His head tilts to the side as he sets his drink down on a nearby table. “Are you denying it?”
I force my cup to meet my lips, willing every muscle in my arm to stay steady. “I would argue any ravings uttered under the duress of narcotics is suspect, Mr. Van Brunt.”
His curiosity toward my statement is obvious, but his manners do not allow him to pry. “Let me be frank with you, as I know our time is limited today. I am aware precious few people are able to find the way to Wonderland.” A tight smile curves his full lips upward, but no teeth peek through. “You are something of an enigma, Ms. Reeve. One I’m most keen to talk in depth to.”
My quick shot of laughter borders on hysteria. “Careful with what you say around here, Mr. Van Brunt. Or you too will be sitting alongside me here at the Pleasance.”
This amuses him. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, “I wonder if I ought to be, after all the things I’ve seen in my life.”
“Are you claiming to have gone to Wonderland?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had that pleasure yet.” He leans forward, his arms resting against his thighs. “But as I’m certain you have, I am here to offer you a job.”
I blink, startled. Of all the things he has said today, this is the most astounding of all. “A job?”
His words are crisp and even. “It just so happens I am in need of someone who has been to Wonderland and lived to tell the tale.” There’s that tight smile of his once more. “It hasn’t been the easiest of tasks to locate just such a person, to be honest. In fact . . .” His fingers lace together as they drape over his knees. “You are the sole candidate.”
It’s unbearably gauche, but my mouth drops open for the briefest of moments. But then I pull myself together, my spine lengthening as I assume a pose of perfect propriety. “I do not find this joke funny, sir. Furthermore, I cannot believe Dr. Featheringstone would have allowed you in if he knew you would taunt me with such things.”
“This is no joke, Ms. Reeve. I am most sincere in my request.”
He appears earnest, but then I am not the finest at judging character nowadays. Too many things are still uneven in my mind; too many suspicions or deeply seated feelings are scattered amongst memories better suited to watercolor paintings abandoned during rainstorms. “What exactly do you need with such a person?”
His vivid blue eyes pin me to where I sit. “I would think that was obvious. I would need you to go back to Wonderland.”
A buzz fills my ears; a trickle of sweat slips down the back of my neck. “Absolutely not.”
He’s undeterred. “You have yet to hear the reasons why.”
My fingers curl tightly around the carved wooden chair arms as I erect my defenses. “There is nothing you could say to tempt me to go back.”
“Ah, so you do admit to having been to Wonderland.”
“We are done here.” I rise to my feet, my head held high.
He stays exactly where he is. “What if I told you that, if you do not go back, Wonderland may cease to exist?”
I pause midway across the room, hating that his words have even stopped me thus far. Rage mixes with desperation. Does this man know the truth? Is he mocking me? “Is this some kind of twisted fairy belief? That, if I choose not to believe in Wonderland, it and its magic will no longer breathe life?”
“Not at all.” He reclaims his cup. “I meant what I said quite literally. If you do not go back, alongside a team from my organization, Wonderland’s very existence could wink out like a candle in a windstorm.”
Damn him. I backtrack to where the bloody man is sitting, sipping his tea like he hasn’t just thrown a bomb at my feet. “And my presence will somehow stop that from happening?”
“Your knowledge of Wonderland will.” One last sip precedes the cup finding its way back to the table, and Abraham Van Brunt is on his feet, towering over me. “I will be honest with you, Ms. Reeve. All of my organization’s missions to Wonderland have failed so far. Nobody has been able to breech its borders, let alone find an entrance point.”
Craning my neck allows me to see the anguished anger burning in his bright eyes.
“Time is running short, and there are no options left for me save one.”
My laughter borders on a gasp. “You truly believe I’m your answer.”
“I know you are.”
“You know nothing, Mr. Van Brunt. You especially do not know that, should I return to Wonderland, my life is forfeit. Lives of those I . . ." My fingers twist into the starched brown skirt I’m wearing. “Many lives will be forfeited.”
