Page 20

Chapter

Eighteen

T he drug haze dissipates as swiftly as morning fog, leaving me with a weighty ache in my head that throbs like a distant drum. Tall, twisted trees loom above us, their branches weaving a tapestry of emerald and shadows, casting dappled patterns on the ground carpeted with vibrant moss.

“What happens in Wonderland, stays in Wonderland,” Malachi declares, his voice echoing through the forest. The air is thick with enchantment, yet a prickling tension coils in my stomach as we venture deeper into the magical forest. Unseen creatures whisper as we pass.

Chess, the mysterious cat, had vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving behind a heavy atmosphere tinged with foreboding.

Nash’s arm brushes against mine, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Do you understand what Absolem was talking about?” he asks, eyes narrowing with concern as he surveys our surroundings.

“Which part?” I reply, attempting to mask the uncertainty in my voice. Several riddles float through my mind, tangling together like the roots of the ancient trees around us.

“When you froze like someone had whispered your death. ‘To mend the cracks, she must take care, a heart to each, and burdens share. Four trials loom, their truths concealed. In love’s reflection, fate is sealed.’” His words hang heavily in the misty air, each syllable reverberating with an ominous portent.

I bite my bottom lip. How did he remember that? The forest creatures pause in their morning bustle to watch us as we pass. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. I was thinking Gwyneth may have read it from a book,” I murmur.

“Not that I can remember,” Gwyneth chimes in, her voice a soothing melody that cannot ease my anxiety. The shadows around us stretch and twitch, and I can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is lurking just beyond our sight, waiting for the right moment to strike.

We enter a small clearing, and I notice the table is back, brimming with extravagant offerings—towering stacks of pancakes drizzled in glistening syrup, their edges adorned with delicious berries, and plates filled with pastries, flaky and golden, filled with creams that swirl and twirl like clouds of enchantment.

Bowls overflowing with sandwiches, cut into shapes—bunnies, stars, and hearts—sit alongside vibrant salads studded with edible flowers that bloom in shades of violet and gold.

A mouth-watering array of colorful cupcakes, each topped with swirls of cotton candy frosting and tiny candy umbrellas, dares guests to take a bite.

The teapot drifts gracefully from place to place, pouring steaming tea that puffs and curls into the air, filled to the brim with aromas that tickle the senses.

They have the Hallows beat hands down for breakfast, despite the lack of sausage.

At the center stands the hare, eyes shining with mischief, while the rabbit keeps glancing nervously at his pocket watch. The dormouse, a small ball of fluff, snoozes away peacefully, blissfully unaware of the pandemonium surrounding him.

The hatter fusses with a flurry of mismatched fabrics, enchanted threads, and half-muttered rhymes, his fingers moving with impossible speed as he puts the final touches on his creation.

He lets out a happy sigh, tilting his head at the hat before him.

It’s wearable chaos—a disaster and a masterpiece all at once. How apt.

He smiles as he lifts the towering, slightly crooked top hat, its wide brim wavering like it can’t decide what shape it wants to be.

The fabric is midnight blue, speckled with shifting golden constellations that rearrange themselves every time he shifts, and a band of deep red silk wraps around the base, embroidered with delicate black threads.

“Come try it,” he implores. I stride forward, and he nestles it firmly on my head before pulling the fabric down over my face.

“It blurs her features enough to confuse the eye,” Gwyneth mutters as she inspects it.

“Precisely,” the hatter says with a clap.

I’m still confused about why I need a disguise at all for a queen I’ve never met.

The hatter taps a mechanical butterfly perched on the brim, and its delicate golden wings flutter, scattering a faint shimmer of magic. “This will ensure the illusion holds.” He stands back and tilts his head. “It’s missing something,” he murmurs.

My respect, maybe? I feel ridiculous. But he looks so proud I don’t have the heart to tell him.

He grabs a black ruby-tipped feather off the table and slides it into the band with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Perfect,” he declares. “Now you look just mad enough to blend in.”

If he says so.

I slide into my chair and try everything on offer.

I can’t decide on my favorite. Possibly the cake, because it feels like a forbidden treat having it for morning meal.

Why do we confine cake to the latter half of the diurnal?

Who decreed that it should not be eaten first thing?

Really, it would set someone up for an eventful diurnal.

“You met Absolem?” the hatter asks as he settles into his chair.

“We did,” I confirm. The hare does a tiptoe dance along the table, managing to avoid standing in the pastries. I’m impressed until he kicks a pink cupcake into the rabbit’s face.

He scowls as he swipes the pink frosting from his cheek and sucks it into his mouth. I don’t blame him—cake should never be wasted.

“And you likely have more questions than answers,” the rabbit deduces.

“Indeed,” Nash says.

“I shall lead you to the Red Queen’s kingdom as soon as you finish stuffing your faces,” the rabbit says.

“You need to keep your heads,” the hatter notes.

