Gross discomfort creeps across my bones from discussing such things behind Finn’s back. “I don’t think any of what you’re talking about is my business, especially as he is not here with us.”
“I mention this simply because, until now, he has entered any assignment as most of the rest of us do—with a goal for acquisition and nothing more. I fear that today’s assignment is different, however. That his and his brother’s purposes are multi-fold.”
“I tried to dissuade Finn,” I snap. “I made it very clear what is at stake.”
“I have no doubt that you did, Ms. Reeve. I just want you aware that, all of a sudden, the situation is painfully personal to them.”
“Because of me?”
“For Finn, partially, yes.” He strokes his neat beard. “And Victor, in response, will back his brother up because that is what they do for one another. The reverse is true, naturally—Finn is always keenly aware of Ms. Lennox’s safety on any assignment. But I need you to be aware that your recent discovery of S. Todd and Rosemary’s wall has left the boys in a situation that I fear might be overrun by heightened emotion. And I am asking you to be mindful of such over the next few days.”
“Because of 1820IRV-SGC.”
He does not chastise me for regurgitating clearly overheard information. “Exactly.”
“Maybe you ought to explain to me the significance of this Timeline,” I say quietly, “so I might be better prepared to understand any unexpected actions on their behalves.”
“1820IRV-SGC is my original Timeline,” he says flatly. “And it was deleted two years prior, right around Halloween.” His eyes hold mine. “My wife Katrina, the boys’ adopted mother, was there for a visit with her elderly father. Both boys were off on assignments when we got word that it’d been deleted.”
The agony in Van Brunt’s eyes is crushing.
“I’m sure it is not difficult to imagine how hard that was on us. As Society members, we were devastated yet another Timeline was gone—that millions of souls were winked out of existence as if they were nothing. As if they’d never breathed or laughed or had children or lived.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, but my words are meaningless, nothing compared to such a thought.
“We are always devastated when a Timeline is deleted,” he continues flatly, “but of course, this one was painfully personal to us. Their mother was gone. Their grandfather. We had no body to grieve over. She was here one day and gone forever the next, and I remain because I was here and not there. I . . . Perhaps I’ve indulged in their determination to find the culprits behind this. It’s been two years, but now we have a lead. Suspects. Truth be told, Ms. Reeve, I am glad they are going on your assignment rather than mine. Vengeance and the acts done in its name are terrible burdens to bear when you are young, no matter what they make think otherwise.”
Unfamiliar tears sting my eyes.
“Neither of my sons are good with sharing their emotions, I fear. They’ve let their anger build up within them, refusing to let it out for anyone to see other than perhaps me. We argued the night you and Finn returned from your raid of Ex Libris. Both immediately wanted to hunt down the suspects, but eventually came to accept that hastiness would get us nowhere.”
“Finn was heavily drugged,” I say, frowning. “He was falling asleep at the table during our debriefing. I find it difficult to imagine he argued much of anything with you that night.”
“He roused long enough, once we were in his apartment, to voice his concerns. That said, obviously his drugged state did not allow his arguments to stand up quite as strongly as his brother’s.” Van Brunt’s smile is in no way cheerful. “I feared that, once he emerged from his morphine haze, he might insist on being here with me like his brother initially had, but it appears you have done me a favor, Ms. Reeve.”
“Some favor,” I mutter. “I’ll probably ended up getting us all killed.”
“Finn has endured much loss in his life,” Van Brunt says softly. “They both have. I cannot say it for certain, but I believe my son will not allow what you fear to happen simply because he will not be able to bear to lose one more person.”
I think back to the discussion about Victor’s medicine, and of how Van Brunt might be hinting at that, too.
“I mention all of this because . . .” We pause in our loop around the floor’s corridor. “The Librarian mentioned something troubling to me. About your past in Wonderland.”
My fingers curl inward. I refuse to allow anything that woman says about me illicit another response.
