Page 4

CHAPTER 4

Shadow lifted one leg, settling his ankle over his opposite knee, and grasped his lower shin. His tail, which was draped over one of the arms of the chair, flicked slowly back and forth as his eyes roved around the Hatter’s sitting room. Though he appreciated the Hatter’s affinity for darkness—an affinity which Shadow shared—he was not a fan of his host’s choice in décor. The best thing about this room currently was the overturned table; the mess gave the chamber exactly what it had been missing.

A touch of chaos.

Outwardly, the Hatter’s Tea Party was glorious—it was all clashing angles, inconsistent colors, and floors and windows that never quite matched or lined up with one another. But inside, especially in this room, the place was a testament to what the Hatter craved above all else—control.

The very thought of it churned Shadow’s stomach. Control was the strangler of life, the enemy of joy, the killer of freedom. Even after all this time, the Hatter hadn’t learned that. Hadn’t learned to let go . He’d only grown more exasperated with Shadow with each passing day, had only struggled harder to take control. Why were some people so blind to the truth? How could they be so oblivious to the nature of the world, the nature of existence?

Movement at the bedroom doorway caught Shadow’s attention. The Hatter slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him, and walked toward the overturned table. His lips were peeled back in a snarl, his eyes twitched, and his fists clenched and relaxed erratically.

“She’s not going to ruin my party,” the Hatter muttered as he stalked to the chair he’d been sitting in a few minutes earlier. When his dark eyes fell upon the mess on the floor—the mess he had created—he groaned. “Look at what she did, stupid girl. This is all her fault. Jor’calla said she was supposed to arrive hours ago…”

Shadow frowned. He’d already allowed the Hatter to go a little further with that stupid girl than he liked. The only thing that had held Shadow back was his understanding of the way the Hatter operated—he’d not do the woman any lasting harm without having his hat in his direct possession.

Letting the situation play out this far had been entertaining, but the heart of the issue remained unchanged; Shadow didn’t care who else was interested in the new woman, because he’d decided she was his. She’d be leaving this place with Shadow, not the Red King—and that only made this more satisfying.

Still muttering, the Hatter stepped around the chair and scanned the mess with his eyes, toeing aside shards of porcelain and ruined sweets. “No, no, no. Where? Where is it? Should be right here, right where I left it.”

Perhaps Shadow had always been na?ve to think he could alter the Hatter’s outlook through intervention; perhaps it was cruel to toy with such a damaged mind.

But it was fun , and that was justification enough.

“You look troubled, Edward,” Shadow said gently. “The new girl giving you problems?”

The Hatter—or Edward Winters, according to Jor’calla, who was only ever wrong concerning matters of timing—started and drew his knife. His wide, wild eyes fell on Shadow.

Shadow reached up, grasped the brim of his hat—formerly the Hatter’s hat—and tipped it in greeting.

“This is my place, not yours,” the Hatter said. “Return that to me and you may leave alive.”

Grinning, Shadow angled the hat to the side and leaned back in his chair. His tail perked, rising to sway a little faster. “Death is such a fleeting state, Edward. A minor annoyance at best. But I’m glad you’re upping the stakes so quickly, regardless. We always seem to find ways to make our little games more exciting.”

“This is no game, you faceless bastard. I’m going to slice you open from groin”—he jabbed the tip of his knife toward Shadow’s crotch and angled it upward—“to chin. Slowly.”

“Would you like some help cleaning up the mess you made first? I’m rather fond of the character it lends to this bland room, but I know it must bother you.”

The Hatter adjusted his grip on the knife and lifted his free hand as though to reach for his hat. He stopped his arm before it reached the empty air over his head and curled his hand into a fist. The infuriated scowl that crossed his lips brought a surge of satisfaction to Shadow; angering the Hatter was never a dull undertaking.

“Before you make your next move”—Shadow brushed his palms over the chair’s soft armrests—“allow me to counter your ultimatum with one of my own. Give me the female and you may leave alive.”

Growling, the Hatter slashed his knife through the air and took a step forward. “She’s mine until the king comes! My dolly! I’m taking the first taste. It’s owed to me for taking her in while he’s away. Her sweetness is not for the likes of you.”

“I saw her before your little scurrier, Miraxis, did. That makes her mine .” The blond-haired human had immediately intrigued Shadow. He’d seen many of her kind here, but none had caught his eye like this one. “She’s better than you—or that red buffoon—deserves.”

