The creature turns and I steel myself for the macabre fissures in its face. Instead, a red heart-shaped patch covers its eye along with the gaping holes I saw yesterday. There’s a slit in the middle for CC to see out. The other perfect eye and cheek are uncovered, and the elfin markings sparkle in the daylight. It’s easier now to make out the creature’s porcelain coloring—somewhat lighter than Jeb’s olive complexion. With the heart over its eye, CC resembles a harlequin from a pantomime. All that’s missing is a diamond-patterned costume instead of jeans and a T-shirt.

Considering the red smudges on Jeb’s clothes and hands, this is the project he was working on before coming to the island.

“You made a mask for CC this morning?” I ask.

“I made it for you. Last night. I didn’t want his grotesque appearance scaring you again.”

The kindness of the gesture touches me. No wonder the circles under Jeb’s eyes seem so much darker today. I wonder if he slept at all.

He sends the creature out and avoids looking at me. “I’ll coax your shadow out when it’s time to fly,” he says to Dad.

Dad nods and watches the dark shape move with him along the floor.

“Clothes are next,” Jeb says, rinsing his brush. “They’ll be removable once they’re dry, and you can wear them multiple times. But the paint has to touch as much of your bare skin as possible to make them fit.”

Dad stalls. “As much as possible?”

“You’ll wear a loincloth. That’s how I make roach-boy’s clothes.”

Imagining Jeb and Morpheus in such an intimate position is both sexy and comical. As vain as Morpheus is, a lot of bickering about fashion choices must’ve taken place.

“What about Allie?” Dad asks, a paternal defensiveness raising the pitch of his voice.

Jeb concentrates on the paint he’s mixing. “Unless she wants to wear my clothes, we don’t have any other option.”

I shrug, accentuating the size of his shirt. “These are about to fall off. They won’t work for traveling.”

“She’s not going to wear just a loincloth while you paint on her,” Dad insists.

“Of course not.” Jeb tosses two rolls of elastic bandages my way. “I found these in your duffel bag. They’ll adhere to the paint to become part of the outfit. Cover your underclothes. Leave your arms, stomach, and legs bare. It’ll be no worse than wearing a bikini. And there’s a clip for you to pin up your hair.”

His curtness stings. Four weeks ago, he wouldn’t have suggested me wearing something like that without anticipation in his eyes. In fact, before all of Wonderland broke loose at prom, we were talking about taking the next physical step in our relationship. The biggest step. It’s excruciating to know I’ve lost the power to move him on a human level.

I slip behind the closest screen and strip down, then pin up my hair.

Dad comes out from his screen first. While Jeb works on his clothes, I take my time so I don’t have to see my dad in a loincloth. Of all the horrifying things I’ve witnessed, that would rank up at the top.

I wind the bandages around Morpheus’s lingerie and craft a swimsuit any mummy would be proud of. After I check to be sure Dad and Jeb are done, I step out, using the flannel shirt like a robe.

Dad takes a quick look at me and seems satisfied I’m properly covered.

My jaw drops. He’s cloaked in feathers, has four wings, and reminds me of the goon birds we encountered yesterday. “What is that?”

“We’ll blend in better if we look like Manti’s lynch mob,” Jeb explains, rinsing his brushes. “They run surveillance across the sky. I have a goon costume of my own. It’s the perfect camouflage.”

The word camouflage reminds me of the simulacrum. “Wouldn’t the best camouflage be invisibility?” I kneel next to the duffel bag opened on the floor.

“Jeb and I looked for the suits,” Dad answers. “They weren’t in there.”

I frown and dig through the other items. The metallic messenger pigeon turns up, but when I press the button on its throat, its beak no longer glows. I return to my search for the simulacrum.

“It doesn’t make sense,” I say to myself aloud after giving up. “Everything else is here.”

Jeb shrugs. “Maybe enchanted silk isn’t waterproof.”

Dad starts for the door. “I think I’ll go back and clean up the kitchen at the lighthouse. I need to practice moving around in feathers.”

He either feels as awkward seeing me half-dressed as I did him, or he’s giving me time alone with Jeb. Either way, I’m grateful.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He nods and shuts the door. He’s only been gone two minutes when it reopens and Morpheus storms in, facing Jeb at the table, unaware I’m in the opposite corner.

He’s in new clothes today: a satiny silver jacket over a white T-shirt and sleek black pants. Without a hat to contain them, his glowing waves match perfectly with the silky blue tie hung loosely around his neck. Yet in spite of his change of wardrobe, his wings droop, a sure sign he’s miserable.

“You know, you’re being entirely unreasonable,” he growls to Jeb. When Jeb doesn’t respond, Morpheus slams a palm next to the paintbrushes, causing them to jump. “I’m merely asking for another walking stick—” His voice cuts off as Jeb looks over at me. Morpheus turns.

A flush creeps into my face. I tug the shirt plackets together to hide the miniature diary at my neck, and shuffle my feet to cover the tattoo on my left ankle before he can tease me about it. Then, remembering I’m naked from the thighs down, I step behind my screen again and peer out.

Morpheus scowls. “Alyssa, what is that under your robe?” He turns to Jeb. “This is our lady queen. And you’re dressing her in bandages?”

Jeb doesn’t even look up from his preparations. “What she wears under her clothes is of no concern to you.”

“Bah.” Morpheus snags a paintbrush. “She should be draped in starlight and clouds, lace and softness. Nothing less should touch her skin.” He points the bristles at Jeb. “I saw what you put Thomas in. You are not painting her into one of those goon suits. She is royalty. Dress her like royalty. Give her some glitter . . . some glitz. And a crown.”

“Go back to your room, Morpheus.” Jeb takes the paintbrush. “The grown-ups have work to do.”