“I will not meddle in either of my grown sons’ lives, Ms. Reeve. And yet—”
“And yet,” I say primly, “you are right now. Whatever is or isn’t between us is of none of your concern.”
“I am merely asking you to take into consideration that there are many layers to this assignment. Ones that might not necessarily accompany others.”
I’m not the only one uncomfortable right now. Van Brunt is just so as well, and it strikes me that this must be a difficult conversation for him to have. His sons are adults. Victor is over thirty, Finn is nearing so. But whether or not appropriate, their father’s heart is in the right place.
Nostalgia bites at me. I left my parents in a constant state of confusion each time I entered Wonderland. I never gave them a chance to be close to me, or to meddle thusly.
I tell Van Brunt gently, “Noted.”
He nods and we head back to the weapons room to reconvene with the others. The crowd has grown; many people have come to see us off and get their fill of information concerning today’s manhunt. While Van Brunt addresses the mass of bodies, I can’t help but steal glances at both Finn and Victor. Both are wearing impassive faces and yet there is a fire to their eyes I’d not noticed before. Was it because I never knew what to look for? That, because I didn’t know their secrets, I chose to ignore anything I didn’t want to see?
To them, this manhunt could produce the people who murdered their mother. And they will be going with me to Wonderland, instead.
Screws inside me loosen; my defensive shell cracks even further. I make a vow right here and now that I will not fail in Wonderland. I cannot allow this happen to me. I cannot allow this to ever happen to another Timeline again.
My attention settles on Finn again. He and his brother are standing in nearly identical poses, with their arms crossed defensively and feet slightly spread apart. Anger straightens their backs. This is personal to them. Very personal.
Victor is whispering something in Finn’s ear, and the man I’m newly falling in love with issues a tight nod in response.
If the villains are not apprehended before we come back, I will do everything in my power to track them down.
WE ALL HAVE PENS in our pockets, but Finn is the one to write our way to my Timeline. He didn’t want to burden me with the pages within my books, and although I wanted to argue, I realized his gesture came from a good place. I would not be so willing to force his past upon him, either. So, he is the one to write a sentence, and when he does, golden light fills the room and a door appears.
I am the one to open it. To go through it first.
I’ve requested us to be taken the base of the craggy rocks behind my parents’ holiday home on the Welsh Coast, on a date nearly two months after I left the Pleasance. There is a whistling breeze blowing across the fields, and the heavy scent of saltwater perfumes the air. Petals and crisped leaves dance about our feet, and, for a moment, the impulse to turn around and go see if my family is in residence nearly derails my purpose.
“It’s beautiful here,” Mary murmurs as she takes in the vista.
Victor adjusts the straps of his backpack over his beautifully tailored black coat. “Does it remind you of Misselthwaite at all?”
“Misselthwaite is in Yorkshire,” she snaps. “This is nothing like Yorkshire.”
“It’s Wales,” I tell them. Only Finn knew ahead of time that this was our destination. “What is Misselthwaite?�
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“The manor I grew up in.” Mary smooths imaginary wrinkles from her full Victorian skirt. “It’s much to the north from here.”
Refusing to show how stung he might be from Mary’s hostility, Victor says, “I guess I always thought your story occurred in England, Alice. Not Wales. You’re English, after all.”
“I’ve entered Wonderland in England before,” I admit. “From my parents’ house in Oxford. But, the first and third times, it was here, in Wales, albeit from two different holes as the first collapsed and was sealed shortly after I returned. Does the book say differently?”
“It’s suggested you’re next to a river,” Victor says. “Says you’re laying next to a bank with your sister.” He glances around. “There are no rivers here, are there?”
I shade my eyes with a hand as I turn toward the hills before us. “We were sitting on that slope over there,” I point into the distance, “when I first saw the White Rabbit. I suppose a slope can be mistaken for a bank, no?” I give a small smile. “There is water nearby, but alas it is the ocean and not a mere river.”
“Will we be falling down a rabbit hole?” Finn asks. He’s mildly amused, though, and his small smirk tests my willpower because I want nothing more than to kiss it.