The wild light in the Hatter’s gaze sparked brighter. Shadow took a moment to appreciate that gleam, priding himself in the fact that he’d ignited it.

Then the Hatter lunged at Shadow with a snarl. Porcelain shards cracked and crunched beneath his feet.

Laughing, Shadow lowered his foot and pushed the chair’s front legs off the floor. In the same moment, he threw his weight backward, tipping the chair completely. He tumbled along with it, clutching the armrests to hold the chair against his back as he flipped.

With an audible tearing of fabric, the Hatter’s knife punched through the back of the chair and grazed Shadow’s ribs, producing a distant flare of pain. The sensation forced another laugh out of him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been hurt without intending for it to happen.

My, he’s agitated today. How thrilling!

The motion of the chair broke the Hatter’s hold on the knife. The blade remained in place against Shadow’s ribs as he used his momentum and strength to flip the chair the rest of the way. It landed right side up, with Shadow firmly in the seat, and teetered on its rear legs for a stomach-churning moment before coming down on all four legs.

“You’re quicker than usual today, Edward,” Shadow said.

The Hatter was on his knees two paces away, his cheeks stained a bright, furious red, his shallow breaths ragged. “Why won’t you just die ?”

“Well, it’s certainly not for lack of trying.” Shadow stood and reached behind the chair. He closed his fingers around the knife’s grip and wrenched it free of the wooden frame in which it had been lodged.

The Hatter shoved himself up to his feet. “When I come back, I’m going to?—”

“Yes. You’ll try, and I’ll be looking forward to it, Edward.” Shadow stepped forward, raised a hand, and flicked the brim of the hat. “This is just one of the things you’ll want to get back from me.”

The Hatter charged. Shadow lunged to meet him, extending his arm. The Hatter’s momentum drove the blade straight through his breastbone and deep into the center of his chest. The human halted with a choked grunt and glanced down at the hilt jutting from his sternum.

The Hatter weakly clawed at Shadow’s shirt as his legs gave out. Shadow clamped a hand over the man’s shoulder and eased him down slowly.

With his wide, bloodshot eyes staring up at Shadow, the Hatter pressed his fingers over the tear in Shadow’s coat, which had been opened by the Hatter’s initial attack. Shadow felt no pain now—not even a memory of pain.

“Why…don’t you…bleed?” the Hatter rasped.

Shadow widened his grin. “Because I’m just a ghost.”

The Hatter slumped, falling onto his side. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. He looked like a fish stranded on land, gulping air he could not breathe. Shadow twisted the knife. The Hatter grunted. Dark blood poured from his chest, pooling on the carpet beneath him.

“Just to give you every advantage by making you as angry as possible,” Shadow said, “I’m going to steal your signature move along with your hat and my new dolly. Bring all your rage when you come to find me.”

Helpless, the Hatter watched as Shadow released the knife, took hold of the hat’s brim, and lifted it off his head. Shadow flipped the hat upside down and lowered it. He held the Hatter’s gaze as he dipped the top of the hat into the puddle of blood at his feet. Hatred gleamed in the Hatter’s eyes. That light only faded—carried away on a final, rattling exhalation—after the hat was back in place atop Shadow’s head.

Shadow tugged the knife free—producing another spurt of blood—and sprang to his feet. He stepped over the body and used the point of the blade to tip the hat to a jauntier angle. A lively tune, one the Hatter often played downstairs, drifted into his head. He hummed along with it, adding some flourish to his stride.

It was time to go meet his dolly—surely that was cause for celebration.

Alice gritted her teeth and pulled down on her arms, keeping her fingers pressed together tight in the hopes of squeezing her hands through the manacles. She leaned to one side to put more of her weight into the effort. Tears stung her eyes as metal bit into her flesh. The pain helped clear her mind, speeding away the lingering effects of the drink they’d forced upon her.

The door was still closed, but she knew she didn’t have much time. She looked up at the manacles and followed their chains up to the headboard with her eyes.

Leverage!

Twisting her body around to face the headboard, she planted her shoes against it as solidly as their spiky heels allowed. The chains were crossed now, one over the other, but the manacles were just loose enough for her to have turned her wrists. She hoped it would be enough to squeeze her hands through. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her straightened fingers together, trying to make her hands as narrow as possible.

