“Step off, or you’ll all lose your heads,” Morpheus grinds out through clenched teeth. “Permanently.” It’s a promise, not a threat.

Chessie’s head and the naughty spritelings hustle to escape, crashing into one another in midair in a clumsy race off the mattress. The commotion causes the baby to flutter again, triggering another influx of high-voltage pulses through my abdomen. I double over, dragging Morpheus with me as I bite down a scream.

“He’s going to stay in there forever,” I cry between panting breaths.

My king caresses my back. Although he’s trying to help, it only antagonizes me, too small a comfort for pain this intense.

“How are we supposed to convince him to join us”—I force the words through constricted vocal cords—“if he’s intent on never leaving all he’s known?”

Morpheus tips my chin so our eyes meet. “The same way I once convinced you. We entice him with a journey through the terrible and beautiful wilds, via our memories.”

“But we have so many memories . . . I can’t wait that long.” I grit out the response, the relentless contractions intensifying my pessimism.

“Then choose three. Three of your most indelible memories. Let him see Wonderland through your eyes . . . the moments and places that hold the most meaning to you. All we need is a glimpse. We have my dream-magic and your imagination to set the scene.”

I study my husband’s face, thankful for his brilliant, maniacal mind, and grateful that a once self-serving fae can harbor such patience and compassion for a half-human girl. That he even rations out such qualities in smaller doses to our subjects . . . when he’s feeling generous.

Touching his jeweled markings, I whisper, “I love you, Morpheus. Thank you for showing me all I could be.”

His eyebrows lift in the most endearing expression—the same look he used to offer as a child when I caught him off guard. He pauses for a moment, as if struggling to regain his composure, then answers, “And I love you. But this is just the beginning. We’ve yet to see all you can be.” He tweaks my nose. “Now, shall we meet our son?”

I nod.

My king takes my hands and presses them to my abdomen. He weaves his fingers through mine. Warmth radiates in the spaces between us as his blue dream-magic pulses through my body and distracts me from my pain.

His voice fills my mind:

“Little prince, so keen to hide, traverse your kingdom far and wide. Follow us through mental flights, and share the dangers and delights.”

Though he sings for the baby, Morpheus’s beautiful lullaby captures me in a dizzying whorl of music, so irresistible I become the notes themselves. He leans down and his lips meet mine with a spark of enchanted supplication. I surrender and fade from the present, reappearing in our convoluted and mad past . . .

MEDITATION

MEMORY ONE: IN WHICH I FACED WONDERLAND

Mommy and Daddy think I’m sleeping, but they’re wrong. I’m dreaming in Wonderland, brought here by my playmate, the blue-haired boy named Morpheus. Minutes ago, he lifted the veil so Wonderland’s creatures could see me like I do them. In the five years I’ve visited, I’ve only watched them from behind the wall of sleep, like seeing fish inside a tank. This is the first time for me to meet them, and it makes my heart knock and my face hot.

But it’s my own fault. I made it happen.

Earlier, we were at Wonderland’s historical library. The Secret Keeper—as pink as a sunset, with the long neck of a flamingo—helped Morpheus find some books filled with netherling lore. After she patted his eight-year-old head and left the room, Morpheus lifted the veil that kept me invisible to Wonderland, and called me over to a table. He opened a book’s pages, exposing thousands of words written in red ink. I don’t know how to read . . . but it didn’t matter. The sentences and letters floated off the pages, dancing around my head, blending into a real voice—high and whiny like an out-of-tune violin. For an hour, the droning book lectured me about Wonderland’s citizens: their habits, what food they like, their weaknesses and strengths.

“But where’s the pictures?” I asked after the fifth lesson, yawning. “I want pictures . . . like the ones you draw in the Alice book. Talking is BORING.”

Offended, the book slammed itself shut. A waxy red substance oozed from between the sheets of parchment, as if the ink melted. It coated the pages’ edges, sealing them closed. The circle of wax then shaped itself into an angry face, hardened, and huffed.

It refused to peel off, no matter how much Morpheus sweet-talked it.

“Now see what you’ve done.” Morpheus’s young brow tightened to sternness. “There will be no opening it. The only thing that can soften a miffed book seal is a coating of snicker-snap saliva. So, I guess you’re going to get one better than interacting with books and pictures today. You’re going to get to confront a netherling creature, live and up close.”

Though reluctant and scared, I let Morpheus take me from the library and fly me here to the darkest caves of Wonderland. The neon blue trees, orange shrubbery, yellow thistles, and pink moss in the distance look bright from my shadowy perch on the fernlike leaf that hangs over a hungry plant. The snicker-snap species grows only in gloomy places like this, floating on the surface of lakes like toothy water lilies.

I shiver and trace the edge of my wet, fleecy pajamas. I got them for my fifth birthday, two days ago. They have pink and purple superhero girls in the print and should make me feel strong. But I don’t.

I’m as small as a cricket, wondering why I drank the shrinking potion. Kind of because it tasted like butterscotch. But more because my playmate drank it first, and I can’t let him be braver than me. In my world, he’s a moth, and I’m bigger and stronger. But here, he always beats me at everything.

I look again at the drooling plant below. It matches the Venus flytraps at home in Mommy’s photo books even more than it does a water lily. But flytraps aren’t like snicker-snaps. They don’t have jaws lined with wriggling, hungry worms covered with glowing droplets of spit. The light attracts tiny Wonderland creatures into their mouths, and then the jaws snap shut to capture them.

Minutes ago, Luna—a grumpy sprite who had joined our trip to the cave uninvited—was teasing me for my lack of sparkly scales while pointing out the silvery ones covering her like a swimsuit. Morpheus told her to get lost, but she ignored him and chased us as we played follow-the-leader on our hunt for saliva. She was stupid and fell prey to the “glowworms” hanging in the snicker-snap’s mouth.

I hear her whimpering now, even though the hungry plant has snapped its jaws tight and sunk lower into the water. She might be a nasty sprite, but we still have to save her. Because it’s my fault we’re here.

Struggling not to cry, I stare at the turtles bobbing in the stinky lake. I tried to jump across them to reach the plant, but fell in. Morpheus had to drag me out, dripping wet. He’s been bragging ever since.

“You just hop from one to another until you’re across,” he interrupts my thoughts as he shows me the right way to do it—for the hundredth time. He bounces along, never once sinking, as if it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. He doesn’t even get the hem of his velvet pants wet. Just once, I wish I could be better than him at something in Wonderland. I wish I could win.