Escaping Wonderland

by Tiffany Roberts

A door opened and closed downstairs, followed by an agonized cry.

  Alice gasped and turned her head toward the bedroom door, which was still open. Her heart now raced for all the wrong reasons.

  “Sounds like our host has returned,” Shadow said.

  Alice looked down at him; his devilish grin was back in place, but there was a decidedly annoyed angle to his brows, and his eyes lacked their usual humor. He gently guided her off him and sat up, leaning toward her to peck a quick kiss on her lips.

  The voice from below—Miraxis’s—increased in volume as it neared.

  Shadow slid toward the edge of the bed. “Cover up.”

  Eyes wide, Alice grabbed the blankets and pulled them up over her breasts. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m just going to greet our generous host.” Shadow stood up; in that same instant, Miraxis entered the bedroom. His already light skin was paled in horror, and his pink eyes were rounded.

  “What is this?” Miraxis demanded. “What are you—”

  Shadow leapt across the distance separating him from Miraxis, tail trailing behind him. The praxian had time enough only to widen his eyes further—to the point at which they seemed ready to bulge out of their sockets—before Shadow was upon him.

  “Stay away!” Miraxis yelped.

  Alice couldn’t really consider what ensued in those moments a fight—Miraxis wasn’t trying to battle Shadow as much as he seemed desperate to avoid all contact with him. The praxian squirmed, wiggled, and writhed as Shadow—sometimes phasing into different positions—grabbed his limbs and, eventually, restrained him.

  The struggle ended a few seconds later with Miraxis face down on the floor and Shadow—still totally naked—sitting on his back, holding Miraxis’s arms together at their wrists.

  “Get off, get off! No, let go, go away, get out,” Miraxis cried.

  Clutching the blanket to her chest, Alice eased toward the edge of the bed to look down at them. Sympathy stirred within her, but she quickly dashed it away. She knew what it felt like to be in Miraxis’s position, to feel so powerless, weak, and vulnerable, because she’d been put in a similar position at the Hatter’s Tea Party—and Miraxis had been the one to bring her there, knowing what awaited her. He had been the one to restrain Alice and pry her jaw open so Cecilia could drug her.

  “Welcome home, Miraxis,” Shadow said. “Hope you don’t mind that we’ve made ourselves comfortable.”

  Miraxis groaned pathetically. “Please, go. Go! You’ve soiled everything. Ruined everything.”

  Shadow’s tone was almost disturbingly casual when he said, “Listen, Miraxis, I know you’re capable of speaking coherently. Take a few breaths and steady yourself.”

  “You’re naked,” Miraxis whined. “You were naked in my bed. What did you do?” He turned his face toward Alice, cheek pressed against the carpet. “What have you done? Why did you bring this filthy dolly to my house?”

  Alice glared at him. “I’m not a dolly.”

  “Just a plaything no matter what they call you. A dolly. Property.”

  “She is not the Hatter’s, and she is not the king’s,” Shadow growled.

  “No, no…no one is the Hatter’s now.” Miraxis squirmed again, but Shadow’s hold didn’t allow him much movement. “Hatter is gone. You ended him. You ruined it all, ghost.”

  “I feel like I’m repeating myself, but I only stabbed him a little,” Shadow grumbled. “I don’t understand why he’s taken it so hard. It’s not the first time!”

  Miraxis shook his head, though his range of motion was limited by the floor. “He’s late. Too late. He hasn’t come back.”

  Shadow’s brows fell, and his grin faded. He leaned forward. “Elaborate.”

  Swallowing thickly, Miraxis licked his lips. “Hatter was always punctual. Even when he died, he always came back on time. He was never late. That’s why he was a great man. But he hasn’t come back, and it’s been days. It’s the true death. She has brought true death to Wonderland, and now it marches with the Red King.”

  Shadow flicked his gaze toward Alice. His eyes were troubled, but he only allowed her a brief glimpse of them before his attention returned to Miraxis. “That…that doesn’t make any sense, and I don’t appreciate your insinuation. If true death is in Wonderland, the king won’t be doing any marching, regardless of who is responsible for it. I killed him yesterday.”

