“No.” His voice is hard as he studies my face. “I want you to be wholly yourself when we kiss.”
Embarrassment floods my body for the first time, and I feel my cheeks heat. In the state I’m in now, the rejection hits me hard, growing with every drunken breath I take. Tears threaten to fall even though I know I’m overreacting. My mortification has no logic behind it, and yet, it hits me like a ton of bricks.
The Hatter’s gaze stutters when he sees the tear that slips over my cheek. I dash it away in horror and clamber from his lap. I’m about as graceful as a one-legged flamingo, but I make it off without embarrassing myself further. For the first time, I notice the music is gone, and I wonder if it’s my doing or the Hatter’s. The other guests are staring at me. Tera climbs down from the table, reaching for me. She wraps her arms around me in a hug, and it’s exactly what I need.
“It’s okay,” she whispers in my ear. “It’s just the food. It heightens our emotions. Go. Take some time to breath. You’ll feel better.”
“Thank you,” I reply, a sob in my voice. If I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose my shit. I squeeze her hand. “For everything.”
“No, thank you, Miss Clara. I’ll see you again. Stay strong now. The Hatter, he’s a creature of Wonderland. The land is hurting, so he suffers. You must stay strong against his madness.”
I smile, give her another quick hug, and leave, my skirt billowing out behind me. If I wasn’t so distraught, I would have been excited about that fact. I don’t turn around and look at the Hatter. I forget I’m wearing his top hat.
I step out through the doors of the ballroom, the effects of the food wearing off almost instantly. I take a deep breath, the emotions from a few seconds ago almost disappearing. There’s still the sting of rejection there, barely, but I’m able to ignore and rationalize how pointless it was to feel that way. The Hatter was being a gentleman and had enough honor to not take advantage. I should respect that instead of wishing I already knew what his lips taste like. Either the food only has the effect in the ballroom or I embraced the buzzed feeling a little too much. It wears off so fast, I’m left standing outside the ballroom, rubbing my forehead in confusion.
I’m turning back towards the ballroom, preparing myself to apologize to the Hatter when there’s a loud knock on the front door. I stare, but I don’t move forward. No way am I answering a door in Wonderland by myself. The knock comes again, more insistent, and angry. There’s so much anger in that knock that the door rattles hard. I worry it’ll just be knocked down completely, but it stands its ground, keeping out whoever is behind it. When the pounding gets so loud I can feel it through the marble floors, I rush up the stairs and around the corner, pushing my back against the wall. I peek around the edge just as Dormouse steps out. There’s worry on his face, the first emotion I’ve seen from him, and it’s that sight that sends me into a panic. If Dormouse is worried, then something is definitely wrong.
I hear a muffled shout on the other side, accompanied with someone hitting the door as hard as they can. All the warmth is sucked from the air. I hold my breath as Dormouse reaches for the knob.
Chapter 11
Dormouse hesitates when a crack forms on the door, the anger radiating through the door growing to nuclear levels. I hover in my hiding spot, my hands clenching onto the banister as I lean over to see who’s there. When Dormouse begins backing away from the door, I let out my breath and fight to get my racing heart under control. Something is happening, and I’m debating between taking off into the maze of hallways and rushing down the stairs to the Hatter, hopefully, beating whoever is behind that door.
A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump as it spins me around. I bring my arm up, ready to cold cock whoever has the nerve to touch me, but I relax when I realize it’s only Cheshire. I shouldn’t. Cheshire is just as threatening as whoever is on the other side of the door, but he’s the lesser of two evils right now. I know what to expect from him. The person behind the door? Not so much.
“Come with me.” He tugs on my arm, trying to get me to move. “We have to go. Now.”
“Who is it?” I ask, because, sure, I’m freaked out, but I’m also incredibly curious. I should be running, screaming my head off to get away from the door. I have a sudden flare of horror. “It’s not a Bandersnatch, is it?”
Cheshire snorts and shakes his head. “The Knave knows you’re here. That’s him trying to break down the door.”
He yanks to get me moving, pulling me down a hallway away from the commotion. I can barely keep up with his long stride, double timing my steps in an attempt to.
“The Knave finding me is bad, right?”
