Page 14 of Locked in Wonderland

Around me, groups chatted and laughed as they drifted between venues. It felt like everyone else knew exactly what they were doing except me.

A man with platinum-blond hair appeared in the distance, visible for only a few seconds before disappearing into the crowd.

Same color hair as Warren’s.

I headed after him, shoving past people when they refused to move. Someone called, “Hey, watch it” in an offended tone, but I ignored them, focused on catching another glimpse of the man.

It probably wasn’t him.

What were the chances?

Then I saw him again, and this time I was almost certain.

“Warren,” I shouted.

The hum of singing and excited conversation swallowed the name. I pushed harder through the crowd, catching one last glimpse of him before he disappeared into House of Hearts. Well, I guess I had my starting point. And unless my eyes had deceived me, luck had decided my first destination would also be my last. I’d grab Warren and get the hell out of here. Away from what had already proved to be a deeply unsettling experience.

The entrance hall of House of Hearts was black. Black walls. Black carpet. Black furniture. The few spotlights embedded in the ceiling did little to fight the gloom. I squinted into the darkness, heading toward the only door I could make out. Black, of course. No sign. No markings. Nothing.

“Ticket?”

I turned toward the voice. A man stood behind a black desk. He wore a formal suit—which wasn’t strange—and a pair of mouse ears, which definitely were.

“I don’t have one.”

“I think you’ll find you do. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you didn’t.” He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer.

I cast a longing look toward the door, keenly aware of the trail growing cold, before obeying. Up close, the mouse ears looked even more ridiculous, ruining what would otherwise have been an attractive package. I didn’t know what that made me. Mouse-ist, perhaps.

“I don’t have a ticket,” I repeated. “I’m not here to stay. I’m trying to find someone, and I’m pretty sure he came in here. I just want to take a quick look around, grab him, and leave.”

The man threw his head back and laughed, his mouse ears slipping sideways an inch.

My fingers curled into fists. “What’s funny about that?”

“People spend days here. Weeks, sometimes.” His grin widened. “House of Hearts isn’t the kind of place you take a quick look around.”

“Weeks?” My gaze flicked back to the door. “What’s so great about it that people don’t want to leave?”

“You’ll find out when you show me your ticket.”

“I don’t have a—”

“Everyone has a ticket,” he interrupted smoothly. “Either they carry a paper one, or they’ve been through processing.”

I seized on the first thing that made sense. “Right. Processing. They processed me, but they didn’t give me a ticket.”

“No?” He frowned. “That would be highly irregular.” He leaned forward over the desk, peering at the left side of my neck and then readjusting slightly so he could check the other side. “No tattoos at all?”

“A tattoo isn’t a ticket.”

He stared at me. “In this place, it is.”

“You could’ve just said that.” I grabbed the neck of the ridiculous leather vest and pulled it to the side, far enough that it exposed the bird tattoo.

His expression shifted immediately. “Well,” he murmured. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“Is it?”