Page 3

CHAPTER 3

The masked men took Alice up the stairs, which wound around the immensely tall, cylindrical space like the threads inside a nut. Hallways and doors lined those steps all along the way.

The building was big, but it hadn’t looked nearly this large from the outside…had it? Alice pursed her lips and struggled to recall what the place had looked like when she’d first seen it, but the noise from below—the din of conversation, laughter, and music—combined with the feel of her new clothing on her overly sensitive skin was far too distracting for her to think straight. All she could remember was Hatter’s Tea Party .

It had been so long since she’d been to a party!

She glanced down at her dress. It was a pale blue—the blue of the spring sky, the best blue of them all. Everything should’ve been that shade of blue. The whole world should’ve been blue.

“He’s been waiting a long time,” said someone in a deep, gruff voice.

Alice lifted her gaze to find herself at the very top of the stairs. A man—built like a brick wall with a flat, stony face—stood just in front of Alice and her escorts, his huge frame almost large enough to completely block the door behind him from her view.

What a strange place for a wall. What a strange face for a wall.

A giggle escaped Alice; the sound startled her, making her jump. The chessboard-patterned escorts didn’t ease their hold on her.

Why am I acting like this? Why am I feeling like this?

What was in that bottle? This…isn’t supposed to be real. Why is it…why…

“Blame Miraxis,” one of the escorts grumbled.

“Is…is this the party?” Alice asked.

“Take her in,” said brick man, stepping aside.

The men walked her forward.

She turned her face toward the escort on her right. “Am I going to a party? The…the tea party?”

“All the good dollies go to the tea party,” replied one of the guards.

“And you get to be a dolly until the king comes for you,” said the other.

They brought her through the door, down a short hallway, and into the large, dimly lit room at its end. Simultaneously, the escorts released her and retreated. The sound of the door closing behind them was ominously loud, and only served to enhance the silence that engulfed her in its wake. Alice stepped deeper into the room and glanced around.

The chamber looked like an old-fashioned parlor, but—like everything else in this world—the angles were all off . Though the doors on each wall were perfectly lit, deep shadows lingered in the corners, apparently too strong for the light cast by the flickering electric candles scattered about the room. The carpet was a deep purple run through with golden, flourishing designs that created vaguely diamond-shaped patterns across the floor. Several upholstered chairs and a sofa, all in the style of furniture that might’ve been better suited to Victorian England than whatever the hell this place was, sat around a long, low table in the center of the room, atop which was arranged an assortment of delicate, colorful bottles, cakes, and pastries.

Everything on the table was marked with either Drink Me or Eat Me , whether on little paper tags or written directly on the items themselves.

Alice moved to the table and reached for one of the pastries. Just before she picked it up, something inside her—something laced with that sense of dread still lingering in her belly—said No . She stilled.

The pleasant warmth in her intensified as if to fight back that mental voice of warning. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused hard. In her mind, she saw a little bottle, felt strong fingers clamped on her cheeks, smelled alcohol and fruit. She tasted cold but fiery liquid on her tongue.

Drink Me.

No.

Eat Me.

No!

Alice shook her head and stepped away from the table. This wasn’t real. This was all…fake. It was a simulation, it was virtual reality. It wasn’t supposed to affect her like this! All the sims she’d tried had muted the positive sensations and eliminated the bad.

But why does this feel so real? Why do I feel pain? Why do I feel… pleasure ?

Why do I feel fear?

“Take one,” a man said.

Alice started and lifted her gaze. There was a man seated in the chair at the far end of the table; she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed him when she first entered the room. He wore a black and purple suit, and an old-fashioned black top hat was perched upon his head. Though the angle of his hat and shadows cast by the inconsistent lighting obscured his eyes, his wide smile was clearly visible.

This was the Hatter. This was…his tea party?

“Indulge yourself, little dolly,” he continued. “Show me you are willing to join the celebrations.”

Alice glanced at the cakes again. Her hand twitched; her urge to take a treat rose again, but she willed herself to remain in place. “I…I don’t want one.”

The Hatter’s smile wavered. “They’re here for you. Eat one.”