“The Knave belongs to the Red Queen. If he finds you, he’ll take you to her.” He looks back at me, more serious than I had yet to see him. “She will kill you, slowly and brutally until you beg for mercy that she’ll never show you.”
I swallow the choking fear that climbs my throat. I had already vowed to help these people. I won’t back down at the first sign of trouble. I can only assume things will get worse before they can get better. I have no time for fear.
“Why don’t we just fight the Knave?” I ask. “Why are we running if I’m supposed to take him down?”
Cheshire looks back at me again and grins.
“Who says we’re running?”
Finally, Cheshire pulls me to a stop outside a door. I can no longer hear the banging, but if I focus, I think I can feel a deep thumping through the floors. I have no idea how any of the house guests find their way around the maze of hallways. I try my hardest to note the directions we take, only to lose track after the twelfth turn. The house doesn’t look that big from the outside. On the inside, it might as well be as big as it wants, going on and on as if there’s no end.
Cheshire kicks open the door and storms inside, dragging me behind him. I’m starting to see a pattern with Wonderland men, but I don’t worry about it right now. Instead, my jaw drops.
The room is massive, but that’s not what surprises me. Every wall is completely covered with weapons, displayed from floor to ceiling. There are so many types, I can feel my brain literally explode from overload. One wall is covered in all kinds of guns, from tiny innocent-looking things to something I’m sure must be a rocket launcher. It looks pretty close to the ones I’ve seen in movies at home, but the barrel isn’t straight. It’s curved for whatever reason.
Another wall is filled with various types of swords and knives. I’m tempted to arm myself with a wicked-looking battle ax I see, one befitting my spider-killing battle cry, but I doubt I could lift it if I wanted to. The other two walls are filled with items I have no names for. I can’t even describe some of the things to guess. Cheshire walks over to the gun wall and studies the choices, shaking his head slightly when he looks past particular ones.
“Can you fight?” His voice carries across the room, but he doesn’t turn to look at me.
I shake my head even though he can’t see. “I’ve had some self-defense classes, and I took the CHL class, so I can carry my gun, but that’s it.” A fact I’m regretting now.
“We’ll have to fix that,” he replies with his back still turned to me. He reaches high on the wall and plucks a gun much bigger than anything I have ever handled. “At least, you know how to fire a gun.”
“Uh, is there any way you have a 9mm?”
The gun is huge, a mix between a handgun and the Uzis the old time gangsters used to carry. It has a large chamber underneath it, which I think holds bullets. The barrel of the gun is long and definitely larger than the little handgun I carry in my briefcase when I’m not in court. The thing has to have gigantic bullets, and I have no idea what caliber they can be. They’ll probably have a name like “Three Parts Past” or “Half past dead”. Cheshire brings it over. When I look closer at the barrel of the gun, I can see the words “Heart breaker” etched as a red filigree design. I raise my eyebrows. A bit on the nose with that name. Cheshire hands it to me carelessly,
and I panic when the firearm almost falls from my hands.
“This is Wonderland.” Cheshire begins strapping all manner of weapons onto his body. He’s sliding swords into sheaths across his back and long daggers in thigh holders. I watch, holding the gun cautiously. “A 9mm won’t do anything here but piss people off.”
“Noted.” I roll my eyes. Of course, I’d have to shoot bullets meant to take down a dinosaur in Wonderland. It makes sense in an illogical way.
I see him stash an armory’s worth of weapons in his clothes, using every pocket and adding some when that doesn’t seem to be enough. Finally, he turns to me and looks me up and down. He kneels and reaches for my thigh. I take a hasty step out of reach. He looks up at me and cocks an eyebrow.
“I don’t exactly trust you,” I point out.
“You shouldn’t.” He grins at me. “I’m only trying to strap some weapons to your thighs.” He gestures for me to move closer. “May I?”
I nod hesitantly, taking a step forward. He grabs my leg, his hands clinical as he begins buckling some straps around my thigh tightly. He’s mechanical, nothing sensual about the act, and it sets me at ease. After strapping sheaths to both of my thighs, he slides a pair of beautiful long knives into them before standing. He grabs another leather belt and fits it around my waist, pulling it tight enough that it won't slide when I’m moving. There’s a fancy holster for the Heart Breaker, another strap on it that wraps around the top of my thigh, securing it. The gun is heavy when he slides it inside. On the other side of my waist, there’s a scabbard attached. A short sword goes in there. I have no idea how to use the sword or the knives, and I’m hoping I won’t have to. That’s probably wishful thinking, though. When he’s finished, it feels like I’ve been tied up without actually restricting me. I also feel like a badass, even if I have no idea how to use any of it.
