Our parade slips into the bathroom and stops before the mirror. Instead of dwelling on my wrinkled and frumpy appearance, I envision the little-boy sundial that covers the rabbit hole in a garden in London. The glass crackles like ice on a lake, and in the jagged reflection, the sundial appears, touched by a hazy pink sunrise. It’s early enough that no one occupies the trail yet. As a precaution, I pull on my hood and Rabid does the same.

All we’ll need is a thought or two about our surroundings, and we’ll be invisible.

Using my key, I aim for a crack shaped like a keyhole, tiny and intricate.

The portal opens. Rabid nudges me with his bony knuckles, and I clasp my fingers in his. Together, with the sprites and our insect escorts, we step through the liquidized opening. A cool breeze flows through me, along with the scent of grass and roses tipped with sparkling dew.

The blossoms call out:

Fair faryn, Majesty. The years are behind you. You’ll soon be in full bloom like us once more.

I grin. Rabid tugs me toward the sundial that’s already been pushed off the rabbit hole. He’s anxious to leave. More insects have joined our company, some along the ground: beetles, centipedes, and scorpions. Others ride the breeze: butterflies, moths, bumblebees . . .

They swarm out of the glistening foliage and spin around me and my royal advisor—an enchanted rainbow fog, thick and bright in the pinkish-tinged lighting.

The butterflies sing:

Long live Queen Alyssa. May you forever be young, mad, and free.

Several land on me, their wings caressing my cheeks and neck through the simulacrum, and I realize I won’t have to make myself invisible after all. My insect friends are here to provide protection, like they’ve always been.

Rabid releases me, his cadaverous fingers scraping against mine as he follows the sprites and dives into the rabbit hole without looking back.

“Be not late, Majesty-y-y,” Rabid’s call echoes up to me, growing farther and farther away as he descends—weightless and lackadaisical as a feather on the wind.

Unlike my netherling entourage, I can’t leave without one glance back.

I pause, peering through the cloud of a thousand beating wings at the shimmering landscape on the horizon. My chest cinches tight.

I take the keepsakes from my backpack. Three ornate glass bottles: the first filled with tiny stones, the second with seashells, and the last with silvery stardust. One look at the trio, and the memories I’ve been fighting illuminate my mind, graceful and slow, like sunlight creeping over a still and slumbering world.

CULMINATION

MEMORY ONE: STONES

Sixty-three years earlier . . .

It’s morning in Wonderland, and Morpheus is whisking me back to the Ivory castle, where my family and Jeb wait to step with me through the portal, so I can live out the remainder of my human life.

My escort is pensive and quiet, his features hard as stone. Not one word passes between us during the enchanted carriage ride. The sound of the moths’ wings beating a trail through the sky only intensifies the awkward silence.

My heart presses against my sternum, as if reaching for him where he sits across from me. I know if I looked beneath the silky fabric of my simple black dress and the jacket from his wardrobe he insisted I wear for warmth, the organ would be aglow with a violet hue. Just yesterday, my heart was ripping in half—the human and netherling sides killing one another—due to the curse Queen Red put upon me. Jeb and Morpheus intervened, combined their magic, and bound me together with enchanted sutures. They saved my life with their love. My body understands on some primitive level, and will never forget. It’s drawn to both of them now, forming a bond beyond any human explanation.

But even without that bond, I could decipher the jewels on Morpheus’s face and know what he’s thinking. I woke earlier in his bed to find him seated on the mattress edge, stroking frizzed hair from my temples. Before I could even say good morning, he kissed my forehead and slipped away, stating that breakfast was in order.

We spent the night together, but nothing physical happened between us. Nothing will, for many years. Not until I’ve lived out my human life with Jeb.

I’ve made my stand on fidelity very clear; although Morpheus has made it clear he won’t make it easy. Yet even with his ever-looming challenges dangling like loose threads, the newfound respect we’ve forged is wrapped securely around me. I know he’d never ask me to betray the humans I love—because that’s part of who I am—as much as it pains him to step back and let me go.

After visiting Wonderland’s landscapes together last night, I understand him on a level I never have before. And it’s the same for him, because once we arrive and he takes my hand to help me out of the carriage, he doesn’t hesitate to walk me toward the icy entrance where Jeb is waiting at the top of the snow-covered crystal stairs.

I catch a surprised breath upon seeing him. He’s wearing his navy blue prom tuxedo, complete with the periwinkle dress shirt that complements his dark, wavy hair and the olive tone of his skin. The very shirt that had been fashioned into a pair of boxers in AnyElsewhere.

The tux is just the way it looked on prom night: fake webs, dusty streaks, and strategic rips along the velvet-flocked jacket and pants. For a moment, I’m taken back to Underland, when I first saw him waiting for us on prom night at the employee’s entrance, and his wounded expression at my betrayal. I will never cause that look in his eyes again.

Strange. The last I saw of the tuxedo, it was on Jeb’s doppelganger in AnyElsewhere. When CC fell into the pool of fears, the clothes disintegrated into puddles. Jeb must’ve painted them anew before he gave up his talent forever.

Maybe it was out of sentimentality, because his sister made the tux for him, or more likely because he wants to be wearing something familiar when we walk through the portal and back into his family’s life.

Still, even in clothes from the human realm, he looks miserable and out of his element as he waits for me to take the stairs. Standing there in the daylight, seeing the beautiful landscapes he created for this world, must be killing him. Giving up his muse has to be the most excruciating thing he’s ever done. He did it without hesitation, to help bring balance to Wonderland . . . to feed Sister Two’s restless souls with his artistic dreams.

I’m still not sure if he’s faced the full repercussions of that sacrifice yet. But I will be there to help him through it when he does.

As Morpheus and I ascend the lower quarter on our way to Jeb, we pass the netherlings who have come to see me off. A few of them are unexpected.

Hubert, beaded and polished like a Fabergé egg in an Easter display, reaches out a praying-mantis claw to shake Morpheus’s hand. “Couldn’t just make it easy for me to hate her,” the egg-man says to Morpheus as if I’m not standing there. “Little know-it-all queen. Not an ounce of manners or culture in that melon of hers. Yet she still managed to prove me wrong. Was so sure she’d end up in a casket. What a disappointment.” In spite of the vitriol at the tip of his tongue, his yolk-yellow eyes reflect a begrudging admiration. To my surprise, he offers me a lifetime supply of eggs Benedict at his illustrious magi-kind inn should I ever choose to visit.

Next, we greet the odd assortment of netherling stowaways who’d been trapped in the memory train three days earlier. They all bow and thank me for opening the rabbit hole so they could return home. My nose tickles on the verge of a sneeze as we pass the dust bunnies.