But there’s a darkness encroaching that respects no one . . . a dusky dread that creeps along the castle walls and seeps into the crevices.

Before it can overtake the palace, Ivory and her knights arrive. Ivory blows a silvery mist that freezes everything it touches, including the card guards. Then she leads Mom and Grenadine somewhere safe. A place of light and glistening hope.

The dream ends, leaving their location a mystery. All I know is Mom has found sanctuary.

Unsure how long I slept, I scramble out of bed and sprint through the door. The moment the night air hits me, I free my wings. Half flying and half hopping, I race down the steps toward the shore. I leap at the last minute. My boots skim the water, then I’m airborne.

I’m reminded of how Mom flew alongside me on prom night. Morpheus once told me that she and I have an unusual bond. That he was able to use her dreams as a conduit into mine. Maybe she’s found some way to reverse that power and communicate with me. Maybe by having me here in AnyElsewhere, so close to Wonderland, she’s able to break through—because the dream I had feels like a premonition.

My body lightens and I rise higher as if the thoughts of her are giving me lift. The waves shrink, farther and farther below. The whitecaps look like foam on a cappuccino, the water as dark as coffee with only the starlight to see by.

Once inside the mountain hallways, I absorb my wings and head straight to Jeb’s studio—the only door that’s ajar. The sun is shining, so maybe I didn’t sleep too long. I glance at the table and paintbrushes. The one he used on my clothes still glimmers with violet magic.

I take the brush and follow the direction Morpheus turned when escorted by the moths. Five doors line the twisting hallway. I jiggle each knob in passing, not surprised to find them locked.

The first door is fashioned entirely of marbles. The next one’s wooden face is marred with cigarette burns. Another is crafted of gnarled bark with a draping of willow leaves. Velvety red rose petals form the next to last one. I stroke the soft flowers and breathe in their delicate fragrance, thoughtful.

“Morpheus!” I call out. Hearing nothing, I decide to open them all—find him by process of elimination. There aren’t any keyholes. Come to think of it, each time Jeb unlocks the diamond door, he simply commands the ruby knob to open.

“Open,” I say to the door of marbles, but nothing happens. I lift the glowing paintbrush and tap the knob with the bristles. Still nothing. Then I notice the diary necklace is glowing. Not only that, it’s reaching toward the doorknob, pulling the string tight around my neck, as if magnetized.

Crinkling my brow, I lean down so it can touch the metal handle. There’s a spark and a click. Setting the brush aside, I open the door and step into an exact replica of the entryway at Jenara and Jeb’s house.

“Al?” Jenara greets me.

I gasp. Her eyes are dull and emotionless, like Jeb’s elfin doppelganger. Her pink hair is pulled up and she wears a funky pair of black-and-white checked leggings with a metallic silver tunic.

“What brings you here?” She acts like it’s the most natural thing to see me.

Emotions lodge in my throat. I want to throw myself into her arms. But this isn’t Jen. She’s nothing more than a hollow reflection of my best friend.

“Mom!” Jen calls. “Al’s here! Make us some cookies or something equally Martha Stewart–ish.” Linking our arms, Jen leads the way into the shadowy living room.

My skin prickles. She sounds like Jenara. She acts like Jenara. But, in my experience with some of Jeb’s creations, she’s not to be trusted.

“Hey there, Alyssa.” A man’s voice originates in the darkest corner of the room, from behind a wooden platform designed with wheels and pulleys. “Is Jeb with you?”

“Um . . . ,” I answer, recognizing the voice vaguely.

Jenara flicks on a floor lamp, illuminating the wooden contraption and the JABBERLOCKY’S MOUSETRAP painted on front.

“No,” I mumble in disbelief. It’s the same device that was at the bottom of the rabbit hole when Jeb and I fell inside the first time. The one that opened the doorway to the flower garden and the madness.

The one that started it all . . .

Jeb’s dad stands up behind the wooden maze, tinkering with one of the pulleys. His profile looks young and kind—nothing like the bitter, weathered man he was before he died.

Nausea hits me. Jeb brought him back to life in this kinder version, to relive his ideal family moments. It’s sweet, sad, and disturbing.

“Well, he has to be on his way,” Mr. Holt says, and faces me full-on. I stifle a moan. His eyes glow orange, flickering like the lit end of a cigarette. When he blinks, ash falls, tumbling down his face and leaving gray streaks. “This is his favorite game, after all.” He drops marbles into place on one of the ramps. “And he owes me a rematch.”

“You’re just hoping he lets you win this time, Dad.” Jenara giggles. He winks at her, causing embers to crumble down his cheek.

I shudder. “Uh, I have to go.” I back up with both Jen and her dad following.

“But you just got here,” Jen says, her voice more threatening than friendly now.

I bump into something soft and mushy and turn on my heel.

“Cookie?” Jeb’s plump mom smiles up at me and offers a plate piled with treats. Chocolate chip, bloody razor blade, and broken glass appear to be the flavor of the day.

“I don’t belong here,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from the deadly snacks.

“No, you don’t,” Mrs. Holt says. “Because we’re here to make him happy. And you’ve made him sad. But we’re going to fix that. Eat a cookie.”

My gut twists. I sidle toward the center of the room as they surround me, the request becoming a hiss: “Yesssss, we insissst. Jussst one cookie . . .”

The diary at my neck releases a blazing red light. Jeb’s pseudo-family leaps away screaming. They land on the floor, a tangled mess of limbs. Pulse hammering, I exit the room and shut them inside, thankful Jeb painted them in their own setting so they can’t cross the threshold.

I press my back against the door. Its glassy chill seeps through the slits in my shirt. The marbles must represent making marble ramps with his father, one of Jeb’s happiest memories. If that was a pleasant scene, I’m terrified to find what’s behind the cigarette-burned door around the next bend.