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“Shall we?” I ask rhetorically, already placing her hand in the crook of my freshly inked arm. The Mocking Turtle may be Wonderlust’s most notorious gangster, but he’s also one hell of a tattooist. Slow and steady, a true master of his craft. He’s still packing his kit away in my suite, moving at a snail’s pace but his emergency trip had been necessary. Whatever work he completes on my brother, he’s rewarded double to replicate on me.
Lillianna’s eyes trail the newest addition of a snake amongst the shaded roses, a metaphor I’m certain. Her pink tongue pokes out to wet her lips as we walk through the club, her anticipation palpable.
From Jubjub-birdseye view, the layout of this building is creatively a giant spade. The entrance creates a box stem, the laid-back bar and lounge splayed before the stage filling the center while the matching hallways either side round the edge of the structure, curving towards its point. Turning down the corridor opposite ‘Fantasy Walk’ Lillianna and I walk to her favorite addition to the club. The one she insisted was installed first. ‘Evasion.’
Suede wallpaper lines either side, aiding the backdrop for the same leather armchair and tarnished coffee table to be repeated every few feet. Upon the mahogany surfaces, vials of luminescent liquids and bitesize cakes which never spoil sit at the ready, waiting patiently to take the consumer on a trip they won’t remember or forget. There’s only one doorway at the end of this hallway, a nondescript dungeon door complete with peekaboo grate. Makes me feel right at home each time I press my palm against the metal.
“Ladies first,” I taunt, opening the door for Lillianna. She nods her head before returning to her full five foot nine and enters with her back ramrod straight. Good girl.
Closing us in the darkness, my trained ears pick up on her shuffling out of her lengthy boots and the clasps popping free of her corset. I can hear the shift of her movements so acutely; I can practically see her through the swarming nothingness. Her cinched, slender waist below full breasts, the flare of her hips and smoothness of her cream legs. Maybe I’m relying on memory for the most part but as my eyes begin to glow in my head, she’s drawn to me. Like a moth to the flame, mesmerized swirling in my irises.
“Free your mind,” I beckon her, cupping the sides of her face. Together, we lower onto our knees, drowning in a forgotten part of Wonderlust where no one dares come looking for uninvited. Drifting into the emerald sea of my eyes, Lillianna’s shoulders sag as her inhibitions float away on a long sigh.
“My spies have returned from the Red Castle. The butterfly has awoken, the prophecy…has begun,” Lillianna sighs again. Her golden eyes never waver, resisting the urge to blink as I draw all of her truths from her blackened lips.
“Continue,” I summon, ensnaring her in the trap of my hypnosis. Not that this isn’t exactly where Lillianna wants to be. To relieve herself of all trauma and woes that have brought us to sitting on the floor of a self-made dungeon. Evasion doesn’t need an elaborate backdrop or to tap into one’s deepest desires like Fantasy Walk, for this room isn’t about sexual release. It’s a mental one.
“Alice must return, aided by both Tweddles, to finish what was begun all those years ago. Arabelle intends for her champion to capture the girl, to break her will, but we can’t let that happen. For the good of Wonderlust, you must recover her first. Bring her to the Black Castle, help me salvage our future. Alas, he is already on his way to retrieve you.”
“Hush now,” I breathe, tethering her onto the hook of my swirling irises and dragging her into their glowing, seaweed depths. “Feel your qualms floating away on the feathered wings of a raven. Permit me to carry your burdens, my Queen.”
The moment I sense her completely relax in my hold, I twist her head aside and drive my fangs into the base of her neck. She doesn’t startle, doesn’t even whimper as the hypnosis takes hold and the sweetened taste of her blood skates across my senses. I feel her everywhere, my hyperawareness igniting with the living entity pouring into my veins.
Retracting my teeth, I hang my head there, inhaling the coopery scent radiating from her smooth skin. It glistens in the reflection of my eyes, dripping in a thick trail towards the valley of her cleavage before my tongue halts its slick path. Free from tainted thoughts, empty of her human affliction to carry unnecessary weight, the purity of her blood sings to me. Beckons me to consume every drop the puncture is willing to offer. There’s nothing sweeter than the taste of complete submission.
Time fades into the background, my host remaining frozen for as long as I suck on and mark her. My own desire is as intoxicating as hers, the addictive pull dragging on our session until I know I can’t take anymore. Not if I want her to continue living. Salivating for one last taste, on a strangled mutter I make it my own. Biting into the flesh of my wrist is the quickest way to bring me back to my senses, the congealed bitter taste washing away all haze of euphoria. Smearing the orange liquid over her lips, I will Lillianna to come back to the present by withdrawing the glow of my eyes.
