by A. G. Howard
The wraiths siphon down into Wonderland with their plunder, and the rabbit hole implodes upon itself, as if the impact of the entry was too violent. Nothing remains but overturned dirt and a broken sundial fountain.
No way in. Ever again.
Other than my nurse and me, the courtyard is deserted. I’m seated at one of the black cast-iron bistro tables on a cement courtyard that has been stamped to look like cobblestone.
The legs of the furniture are drilled into the ground in case an out-of-control patient should try to throw a chair in a fit of rage. A black and red polka-dotted parasol sprouts up from the center of the table like a giant mushroom and shades half of my face. Silver teacups and saucers glisten atop placements. Two settings: one for me and one for Dad.
I’m here because I’ve lost my head. My mind is unhinged. That’s what the doctors say.
Dad believes them. Why wouldn’t he? The police have proof. The vandalized state of Underland is just like what he saw at home in my room, at Butterfly Threads, and in the school gymnasium. There’s blood that matches Mom’s DNA on the tablecloth from the buffet table, along with my blood on Jeb’s shirt that they found in my backpack in the garage.
Jeb and Mom have been missing for a month. I’m not so much a suspect as a victim. Of a cult, maybe. Or a gang. It could be sacrificial, or brainwashed violence. But I must’ve had help. After all, how could one small girl wreak so much havoc on her own?
They can’t get me to talk about it. When they ask, I become rabid, like a wild animal—or a netherling unleashed.
When the firemen first found me among the debris at Underland, I was broken—beyond the crippled wing I’d already absorbed back into my skin, beyond the gashes in my skin from the mirror’s glass. I couldn’t talk at all. I could only scream and cry.
Dad refused to let the asylum workers sedate me, and I love him for that. Since I couldn’t be drugged into submission, they brought me to a padded room to ensure I wouldn’t hurt myself. I hunkered in the corner for a week, limp and exhausted, surrounded by nothing but endless white. White like the tulgey trees that haunted my nightmares. I tormented myself with the mosaics and how each one played out that fated night.
There were never three fighting queens. There were only two: Red and me—the two halves of myself I struggled so hard to keep separate. Red was eaten alive by some vile creature—the tulgey—leaving my netherling side standing amid a storm of magic and chaos, and my human side wrapped up in something white, like web—my nemesis, the straitjacket.
Now those darkest nights have passed. The two sides of me are united as one. I’m letting the magic out again, privately, subtly, deliberately, to soothe the hollow ache in my heart. My right wing is still damaged, but by stretching it each day, it’s piecing itself back together, bit by bit.
Claustrophobia no longer has any power over me. I’ve learned to manipulate the straitjacket’s Velcro closures. Rip them open with just a thought. Once my arms are free, I cover the surveillance camera over the door with the jacket, release my wings, and dance around the pillowed floor, half-naked, imagining I’m back in Wonderland, in Sister One’s cushioned cottage, eating sugar cookies and playing chess with an egg-shaped man named Humphrey. By the time the asylum employees realize my camera isn’t working, I’ve already absorbed my wings and am bound by the Velcro and cotton again, slumped in the corner, silent and unresponsive.
I sneak out of my room at night, when all is still and silent. And I watch the humans sleeping, study their vulnerabilities, and savor the fact that I will never be helpless like them again.
I am mad, and I embrace it. Madness is part of my heritage. The part that led me to Wonderland and earned me the crown. The part that will lead me to face Red one final time, until only one of us is left.
Until then, I’m a queen with no way back to my kingdom, which bleeds for me. My two faithful and beloved knights, Jeb and Morpheus, are trapped in AnyElsewhere—the looking-glass world, the land of the exiled and the gruesome. And my mom is alone in Wonderland, at the mercy of Sister Two. That’s unacceptable. I didn’t get her back just to lose her again.
The rabbit hole has collapsed, and my key is melded to a nugget of worthless metal. But I have another key—a living key—that can open the way into AnyElsewhere through the mirrors of this world. And now I have the tickets to trade for it.
Last night I crept into Mom’s old room after lockdown, longing to see it while it was empty between patients.
In the shadows, a soft, strange glow radiated from behind the picture of geraniums on the wall, detectable only to someone who’d learned to find light in the darkness.
The same picture hangs in every room, but the flowers on this one glimmered—neon green, orange, and pink petals. Following a hunch, I moved the frame aside to find the painting had been rubbed to paper-thinness behind the petals. Even more mysterious, there was a fist-size hole dug into the plaster wall, filled with soil and flourishing ultraviolet fungi.
Mom was harvesting mushrooms from Wonderland while she was a prisoner here. When she told me netherlings always have an escape plan, she meant it.
I sat on the bed for some time after, mushrooms in hand, wondering how often she used them to get out when she needed an escape. It eased my mind to know she’d had that chance, and even more, that she'd passed it on to me.
“Hey, Allie.” Dad’s arrival shakes me back to today. I inhale the outdoor air, feeling a resurgence of energy. The half of my face in the sun is hot, so I scoot further into the umbrella’s shade.
