The Mad King (The Dark Kings)

by Jovee Winters

  Her voice was soft and patient, but wrinkles marred the corners of her eyes. Alice knew that look, had seen it before. A long time ago. It’d haunted her then; it haunted her still.

  Alice clenched her fists, her anger intensifying the dull ache in her skull, which in turn only wound her nerves tighter.

  A million thoughts buzzed in her head. Was Tabby lying? Trying to make her think she was crazy? She didn’t seem to be. How could she not have heard the woman? Quickly her eyes zoomed toward the case. Empty. Not crazy. She licked her lips and gave a self-effacing chuckle. “Yeah, you got me. I fell asleep.”

  Tabby shook her head. “You know what, sweetie? Let me call Beany. He can come help me finish up. Why don’t you call it a night, go take a bath, drink some wine, and hit the sack? I think that’s what you need. Okay?”

  Alice knew she wasn’t crazy. The woman had been there. As equally sure of that as she was, she also knew trying to convince Tabby of it would only make her seem crazier, not less.

  She pinched her nose. “Yeah, think it’s these heels. Air’s too thin up here.”

  Tabby smiled and walked back to the kitchen. “Leave the keys on the counter. I’ll lock up.”

  Alice undid her apron and tossed it onto the counter, knocking a white business card to the ground. That hadn’t been there before. Frowning, she walked over and picked it up, flipping it back and forth. The only thing on either side was a large picture of a white rabbit with the words Rub me.

  With a shrug, she tucked the card in her bra, set the keys on the counter, and headed to her apartment three blocks away.

  ***

  Steam curled around Alice’s face as she wiggled her pruny toes. She’d have to get out soon, but not yet. Instead, she took a long, slow sip of the tart red wine, studying the card.

  No matter how many times she turned it, nothing changed. The smiling rabbit mocked her.

  “That crazy lady probably left this just to torment me.” Finishing the last of her wine, she set the glass down and got out. It took a second for the room to stop spinning. A silly grin split her face. She felt niiice.

  The tiny blare of her bedroom TV filtered under the crack of the bathroom door. She hated silence, especially because she lived alone. She quickly dried off, grabbed her boy shorts and cami top off the towel rack, and slipped them on.

  She’d not been able to resist the items when she’d spied them at a local boutique shop. The cami had a picture of Alice bent over a table, looking at a plate of cake with a sign that read Eat me.

  She tied her hair back into a messy bun, quickly brushed her teeth, and groaned when red drops plopped into her white sink. Alice reached for toilet paper, dabbing at the nosebleed until it stopped. Stress always worked weird things in her body, and this was not her first nosebleed. It probably wouldn’t be her last either.

  Satisfied she was done bleeding, she tossed the paper in the waste bin, grabbed the card off her washstand, and headed to her room. Which was a good thing, because she was sure the room was spinning. Needing to lie down, she plopped into the tangle of sheets and sighed.

  Every bone in her body throbbed and her muscles burned. But at least they were no longer stiff—the hot water jets had done wonders. Lifting industrial-size mixing bowls all morning was no joke.

  She flipped the card, obsessed beyond reason with why it’d been left there. Stupid that she should care. It was a dumb card. And yet...

  Rub me.

  Really? As simple as that?

  It’s not that she hadn’t considered doing it from the moment she’d seen the card. But honestly, this wasn’t Wonderland. In the real world when someone left a card like this, that person was usually lying in wait until you rubbed the card so he could then howl in laughter at how stupid you were.

  Of course, she was alone now. Her thumb twitched, the obsession intensifying tenfold.

  She laughed. “I can’t believe I’m falling for this.” But her head was a little swimmy, the room slightly out of focus, and she was feeling just crazy enough to give in to insanity.

  She rubbed her thumb across the words and waited. A quickening, like the flutter of moth’s wings, pulsed across her skin. Alice sucked in a deep breath.

  The clocks ticked.

  The fake laughter of news anchors blared through her TV’s tiny speakers.

  She snorted.

