“What…did you…do to me?” she rasped, moving her hand to her head and squeezing her eyes shut. Though she could no longer see the room spinning, Alice now felt like she was twirling in place.
“Get her up to a dressing room,” Cecilia said. “The Hatter will be livid if she’s not looking her finest when we send her up.”
Miraxis caught Alice’s wrist and dragged her toward the stairs. Her stomach sank at the sudden motion, and she nearly fell; her limbs were delayed in obeying her mental commands to move, though they felt oddly light now despite the heaviness that had gathered in them a moment ago. The room continued to sway, but it wasn’t quite so unpleasant anymore.
As she followed Miraxis up the stairs, Alice turned her head, searching the crowd for the grinning shadow man. All the colors around her seemed more vibrant; what would his eyes look like now? But she couldn’t spot him; there were too many people, too many faces, too many masks, all of them drastically different and exactly the same.
Alice had no idea how far up they’d traveled when Miraxis turned into a long hallway. His pace increased as he led her along the hall, finally stopping near its end in front of a blue door. He opened the door without hesitation, stepped aside, and shoved Alice into the room ahead of him.
She stumbled forward and, as soon as she caught her balance, paused to study her new surroundings. There was a mirrored vanity against the wall, all its little shelves and compartments overflowing with a dizzying array of makeup and brushes. A tall standing mirror was in one corner with an open wardrobe nearby, the latter filled with bright swaths of fabric in all colors and more dresses than Alice could count.
Alice furrowed her brow. She knew what all these things were for individually, but her mind was too fuzzy to put it all together. Why was she here? And why did her hospital gown feel suddenly so…restrictive?
“Finally!”
Alice stepped back with a start, turning her attention to the person who’d spoken.
The woman standing beside the vanity was rail thin, wearing a plain brown dress and a white mask that was featureless save for its black eyeholes.
The faceless woman stepped forward, grabbed Alice’s arm, and pulled her farther into the room, guiding Alice to sit on the cushioned bench in front of the vanity.
Alice swayed on her seat, feeling light, airy, and warm, and looked into the mirror. Her eyes were so vibrantly blue, her lips such a lovely pink, and her hair looked like strands of spun gold.
What…what’s wrong with me?
Before she could answer her own thought, something in the mirror caught her attention—a thick shadow just behind Miraxis, with two teal eyes glowing in the darkness. It was gone faster than she could blink. Alice turned her head toward the doorway, leaning far to one side to see around the praxian, but there was nothing there.
Miraxis cleared his throat. “She is to be collected by the king tomorrow, but the Hatter will be conditioning her until then. She must—”
“Shoo!” The thin woman waved Miraxis away. “I don’t need you telling me how to do my work, especially when you’re the one who brought her here late.” Taking Alice’s chin between long, cold fingers, the woman turned Alice’s face toward her and sighed. “And there’s much to be done.”
Alice was only vaguely aware of Miraxis exiting the room and closing the door. She was sealed in here now, trapped in this building, and she needed to get out. She needed to go…where did she need to go? Why couldn’t she think? Why couldn’t she remember? Fear clawed up from her gut, but it was quickly swept aside by a wave of euphoria.
Gentle pulses of heat spread through her body, easing the tension that had begun to seize her muscles. This place, this room, was as good as any, wasn’t it? Everything here was so wondrous—even the walls. They were blue. So blue. A pretty, robin’s egg blue.
“Blue is my favorite color,” Alice murmured.
“Is it now?” the woman said. “Well then, we’ll have to find you something pretty and blue to wear for the Hatter tonight. It’ll bring out those eyes of yours.”
The woman set to work, selecting a brush from the vanity and sweeping it lightly over Alice’s skin.
“What are you doing?” Alice asked.
“Making you the prettiest at the party, dear. You’ll be my masterpiece. It’s not going to stop him from doing what he means to do, but it might make him a little gentler. Now close your eyes.”
Alice’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she smiled; the soft motion of brushes over her skin was soothing, lulling her deeper into relaxation. It didn’t matter where she was—she felt good.
Soon, the woman’s fingers were no longer on Alice’s face, but in her hair, brushing the strands, easing the tangles. Alice hummed appreciatively.
