“Yeah, our handsome Jackson Thomas was still tucked safely inside Mom’s uterus back at the time of the great moth caper,” Vic pleads her case, her dimples deepening as she casts a teasing smirk at me.

Jackson holds me closer, nose wrinkled. “Really, Vic? Do you have to paint such a vivid picture?”

I laugh halfheartedly.

“Oh, right,” Victoriana says. “David’s the famous artist. I should leave the painting to him.”

David rolls his eyes. “Sculpting and painting are completely different animals. Just like chickens and bugs.”

Everyone laughs—Jeb the loudest of all, which triggers another bout of giggles from Alisia.

“That moth was big enough to eat a chicken!” Of course, Vic isn’t letting it go. Her tenacity is part of what makes her such a good mechanic, and part of why she’s the official owner of her father’s garage now. “Also, I was five. Hard to get past a memory like that.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, under my breath. Jeb, hanging on to Alisia’s ruffled dress to keep her anchored on the mattress, catches my gaze. His green eyes are still as expressive and clear as they’ve always been, in spite of how pale his skin is and the weary bags under his lower lashes. He knows what’s going through my head. After almost sixty years of marriage, he could write on the pages of my mind without ever needing an eraser.

We’re both remembering secret things the children will never know. It was the only time Morpheus ever visited our family, and it was due to some emergency Red Court business I needed to attend. Had Jeb not been magic once, too, and come to love Wonderland as a part of himself, he might’ve helped our oldest son swat the giant moth with his plastic nunchuks, especially considering Morpheus had said he would steer clear of the human realm. Instead, Jeb captured the moth to rescue him from David’s “sticks of wrath,” then put Morpheus in our room until I returned from the grocery store and could fix things.

“Hey, here’s a shot of Dad’s marble run blueprints,” David blurts, shaking me from the memory. He raises the picture toward me and his younger brother. “Jack, you gotta check this out. They’re plastered like wallpaper all over the garage. So weird that I’ve never seen this . . .”

Jackson takes my hand and tries to pull me over with him, but I squeeze his fingers and start for Jeb’s bedside instead. I don’t need to see the picture. I lived it.

It was two years after we came back from our final Wonderland adventure, and Jeb had been cleaning out his mom’s attic while she was at work and I was at college taking one of my finals. He stumbled upon a trunk, and inside were all the sketches he’d drawn as a kid when he and his dad used to make marble runs. There were even some he’d sketched that he had one day hoped to make with his dad, before he’d lost him in the accident. Jeb hadn’t known his father kept them all those years. He figured he’d thrown them out. Each was so intricately designed and planned, Jeb didn’t have to do anything but follow the blueprints—no artistic vision required.

Jeb had plastered my garage walls with the hundred or so papers before I got back from college that day. When I pulled Gizmo in, I was surrounded by our future. I’d never seen my fiancé look more fulfilled, because he’d found a way to continue to create, and his dad had helped him do it.

Arriving at Jeb’s bedside, I touch his face and he holds my hand in place to kiss it.

“Nanna! Pop-pop talks to beetles!” Alisia sings.

I laugh—though it’s bittersweet at best. She stands precariously on the mattress with Jeb guiding her, and bounces along until I capture her and nuzzle her sweetly scented hair.

“Oh,” Victoriana gasps from beside the nightstand. “This one’s always been my favorite.” Her smile is both bright and trembling.

One glimpse of the picture she displays, and I’m at our wedding again with my groom, surrounded by white rose trellises. Every female in the wedding party—even the flower girl—wore wings that lit up thanks to fiber-optic threads and battery packs. Only mine and Mom’s were real, with netting strategically wrapped around their bases to hide where they sprouted from our skin. I had a sparkling tiara, and all of the guys, including the ring bearer, wore chain mail tunics.

Jeb gave me a fairy-tale wedding on the beach, complete with knights and fairies, all of us glittering and gilded with the pinky-purple rays of sunset. The moment our vows were spoken and he kissed me, a small blue orb floated down from the sky and landed on Jeb’s head before bursting like a bubble. Those who attended thought it was some sort of atmospheric anomaly precipitated by the humidity and dim lighting, but they all agreed it was the most magical wedding they’d ever seen.

Little did they know how right they were: that the man who’d given up his dreams would be dreaming that night with his new bride—an unexpected gift from a netherling who had once been his bitter rival.

Jeb’s eyes trail over me like they did that evening, the first time we were together as man and wife, full of love, trust, hope, and desire.

Looking back and forth between us, David clears his throat and gathers up the photos that Scotty scattered across the nightstand. “You know, on second thought, I think I’m ready for some dinner. You guys want to come?”

Jackson skirts around the activity, clutching his sketchbook as he moves the chair behind me. “Sit down, Mom. Stay awhile.”

I give him a sad smile and he helps me settle at Jeb’s side.

Victoriana sniffles and drops the lid on the picture box. She leans over to kiss her father’s forehead. “Be back soon, Dad.”

He grasps her hand and presses his lips to it. “Okay, angel.”

Jackson and David hug him and gather the little ones.

“Wait, kids.” Jeb’s plea catches them just before they step out. “You all know I’m proud of you, right? How happy you make me and your mom?” His eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

They nod.

“Good. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad,” they say simultaneously, their voices quavering. The door closes behind them, and the only sounds are the clock and the rain.

Jeb pulls me in for a long hug and we softly cry together.

It’s difficult to regain composure, but once we do, he drags something from under his pillow and holds it out to me: a white rose . . . crushed and slightly withered, but the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen.

Taking it with a shaky hand, I hold it to my nose. “Where . . . how?”

“I still have a few cards up my sleeve, skater girl.”

I try to laugh, but it turns into a sob.

He strokes my cheek. “Shh. Did you bring my wish?”

I drag it out of my pocket, fighting back more tears.

He closes his hand over mine. “Come on, now. I’ve waited so long to use it. This is the something of consequence. No one needs to suffer through my illness.”

“Least of all you,” I whisper on the edge of tearing up again. “But you could use it to be cured and live a little longer. At least long enough to see Alisia start kindergarten. Magic can work miracles.”

His finger traces invisible lines around my eyes where my netherling markings lie in wait. “You were the only miracle I ever needed. You’ve always blamed yourself on some level, for me losing my muse. But don’t you see? I never lost anything. You are my muse. Even with my creativity gone, you stayed by my side and were always there, inspiring me to be the man I wanted to be. Because of you, I’m leaving behind a legacy. A well-adjusted and happy family who will carry on our memories and traditions. That’s how I’ll live forever, Al. No mortal man could ask for anything more.”