought she was as good as dead—fodder for the goon birds. But she convinced them to carry her to Hart’s castle and worked out some sort of bargain with her ancestor to share her body. Although I have yet to hear what the terms were.”

Dread chills my bones. If Red is inside another queen’s body, a queen who is just as malicious and savage as she is, the memories in my diary could be useless. I need something else to bargain with. Maybe if I figure out Red’s ultimate plan . . . “I heard something earlier, from Humphrey’s friend, Hubert. We stopped at his inn.”

Morpheus practically beams. “Ah, Hubert. How is the old sot?”

“Glittery.” I furrow my brow. “And grumpy.”

A deep laugh rumbles in Morpheus’s chest. “I’ve always enjoyed his company.”

“Yeah.” I scowl. “He’s a real good egg.”

Morpheus laughs again, and I can’t contain an answering smirk.

“Anyway,” I continue, “he said something unbelievable about Red and Lewis Carroll. That they knew each other before Alice came into the picture.” Morpheus looks genuinely surprised but waits for me to finish. “Red wanted Lewis to find Wonderland, according to the egghead. Do you know anything about that?”

Morpheus doesn’t have a chance to respond before the sun rips through the clouds overhead, a blinding flash that makes us shield our eyes. The sky fades to a peachy sheen and the ground shakes. Morpheus grabs on to my elbow. Water drains from the moats and the puzzle pieces clack together once more. The barren trees that surround us sprout green shimmery leaves and white flowers; in the same instant, grass forms a fringe around our feet.

When everything stabilizes, including the ground, Morpheus lets me go and Dad catches up to us. I squint. It’s bright enough that we each cast a shadow, and the tall, leafy foliage forms dappled shade on the ground. Even the smells have changed, from stagnant and smoky to fragrant and flowery, carried on a temperate breeze. It’s like springtime in Texas. A pang of homesickness chases that thought. I’m about to mention it to Dad, when a green-tinged sparkly light—no bigger than a grasshopper—drifts down from the sky.

As it descends, the lima-bean-colored skin, glittery scales curved around breasts and torso, and pointed ears, come into view. The sprite’s wings flutter, milky white and furred with fuzz, and her hair glistens like strands of spun brown sugar. She drops onto Morpheus’s shoulder, burrowing beneath his hat. As he lifts a pinky to pet her foot, she peeks out from behind his blue curtain of hair, metallic eyes shimmering like copper sunglasses.

“So, my lovely little Nikki,” Morpheus says to her tenderly. “I suppose you’re here to warn me that my ride is coming.”

She speaks so softly into his ear, all I can hear is tinkling music like a wind chime.

“Wait,” I say. “Why can she fly without mutating? That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’ll have all the answers you seek soon enough.” Morpheus hands me his walking stick. The gesture is mechanical, almost resigned. “And you shall be reunited with Jebediah, as well. But beware. He’s not the same boy you once knew.”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Simply tell the cane to fly,” Morpheus says, sidestepping my question. “Above all, don’t get it wet.” Then he turns his back on me.

The hair at my nape prickles when I notice his shadow doesn’t turn with him. Instead, it faces him head-to-head, more like a blotted reflection than an eclipsed outline on the ground. Sighing, Morpheus grasps hands with the dark silhouette and is lifted into the sky on ghostly echoes of his own wings. The tiny sprite looks me over once before following them.

I gape, unmoving.

Dad places a hand on my back. “We have to go. He’s our only ticket to Jeb and out of here.” His voice is tremulous, and I know he’s as freaked as I am.

I hand him the griffon staff.

Arranging the duffel bag on his shoulder over his dagger, he straddles the cane like a child atop a stick horse. “Fly,” he half whispers, and—with a rustle of feathers and fur—the creature comes to life. Its beak opens with a roar. The eaglelike wings thrash, rustling my hair, as the griffon ascends with Dad holding tight to its mane.

I suppress the questions spinning in my head, flap my wings, and soar up-up-up, keeping both Dad and Morpheus in my sights as we cut through fluffy clouds, headed toward the white-capped waves of an ocean that glistens in the distance.

A mountain rises from the water upon our descent as if it were waiting for us. The sprite and Morpheus, along with his shadow, plummet toward the boulders on the slope. The mountain opens and swallows them before the entrance closes again.

The moment Dad hits solid ground, the griffon transforms into the cane. I land beside them. My wings weigh heavy at my shoulder blades, weary from the workout. I wipe sweat from my brow.

“What now?” Dad asks.

I try to find a crevice or crack that might be the key to opening the mountain. “Could I borrow that?” I reach for Morpheus’s walking stick and use the talons to dig at some pebbles. When nothing happens, I stomp my feet along jagged outcroppings.

“Stop it!” A voice—grinding, like stones clacking together. “Stop it at once!”

My chin drops.

“That’s no way to make a first impression,” the voice speaks again.

“Yes, to make an impression, you really should have a chisel,” a second, less peevish voice, adds.

Two faces appear on the mountainside, one of them made of soil, the other of stone. The stony face is the cranky one and has large bulging eyes. The other—the dusty face—has a squinty, almost humorous demeanor.

Dad drops the duffel bag and takes a seat on it. His left eyelid is twitching as fast as the second hand on a clock.

“It’s okay, Dad. I got this.”

Nodding, he rubs a hand through his hair.

Stepping across some loose pebbles, I make my way over to the squinty-eyed face. “We need to get inside.”

“Ohhhh, sorry,” says the stony, grumpy voice from behind me. “Only the master can open the door.”

“Yep, sorry.” Squinty-eyes looks at me sympathetically. “So sorry, in fact, my heart sinks for you.”