Cheshire steps back and studies me before grabbing two small throwing knives from the wall and sliding them into the sides of my combat boots.
“There.” He nods his head. “Now you look like you’re prepared for war.” He begins to walk away, towards the door. “Only shoot the Knave or the Queen’s Cards. And then, only if you have to.”
“How do I tell the difference between the bad guys and friendlies?” I ask. Because this is Wonderland. I have no idea what the Knave or the Cards look like. What if they look like the other creatures?
“You’ll know,” Cheshire growls, disdain dripping from his voice. Okay, wow. No love lost there.
Cheshire throws open the door, and fear spikes through me.
“Where is the Hatter? And White?” I ask, suddenly remembering they are in the house, too.
“White is off doing whatever he does. The Hatter is answering the door and showing them to the tea room,” he answers, that sinister grin spreading across his face. At least, the books have that right. Cheshire’s grin is downright scary.
We slip out of the room. I stay as close as possible to Cheshire as we creep along the hallway quietly. Everything is silent, throwing the house into a more eerie atmosphere than usual. Normally, there’s a chatter in the halls from creatures I can’t see, and the house groans. It seems even the house knows it needs to be quiet. I try to mimic the soundless steps that Cheshire takes, but I’m just not as stealthy as a cat. My outfit swishes, and with each step, some of the buckles on me give off a soft jingle. Every now and then, a floorboard creaks under my combat boots, and I cringe, hoping no one is around that means us harm. Each time it happens, I see Cheshire’s shoulder tense, and I know he’s fighting hard not to get annoyed.
We come to the end of a hallway, nowhere to go but to turn right. Cheshire holds up his hand, telling me to stop without saying anything. I immediately go into fight mode, which pretty much just means my hands flutter around my body wondering which weapon I should grab. Did I mention I have no idea what I’m doing? I can argue my way out of anything, wielding words like weapons. Actual weapons? One CHL class. I know the basics, but I’m probably not a sharpshooter. If it comes to a battle, I could become a liability more than a help. That won’t stop me from actually trying to help, though.
We stand poised at the end of the hallway, Cheshire’s ears flicking back and forth, for a few minutes. I keep my breathing slow and measured, just in case something can hear them.
“Wait here,” Cheshire whispers so low, I have to strain for the words. He slips around the corner silently.
I wait, and wait, but when he doesn’t return after long minutes, I grow antsy. I pull the gun from my waist; it’s really my safest option for weapons. I’m likely to chop my own arm off with a sword. I hope the safety works the same way as my gun back home. I ready myself, keeping my shoulder relaxed and my arms steady as I grip the odd gun tightly. I take a deep breath and peek my head around the wall.
I should have run earlier.
I stumble backwards, damn near tripping over the back of my outfit in an attempt to get back. I don’t scream, but only because I’m so surprised, nothing escapes my throat. As I back away, the man who had been waiting around the corner steps fully around the wall. He zeroes in on me as I get my first clear look of the Knave. Cheshire is right. There’s no way I could mistake him for anyone else.
He’s wearing golden armor, glistening and perfect, a mockery against the deeds he carries out for the Red Queen. There’s a giant red heart on the breast, emblazoned for all to see, to show who owns him. There’s a wound on the left side of his chest, like someone had once ripped out his heart. In the bloody and ripped flesh, tiny red roses blossom, there for everyone to see. The left side of his face suffers a similar fate. Where his eye used to be, there’s a gaping hole filled with more roses springing forth. I can tell he probably used to be handsome. He has a square jaw and a strong nose. His remaining eye is brilliant blue, his hair a faded blond. There’s a tiny black heart inked beneath the remaining eye. His face looks mottled and beaten, blood and scars marking the pale skin. With trembling hands, I raise the gun, aiming it right at his chest. He doesn’t even flinch.