One…two ? —

The door burst open, swinging hard enough to slam into the wall. Alice started, her heart nearly stopping, and her throat constricting in terror. She turned her head to look at the dark doorway; the shadows there seemed to have thickened significantly. A chill skittered up her spine.

Her eyes widened when she realized that some of the shadows—darker than the rest—were moving . They seemed to solidify as she watched, taking the shape of a tall, lean man with a top hat on his head.

The dark figure slid through the doorway sideways, arms extended to either side. The light from over the headboard was too weak to reach the figure even as he approached the bed, leaving his features shrouded in darkness. But when he raised his head, his eyes—reflective, teal orbs—and his wide, fanged grin stood out starkly against the black.

Not real. This isn’t real, he’s not real…

The shadowy figure was humming a tune that was vaguely familiar to her as he danced around the edge of the room, each of his movements just slightly out of sync with the music—which itself was just slightly off key. Something glinted in his hand when he neared the bed.

Alice clenched her jaw to hold in a scream as she realized the shadow was holding the Hatter’s oversized knife, its blade glistening with blood.

She didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know how the Hatter—who’d been frightening enough before—had become this grinning thing , but the nightmare before her was worse than anything she could’ve imagined. The concoction they’d forced upon her had dulled the worst of her fear, but she couldn’t rely upon it now that its effects were fading.

The shadow Hatter twirled as his humming reached a high note, grasped his hat, and rolled it down his arm as he slid to the bedside.

Alice shut her eyes and turned her face away, clutching the chains as she chanted, “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”

Those words kept her grounded, they made her remember what had happened before she arrived here, and she had a horrible sense that if she stopped repeating those words—whether in her head or aloud—she would start to perceive all this as real.

And that would break her mind.

She felt the bed dip beside her. It creaked beneath the shadow Hatter’s weight, and though he didn’t touch her, she could feel his presence, only inches from her skin. She shuddered.

“Not real, not real,” she rasped, squeezing her eyes tighter closed.

“What isn’t real?” he asked in a voice that was nothing like the one he’d used before. This voice was deep and rich, oddly leisurely, with just a hint of a rumble beneath it.

“You, this place,” she said, barely able to keep her voice from quivering with fear. “Everything. None of this is real. I-I’m supposed to be clearing out my father’s office…supposed to be?—”

The bed creaked again, and there was a whisper of something across fabric. A moment later, the flat of the knife—now dry—slid along her forearm from the inside of her elbow toward her wrist. Alice flinched, unable to hold back a whimper.

“Do you feel that?” he asked.

“I-It’s still not real.”

“How is it not real if you can feel it?”

“It’s a simulation. We’re in an asylum. None of this is real, they just want us to believe it is.”

Why is he acting so different? Why does he sound so different?

He took hold of her chin with his long, strong fingers and turned her face toward him. She swore she could feel the light press of claws against her skin. He tenderly stroked her cheek. His velvety touch was strangely familiar—but not from when he’d thrown her onto the bed and restrained her.

“Open your eyes,” he coaxed. “They’re far too pretty to keep them hidden from me for so long.”

For one terrifying, gut-wrenching instant, Alice envisioned him gouging her eyes out with that blade. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I didn’t really have any plans. Was there something specific you wanted done to you?”

“Let me go. Please, just let me go.”

The flat of the blade trailed in the opposite direction. “Are you going to open your eyes or not? It’s not helping me assess you as a rational person when you’re sitting here with them squeezed shut ranting about how reality isn’t real.”

Steeling herself, Alice opened her eyes, and was completely caught off-guard by the face in front of hers.

“It’s you ,” she breathed. She hadn’t been insane, hadn’t been seeing things.

She’d seen those eyes and that grin before—and not on the Hatter. This was the stranger who’d been in the crowd when she arrived here, the stranger with whom she’d briefly made eye contact. The stranger she’d been compelled to seek out afterward.

Though his face was human-like, he undoubtedly wasn’t human. His jaw-length black hair was sprinkled with strands of gray, hanging in tousled locks from beneath the brim of the Hatter’s top hat. Long, feline ears jutted from either side of his head, and his face was dominated by that wide, fanged grin. His intense eyes—intent upon her—were aglow in that vibrant teal. Despite his alien features, he was handsome.

That attractiveness, however, didn’t take away from how unsettling he was.

“What a silly thing to say,” he replied.

Alice’s brows lowered. “W-What? What’s silly?”