“Hi.” I offer him that much, then return to my conversation with the two monarch butterflies fluttering around the flowers on the table. They tell me to hurry, because London’s a long way for them to fly and daylight is preferable.
Dad watches me with the bugs, tired and defeated. “Allie, sweetie, try to stay focused, okay? It’s important. We need to find your mother and Jeb. They’re in danger.”
Yes, they are, Dad. More than you know.
“If you’ll send away the nurse,” I offer in a demented, singsong voice, “I’ll tell you everything I remember.” I scoop Salisbury steak from my teacup and spoon the salty, meaty bite into my mouth, letting the gravy drip down my chin. It’s the only way I’ll eat now, with teacups and saucers. And I dress like Alice every day. I know how to emulate crazy. I learned from the master.
It hurts my heart to see Dad’s expression as he directs the nurse to leave. He’s afraid to be alone with me. I don’t blame him. But I shove my human empathy aside. He’s going to have to be strong for the journey ahead. If he wants to rescue Mom, his own sanity will be put to the test.
It’s okay, because I have faith in his strength.
He’s the key to all of this, and to make him fit the lock, I will be cutthroat and cunning enough for the both of us.
Left eyelid twitching, Dad looks at me. “Okay, Allie. We’re alone.”
I turn my lips into a savagely sweet smile. “Before we talk about prom night, take a bite of your food. It’s tasty.”
Narrowing his eyes, he draws a fork out of his teacup, dripping with meat, mushroom, and sauce, then shoves it in his mouth.
I prop an elbow on the table and my chin on my hand. “While you’re busy eating, may I ask you a question?” My voice sounds stilted and deranged, even to my own ears. All the better to unbalance him.
He shakes his head, swallowing. “Allie, stop playing games. We’re losing time here.”
I pout. “If you won’t play with me, I’m sure my other guests will.” I lean forward and whisper to the flowers on the table, watching him from the corner of my eye.
He makes a choking sound, almost turning green. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“I was just curious.” I grip the glowing mushrooms wrapped in Kleenex in my apron pocket. He doesn’t realize I laced both of our Salisbury steaks with the smoothest half of one, that within moments we’ll be the size of beetles, riding upon the backs of butterflies. “How do you
feel about trains?”
I’m humbled to be acknowledging the contributors to a second novel.
First and foremost, thank you so much to every Splintered fan out there! Because of your enthusiasm and passion for the story and characters, I was given the green light to make it a trilogy. You’re the best!
Next, my most heartfelt gratitude goes to my husband, daughter, and son, and other family members—whether related by blood or through marriage—you’re each and every one an integral part of my writing dream. You’ve encouraged me at the low points and cheered me at the highs. And I know that no matter where this dream may lead in the future, you will continue to support me. You are a blessing and a treasure. Be assured that I’ll never take you or your sacrifices for granted.
Grateful hugs to all the usual suspects: My #goatposse, my WrAHM sisters, and of course my critique partners: Jennifer Archer, Linda Castillo, April Redmon, Marcy McKay, Jessica Nelson, and Bethany Crandell. Without your writerly wisdom, online support, and faith in my work, none of this would be possible.
Thank you to my Unhinged beta readers: Ashlee Supinger, Kerri Maniscalco, and Kalen O'Donnell. Your input and excitement over the manuscript were priceless. You are amazing writers, and it will be an honor to share the shelves with you one day soon!
Sincere respect and gratitude to my fearless and tireless agent, Jenny Bent; to my insightful editor, Maggie Lehrman; and to my savvy publicists, Laura Mihalick and Tina Mories. Thank you also to Jason Wells for knowing all the best places to eat while on tour, and to Maria Middleton and Nathália Suellen for being the most imaginative and artful book design team.
Thank you to my GoodReads’ Splintered Fan Page moderators: Nikki Wang, Soumi Roy, Hannah Taylor, and Nobonita Chowdhury. You’ve made my debut year a delight! Not a week went by when you didn’t make me smile. And hugs to all of the Fan Page followers. Hanging out with you is one of my favorite pastimes!
Also, special thanks to Gabrielle Carolina for her outstanding work on my virtual book tours, to Stephanie Foster for inspiring Alyssa’s ankle tattoo in Unhinged, and to Lewis Carroll for writing the incredible novels that light my muse on fire.
A blanket thank-you to my Twitter and Facebook followers, book bloggers, and fellow authors/writers, and to my friends—online or otherwise. Being a writer can be a solitary endeavor. Having you reminds me that I’ll never be alone.
A. G. Howard wrote Splintered while working at a school library. She always wondered what would’ve happened if Alice had grown up and the subtle creepiness of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland had taken center stage in her story, and she hopes her darker and funkier tribute to Carroll will inspire readers to seek out the stories that won her heart as a child. She lives in Amarillo, Texas.
This book was designed by Maria T. Middleton.
Its production was overseen by Alison Gervais.
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