  “He is deathless in Wonderland,” Alice whispered softly. Ice chilled her blood, and a heavy weight sank in her stomach.

  Miraxis nodded and released a panicked chuckle. “He is leading his faceless soldiers to the city, to Rosecourt, to cull the population—and to hunt the Grinning Ghost.” His eyes locked on Alice again. “To hunt you. They are marching now, collecting hearts as they go.”

  * * *

  Shadow’s muscles tensed as he pushed up on Miraxis’s arms, causing his captive to wail in pain. Thoughts thrashed around his mind in a merciless cyclone, too quick and numerous to acknowledge, too chaotic to decipher. It had taken a while to calm down after his crisis last night, but he’d been in a much better place by the time Alice awoke this morning—especially considering the way she’d woken.

  All that was undone now.

  “Lies. Why do you lie, Miraxis?” Shadow didn’t even sound convinced to his own ears. “If the king is back, Jor’calla and the Hatter should be back, too. Why him and no one else? It doesn’t make any sense. This is all madness!”

  “It’s the truth, I swear it!” Miraxis’s voice wavered. “The dolly is right! The king is deathless.”

  Growling, Shadow dug his claws into Miraxis’s forearms, producing another cry of pain from the restrained praxian. “Do not call her that.”

  Alice muttered something, something too soft for Shadow to hear. When Shadow glanced at her, she was looking down, her brows creased in concentration. He frowned; despite the maelstrom in his head, despite the chaotic jumble in his mind, Alice’s troubled expression pierced everything and struck him deep. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

  Keeping one hand clamped around Miraxis’s wrists, Shadow hauled his captive onto his feet. Miraxis’s struggles had weakened, as though his distressed sobs had sapped his strength.

  Shadow forced Miraxis to the dresser and tugged open the top drawer. An assortment of silk neckties were arranged on one side of it; he used several of them to quickly bind his captive’s ankles and wrists. Then he dragged Miraxis into the bathroom—with his legs bound, the pale-skinned praxian couldn’t walk on his own—and dumped him on the floor.

  Miraxis begged throughout, going on and on about how he didn’t want to face true death, how he’d just been doing as he’d been ordered, how he’d never harmed anyone himself. Shadow ignored him; whatever fun he might’ve had in this encounter had already been leached away, and he saw nothing to gain in killing Miraxis. It simply wouldn’t have provided any fulfillment.

  Leaving his captive on the floor, Shadow collected the clothing—his own and Alice’s—that he’d draped over the shower door to dry. Some of the fabric was still damp, but at least it wasn’t dirty anymore.

  He stepped over Miraxis without a downward glance and exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Miraxis continued his frantic begging; at least it was muffled, now.

  Alice was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at Shadow, still holding the blanket over her chest.

  “Jor’calla said the Red King was from beyond,” she said. “That he didn’t come like us, and that he could only be killed beyond.”

  Shadow’s frown deepened. He didn’t want to think about all this, didn’t want to stumble along the chain of thoughts that had caused him such distress the night before. Didn’t want to acknowledge that there was any chance of losing her.

  He stopped in front of her and extended his free hand, brushing her hair back from her face. “Jor’calla said a lot of things that didn’t mean much.”

  Alice raised her hand and gently grasped his wrist.
“They mean a lot, Shadow. The king—whoever he really is—could be the key to escaping this place.”

  The sincerity in her expression made Shadow’s chest constrict. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself this was madness, that the ideas she—and now seemingly everyone else—was throwing around were ludicrous, that she was simply confused and had a warped perspective; it was all coming together. There were too many things falling into place for him to dismiss them all, and that made him uncomfortable.

  Because it challenged everything he’d ever known.

  He knelt in front of her, keeping his hand on her face, and let the clothing fall to the floor. Miraxis’s pleas hadn’t ceased, but they were little more than easily forgotten background noise now. Only Alice mattered.

