“I’ll bring dreams to our kind, Father. They’ll be in abundance everywhere, not just in the cemetery. One day, I’ll free the spirits, so they can sleep inside our gardens, brushing our windows at night, and bumping against our feet in the day. I’ll bring imagination to our world so everyone might always be with those they treasure.”

The only things Red remembered after killing her memories were that she wanted to bring dreams to the nether-realm, and she wanted power and revenge. Somehow, they became one in her mind. After her husband betrayed her, she had nothing to lose by playing the part of a careless queen, to have herself banished from the kingdom so no one would notice when she disappeared into the human realm.

She trapped a human child in Wonderland and wore her imprint as camouflage so she could breed with a mortal and bring back halfling heirs. Those descendants were supposed to introduce dreams and imagination into the netherling world. But how was setting Wonderland to rights supposed to satisfy her need for revenge and power?

My head feels foggy and bloated. I’m still missing something. A crucial part of her plan.

I look around for more scenes. Up at the center of the domed ceiling, the globes are being crafted by a green, leafy vine, just like the one Jeb had in his hand when Morpheus attacked him after they escaped Red. The vine is suspended in midair without anyone guiding it, giving life to each scene with a glimmer of crimson magic that drips from its tip.

Crimson magic. That was the color of Red’s magic in her memories. Morpheus’s is blue. Jeb’s is purple.

I lean against the wall, short of breath from the overpowering scent of roses.

How could I have missed it? When Jeb fell into this world wrapped in those vines, he absorbed a part of Red’s magic, along with a part of Morpheus’s—who was also trapped. And I’d bet my life Morpheus already knows. It explains why the images in this room belong to Red, and why the graffiti attacked me. It explains why Jeb seems like someone else . . . and why Red’s forgotten memories scorched him through the diary.

The carpet beetle’s words echo in my mind: Repudiated memories . . . want revenge against the one who made and discarded them.

The memories on the diary’s pages sensed Red’s remnants inside Jeb and his creations, and wanted revenge. It was never about protecting me at all.

Nearly tripping over my boots, I back out of the door. It slams shut behind me.

Red is a part of Jeb. So how can I destroy Red’s spirit and end her forever without killing him, too?

The final door is free of embellishments or design. Of course Jeb would craft a plain entrance for Morpheus’s room.

I rush inside and tuck the diary necklace under my shirt next to the key and the ring, expecting Jeb’s moths to be standing guard. Instead, I’m hit by hookah tobacco, scented of charcoal and plums and carried by a gentle breeze. An ultraviolet mushroom the size of a truck tire sits in the distance. The cloud of smoke settles across it like heavy fog over a village.

A circle of trees twines together to form a domed roof. A lavender sky peeks through the canopy, casting moving shadows. Tiny lights bedeck the branches.

Morpheus’s lair looks just as it did when Jeb and I visited Wonderland, and when I visited during childhood dreams, learning how to be a queen.

Speckled with lime green moss and bright yellow lichen, the ground feels springy under my plastic soles. Happy memories of playing childish games with Morpheus nearly overwhelm me, entangled with all the confusing adult emotions he’s awakened over the past year.

Sprites drop down from the trees, luminous and temperamental. They shake their fists at me, intolerant of my presence like most of Jeb’s creations. When they start darting at me like marble-size hail, hard enough to leave welts, Nikki comes to my rescue with Chessie close behind. They round up the others and herd them toward the hookah haze. The sprites’ grumbles clang like silverware being tossed in a drawer as they retreat into the cloud.

“Carousing Cap!” Morpheus shouts from inside.

Chessie and Nikki dart out and disappear through the trees in search of Morpheus’s missing hat.

“You sent them after the wrong one,” I protest. “We won’t be doing any celebrating.”

“There’s a pity.” Morpheus’s voice floats out from the cloud, as sultry as the smoke that carries it. “You’re certainly dressed for it. Your mortal has outdone himself.” He puffs and a wisp of smoke drifts toward me. “I suppose, though, since we shan’t be showing off your stunning ensemble, we could find a waterfall to play in. I’d like a peek at those gifts I sent you last night.”

The skin under my lingerie tingles. I stiffen my chin, determined not to let him see his effect on me. “I saw the rooms.”

“Ah,” comes his disembodied answer without a hint of surprise. “Well, before you rain down all the usual accusations, I should clarify that I wasn’t going to let you kill Red. Not until we flush her from your mortal toy’s system.”

I fake a laugh. “Right. You want Jeb dead as much as her. Two birds with one stone.”

“If that were true, he wouldn’t be here now. When we landed, the goon birds started swarming overhead. They prefer live food, so I faked killing Jebediah. I hid him to protect him, just as I’ve been doing ever since.”

Taking a few steps closer, I stub the toe of my boot on a baseball-size rock. I pick it up, rolling its smooth surface between my lacy gloves. “You’re not protecting him. You’re hoarding him. He’s your crown jewel. With the magic he rations out to you, everyone treats you like a king—” I stop myself short because it’s a role Morpheus will play again for real, if I pledge my eternal future to him one day.

His deep chuckle curls up on a tail of smoke. “Does it ever disarm you, Alyssa . . . how well we see through one another? It does me.” His voice softens on the admission—a depth of vulnerability he doesn’t often use.

Of course it disarms me; everything about him does. I toss the rock from one hand to another. “Birds of a feather. Yada yada yada. The cliché is kind of boring.”

“I rather like to think of us more as moths of a flame. And trying to predict which of us might get burned first is far from boring, luv.”

A trickle of excitement drizzles through me at the underlying challenge. “You realized Jeb had been touched by magic. That’s why you saved him.”