Ah. Now I have his attention. Deep Vs form in his forehead.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Van Brunt. I am not your answer, no matter how much you wish I might be otherwise. I will not risk—”
A hand shoots out and curls around my bicep, startling me into silence. “Whether or not that is the case, if you do not go back with my team, all of Wonderland could disappear. All of those you think you are protecting will be gone. If you truly want to save those you care about—”
I loathe how, even now, even after nearly half a year, my heart clenches at such thoughts. “How dare you lay your hands on me!”
“—you will hear me out."
“I’ve heard enough. Unhand me, Mr. Van Brunt!”
He lets go of my arm. “My apologies.”
“We are done here.”
He blocks my exit. “You’ve barely scratched at the surface of the truth, Ms. Reeve. I am asking you to accompany me to my organization’s headquarters and allow us to present our case to you. Once we’ve done so, if you well and truly feel you are unable to join us on our mission, then I will bother you no more.”
Six months. It’s taken half a year for me to feel as if the ground under my feet is beginning to solidify, and now it’s taken less than a half hour for it to turn to quicksand once more. “I am still a patient at the Pleasance—”
“That is not even a pebble in our shoes, Ms. Reeve.”
Survival instincts kick in, alongside rationalizations. “You have just indicated you are going to New York.”
“The trip, if you agree to take it, will take far less time than you imagine.”
“We are in central England, sir. Just to get to the coast will take a few days.”
He is unmoved. “You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of, when I have a mind toward it.”
“Why do you care so much about saving Wonderland, especially as you’ve never been there?”
“Because,” he tells me softly, a hand dipping into his pocket, “I know what it’s like to have one’s world extinguished.”
It’s enough to still my arguments.
A soft rap on the door brings forth Dr. Featheringstone. “Everything all right in here?”
Mr. Van Brunt takes a step back, widening the space between us. “Your Ms. Reeve is a stubborn one, Doctor.”
Featheringstone chuckles. “What say you, Alice? Are you up for another adventure?”
“Madness,” I whisper. “I must be dreaming right now. Either that, or you’re all just as mad as I am.”
“I assure you that you are awake, my dear,” Featheringstone says.
Van Brunt slips out his pocket watch and glances at it. “Now or never, Ms. Reeve. Countless souls are relying upon you, as unaware as they may be of who their savior is.”
I face my doctor, desperate to find some semblance of sanity in an insane asylum for women of means.
“I cannot make this choice for you.” A gentle hand rests upon my shoulder. “But, if it were me, I would go.”
Pitiful words of excuse fall from my lips, instinctive ones that shame me. “I’m . . . I’m not packed.”
“No need,” Mr. Van Brunt says. “Everything you could possibly need is waiting for you in New York.”
“But—the journey—”
“As I said before, you will be surprised at just how quickly it will go.”
“You are asking me to be selfish.”
“Not at al
l.” He towers over me. “I’m asking you to be strong and smart and brave, and to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”
How can this be? After everything, how could this even be a possibility? “Are you certain that . . .” I swallow. “If I don’t go, the people of Wonderland will be at risk?”
He shakes his head. “Ms. Reeve, there is a strong chance they could perish.”
I’ve been so resilient these last few months, so good at not letting matters of responsibility and the heart drive me further into madness than they already have. He says he wants a smart woman; the smart move would be to walk out of this room and never see this man again.
But I cannot take the risk he is right. My hand extends in the space between us. “I suppose you have a new employee then, Mr. Van Brunt.”
His grip is firm. “I promise you will not come to regret this decision.”
A strange beep sounds in the room. Van Brunt pats his pocket and then sighs. “Dr. Featheringstone, I need a moment. Ms. Reeve, please excuse me. I will return momentarily.”
Once he steps into the room just off of Dr. Featheringstone’s office, the doctor rounds on me. “I know you are guarded by your experiences, but I must caution you to go into this situation with the most open of minds.” He smiles kindly. “Much as you did with Wonderland.”