His command compelled her a step closer to the table. She gathered the fabric of her skirt in her hands and stopped, squeezing until her knuckles were white. “No.”

The Hatter’s smile fell completely, warping into an angry grimace. He lifted an elegant hand, swept his hat off his head, and lowered it into his lap, fingers toying with the black silk ribbon wrapped around its base. His gaze, gleaming with menacing intensity, shifted up to her.

He was a human, with dark hair and what would’ve been a handsome face were it not for the unmasked malice in his expression and the furious light in his brown eyes.

“You arrived late,” he said, voice darkening, “late for the party— my party. I only have so much time with you before he comes to take you. And now, when I’ve chosen to forgive your tardiness and grant you a chance to join the festivities, you refuse to partake in any of the refreshments I’ve offered you?”

The ceaseless movement of his fingers along the hat’s band called Alice’s attention down to it. Despite the room’s dimness, she could see that the top of the hat was lighter than the rest, rust-colored instead of black—as though it had been stained.

Alice retreated a few steps, the unsteadiness of her legs heightened by the high heels she was wearing. Her unease spread, finally beginning to beat back the unnaturally euphoric sensation the drugging drink had caused. “I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake. I…” She shook her head, trying to clear it, desperate to find the words. “I don’t belong here.”

“Come sit down,” the Hatter said firmly, flicking his eyes toward the nearby couch.

She felt the pull of his command again, felt herself step forward; just as it had with the thin woman in the dressing room, her body seemed to move of its own accord, going toward the Hatter despite the warning signals blaring in her mind.

“That’s it. Come, my pretty. Come,” he beckoned, holding out a hand. “Even if you’re meant for the king, you’re my dolly for tonight. Have some sweets, and then we’ll play .”

Alice stopped at the table and looked down at the cakes and pastries again. She reached forward and picked up a small pink cake that was decorated with white-icing writing.

Eat Me.

“Yes. Eat it,” the Hatter coaxed. “Enjoy it, and then I will enjoy you.”

Alice raised the cake to her lips, opened her mouth, and hesitated.

Eat Me.

I don’t belong here.

Calling upon every ounce of her willpower, Alice swung her arm and flung the cake across the room. “No! I don’t want it!”

The cake struck one of the doors with a little splat made loud by the relative silence and stuck in place. Bits of icing oozed down around it.

The Hatter scowled, and his eyebrows slanted down sharply. He rose, shoving his chair back in the process. The hat tumbled from his lap, and his overcoat shifted, revealing a knife on his belt—the biggest knife Alice had ever seen.

“If you refuse to play nicely then so do I,” he shouted.

Alice recoiled and spun around, stumbling in her heels as she ran for the door. Her frantic flight carried her directly into the door; she slammed into it hard, but she barely registered the pain against the immensity of her fear. She grabbed at the doorknob.

It was locked.

There was a huge crash behind her, and the sound of china shattering. She turned to see the table overturned with all the sweets scattered across the floor. The Hatter advanced through the space the table had occupied a moment before.

Heart pounding, breath ragged, Alice banged on the door. “Someone help! Let me out, please!”

The Hatter grabbed a fistful of Alice’s hair and tugged her away from the door.

Alice screamed and reached up to grasp his hand, desperate to alleviate some of the pressure on her scalp.

“You are my plaything,” he roared as he pulled her deeper into the parlor. “You leave only if I say you may leave. Perhaps if you’d been punctual, you might have had time to be schooled in basic etiquette before our playtime.”

Tears blurred Alice’s vision. “Please, just let me go. I don’t belong here. This…this isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“That you’ve been a bad dolly is quite real, and you must be punished.” The Hatter dragged her through the debris scattered on the floor—crushed pastries, shattered porcelain, and unidentifiable liquids that reeked of alcohol. “If you refuse to be compliant, compliance will be forced. You will learn your place, dolly. Best to learn it from me. I’m far more likeable than him .”