“Of course I’m me. Who else would I be? Are you not yourself?”

“I…I thought you were the Hatter.” Her eyes flared as she stole a glance at the open doorway. “The Hatter! Where is he?”

The stranger’s grin tilted to one side as he lifted the knife away from her and spun it between his long, dexterous fingers. He raised his other hand and tipped his hat forward, hiding his eyes behind the brim.

Alice’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that the top of the hat was glistening with blood .

“You don’t need to worry about him for now,” the stranger said. “Though, perhaps, you can take some satisfaction in knowing that he’s going to be late for his own party this evening.”

“Who are you?”

He arched a brow. “I thought we’ve already established that I am me. Really, are you paying any attention?”

“You never…you never told me your name.”

“Well that’s a little more complicated than simply asking who I am, isn’t it?” He leaned forward slightly. “What’s your name? I’m fairly certain it’s not Little Dolly .”

“Alice. My name is Alice.”

“Alice,” he said, putting more gravel into her name than she’d thought possible. Were his voice not quite so deep, she might’ve considered it a purr. His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, and his brow furrowed as though in contemplation. Then he nodded. “It suits you. I approve.”

Alice tightened her grip on the chains. “What should I call you?”

“That depends on what you would like to call me.” He leaned back, propping himself up on one arm, and continued twirling that big knife with impossible speed and steadiness. “People call me all sorts of things. Shadow is what I usually go by. I’m not sure if that means anything to a woman who disbelieves reality, though.”

Alice glanced down Shadow’s body. His clothing was as rich and old-fashioned as the Hatter’s had been, but it was even fancier. He wore a long, crimson velvet coat with black cuffs. A black button-down shirt with a high collar was beneath his satiny crimson vest, which was adorned with shimmery patterns that almost looked like plants and flowers. His long legs were clad in straight black pants, and his black leather boots looked freshly polished. He appeared as though he’d just stepped out of nineteenth century London. But none of that caught her attention nearly as much as the long, black-furred tail swishing lazily behind him.

He suddenly tossed the knife aside, swung his legs off the bed, and lay on his belly with hands—which did indeed include dark claws—beneath his chin. “I like your clothes, too.” As though to prove it, he raked his eyes over her body. Slowly .

A blush stained her cheeks. Sitting the way she was, with her heels against the headboard and knees bent, her skirt had fallen down to her lap, exposing her thighs above the striped stockings. And she felt his eyes on her. Alice’s body warmed beneath his gaze, and her skin tingled as though craving his touch; it was like the concoction’s effects weren’t fading at all.

“Are you going to hurt me, Shadow?” she asked.

“No. I rather like you. I’d hoped we might get to know one another better, Alice.” His eyes flicked toward the chains binding her to the headboard. “Seems you’ve nowhere better to be at the moment.”

Alice shifted her wrists toward him. “Could you…free me?”

Shadow pushed himself up on his arms and swung his legs up again, folding them beneath him. His tail fell on the bed beside him, its tip flicking back and forth with subdued excitement. The position, given his height and leanness, appeared almost comical—but the blood drying on his hat eliminated the humor from the situation. It reminded her that for all his carefree, strange ways, he was still dangerous.

He settled his hands on his knees and said, “Absolutely.”

“Do you know where the key is?”

Suddenly, his grin eased into something subtler, something smoldering , and his hypnotic eyes were half-lidded. “I’ve found that such bindings can often make things more interesting. If it makes you feel better, I can take a turn in them afterward.”

Alice’s breath hitched. Heat coalesced low in her belly, and her sex clenched in sudden arousal. Her reaction to him was so swift, so shocking, that she reared away from him. “No. No. I-I would prefer to be out of them. Now.”

“If they aren’t real, how are they still holding you?” He leaned his face closer to her. “That must mean you want to be here, at least a little.”

Alice stared into his eyes. “That’s not…that’s not how it works. They want us to feel that this is real, but it’s not.”

“Oh, you’re the most delightful sort of mad, aren’t you?” Shadow nimbly leapt backward off the bed, landing lightly on his feet, and tipped the bloody hat. “Grant me but a moment, sweet Alice, and I will fetch the key for you.”

Relief eased some of the tension from her limbs. “Thank you.”

His features—save for his eyes and his grin—faded into obscurity when he reentered the shadows around the edge of the room. As he neared the doorway, he turned his back to her, becoming little more than another black shape in the darkness before disappearing entirely.

