Splintered (Splintered, #1)

by A.G. Howard

I’ve been collecting bugs since I was ten; it’s the only way I can stop their whispers. Sticking a pin through the gut of an insect shuts it up pretty quick.

“Well, who better to tell you about the birds and the bees than your mom. Right?” An unspoken answer echoed inside my head: Who better but the bees themselves?

In it, I stumble across a chessboard in Wonderland, tripping over jagged squares of black and white. Only I’m not me. I’m Alice in a blue dress and lacy pinafore, trying to escape the ticktock of the White Rabbit’s pocket watch. He looks like he’s been skinned alive—nothing but bones and bunny ears. The Queen of Hearts has commanded that my head be chopped off and stuck into a jar of formaldehyde. I’ve stolen the royal sword and am on the run, desperate to find the Caterpillar and the Cheshire Cat. They’re the only allies I have left.

It’s pointless. Cards don’t have ears. And I no longer have a head.

Does a friend fly away and leave you bleeding and heartbroken?

He’s a contradiction: taut magic coiled to strike, gentleness at war with severity, a tongue as sharp as a whip’s edge, yet skin so soft he could be swathed in clouds.

“Don’t,” I murmur, in a daze. He draws back, eyes heavy and dark. “You want me to stop?” “No.” I’ve fallen asleep praying for you to look at me like this. To touch me like this. “Don’t break my heart.” Moth shadows glide above him in the mirrored ceiling, distracting me from the fierceness of his frown. “I’d cut mine out first.”

We turn to find Morpheus standing there with enough rage in his black eyes to send the Devil packing for heaven.

Little blossom in peach and red, Trapping boys with your pretty head; Tease and play, be coy and smart, For you will one day break his heart.

“No one knows what he or she is capable of until things are at their darkest.

Ring-a-ring-a-roses / The body decomposes. Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush! / You’ll all tumble down. Down, down, into the deep / Give the Twids our souls to keep. Silent slumber on a web / Ne’er to raise a restless head. If we wake the First will come / And sing us back to sleep as one. Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush! / We’re all slumbered down.

If we fail to find our rest / Sister Two will raid our nest. She’ll make us live as broken toys / Discarded by the girls and boys; And there will no more slumber be / For we’ll be locked in misery. Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush! / We’ll all tumble down.

Burst Through Stone with a Feather; Cross a Forest in One Step; Hold an Ocean in Her Palm; Alter the Future with Her Fingertip; Defeat an Invisible Enemy; Trample an Army Beneath Her Feet; Wake the Dead.

Tears blind my vision as I step through the glass. If only I hadn’t stepped through the first portal; if only I hadn’t found the rabbit hole. If only I’d never been born.

“I hate you,” I say, the sentiment muffled against his heart, hoping to make it true. “And I love you,” he answers without hesitation, voice resolved and raw as he holds me tighter so I can’t break away and react. “A crossroads, my beautiful princess, that was unavoidable—given our situations.”

I kissed another guy, and Jeb bled his body dry for me.

If the queen wasn’t holding me up, I’d faint dead away. My fate is to be a vessel—only one-half myself—tethered to Wonderland for all eternity? I want to tell him again that I hate him, to really mean it this time. I want to spit at him and scream that he’s a coward in the worst way, to sacrifice me for his own worthless soul. I avert my eyes instead, using that ploy that worked so well earlier so I can bring him to his knees. Because he’s the only one with the power to free me now.

There’s a hint of pride in the statement, which only feeds my resolve to beat her. Forget family ties. I’m not hers to be proud of.

“Right now, he belongs to someone else.” Morpheus grazes a fingertip down my temple. “Much as it warms me to the depths to hear that, I don’t believe it. The blood already won.” “What are you talking about?” “The boy bled for you—a whole body’s worth of blood. There’s no love greater than that. He belongs to you alone.”

“White ones,” I whisper, eyes filling with tears. His eyebrows pinch in concern. “Please, don’t cry. If you don’t like white roses, I’ll paint them red for you.” “No, never do that.” My blood sprints too fast through my veins; I feel dizzy.

I smile, then give him a kiss he’ll never forget, to replace all the ones he’ll never remember.