“That’s the plan,” Theo says. “Without our heads, the rest will surely be difficult.”

The hatter titters. “Oh wait, your friend needs you,” he says as he shoves bundles of fabric onto the ground. “Where is he?” I glance at the broom and the capons who settle on the ground behind me. He, who?

The hatter shoves an ornate small mirror at me, revealing Eron. A smile breaks free on my face. “Fair Doris, I have found you in this vast land. Oh my, what a beautiful hat you have.”

“I missed you too.”

“Have you seen Malice?” he checks.

I frown as Theo and Malachi rise from their seats to stand behind me. “Why would I have seen her? Is she not still in the Land of Reflection?”

He sighs. “I do not know. We cannot locate her.”

“Malice?” the rabbit asks.

The hatter breaks the cup in his hand and hisses as the hot tea spills. “Tell me you have not let that creature return?” he snaps. “We are doomed if she has.”

Glad to know she’s hated no matter what world she exists in.

“I will double the efforts to find her,” Eron says. “Erik, reinforce our guard searches. We won’t rest until she is located.” He scowls at something Erik responds with. “Alive is preferable.”

Idols above. How have I landed in a life where that is even a question?

“We need to leave,” the rabbit declares as he pulls out his pocket watch and glowers. “If we go now, we can avoid the beheadings and the queen’s daily game.”

Wow, she’s a busy lady.

“What is this?” Eron asks as he looks at the side of the mirror like he can see the rabbit.

“It’s fine. Just a queen with a penchant for decapitation,” I explain.

Eron blinks. “And you are willingly walking into her domain? Are the knights on board with this idiotic plan?”

“On board is a stretch,” Theo tells him. “But we have to go that way to get to the Grimm brothers, so it is what it is.”

Eron mutters something about idiotic maidens and a bet with Erik.

We say our farewells to the hatter, the hare, and the sleepy dormouse, who gives us a thumbs up.

We follow the rabbit, and the world shifts—colors melting into each other like wet paint, trees stretching and shrinking as if yawning from a long slumber.

Sir Sweeps-A-Lot floats beside me, his bristles twitching like an anxious cat. Even my broom knows this is a bad idea.

The White Rabbit hops ahead, glancing at his pocket watch every other second. “Hurry, hurry. If we tarry too long, we’ll miss the window before the chess board resets.”

“Cheese board?” I ask, rubbing my temples. “Doesn’t sound too bad. There’s always room for cheese.”

“Chessboard,” Nash corrects, but it’s too late. My stomach latches on to the idea of cheese, and I scan the clearing for what I hope will be a glorious spread of aged brie and fresh bread.

Instead, we step into a massive checkered field, stretching endlessly under a misty sky. The squares gleam—some ivory-white, some obsidian-black, smooth and reflective, like polished marble.

“This is definitely not cheese.”

Before I can process what’s happening, the ground trembles beneath me. A gust of wind rushes through, swirling my dress as an invisible force yanks me forward. My boots skid against the glossy surface, and I slam into a tall, ornate pedestal.

“Daphne,” Hart growls.

“Stop,” the rabbit yells, and Hart freezes with his foot in the air.

I glance up at the pedestal. No, it’s a throne.

“What’s happening?” Eron demands from his mirror hidden in the pocket of my dress.

“Um, ever played chess?” I ask.

“Not recently, but I hardly think this is the time for board games.” I pull the mirror out of my pocket to show him the board. He grimaces. “Can you move?” he checks.

I shake my head just as my hat disappears and a golden crown materializes and drops unceremoniously onto my scalp. A trumpet blares in the distance.

“Hail, White Queen!” a chorus of ghostly voices declares.

The realization sinks in as I try to yank the crown from my head. I’m stuck. “Oh,” I whisper in dawning horror.

Gwyneth rubs a hand down her face while Malachi groans. Theo lets out a slow breath through his nose, like he’s trying not to breathe fire again.

Hart glances around. “This is bad.”

“It will be fine. We can give her directions from the sidelines,” Malachi says. “Nash is a master player.”

Genie floats above me and scans the board with interest. “I think it’s spelled.”

“What gave it away?” I ask, deadpan. My feet lift off the ground, and I’m dumped on the throne like a sack of potatoes.

The White Rabbit hops around the edge. “This is a catastrophe! A disaster! The queen cannot move freely! She is bound by the rules of the game!”

I squirm in my seat, but to no avail. Wait, what if I have to poop? Why does no one think of these things but me?

“We need to get her out, and fast,” Nash says.

“But she’s a queen now,” Theo mutters. “Which means…”

“We have to play the game,” Gwyneth finishes.

The mist thickens around us, and across the board, a dark figure rises from the opposing throne. A queen wreathed in shadows, her crimson lips curling into a delighted smirk.

The Red Queen.

“Bunkum poop on a stick,” I mutter.

She tilts her head and laughs. “Shall we begin?”