Alice forced herself to breathe slowly, listening for any sign of him, but only silence came from the room beyond.

His gentle humming was the first indication that he was returning, followed shortly after by the gleam of his piercing eyes. He hopped onto the foot of the bed and walked across it to drop into a crouch beside Alice. She’d never seen anyone move so gracefully .

Shadow raised one hand. A set of remarkably mundane keys dangled from between his forefinger and thumb, their metal smeared with crimson.

“Sorry. They were in his coat pocket, and, well…his knife is rather large, don’t you think?” He flicked his arm. Several droplets of blood spattered the headboard.

Alice felt the color drain from her face. “A-And you won’t…use that knife on me, will you, Shadow?”

Shadow arched a brow, staring at her as he slipped a key into the manacles’ keyhole. “When I said I wanted to know you better, I didn’t mean from the inside.”

“That’s…reassuring.” And it was, despite knowing that he’d killed the Hatter.

Shadow’s grin widened as he lightly ran the back of a claw along her outer thigh from her knee toward her hip. “Well, I mean, I would very much like to get to know you from the inside, but not in a way that has anything to do with a knife.”

A shiver stole through Alice, and her flesh broke out in goosebumps. The farther his claw traveled, the more aroused she became. Something was definitely wrong with her to be reacting this way when she knew the hand touching her was covered in blood, when she knew the man Shadow had killed was likely lying on the floor in the next room.

Or perhaps it was him—Shadow. His hypnotic eyes, with their glimmer of madness, enthralled her, promising wicked delights.

I’m going crazy. This is absolutely insane! It…it has to be the drugs still in my system.

Thankfully, the click of the lock saved her. The manacle on her right wrist opened and fell away, hitting the bed with a dulled thump, and Shadow turned his attention toward the remaining manacle, taking it delicately in his left hand while inserting the key with his right. As soon as Alice was fully free, Shadow wrapped his unnaturally long fingers around her forearms and guided her hands closer to him. He leaned forward to examine the chafed, bruised skin around her wrists.

“That damned fool,” he muttered. He brushed a thumb over the red skin; despite the wicked claw at its tip, his touch was whisper-soft.

Alice watched Shadow in silence. From what she’d seen of him so far, he was unpredictable, unfocused, and absolutely mad. She had the sense that he was… untethered , like his presence had no grounding in this virtual world, like he’d just float away at any second. But for a moment he seemed almost sane; as he examined the damage on her wrists, he looked like he actually…cared.

I can work with this. I can use this to my advantage.

“Shadow?”

He lifted his eyes, and his grin widened as he purred, “Hmm?”

“Would you help me escape this place?”

His thumb continued its gentle caress. “Escape? That seems a bit overly dramatic, doesn’t it?”

Alice’s brow lowered as she struggled to focus on the conversation, on the situation, and not on the way his tender ministrations made her skin tingle and warm—or how his other hand was moist and sticky with blood. She reminded herself for the thousandth time that this was not real .

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“ Escape is such a strong word, Alice. I was just going to walk out the front door.” He looked away for a moment. “At least I think it’s the front. Sort of hard to tell by looking at the outside of this place, isn’t it?”

Without thinking, Alice lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek, turning his face back toward her. He didn’t relinquish his hold on her. “No, I don’t mean just this place, I mean the simulation.”

He stared into her eyes for several seconds as though searching for something. Then his brow smoothed, his eyes lit up, and his grin—which she should have found deeply disturbing rather than intriguing—only grew. “I’ve met a lot of crazy people in my time, Alice, but you may be the maddest of all.”

Alice dropped her hand from his face. “I’m not crazy, Shadow.”

Holding her gaze, he tilted his head to the side. “That’s exactly what a crazy person would say.”

Frowning, Alice turned away from him.

“And because that makes you the most interesting person here, I’ll help you, Alice.”

She looked back at him as hope sparked inside her. “You will?”

“Let’s see it through to whatever end we reach. It sounds exciting .” He leaned closer to her, his expression falling into that eyes-half-lidded smolder. “And it should give us some valuable alone time.”

Alice’s heart fluttered, and she blushed. “I’m not a…dolly, Shadow.”

Shadow moved closer still—close enough that she could feel the tickle of his warm breath against her skin. “No, you’re not a dolly, Alice. But you’re mine all the same.”