They entered another dark room, this one with plush purple carpeting. Before she could get a look at her new surroundings, before she could even consider seeking another path of escape, the Hatter lifted Alice and threw her atop a large four-poster bed. She landed on violet satin sheets and a mountain of pillows. Without wasting a moment, Alice turned to roll off the bed. The Hatter caught her ankle and yanked her back toward him.

Alice screamed and kicked wildly. One of her heels caught him in the knee, and the other in his chest, but it wasn’t enough to deter him. He snarled and threw himself upon her, settling between her legs. A brief metallic glint was her only warning before the cold blade of his knife was pressed to her throat. Chest heaving, Alice ceased her struggles and turned her wide, frightened eyes toward his.

“You have such lovely skin,” the Hatter rasped. “So smooth, so pale, so perfect. Don’t make me cut it to ribbons.” He leaned his head down and extended his tongue, trailing it along her cheek.

She cringed and turned her face slightly away, terrified of moving too much and provoking the bite of his blade. “Please, don’t.”

“Dollies are meant to be played with. Some a little rougher than others.” With his free hand, he grasped one of Alice’s arms and forced it up toward the headboard. A moment later, something solid closed around her wrist with a pronounced click.

Alice’s breath hitched as realization struck her. She wiggled beneath him, pulling on her arm, but it was caught fast by the manacle; its cold metal dug into her skin. “No. No, don’t do this.”

“Don’t talk, don’t move. A good dolly is seen and not heard.” The Hatter grasped her other wrist and moved it up. When she resisted, he increased the pressure of the knife on her throat.

The prick of pain on Alice’s neck forced her to still again. She stared up at the Hatter, trembling, as tears streamed from the corners of her eyes.

This is a vivid dream, nothing more. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

“You want to be good, don’t you?” the Hatter asked, brushing his lips over her cheek and up to her temple, where he licked the trail of her tears. His breath was warm against her skin as he spoke. “You want to make me happy. Because if you can’t make me happy, you won’t make him happy…and he’ll add your heart to his collection over and over and over again.”

Alice released a shuddering breath and turned her gaze toward the dark ceiling. The Hatter’s body was heavy atop hers, and she could feel his erection through his trousers, pressed against the bare juncture of her thighs. Horror and shame filled her as her nipples hardened and her body heated, tensing with need.

It’s that drink. The drink is doing this to me. I don’t want this.

“Good little dolly.” He eased the knife away and fastened the manacle around her other wrist. Lifting his torso, he brought the knife to his mouth and licked a few drops of crimson—her blood—from its blade. “Mmm. I wish you had been nicer. I could’ve forgiven your tardiness and treated you so, so well. You’re going to make it up to me though, aren’t you?”

Blood?

This isn’t real!

Alice pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and weak. She’d never been placed in such a position, had never felt such terror. Alice looked past the Hatter, back toward the parlor, and saw something in the shadows—a flicker of movement, a flash of teal, there and gone in an instant.

The Hatter’s lips spasmed as though he were uncertain of whether he wanted to smile or frown. He clamped his fingers on her jaw and forced her chin up, baring her neck to him, and lightly trailed the tip of his blade along her throat. Electric jolts arced across her too-sensitive skin.

“Ruining my special day,” he muttered. “That calls for a special lesson. For special pain.” He slipped the oversized knife into the sheath on his belt and reached up over his head, closing his fingers on empty air. The look of surprise that rounded his eyes and slackened his jaw might’ve been comical on any other face in any other situation.

The Hatter swept his hand through the air over his hair and then leveled a finger at her. “I’ll be right back, dolly. Don’t go anywhere.” He chuckled, a deep, maniacal sound that bubbled from the depths of his gut. “Don’t go anywhere,” he repeated softly as he pushed away from her and climbed off the bed.

He walked to the doorway, where he touched a control beside the door. The bedroom lights dimmed drastically, lowering to a flickering orange glow that emanated from somewhere high on the headboard above her.

“Stay put, little dolly. Playtime starts soon.” He slipped into the parlor, closing the door behind him.

Once she was alone, Alice released the gut-wrenching sob she’d been holding in, her body trembling as she let her tears flow unrestrained.

“This isn’t real. This can’t be real,” she whispered.