When those hands finally moved away, Alice felt bereft. Lonely. She wanted the hands back on her, massaging her scalp, brushing her hair, her face. Her skin tingled, and she longed for more attention.
“Lift your right foot,” the woman said.
Alice obeyed, keeping her eyes closed; she’d not been told to open them.
A moment later, the backs of the thin woman’s fingers brushed over Alice’s skin from foot to thigh as the woman pulled something onto Alice’s leg—it felt like a stocking. Alice caught her lower lip between her teeth; the feel of that stocking sliding on had been exquisite against her sensitive skin.
“Now the other,” said the woman.
They repeated the process, and within a few seconds, Alice had a stocking on her left leg, as well. Her smile widened. She brushed her palm over her knee, thrilling in the smooth feel of the stocking against her skin.
“Stand,” the woman instructed.
After reluctantly forcing her hand away from her leg, Alice stood up. She swayed like a blade of grass in the breeze, but didn’t feel off-balance, didn’t feel dizzy. There was nothing to worry over; she was free.
The woman deftly untied the fasteners on the back of the hospital gown. Alice spread her arms as the woman slid the garment off. Cool air caressed Alice’s suddenly bare skin, hardening her nipples and sending a thrill directly to her core.
The sound of metal hangers clacking together told Alice that the thin woman had moved to the wardrobe. Alice hummed to herself as she waited, keeping her hands still at her sides even though they itched to run over her own skin.
When the woman spoke again, she was in front of Alice. “This should do nicely, I think. I’ll help you get into it.”
The woman guided Alice’s feet up one at a time, slipping heeled shoes onto them, before pulling something up around Alice’s legs—it felt like a dress. The fabric brushed along Alice’s legs as the woman drew it higher. After helping Alice get her arms through the straps, the woman’s hands settled on Alice’s shoulders and turned her around. Within a few seconds, the woman had the dress’s bodice pulled tight and tied securely.
Alice parted her lips; the heat in her body was only increasing now that she was dressed, as though it were rebelling against being contained, against being restricted. She wobbled unsteadily on the heeled shoes.
The woman clasped something around Alice’s neck—it was snug, like a choker—and something looser around her wrist.
“Good! Good!” The woman took hold of Alice’s hands and tugged her along a few steps before moving to stand behind Alice. “Now…open your eyes!”
Alice opened her eyes. She was in front of the tall standing mirror, staring at an unfamiliar woman.
No, that’s not another woman. That’s my reflection.
She wore a sleeveless sky-blue dress with a black and white corset, its skirt hanging midway down her thighs, and black and white striped stockings. Her hair hung in gentle waves around her shoulders, framing a face both familiar and foreign. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, combining with her dark eyeliner and lengthened eyelashes to make her blue eyes stand out like cornflowers in a green meadow. The natural pink of her lips was enhanced by subtle lipstick, and soft blue and violet eyeshadow completed
the look.
“Oh, he will adore you tomorrow!” the woman said. “Not that his attention is something any woman should want.”
“Who?” Alice asked; her voice sounded far-off even to her own ears, as though it had come from another person entirely. Her brows lowered.
This…doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel right.
“Why, the Red King, of course!” The thin woman giggled, settled her hands on Alice’s shoulders, and leaned forward until her masked face was beside Alice’s ear. “You’re perfect. You would’ve been the prettiest of the Hatter’s dollies if the king hadn’t set his eye on you. I suppose you can still be the prettiest, at least until the morning.”
The growing sense of dread in Alice’s gut battled the unnatural euphoria coursing through her veins as the thin woman stepped away.
“She’s ready!” the woman called.
Ready? Ready for what? I’m… No…this… What’s wrong with me?
Alice stared at her reflection with her brow creased. She lifted a hand to the choker, only then noticing the bracelet on her wrist. It had a little tag, just like the bottle they’d forced her to drink; this one said Eat Me.
Movement in the mirror caught Alice’s attention; the door swung open. Two men wearing black and white checkered suits and domino masks entered the room. They moved to either side of Alice and looped their arms through hers.
“Oh, do enjoy what time you’ll have with the Hatter at his party,” the woman said, waving.
The men turned and escorted Alice out of the room.
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 w
ords. “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!”
Escaping Wonderland Page 3