  Nothing.

  “You’re such an idiot, Alice. Tabby was right—”

  “You’re late,” a nasally voice said.

  It did not come from the TV.

  Alice screamed and shot straight up. Every nerve in her body tensed for fight or flight. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. At the foot of her bed stood an enormous white rabbit in red livery, blinking huge bunny eyes back at her.

  “No way.” She glanced at the card. It was blank.

  “Come. Come.” He hopped toward the window, gesturing frantically.

  “Whoa.” How much had she had to drink? Two glasses, three maybe? She rubbed her eyes. “You’re not real.”

  He rolled his eyes. “As real as you, I’d reckon. Now come, come.” His hands... paws?... were on the windowsill. He pushed it up, letting in a cool hibiscus-scented breeze.

  “As if.” Oh my gosh, she’d cracked. Her mother was right. Too much Wonderland and sugar had finally rotted her brain.

  “Oy, why must all the Alices be so vexing?” the small voice growled. He hopped back to her. “Come.” He held out his paw.

  She scooted back on her heels, bumping hard into her headboard. “Get away from me. You’re not real. You’re not real.”

  “Bloody hell, Alice, you called and I came. But I must get back to me duchess. So please hurry.”

  She shook her head, denying his words. Not real. White bunnies didn’t swear. Or talk. Yeah, they definitely didn’t do that.

  He hopped up on the bed and her stomach dove to her knees when the mattress caved in. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. This is so not happening.”

  Soft fur touched her bare flesh. She shivered as he grabbed her wrist in a surprising hold, taking her and him both toward the window. She dug in her heels, but he was really strong. All she managed to do was drag her sheets along with her.

  “We’re late...”

  “For a very important date,” she added, giggling with a note of hysteria.

  His eyes crossed. “Yes, well... upsy-daisy now.”

  Then his paws were on her butt and she slammed her hands against the window frame. The crazy thing was trying to shove her through the window. She lived on the eighteenth floor.

  “Hell. To the N-O.” She wiggled, struggling. Her muscles flooded with adrenaline. Fear was a raw, consuming thing. She screamed, crying for help.

  But it was no use.

  With one final grunt from the rabbit, she fell.

  Chapter 3

  Air surged past Alice in a dizzying rush. She threw her hands over her face, stomach tickling as she waited for impact.

  But as the seconds ticked by, she cracked open one eye. She should have hit pavement and been a memory by now.

  “Oh, ah...” Words failed her. She’d expected to see blacktop, looming like a nightmare. Instead... there was dirt. Everywhere. She was in a tunnel of it. Tree roots, gnarled and twisted, reached out toward her like writhing fingers in a haunted house.

  And then the dirt was gone, and suddenly there was nothing but clocks. Masses of them. Thousands. Zooming past in a Dali-esque blur.

  After a few minutes, the tickling in her belly stopped, but still she fell. She huffed, wondering if this hell would ever end. Almost the moment she thought it, she was there. Wherever there was. She slammed her head and shoulders into something hard and cold, groaning at the webbing of pain that exploded in her body upon impact. It knocked her dizzy for a second, and when she opened her eyes, her vision blurred. The scent of crushed grass and sweet-smelling flowers enveloped her in its heady embrace.

  “The Alice girl is here.”

  “Alice? Ye
t again?”

  “Little girl. Little girl.”

  “No, she is a woman, natty old fool. Look at those boobs.”

  The voices were constant, random, and singsong. She shook her head and groaned. “My head.”

  “She’s busted her head. What, what.”

  “Ohhhh,” crooned a teeny voice, “the Hatter won’t like that.”

  She froze at the sound of that name. Where the hell was she? She rubbed her eyes. It took a moment, but when she could finally make out what was before her, she couldn’t believe it. She grabbed her head. Flowers, too many different varieties to count, were looking at her.

  Looking at her!

  She yelped.

  They blinked.

  “She’s as loud as the rest. Truly, dearie, do ye not see ’tis night?” A fluted yellow flower honked at her.