Until this day, our talk of Wonderland has always been grounded in ravings and the need to explain them away even though I know the truth of my experiences. But now that he says this to me, a new determination shines from his eyes. He is not rationalizing away my belief in a magical land I fell down a rabbit hole and discovered; he’s informing me he believes in it, too.
“Trust Mr. Van Brunt to have your best interests at heart,” he continues. “He is a good man, a trustworthy one who bears many heavy weights upon his shoulders. He would not be here for you if he did not need you, dear.”
“Tell me, Doctor.” My voice is low and firm, as now that much shock has rocked me, I’m desperate to reclaim the control I’ve sought after for years. “How will you explain my absence to my family when they come round to collect me at the end of the week?”
He extracts a slim, folded piece of paper from his inner coat pocket. “I have already drafted a missive, informing your father that a sudden setback requires more time at the Pleasance.”
I take the sheet from him and scan what he’s written. It is simple enough and says what he claims—increased talk of Wonderland has left the doctor assured I must deal with key issues before I am to return to my family’s care.
“How clever of you.” I head over to his desk in order to sign my consent directly below his own signature. “While misleading, there isn’t a lie to be found.”
“I truly do believe this is the right course of action.”
I refold the paper and hand it back to him. “All those times I spoke of Wonderland, did you know it was real?”
“There are many things in this world difficult to explain.” Whiskers turn in as his lips purse. “I knew, when you came to me, that you were desperate to leave behind this piece of your past. I wanted to help you do that, to move forward with a healthy, well-adjusted life here in England. But, sometimes, we must deal with our problems head on in order to let them go.”
“That is not a proper answer, Doctor.”
“And yet, it is the best I can give you.”
Mr. Van Brunt reenters the office, his lips a grim line between his dark mustache and beard. “I’m afraid that time runs short, Doctor. I’ve just gotten word that another attack has happened.”
Dr. Featheringstone is stricken. “Do you know where?”
“Any loss is terrible, old friend, especially of this kind,” Van Brunt says, “but I can assure you that you have had no contact with this place before.”
A tear slips from one of Featheringstone’s eyes anyway.
“What kind of attack?” I ask. “And how did you receive word of this? Was a letter delivered?”
“I will be glad to answer all of this for you,” the man tells me, “but I am desperately needed back in New York. Will you accompany me, Ms. Reeve, so we might continue our discussion at a later time?”
Dammit. Curiosity has gotten the better of me again. I am a foolish, foolish woman when I nod my consent.
Van Brunt tugs a slim book bound in leather out of his coat pocket. “Are you prone to hysteria, Ms. Reeve?”
“I resided in Wonderland for the past six years. What do you think?”
A smile overtakes his mouth. “I think that you have more fortitude than you suspect, and for that, I ask you to dig deep and fully embrace that strength. Sometimes life is more extraordinary than we might first imagine, and today is going to test your limits of imagination and acceptance.”
Alarm plucks at my belly. He says this to me, a former resident of a world that subsisted on the fantastical?
Dr. Featheringstone pats my cheek. “Stay true to yourself, Alice. Perhaps we shall see each other again someday, although, if I am to be honest, I will hope we will not.”
Before I can utter another word, the doctor I’ve seen daily for six months leaves the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Van Brunt removes what appears to be a white writing instrument out of his pocket. “Are you ready for your next adventure, Ms. Reeve? Are you ready to once more slip through a looking glass?”
I’m startled. How does he know such a thing?
He does not wait for an answer. Instead, he takes his strange pen and scribbles into the book in his hand. The world as I know it shatters once more, because before us in the middle of the room appears a shimmering door.
Magic. In England.
The book snaps shut and is tucked back in his pocket, leaving only the pen out. He motions with it toward the door. “Shall we, Ms. Reeve?”