An earthquake rocks through the room, causing the limp chain hanging over the dungeon door for aesthetic to rattle. Lillianna clings onto me, her hands around my biceps uninvited and drawing a growl from my throat. Catching myself, I pass it off as a cough and pat her on the shoulder. It’s never a good idea to grip me in the visceral aftermath of an Evasion session, when the blood pumping around my system is not my own and I’m craving to put her back under my trance and tear the carotid from her throat.
“Was that us?” Lillianna breaths and I raise her to her feet.
“No, your majesty.” I scent the air drifting under the doorway. Burning wood and thickened ash. “I dare say, my dear brother has arrived.”
11
What was it Cash said? Lust is currency in this version of Wonderland? Well, if that’s the case, I shrug one shoulder out of my robe and put on my best catwalk strut all the way down the graveled hill towards the rows of buildings below. Stan clings onto the side of my scalp, his claws slotting into the gashes he left previously.
Reaching the edge of the odd town, the curved smile guiding my way fades from view and I step over the threshold. The air is stale here, still overshadowed by thick grey clouds that don’t seem to shift. At least there’s no sign of the Jabbercocky anymore. For that matter - there’s no sign of anyone. Guess my sexy strut was for nothing.
Lined in a grid of cobbled streets, each brightly colored building is leaning on the next like dominos. Those on the ends are defying gravity, threatening to topple as I pass underneath. Windows tilt inwards at angles as if the tiny shops are crumpling in on themselves, the doors in a range of sizes.
A clothing rail catches my eye and I rush over. Grabbing a dress from the hanger, I strip from the robe and drag it straight on. I get stuck halfway, leaving my ass on full display to the empty town until I manage to wiggle the satin down my body.
Black covers my breasts with a sweetheart neckline, above an orange corset wrapped with black strings that I pull super tight. The skirt is full, like that of a ballgown in black and orange stripes. Matching with the buttons alongside the corset, a gold octopus brooch adorns where the puffy short sleeves meet the bust. The hanger also provides netted black gloves, a small top hat and pair of clunky ankle boots to complete the look.
Spinning in the window’s reflection, I curtsey to myself, surprised how much I love the garment. Especially when it wasmychoice and not being forced upon me by a stranger. Smiling to myself, my eyes focus beyond the glass to the front display and my stomach rolls. ‘The Alice Special’ stands tall on a mannequin with blonde hair and blue eyes, a replica of the outfit Cash provided me with secured to its fabric torso. Oh hell no.
Fully intent on stomping inside and ripping it free of from the doppelgänger, I halt in the doorway after spying the entire store is filled with similar dresses in all sizes and curse under my breath. Burning the establishment to the ground it is then. Looking for a source of kindling, I’m drawn further into the empty street. The ‘Sugar Candy’ store stands out in bright pink, a slogan hanging above the entrance boasting that every item of clothing is edible and all other thoughts are forgotten.
“Hello?” I call out, stepping inside. No one answers so I shrug, donning a thong made of strawberry laces with conversational hearts on either hip. Yanking it on beneath the heavy skirts I’ve chosen, I then opt for a candy necklace to finish the look and provide a snack for later. Wrapping the necklace around my throat, I ruffle out my blonde hair and give Stan a little stroke. Beyond a table of Haribo pajamas and sherbet handbags, I pose in a full-length mirror by the dressing rooms. Yeah, I’d do me.
Nothing like a bit of retail therapy to reset my mood, I think and return to moseying around. Back in the high street, crooked windows of the ‘Space Café’ show furniture floating around inside. Chairs, tables, tea pots and even the cash register. Suppose there is a real type of currency after all. The toot of a horn catches my ear and in the next alley, the weirdest pet shop I’ve ever seen presents itself.
A full-sized otter in an apron strolls around, dusting empty cages while humming between her twitchy whiskers. Her tail sweeps the floor behind her as she goes, not noticing me entering until that same horn with eyes over the door blares to life again.
“Look, I’ve already told you. We’re all out of humans until-” the otter begins, turning her large brown eyes on me. Dropping her duster on the wood planks, she takes a webbed footstep towards me and then halts. “Wait. It’s you. You’re…”
“Malice,” I supply for her, flicking my hair over my shoulder with a wink. Never was there a better time for a reinvention. Instead of approaching me with grabby claws that make me think she was preparing to shove me into the nearest cage, she retreats to the countertop and disappears behind it. Tracing her steps, I peer at the wooden slats, tapping them with my foot in search of where she went. Just then, an alarm rockets through the town, almost as loud as the Jabbercocky’s scream. Something tells me that’s not good, and probably about me. Tearing into the streets, I twist each way, spying the forest up on the hill.
