Ensnared by A. G. Howard Page B

spin to give the birds lift. Each one looks like a monstrous Mary Poppins soaring across the sky. On their descent, the parasols invert, and the bird creatures crash into the water. The spray sinks through the simulacrum and my clothes, hot on my skin.
    Most of the birds abandon their umbrella contraptions, using their beaks for leverage to drag their steaming, feathery bodies ashore. A few carry their parasols with them.
    Though some resemble ducks, others eaglets and ospreys, they’re all hideously deformed: the size of gorillas, with four furry arms andhands connected to two sets of wings. Their backs are gnarled and twisted, causing them to gimp when they walk.
    Dad draws me closer. Our floating island seesaws as three birds hobble by on ostrichlike legs. The stench of scalded, wet feathers makes me gag. Something tells me they wouldn’t notice us even if we were visible, because their sights are set on Morpheus.
    He stands his ground as seven of them flap across the moats and surround him, clicking their razor-sharp beaks. Five more climb the hill where the rock lobsters are hiding.
    “My, my.” Morpheus smiles pleasantly. “If it isn’t the doltish dozen. That was quite an entrance. I see you’re doing your best to control your mutations. But I’m afraid the real damage is done. I do hope you haven’t come for fashion advice. There’s no amount of style or suave that can conceal that much ugly.”
    “Shut up,” caws a bird that looks like a kingfisher. “You won’t be so cocky once you hear that Manti’s found your weakness.”
    “Yeah, weakness.” An eaglet creature snaps his beak close to Morpheus’s ear, leaving behind a bloody scratch on his lobe. Morpheus winces but doesn’t budge. He performed magic earlier. Why doesn’t he take flight and escape? I try to break loose from Dad’s grip, but he tightens it.
    “This isn’t your fight,” he whispers, barely audible over the rustling wet feathers and bubbling geysers.
    I stifle a growl.
    “The jig is up, pretty boy,” an osprey says, jerking Morpheus’s lapel with one wet, apish hand. The walking stick slips from Morpheus’s grasp. “Manti’s been spying on you. He knows you disappear after magical stints to recharge. What he wants to know is
how
you recharge, and how you use your magic without it affecting you.” Theosprey looks at Morpheus’s jacket where the fabric he was clenching has disintegrated, leaving a jagged hole. “How did that happen?”
    Morpheus snorts. “It would appear my clothes have an aversion to your grimy touch and choose to avoid it at all costs.”
    My body shakes with an involuntary giggle. Dad squeezes my shoulder again—a warning.
    The osprey leans closer to Morpheus’s face. “Best to get all that drollery out of your system. Manti doesn’t have the sense of humor we do.”
    Morpheus clucks his tongue. “Well then, perhaps we should try for another afternoon. I’m feeling particularly facetious today. Now, if you’ll step aside, I’ll just get my walking stick . . .”
    “Not happening.” The kingfisher mutant closes in. “We sent the rock lobsters to drain you of your magic in exchange for their eggs. You’re used up. So you have no choice but to come with us and answer Manti’s questions.”
    Morpheus glances toward the hilltop, where the other five bird creatures are paying the rocks with what appear to be strands of pearls as big as baseballs. His gloved fingers tap his thigh. “Traitorous little crustaceans. Should’ve known they were up to no good.” He turns back to his captors. “So, your boss would like to toss his hat into the ring, aye?”
    “You’re the one who insisted on rocking the boat and forming a royal dictatorship. We all know the crown belongs to Manti. He’s been the queen’s knave since before they were even exiled here. Centuries ago. Did you really think you could become king without another candidate stepping up to challenge you?” The osprey kicks