Page 74 of Wondrous

“What!” I said. “Cats are the vainest creatures in the world. You all think you’re magnificent—don’t try to deny it.”

“I shall deny it all I like,” the Cat said. “Cats do not think we are magnificent; we know it as a fact of nature. Therefore we have no need to check on ourselves. All vanity is, in fact, is a lack of self-assurance.”

“So you haven’t come here to be useful at all, then.”

“Useful is another quality cats never bother with,” the Cat said. Now, we both knew this as a lie, but I would not stoop to argue about it. It was clear that the Cat—and I suspected all cats—took his uselessness to humans as a point of pride. Noting that he had bent his principles in my case would be as impolite as noting when the Hatter had been forced to skimp on the marzipan in his tea cakes, owing to a shortage in the larder.

I gently shook Jack’s shoulder. “Jack?”

Ridiculously dark eyelashes fluttered open, revealing ridiculously purple eyes. I was mostly used to the way he looked now, both versions of him, and no longer blushed whenever we were close.

Although, just because I was used to how he looked didn’t mean it wasn’t nice.

“Alice!” he said, sitting up and smiling as if we hadn’t seen each other in days. “Do you need anything?”

I laughed, and now I was blushing, because it was more difficult to contain when he smiled at me. “You know, you don’t have to be my sidekick anymore. We’re not even on an adventure. Not yet, anyway,” I amended. Once we’d rescued the Alices, Jack and I were planning to set off again with the Traveling Tea Shop, with Jack as my assistant. His true role would be closer to that of a guard; I’d be far safer from monsters in Jack’s company, and could venture deeper into Wonderland than I’d ever thought possible. Jack, with an overabundance of enthusiasm, had even been offering business advice, though this had revolved largely around putting chocolate into every baked good, even such unlikely candidates as cheese-and-potato scones. He had utterly failed to learn anything from his previous misadventure with chocolate and was now obsessed with it.

“Maybe you’re not on an adventure,” he said. “But all of this is an adventure to me. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I like being your sidekick.”

I realized he was blushing, which made me blush harder, and it was just a vicious cycle of blushes. I turned to find Alex and Maria rolling their eyes. Alex seemed to be imitating the way I was holding my hand to my cheek, batting her eyes dramatically at Maria.

Fortunately, the Mad Hatter bustled up to us at that moment, oblivious, and exclaimed, “Tea’s nearly ready!” because the Hatter liked to announce his progress with the tea at regular intervals.

“There will be seven places at the table today,” he said happily. “Or eight, if your friend shows up. And it is all of our unbirthdays! What are the odds?”

“That’s excellent news,” I said, relieved by the distraction. “I’m sure we’re all looking forward to celebrating.”

The Hatter leaned forward. “I haven’t dared ask them, though.”

I followed his gaze to the Tulgey Wood. A large shape shifted behind the nearest tree, and from behind another came an unmistakable burble. Jack’s relatives—his father and, apparently, two of his aunts—had arrived earlier that day as invited guests. As I had promised Jack that he would meet my relatives one day, if I could convince Edith and Tansy, he seemed to think it fitting that I should meet his. The jabberwocks, though, preferred keeping to the shadows and so would take their tea in the Tulgey Wood rather than at our table. I couldn’t say I was upset about this. They were all much larger than Jack, and I had caught a glimpse of one of their shadows. I was almost certain it had tentacles, and lots of them.

As a Queen of Wonderland, I had issued a decree against killing jabberwocks. I wasn’t entirely sure what the effect of this would be, and to tell the complete truth, I’d had mixed feelings about the whole business after Jack’s relatives had turned up, but Jack had been grateful and seemed confident that jabberwocks would be at least somewhat safer from bloodthirsty heroes. They would still need to be careful of the knights of the White Queen, who had issued no such decree, but everyone else, it seemed, would be warier of that sort of trophy hunting now that they knew one of their queens saw nothing heroic in it at all.

“The jabberwocks don’t celebrate birthdays,” I told the Hatter in a reassuring tone. “So, logically, it can only be their unbirthdays, too.”

There was nothing particularly logical about this, but naturally the Hatter couldn’t tell the difference, and he beamed at me. He bustled off again, though not before giving Jack a little bow. The Mad Hatter had been afraid of Jack at first, spilling milk all over him during our disastrous first tea party together. After a while, though, his attitude shifted, and he began to talk about how he was likely the first person in Wonderland to serve tea to a jabberwock, and wasn’t it something that the jabberwock had chosen his tea parties and his company, out of all the available options? Jack had been welcomed warmly to the Hatter’s parties after that, though he still refused to sleep inside, preferring to sleep in a tree.

The Hare’s reaction had been more mysterious. With a solemn expression on his face, he had listened to my tale of how I had transformed Jack into a boy. After I finished, he had given me a lecture about how I should never again transform people into different creatures, especially against their will, his manner so stern I almost didn’t recognize him. He had been a little chilly to me afterward, but this wore off after a few days, and we were friends again.

I beckoned Jack over to the mirror. “Can you tell us more about how the mirrors work?”

“You know how they work,” he said. “You pulled Alex and Maria through, didn’t you? Just think about the person you want, or the place—either one will do.”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “I mean, can you alter the magic in the mirror? Can you make a door to more than one place?”

He frowned and tapped one long finger against the glass. “What magic?”

“The magic in the mirror, of course,” Alex said.

“Oh, I see.” Jack turned to me with an apologetic frown. “Someone has swindled you, Alice. This mirror isn’t magic.”

“But—but isn’t it a two-way mirror?” I demanded.

“Of course,” he said. “What other kind is there? But there’s no enchantment on it that I can sense.”

“What other kind?” Maria repeated as we all stared at him. “Most mirrors are one-way, of course. It shows you a reflection, and that’s it.”

“A one-way mirror?” Now it was his turn to stare at us. “But who would bother with that? One-way’s nearly useless.”