One would think I’ve learned my lesson, that I know better than to foolishly go forth into the unknown. These sorts of choices always have consequences. The last time I chose to do so, I lost myself for years. I lost my heart and my pride. I lost my family. I lost my sense of purpose.
I wonder what the cost I will be forced to pay this time will entail even as my hand grips the doorknob.
Silly Alice.
I open the door anyway.
DOORWAYS ARE SO VERY common, and used so frequently that most people are often blind to what they symbolize. A doorway can lead a person into new spaces, and can allow in loved ones, enemies, new acquaintances, or horrible things that we never dare to dream about. They can also remove us from that we’ve just left, or present us a firm wall of acceptance we may or may not wish to embrace. The doorway in front of me leads to another room, one whose countenance I have never seen in all my twenty-five years of life. Not in Wonderland, and certainly not in England.
I take a step back and peer round the side. Behind the open doorway is Dr. Featheringstone’s office, with no signs of a glowing doorframe stretching from floor to near ceiling.
Van Brunt opens his mouth to say something, but I hold a hand up. “I am merely finding my bearings.”
“Bearings,” he murmurs, “are better than hysteria.”
I turn toward him; he’s smiling, even if just barely. “Did you think I’d run, sir? Scream at the top of my lungs to the fellow inmates of bedlam that there is a magical door in the good doctor’s office?” I shake my head. “Just yesterday, a fellow resident lamented how angels played cards on her bed as she tried to sleep. They were quite noisy, she claimed, and smelled strongly of cat urine. Sleep is apparently difficult when eyes water such as hers did.”
“You didn’t believe her?”
“I’m afraid I believe too much nowadays.” And yet I step forward anyway, through the threshold and into the room beyond the door. Van Brunt follows, and before I know it, the door is shut and winks out of existence.
A thin man with black, rimmed glasses and greasy hair that shoots straight up from his head turns away from a wall covered with moving, colore
d photographs. He appraises me with sharp, small eyes before saying to Van Brunt, “The latest acquisition was successful then?”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle until Van Brunt extracts a child-sized cane from inside his frock coat. “It was.”
The lanky man nods. “I’ll let the Librarian know right away.”
He smells vaguely of cloves and has a bit of a Cockney accent. He’s also wearing strange clothing: worn bluish trousers, a chartreuse sweater layered over a peculiar shirt with what looks to be an image of a dog on it, and dirty black boots with steel toes. But then, everything about this room is strange. The furniture is all sleek metal, the walls covered in machines and buttons and screens filled with pictures both moving and still. The floor below me shines brighter than any tile in the Pleasance.
“I suppose you are going to claim this is New York City,” I say to Van Brunt.
He shrugs off his coat and passes it to the other man in the room. “I did tell you we’d have no problem reaching our destination. Ms. Reeve, let me introduce you to my assistant, Jack Dawkins.”
The man briefly holds out his hand before quickly yanking it back. Then he laughs, a flush stealing up his neck. “I’m a bit rusty at this. I can’t quite remember how to best introduce meself to a lady of high standing.”
I force myself to not roll my eyes as I proffer my hand. He takes it and squeezes first strongly and then limply before nearly tripping backward on a chair set upon rollers. It goes skidding across the room, and if I’d thought this Jack Dawkins was blushing before, he’s positively scarlet now.
At least he didn’t prostrate himself like other silly men I’d once known.
“That’s enough of that, Mr. Dawkins.” Van Brunt is brusque. “Why don’t you take the catalyst to the Librarian? Find Ms. Lennox on the way back and inform her I have Ms. Reeve in tow. We’ll convene in the conference room in ten minutes to discuss today’s unfortunate news.”
Jack brandishes the cane. “God bless us, each and—”
“I said,” Van Brunt stresses, “that’s enough of that.”
Dawkins nods and then swiftly exits the room through a door he first must punch buttons into in order to open it.
The Collectors' Society Page 2