But alas, that will have to wait. “Yes. But we’ll be using a different one than the first I traveled, considering that one is defunct. When I left Wonderland for the last time, I had this one built just for me. Nobody else is able to access it—or at least, that was what I was led to believe.”
We trudge up the rugged yet green hill. Mary asks, “Who built it?”
“The White Rabbit. Despite his allegiance to the Heart Court, he owed me several debts.”
“Why did you return as an adult?” Mary asks.
“Because,” I say simply. “I am the Queen of Diamonds.”
Minutes later, we’re situated before a number of small holes and caves carved into the rocks. I count them carefully before finding the right one. It’s marked by the Rabbit’s footprint, in just such a place the average person would not notice.
“Are you all sure you want to tumble down this hole?”
Finn’s hand presses against my lower back. “We’re with you one hundred percent.”
I lean into his touch, my eyes meeting him. It’s utterly contradictory, but even though I wish he’d stay at home, safe from Wonderland’s madness, I’m beyond glad he’s here with me right now.
“All right then,” I say. “Let’s go to Wonderland.”
I crouch down before the hole and sweep away branches, leaves, and rocks. There is a silvery spiderweb covering one corner, a small, fat, happy spider clutching onto its freshly wrapped prey.
“We must enter this hole,” I tell it. “Would you mind moving to the side? My associates and I will do our best to not break your beautiful web.”
“Alice, are you talking to spiders?” Mary asks, but then she—all of them—hear, in a soft yet firm voice, “Of course, Your Majesty.”
One of its tiny legs comes to cross its abdomen; two others allow it to fall into the equivalent of a spider bow. “I have watched over this hole, just like you asked me to,” it tells me. “No one has crossed through.”
“I am most grateful for your service.” I reach out and gently touch the top of its head. “You have done well.”
“I will continue to watch over it until the day I die,” it tells me. “It is the least I can do for the Queen of Diamonds.”
I turn back to face my friends. “The drop will be sharp and will last less than five minutes. If it is possible, do not scream. You will land on your feet as long as you right yourself at the start of the fall. Try not to step on any of the spiders below. They are soldiers of mine and are only doing their duty.”
Mary is still eyeing the spider suspiciously. “Do they bite?”
It chooses to answer her before I can. “Our bites are painful and deadly, and there are no cures.”
Her eyes alight.
“Sound the alarm,” I tell the spider. It plucks at its web, and a nearly inaudible peal rings forth. And then it picks up its lunch with its mouth before scurrying to the top of the rock.
I’m on my knees, crawling through the hole; Finn is right behind me, followed by Mary and then Victor in the rear. After scooching a few yards, I feel the lip of the tunnel.
I take a deep breath and then, before I can change my mind, I drop into the hole. It is wide enough for me to stretch my arms out and still have yards to go until they reach the sides. Sparkling spiders scurry up and down the walls, murmuring excitedly. The alarm triggered from above rings its way down the tunnel, from web to web, and by the time I finally reach the ground, the tiny soldiers have laid out soft padding to catch our falls.
Lights flare to life all around us. We are in a small chamber that is completely filled with small, glinting black bodies—thousands upon thousands of soldier spiders only three inches long apiece.
“Mother of God.” Mary’s whisper is a strangle—an awed one, but a strangle no less. Victor’s mouth drops open. And as for Finn . . . my heart swells when he does not flinch one bit.
All around me, the spiders fall to their knees in reverent bows. “Your Majesty,” they murmur in unison. “Long live the Queen of Diamonds.”
“Dear soldiers,” I tell them, “I commend you for your dedication and hard work. No queen is luckier than I to have such loyalty at her side. I fear my visit is not a pleasurable one, and I am aware I am breaking the accords set forth last year. I have returned as Wonderland is in danger, and I cannot stand back and do nothing.”
A gasp carries throughout the chamber.
“I am here to ask for your help once more.”
“Ask and you shall receive!” is cried over and over again.
