I buzz about the tightly barred enclosure, cursing Morpheus and his manipulative mind. The sound of ticking clocks accompanies his subsequent laughter, their combined cacophony loud enough to shake my tiny bones. I plug my ears.

Morpheus’s giant face looms close to the hanging cage, the gems beneath his eyes pink with affection. “Welcome to the highest cliffs of Wonderland’s wilds, my blossom. Perhaps, if you prove cooperative, you might see them from the outside sometime before the next few decades go by.”

I snarl.

He mentioned earlier that he had Jebediah paint scenes from the past that are part of the history we share: the cave Alice was held in, birdcage and all . . . and the cocoon from which he was born anew.

I recognize the dodo’s hideaway by the roughly sketched calendar sheets papering the stone walls. Queen Red, upon imprisoning him here as Alice’s keeper, warned him if he tried to escape, his days were numbered. As a result, the dodo collected days on paper, so he’d have an ample supply. Ticking clocks hang from dripstones upon the ceilings, in an effort to hoard every minute of every hour.

Which is exactly what Morpheus is planning for me. To hoard me here for all time against my will, unless I give in to his demands. He’s going to bargain another life-magic vow out of me. Something to force me to leave Jeb—so I’ll age alone in the mortal realm, without him.

If anyone can manage the perfect wording, Morpheus can.

Growling, I shove a fist through the bars, clipping his nose. “Jerk!”

He laughs and draws back, tapping his nose with his forefinger as if I were nothing but a gnat. “Tsk. Naughty majesty. That’s no way to win my favor. I’m the one with the upper hand now, aye? Play nice. You wouldn’t wish to repeat the fate of little Alice.”

My throat tightens as I envision her as a child at the shadowy bottom of the cage. A few stray apple seeds lie abandoned there, the size of ottomans in proportion to me. A bed made out of a matchbox and bits of fabric huddles in the center. How did Alice survive in these conditions for so many decades? Actually growing old in this dark place? It’s no wonder she went mad.

Claustrophobia niggles at me, but I shut it down. “You can’t keep me here.”

Morpheus slips off his jacket, arranges it across a wooden chair, and nudges the cage so it swings softly. “I can, and I will.”

It’s too difficult to hover in place while my surroundings pendulate, so I drop to the tiny bed to ride the rocking sway. My heart glows brighter, a reminder of my one bargaining chip. “I have to divide my time between the human realm and here. To live fulfilled lives in both places. For my heart to mend. Ivory said—”

“I’m well aware of your physical limitations, plum,” Morpheus interjects. “And I would ne’er risk harming you.” He skims a dusty satin drape from a table nearby and shakes it out. “I believe I’ve proven that tenfold by now. I will sneak you into your other world each and every day. ’Twill be easy to slip past the guards. They’re accustomed to my sojourns in and out of the mortal realm. I often carry pet moths with me, in terrariums cloaked with cloth. They prefer to be covered, you see. They’re nervous travelers otherwise.” I yelp as he drapes the sheet over the cage and ties it around the bottom, sealing me in and cutting off my view of everything.

“We’ll live out our days somewhere private,” he murmurs. The silhouette of his hand glides across the bars on the other side of the satin. “Somewhere magi-kind friendly. And I guarantee to keep you fulfilled in all the ways that matter.”

The sensual implication behind his promise heats my skin to a hot blush. So this is why he waited to bring me here until after I fixed the portals. He’s always one step ahead. But not this time.

I’ve used my powers while blind . . . over a month ago, in a pitch-black gymnasium at school, and again, yesterday, when I was masked with a bloody bag and attacked by a thousand murderous prisoners in AnyElsewhere. It can be done, if I concentrate.

I temper my erratic pulse, trying to remember how everything looked along the cave’s ceiling and walls before he covered me.

“You’re wrong.” I attempt to reason with him, buying time so I can feel things out in my mind. “What’s required to fulfill my human heart goes deeper than physical needs. PTA meetings. Cheering for runny-nosed toddlers at soccer games. Helping my kids with homework after school, attending their plays and graduations. Taking care of my parents as they grow old, the way they cared for me when I was young. I’m the only child they have. The only one to step in when they’re feeble. Then there’s welcoming grandchildren of my own, getting age spots . . . and wrinkles. These are the things cherished human memories are made of.”

Morpheus huffs, as if the notions are ridiculous. “You’re netherling royalty. In little time, I could make you forget those asinine and boring aspirations.”

“Right, by holding me prisoner.” I grind my teeth. “There’s no such place, you know,” I change tactics. “No other sanctuary where netherlings can hole up in the human realm . . . other than Humphrey’s Inn. And my parents and Jeb will be looking there for me. They’ll never give up.”

Morpheus laughs, causing the covering on the cage to flutter. “Do you really think Humphrey’s is the only halfway house for netherlings in the mortal realm? There are hideaways only the solitary of our kind know about. Shady and furtive places. There, we can vanish throughout the day and never be found. Then we’ll return here to spend our nights.” His shadowy outline leans across the cage, arms encircling the bars in a malicious embrace. “And, if you behave, I’ll shrink to your size and we can catch that little matchbox bed of yours on fire. Sans any matches.” His voice hugs my ears like dark velvet—intimate and carnal. It muffles the clocks that are ticking like time bombs along the ceiling.

Instead of letting his seduction tactics disarm me like they once would’ve, I use them to my advantage. I allow the suggestive, mellifluous cadence of his words to relax me. And that’s all I need to tame my magic.

In my mind’s eye, I picture the clocks and their skinny metal hands—tick, tock, turning—left to right, left to right. I imagine their arms bending perpendicular from their flat faces—and the clicking stops short.

Morpheus’s surprised gasp indents the sheet. Before he can surmise my plan, I envision the calendar pages peeling from the walls, tearing into quarters, and winding themselves into paper chains—much like the ones I made as a child in preschool crafts. Only these are alive and strong as steel.

I can’t see them, but I hear them: dragging along the floor. I animate them to follow the sound of Morpheus’s footsteps and his flashes of blue magic as he scrambles around the gritty cave in hopes of escape.

“Dammit, Alyssa!”

“Bind him tight,” I command my chains.

Morpheus’s snarls and groans confirm their success.

While he’s preoccupied, I concentrate on the clocks’ hands once more: bending them back and forth, back and forth, until finally they snap off in a metallic rain to the floor. I coax them up, high enough their skinny shadows line the sheet, lit up by the lantern. In my mind, they’re a swarm of metallic bees. I focus on them, using their pointy ends like knives, to slice through the cloth and pry open the door.