Now the day and hour has come to reward him for his patience, and I’m starting to regret that I didn’t let him plan my death . . . let him run the show. It probably would have gone smoother. I’d already be in his arms and in his bed—a young butterfly queen, ruling over my kingdom, drunk on power, madness, and passion.

No. I can do this. I can prove that I’m capable, calculating, and strong, as all good queens should be.

Morpheus’s only role in my plan was to send the counter potion with Rabid. The moment my skeletal accomplice arrives, everything will fall into place and I’ll make my escape into Wonderland. Since a body can’t be exhumed once it’s been reduced to ash and bone, no one will ever know that I’m still alive, only gone from this world forever.

A pang of sadness chases that thought as finality hits. It’s over. I’m ready to end it . . . to start my immortal future. I’ve lived a full life here. My family is healthy and happy. We’re on the best of terms. Every human dream has been fulfilled and my heart is strong and whole once more.

Yet because of that, there’s so much to leave behind. There’s no unfinished business, but it’s still hard to say good-bye forever. Once the crown is placed on my head to jump-start my immortality, I don’t have to wear it constantly to retain my youth, but I do have to stay in Wonderland. Just as Ivory once told me, time is tricky stepping back through the portal into the human world . . . one has to envision a specific hour, or the clock goes in reverse and will drop you into the exact same moment you stepped through.

If I try to cross the borders into the human realm after I leave, I’ll either return perpetually to this moment and be eighty again over and over, or I’ll automatically be aged however long I’ve been gone and turn to dust on the spot. Add to that the fact that I’ll be dead in everyone’s eyes—I could never explain my reappearance without causing undue terror or confusion—and going back and forth is no longer a feasible option.

An impenetrable wall is about to rise between my family and me, leaving us with nothing but memories.

Jeb’s face resurfaces in my mind before I can stop it . . . the way his glistening green eyes held my gaze that last moment before he closed them in death. How they were so full of love and gratitude for all the dreams we’d shared.

My throat swells and there’s a tug behind my lashes. The small metal identity tag at my chest feels like a pile of bricks.

Stop. I can’t do this now. I have to concentrate on escape. Morpheus was right. Thinking of those I’ve loved and lost will only hinder me. I’ll keep the memories at bay . . . suppress how I faced Mom and Dad’s death, how I thought I’d never survive the grief. How Jeb was my rock, like always. Just like I was for him, when his mom passed.

It’s futile to think of any of that now, because the moment Jeb died, the whole world distorted—took on a new form that I didn’t recognize. Everyday things became foreign and unwelcoming. With him gone, I no longer belonged.

My metamorphosis was complete the moment my mortal husband stopped breathing. All that’s left now is breaking out of my weather-beaten cocoon.

A new scent sifts through my cardboard surroundings—aftershave or deodorant—forcing me back to the present as two men converse on the other side of the lid.

“Last one tonight, Frank?”

“That it is, Brian. Just came in a few hours ago. Delivery only. And there’s a rush on her. You want me to stay and help?”

I struggle to breathe. My plan doesn’t allow for two witnesses. Only one. As I await the crematory operator’s answer, my heart hunkers inside me, filling with dread. The organ seems to quiver, though there’s no pulse along my wrists or in my ears. Just a cold, indiscernible quaking behind my sternum, like chilled gelatin sloughed quietly from its mold.

“Nah,” Brian finally says as he rattles some papers. “I could do this with my eyes closed.”

The irony is laughable. If all goes as planned, he’ll not only have his eyes closed . . . he’ll be asleep and dreaming.

“Go home to your family,” Brian finishes. “Tell Melanie and the kids hi for me.”

“You got it. See you tomorrow.”

Hinges creak as the door shuts, and relief rushes through me, however short-lived. The click and clank of a mechanized hatchway shakes the cardboard walls of my coffin and rattles my stiff bones. A rocking motion tugs beneath my spine as my casket slips onto a rack of metal rollers. Flames crackle louder, warming my feet and toes where the panels under my soles come dangerously close to the incinerator’s entrance as the rollers begin to move.

Rabid was supposed to be here before the temperature-controlled furnace was hot enough to trigger the opening mechanism. Things are happening out of sequence, too quickly. My muscles ache to shudder and come alive, but they’re as rigid as steel. Immovable. A flash of another memory shivers through me: when Queen Red controlled my body that final day in AnyElsewhere. When I was her puppet. I feel as powerless now as I did then.

I’m about to be enveloped in flames. My body won’t survive. Yet I have to somehow. I made a promise to return as myself. Whole and in one piece. It’s a promise I can’t break. Morpheus has waited too long for my return. I can’t let him down.

Self-doubt raises its ugly head: What will I do? If I can’t move, I can’t get free . . . not without the counter potion. A hollowness stings behind my tear ducts as I wish for a flood to burst free and fill my box with an ocean of tears to save me from the fire. But my eyes might as well be filled with sand.

Enough with the dramatics, luv. Use your magic. Improvise and find a means of escape.

I’m not sure if it’s Morpheus’s voice in my head, or if it’s mine. I’ve heard his accent and goading insistence so many times throughout my life, they’re ingrained in me as if they’re my own.

Whatever the case, it sparks my determination. There’s a reason I came to this room last night when all was dark and quiet: So I could make a mental note of things I might animate if I needed them. So I could understand the logistics of the furnace. So I could use my magic blind.

I concentrate on the hatch’s inner workings. I learned a thing or two being a mechanic’s wife. The springs in the mechanism coil tightly as I envision them retracting. The movement triggers the hinges and the metal door snaps shut with a clang. My box jerks to a halt as it hits the obstacle.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Brian grumbles. He jiggles the door handle and hammers at the hinges. “There. That’ll do it.”

He shoves my box to the back of the metal rollers once more, allowing room for the hatch to open. My mind scrambles for another way to stall him until I hear him shout: “What the . . . ?” and then the sound of his body slumping to the floor. The casket hits the closed hatch once more.

“Queen Alyssa,” a tinkling voice drifts from the other side of the cardboard.

Nikki, you wonderful little spriteling. A tingle radiates through my lips, the ghost of a smile wanting to spring loose. My toes would twitch from excitement if not for my paralysis.

The casket’s lid scrapes open and the wings of twenty sprites whisk around my face—little tufts of air scented with cinnamon and vanilla.

Teensy hands the size of ladybugs tug at my eyelids, opening them to a glow of amber light. I still can’t turn my head, but in my peripheral vision, Rabid’s antlers appear over the box’s edge, then two glimmering pink eyes follow suit.