  “None of this makes sense to me, Alice. It seems mad.” He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “If this isn’t real, what is? Where did you come from, where are you trying to go? How did you get here?”

  Alice released his wrist and cupped his face, brushing her thumb over his cheek. As she looked down at him, her expression was both tender and sad. “This is a simulation, Shadow. Everything we see here is made up, like a game, and we are the characters. I came from what Jor’calla called beyond. The real world.”

  “Tell me about your world. About you, Alice.”

  She searched his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her mouth was soft and sweet, but, too soon, she pulled away. He was tempted to lay her back upon the bed, to fall into her arms, to pick up where they’d left off before Miraxis arrived. He was tempted to thrust into her hot, tight channel, to become one with her and forget about anything and everything but the woman before him.

  But he restrained himself. He’d tried to explain away Alice’s claims, had tried to dismiss them as unhinged ravings, and that was in direct opposition to the affection he felt toward her. He needed to know her story. He needed to hear all of it—not just to know why she thought none of this was real, but to learn about her.

  He realized now what he should have known all along—their physical connection would never be enough. Not without something deeper, something stronger, something that would link them together whether they were touching each other or not.

  “I was born into a wealthy family and grew up with everything I could have ever wanted,” Alice said. “I attended a private school and received a stellar education. But my life… It was lonely. I had friends, but I always felt as though I didn’t belong, as though I didn’t fit in, as though they’d always secretly judged me because of what happened between my parents.

  “My mother and father separated when I was little. It was a vicious divorce, and it brought a lot of attention to our family. There were rumors, paparazzi, and so much fighting. My mother reveled in the shame it brought to my father, and fed into the rumors, doing everything she could to squeeze as much money out of him as possible. I didn’t like seeing my father so unhappy, so I did my best to be a good, dutiful daughter.

  “He remarried a few years later, when I was eight, to a woman named Tabitha Compton. My father said she was a good suit for him, and that I needed a mother figure in my life. A good mother figure. She was a pretty lady, younger than him, who’d been widowed a couple years before. She had a son who was five years older than me. But I…didn’t like her much. I don’t know why. I always just felt uneasy around her, but I never said anything. I didn’t want to disappoint my father. He was happy. He deserved to be happy.”

  She went quiet and dropped her gaze to his cheek, which she continued to stroke with her thumb. In her silence, Miraxis’s pleas from the bathroom seemed louder and more irksome; were it not for Alice’s touch, Shadow would have stood up, walked into the bathroom, and silenced Miraxis without a second thought as to whether death was permanent or not.

  Alice slid her hand down to Shadow’s chest, settling her palm over his heart. “While I was growing up, every time I thought about doing something bad—even if it really wasn’t that bad a thing—I always stopped myself by wondering what my father would do if he found out, or asking myself what kind of scandal my actions would bring on our family. I didn’t want to make him feel…ashamed or embarrassed of me. I know he loved me more than anything, so I…I couldn’t do anything that would’ve hurt him.

  “So, I played it safe. I didn’t go to parties with my friends, didn’t experiment with drugs, didn’t drink, didn’t have sex…” She looked away from him. “No, that’s not true. I did do those things—once—and I felt…awful afterwards.”

  Shadow’s throat was suddenly tight. He forced his breath through it slowly and, somehow, managed to keep from wrapping her in his arms, clutching her body against his, and taking her right now to prove that she was only his, always his. It didn’t matter how long ago it had been, or if it had only been once—he could not stand the thought of another male having her. He couldn’t stand the thought of her carrying another male’s scent when he seemed unable to mark her with his own.

  “And then, a few months ago”—her eyes welled with tears—“my father died. I don’t remember too much after that, just this heavy grief, this pain, this emptiness and loneliness. I had Tabitha and Jonathon, who were basically my family, but there was a chasm between us. Tabitha was always so cold, and Jonathon…”

  She met Shadow’s gaze. “Even though he found success and respect working for my father’s company, at heart, he’s a coddled boy who does anything his mother tells him. So, I locked myself away as I mourned my father. I barely ate, I didn’t answer calls, I just…wanted to be alone. But…but they came. I was in…in my father’s office, and I was… I…I can’t remember what I was doing, but they came and took me away.”