“And who might you be, Pretty Thing?” he asks, a grimace on his face. I’m pretty sure he means the grimace as a smile, but it comes across strained. The left side of his face doesn’t seem to work anymore. His voice though, is beautiful. It’s deep and resonate, and I wonder at the contradiction between that and his appearance.
For each slow step he takes towards me, I back away, not wanting to be anywhere close to him. I don’t respond to his question, keeping the gun trained on him. He doesn’t seem worried at all about the Heart Breaker but his face morphs into rage when I continue to move away from him.
“I said who are you?” he yells, slamming his fist against the wall beside him. I flinch, but I don’t jump, a win in my book.
“Stop!” Hatter shouts, striding up behind him. He passes the Knave and comes right up to me, threading my arm in his. He swiftly grabs the gun from my hand and tucks it back into the holster, the action so fast, I barely follow it. “She’s from my tea party. A guest.”
He plucks the top hat from my head that I’m somehow still wearing. It hadn’t even felt like I’d been wearing a hat at all.
“I’ve never seen her in Wonderland,” the Knave says, that grimace on his face. “And I’ve never seen a guest wielding a gun and wearing your top hat.”
“Don’t you think I’d know if she wasn’t part of Wonderland?” Hatter shrugs. “The dead are dead whether they lost their head or lost their heart.”
The Knave doesn’t move for a moment. Then, his eye narrows, and I have to fight the gulp in my throat. I try to mimic the peaceful look the tea party guests all have, but it’s difficult. I’m positive I don’t have the aura of peace around me, a staple for sitting at the Hatter’s table. I’m battling my fight or flight response. I equally want to pull the gun from its holster and blow the Knave to smithereens just as much as I want to turn tail and run, getting as far away from the man as possible. The only things that keep me standing here are my
vow to help Wonderland and the Hatter’s arm in mine.
“You don’t mind if I watch you cross her over then, do you.” It should have been a question, but the Knave isn’t asking. It’s a command.
Inside, I’m freaking out, screaming. Externally, the only sign of my discomfort is how tightly I’m holding onto the Hatter. My other hand is shaking, but I tuck it against my back and out of sight.
“It’s a very intimate occasion,” the Hatter says, and I understand what he’s trying to do. Get rid of the Knave. Get his attention off of me.
The Knave slams his fist against the wall again. This time, a large crack spider webs across the wall, originating where his hand craters.
“I will see you cross her,” he snarls.
The Hatter frowns, but nods his head solemnly. Hatter tugs on my arm, leading me down the hallway. When we pass by the Knave, he takes a deep sniff at the air, like he’s scenting me. I force myself not to react as we move by. We float down the stairs—I stumble a few times, but the Hatter keeps a firm grip on me—as the Knave follows behind us. The Hatter is seemingly unperturbed by anything that is happening. Me, I’m panicking inside. How the hell are we going to get out of this one?
When we enter the ballroom, I’m happy to see there aren’t any other creatures in the area. I don’t know where they are, if they crossed over already or are hiding out of sight, or how the Hatter took care of it. Small blessings. I don’t know if the Knave can hurt people that are already dead, but I’d rather not find out. The fact that they escaped makes me relax just a little bit more. The shaking in my hand stops.
I glance behind me in time to see a few . . . things join the Knave from nowhere. They have to be the Queen’s Cards that Cheshire warned me about. Again, there’s no mistaking them for anything else. They’re grotesque creatures, standing tall like men. They must have been people at some point, but that’s all I can tell. They have no faces, just a blank slate where they should have eyes, mouth and nose. They’re wearing metal helmets, each stamped with a different suite of cards. They stride forward with swagger, either completely confident or nonplussed. I have no idea how they see where they’re going. They each carry some sort of club or bat with wicked-looking nails sticking from them. The clubs are covered in blood and bits of gore, like no one ever cleans them. As I stare at them, the one in front’s face shifts. Instead of the blank stretch of skin, a mouth opens, taking up the entire space. It’s full of sharp, dripping teeth. They’re stained red. I turn back forward again so fast, my eyes blur. No way do I want anything to do with those things. Give me Beezles any day.
Mad as a Hatter (Sons of Wonderland Book 1) Page 7