“I ask that you continue to guard this tunnel so that when we return, we shall be able to leave safely.”
Cheers rise up.
I crouch down. “My gratitude toward you all overflows.”
A path opens up before us as the spiders scurry to opposite sides of the chamber. I rise up, hold my head up high, and lead my friends out of the arachnids’ sanctuary.
Outside, the air is brisk. It’s nighttime, and the moon is just a sliver in the sky. We’re on the far side of a sleepy town of precariously fat yet tilting brick buildings best known for its treacle production, and most of the residents are undoubtedly snoozing in their beds. Even still, I flip the hood up on my cloak and motion for the rest to follow me. I weave through cobbled side streets lining crooked buildings, ensuring we go nowhere near the heart of the town. There will most likely be a constable on duty; a sleepy one much like his town, but a constable all the same. We stick to the smaller, less-traveled paths until we reach the front of a large, thatched building.
I press my hands against the gray, crumbling walls. The plaster throbs with a heartbeat. Good. I had feared things might have changed. I round the building until I find a small wooden door that I must crouch down so I may knock. A slat slides open, revealing a narrowed pink eye.
“Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie,” I tell it.
“In what particular order?”
“Age first, then alphabetical, and then by temperament.”
A grunt sounds before the slat slides shut. But then a rattle then a creak follows, and the door groans angrily as it swings open.
A spotted rabbit wearing a purple waist coat stands before us, a quarterstaff brandished in his left hand. “Welcome to the Land that Time Forgot.”
I right myself after crawling in through the door, ensuring that I tug my hood down lower. The ceiling soars above us a good story or two high, but I still cannot risk being noticed.
I lower my voice. “Might you direct us to one of your hosts?”
The rabbit snaps to attention. “His Lordship, the most . . . um, grand—no, illustrious of Hares, the, uh, March Hare, is yonder.” The quarterstaff juts toward the left. “His divine master of . . . of . . .” The rabbit h
acks into a paw.
I try not to roll my eyes. “His given name will be enough, Rabbit.”
Gratitude shines in his eyes. “The Dormouse is this way.” The quarterstaff juts to the right. “But he is undoubtedly sleeping. He works hard, my lady. It’s best to leave him be.”
Try telling that to someone who doesn’t know better. “And the Hatter?”
“The most generous, the most, um . . . virile, and, err, talented—no! Manly—”
I cut him off. “Is in which direction?”
His small shoulders slump. “I am not allowed to tell, my lady, under penalty of punishment.”
The March Hare it is, then.
The rabbit swings open another series of doors, which open directly to a set of dark stairs. On our way down, I murmur, “It may be intense down here.” I glance at the trio, a blush stealing up my cheeks. “Well, let’s just say if you act prudish, you will be immediately singled out and forcibly ejected.”
“Where are we?” Mary asks.
“A rave,” I say, although in actuality, it’s more lurid than that.
Once we reach the base of the stairs, I push open the heavy wooden doors and we crash immediately into a wall of throbbing music and throngs of writhing, sweaty bodies. The crowd is thick tonight, in various states of undress, and well on their way to delirium or ecstasy, depending on their evening’s purposes.
Some things never change.
I push through the throng of people and animals of all shapes and sizes, toward a throne situated on the eastern side of the immense floor. Above us, firebugs and glowing nitnot flowers light up the roof, casting moving shadows down upon the dancers. We keep getting stopped to be offered Mindly pills, and I collect a handful to stash in my pockets; one never knows when a Mindly pill will come in handy. Behind me, I note Mary is doing the same as well as collecting bits of any and all other pills the revelers have to offer. Men and women tug at us as we pass by, beckoning us to join in the dance, and it’s utterly tempting. I think back to the last time I danced, with a strange man I’d never met before, and of how I’d secretly wished it was Finn. And here we are, on a dance floor once more, and I’d love to feel his hands on my hips as we sway to the seductive, heavy beats in the air.
The Collectors' Society Page 24