  Alice looked away again, and her eyes gleamed with a hint of fear. She removed her hand from Shadow’s chest and slipped her fingers into her hair, clutching a fistful of it. “I’m trying to think, to remember, but it’s all getting hazier the longer I’m here…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Their hands hurt. They were dragging me through a hall. I remember voices, but I can’t…I can’t remember them. They did something to me, and I was confused, but I remember…the coffin. No, a box, or a pod. They put me in a pod and all I remember after that is pain. So, so much pain.”

  Her other hand joined the first in her hair. She squeezed her golden locks as she rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed, her eyes glistening with tears. “I can’t remember why I was there, or who they were. Why can’t I remember?”

  Flashes of one of the strange, overwhelming visions Shadow had experienced last night flitted through his mind—dim lights, strong hands, a coffin-like bed. It was eerily similar to what Alice had just described.

  She’s told me before, she must’ve. I just…forgot about it until now, and it lingered in my subconscious until last night. That vision was my imagination, sparked by her story.

  Clenching his jaw, he drew in a deep breath; his weak attempts at rationalization weren’t even convincing to himself anymore. Fear fluttered in his gut, but he refused to let it spread, refused to succumb to it.

  He settled his hands over hers and gently pried them out of her hair before guiding them down. Once she’d lowered her arms, he cupped her cheeks in his palms, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay, Alice. You’re with me now, and everything is okay.”

  “Why can’t I remember, Shadow?” She opened her eyes and met his. “What if I forget my past? What if I forget everything, even myself? What if I let myself forget? What if I start believing this place…”

  “You won’t forget everything. You know in your heart what’s true.”

  She took firm hold of his hands. “You forgot, Shadow. You believe this place is real. That all of this is real.”

  He searched her sorrowful, desperate gaze; it seemed to mirror the ominous feelings brimming in his chest. “I don’t know anymore. Don’t know what to believe in, apart from you. This is the only reality I know, and if it’s fake…what does it matter?
You and I are real even if nothing else is, aren’t we?”

  She nodded, her grip on his hands tightening as though he was all that anchored her. “But we can’t stay here.”

  Shadow glanced around the room. “In this house?”

  Alice stared at him for a moment before the corners of her lips twitched and rose into a smile. She laughed, shaking her head, and launched herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Shadow embraced her in turn. Her breasts were soft against his chest, her body warm and supple.

  Despite everything—Miraxis tied up and begging in the bathroom, the cracks forming in reality all around him, the emotional weight of Alice’s story—Shadow was tempted to make love to her right then. He was tempted to guide her legs around his waist and slide into her welcoming heat.

  She turned her face into his hair, nuzzling his neck. “No. We can’t stay in this house, but we also can’t stay here, in this simulation. In Wonderland. We need to find a way to…wake up.”

  Shadow rested his chin on her shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about that anymore, didn’t want to deal with it. He just wanted to hold her forever. But he knew she was right, even if only a small part of him accepted that knowledge. “How do we do that, Alice? How do we wake up?”

  His mind flashed to the swamp of sleepers for an instant—to the tall, furred sleeper with the tail—before he snapped himself back to the present.

  “He travels between worlds,” Alice murmured. “The Red King knows the way.”

  Shadow opened his eyes and drew back to meet her gaze. “What?”

  “Jor’calla said that before the king killed him. The king knew me. Said he’d been looking for me. And his voice…” She shook her head, brow furrowed as though in pain. “It was so familiar, but I just can’t remember.”

  “Shh,” Shadow soothed, lifting a hand to her face to smooth his fingers gently across her brow. “It’s okay. It will come back to you, Alice. If anyone can remember despite this place, it’s you.”

  She lowered her head onto his shoulder.