  She had to get home. Maybe she was home? Maybe this was all a dream. A bad, weird dream.

  “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

  The voice was hot and gravelly, rolling over her body like a lover’s touch. She followed the voice and her thighs tingled.

  It was him. Alice swallowed. She’d know the face anywhere. She’d seen it before. A long, long time ago.

  She smiled, so many words on her tongue, none of them able to make it past numb lips.

  It was hard to gauge his height. He was sitting on a chair, a cup of tea in his hand, staring at her with a hard black glare. There was violence and madness burning in that gaze. And something else. Something that made her burn, made her nipples tighten into hard, almost painful buds.

  Last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t looked so foreboding or so sexy. She licked her lips.

  Silvery moonlight made his hair glint with shades of the darkest chocolate. The pressure of his gaze felt like a hot brand.

  Her pulse stuttered. Dreams shouldn’t make her so hot. Needy.

  It hadn’t before. Then again, she’d only been thirteen.

  “You.”

  She bristled, not because of what he said but how he’d said it. A depth of meaning had been conveyed in that one word. Anger, disdain, even hate. Alice held her chin up, but her nails left crescent marks on her palm.

  His nose curled. “Bloody damn fairy,” he spat.

  Alice was so startled she couldn’t even speak. Why the hell was he so angry? What had she done? And who was this fairy? She rubbed the back of her head. Was she dead? Maybe this was hell?

  With his dark hair and sharp brows, Hatter looked more like the devil than the white knight of her youth. The man she’d idolized, the very one she’d credited with saving her life. She could still see it in her mind’s eyes, her body lying weak and pale in the hospital bed, calling out for an imaginary savior. She’d never been more surprised than when he’d answered her...

  But clearly that memory belonged only to her. He didn’t seem to remember her at all.

  His lips thinned and a spark of something hot flashed through his eyes when he set his cup down. On freaking air! It literally hung, suspended as if by strings.

  She’d dreamed of Wonderland many times, but never like this. Never with so much detail. She could smell the wind, and colors she’d never seen in her life dotted the landscape. Vivid didn’t even begin to describe this.

  “Follow me.”

  Was he serious? “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Alice bit the inside her cheek. An owl hooted and she shivered.

  “Fine.” He narrowed his eyes. “Then stay.”

  He got up and she gulped. Though he stood a distance from her still, she knew he towered over her by a good foot. At five foot two, there wasn’t much that didn’t. He turned to go and she clenched her teeth.

  A thwamping sound rang through the sudden stillness of the field, and her pulse thumped. She jerked, glancing over her shoulder. A chilling echo of laughter flitted through the dark silhouette of trees.

  Just a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Thwamp.

  “You’re not really going to just leave me here, are you?” she yelled at his retreating figure.

  He stopped, and even though it was dark, there was enough moonlight to the see the heated glare on his face. “Follow or stay.”

  “Follow or stay. Follow or stay.” She muttered under her breath but rushed to catch up when she heard the next slithering thwamp.

  He wouldn’t look at her and he wouldn’t stop. Alice wanted to kick him. If this was a dream, he’d be nicer. Which meant it wasn’t a dream. But then there was that whole white-rabbit thing.

  Each step they took, the more and more she seethed. One step blurred into the next and the next until she wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, only that it felt like forever and the silent treatment was quickly starting to wear thin.

  “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more polite.” The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. Why the hell did she care?

  He didn’t stop and the field was now no longer a field but rolling hills full of ruts.

  She panted, calves screaming as she gripped her side. Shoes would have been great right about now. Barefoot was so not fun, especially when dirt got between her toes and stones dug into her heels. But she would not stop and she would not beg him to either.

  Since he wouldn’t talk and she couldn’t at this point, it gave her plenty of time to think. Whatever had happened tonight, she was pretty sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  The sights, the smells, the burning pit of anger gnawing at her gut. No, she wasn’t dreaming. And she wasn’t dead. Because she was pretty sure dead people didn’t want to murder someone.

  She eyed the back of his brightly painted, pin-striped suit. What was with the stupid getup anyway? Just how many pocket watches did one man need? She counted at least thirty, and that was on his back! Who did that? All her life she’d been infatuated by the man. Now...

  She rolled her eyes when her heart fluttered at the sight of his broad shoulders. Stupid, traitorous emotions.

  A bead of sweat plopped off the tip of her nose. Annoyed, she wiped her brow. When would this torture end? Where was he taking her?

  “Dammit!” She hissed when she stepped on a twig, its rough edge easily slicing through her heel.

  Alice grabbed hold of a thick tree branch and hopped on one leg as she tried to peer at the bottom of her foot.

  Blood. She growled, swiping at the wet warmth of it. “I could kill him. I will kill him. That bastard. Why am I following him? This is stupid. Stupid, Alice. Why did you rub that card?”

  “Alice!”

  Startled to hear him call out her name, she glanced up. He was looking at her, his face stone cold, but his eyes held a frantic edge to them.

  “Listen to me.”

  She swallowed hard. His tone held a note of “Stay calm and don’t panic.” Never a good sign when someone started a sentence that way.

  A long, sibilant hiss sounded in her ear.

  She froze. Swallowing hard, she turned her face and came eye to eye with the black, beady eyes of a ginormous snake, a snake unlike any she’d seen before. Its forked tongue came to within inches of her nose. And now that she was aware of it, she wondered why the hell she hadn’t noticed the tree sported purple polka dots.

  “Hatter,” she squeaked and slowly dropped her hand.

  Her branch moved.

  “Hatter,” she hissed. She couldn’t take her eyes from the beast, as if looking at it would somehow prevent it from wrapping its thick body around her own. “Help. Me.”

  Strong hands latched onto her shoulders. Her eyes were still wide, and her knees felt locked in place. Hatter pinched her and she jumped, glaring at him.

  “Get behind me,” he said.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Alice stepped into the shelter of his back. Her fingers clenched the edge of his jacket, watching in horror as he lifted out a hand toward the creature’s
broad head.

  “And truly I was afraid.” His deep voice hypnotized her, and she buried her nose in his jacket. “I was most afraid. But even so, honored still more / that he should seek my hospitality / from out of the dark door of the secret earth...”

  There was nothing after that save the stillness of the breeze, the Hatter’s even breaths, and the wild rush of blood in her ears. It seemed an eternity before he turned.

  “He’s gone. Are you okay?” He touched her face, and she hated that his soft touch felt so good.

  “Does it matter? Do you care?” she snapped, jerking her face out of his hand even though that was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to touch him, to remember again the man who’d saved the dying little girl years ago, but she couldn’t forget how he’d been earlier.

  His hand hung in midair for a moment until, with a slow nod, he dropped it. Hatter turned on his heel and started forward again. “Almost there,” he rumbled.

  “Fine,” she said, equal parts wanting to cry and wanting to pick up a rock and throw it at the back of his head. But she did neither; instead, she limped along behind him, her gashed heel stinging every step of the way.

  Moments later, Alice was surrounded by a swarm of dancing fireflies. They zipped in and out through trees, lighting the canopy of leaves with their golden, liquid radiance.

  Hatter stopped. “Stay here.”

  Their rest stop didn’t look like much. There were trees and glowing mushrooms, the spotted, glowing kinds you’d see in cartoons, and in an assortment of colors. A large swarm of fireflies congregated in and around them. She wiggled her toes, wanting to moan at the lush smoothness of soft grass beneath her feet. She needed to sit. Now.

  “Whatever.” She groaned and plopped down. Her feet were a mess, covered in dirt and oozing blood. If there was a time to cry, now would have been perfect for it.

  Instead, she watched Hatter reach out and swipe at one of the bugs. It bounced around in his palm frantically.

  He was saying something. Growling it actually, but she couldn’t hear and really, she didn’t care.

  Mad as a hatter.

  Why had she ever thought that was sexy?