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“So?”
“We have time to formulate a plan,” Arabelle nods. Resolution eases her shoulders back to a natural position, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips. That’s the girl I know. Catching myself about to smile back, I clear my throat and step away, biting the inside of my cheek.
“I know this escalates things, but you are meant to rule. There’s no doubt in my mind about it. Yet, I’m simply a Knave. Your Knave. I will follow whatever instruction you give, but I can’t order you to give it. If you want to plot against the Queen, it has to be your idea. Your plan,” I state and Arabelle finishes the rest.
“And my head on the line, should I fail.” She nods to herself. It’s a harsh reality, but I won’t be caught undoing all the work I’ve put in over the years. Whichever Queen is on the throne holds my life in their hands. I’m a pawn in their royal games. A slave to their command and an accessory on their arm.
Arabelle understands this better than anyone, and although I thought this would be a trial of an entirely different nature, this is the chance to prove herself. Will she have what it takes to be a true warrior or fall at the last hurdle. Will she let her loving bond override her sense of duty? Bringing her hardened stare back to mine, her jaw is set and shoulders are squared.
“I’ll take any head I need to secure the safety of the realm.”
“I know,” I cup her small, tear-stained cheek, “and I can’t wait to watch you do it.”
26
Every time I straighten one of the crooked frames on the wall, another jerks out of place. I sigh, resigning myself that they are just supposed to be lopsided and step back. Chels raises her head from the fluffy bed in the corner of the cupboard, not a stranger to the hattery it would seem.
“Are you actually going to go anywhere, or are you happy staring?” she asks, tucking her head back into her feet. Stan is curled up on her back, sleeping soundlessly.
“Nope. This is exactly where I’m meant to be,” I mutter, glancing over the paintings for the millionth time. I now recognize the nest of feathers as Chels’ cavern, although the long table set for tea still has no visitors. I reach out to straighten the farmyard, picturing the black-haired girl who’s probably mixing all the whole ingredients into Cook’s soup.
“Don’t even think about it,” Chels says without batting those huge eyes in my direction. “Mary Ann must stay where she is. Enough of Wonderlust is out of balance already.” I pout, folding my arms. I’m sure there’s plenty of institute guards and attorneys who said the same about me, but here I am. Our surroundings don’t define us. Then again, a life in hiding isn’t much more glamorous than one in isolation.
Slinking out of the cupboard behind the bookcase, leaving the portals for another time, I drop into the Hatter’s chair and drop my head onto the wood surface of his desk. Chels follows, pushing the cupboard closed with her tail and stretches out her back.
“You’re annoyed they haven’t come looking for you,” she grins, floating to sit on my head like a Russian hat with alopecia.
“No, I’m not!” I shout against the wood, the lie falling flat. Okay fine, yes I am. I’m beyond annoyed. I’m fricking agitated as hell. And worse, starting to doubt myself. It’s easy to inflate my ego when there’s no one around to disprove my awesomeness. But in the cold face of rejection, this time seems to be taking forever. Two days in fact since I appeared at the Hattery to continue my investigation alone. And so far, I’ve found a whole stack of nothing.
Dislodging Chels to lift my head, a newspaper sticks to my cheek and I peel it away. ‘Crazy Carroll Kid Causes College Chaos’spans the header in chunky ink block letters. I chuckle to myself, taking a rare trip down memory lane whilst Chels blinks impatiently for an explanation.
“Every college has that head bitch and her bunch of minions. Mine happened to be the planning committee for the summer ball and decided, due to my attendance, a Wonderland fancy dress theme would be fitting. Thought they could humiliate me, maybe force me to drop out. But I sure showed them – for no Wonderland party is complete without a heavy dose of magic mushrooms in the punch. Funnily enough, I wasn’t the only lunatic then – those virgins went ape-shit, high as kites and made evenmelook sane.”
I shake my head, the smile rooted on my face. The dynamics of high school cliques sure changed that night, and I was on hand to photograph every second of it. Head bitch with her tongue down a math geek’s throat, the vomit he spewed over her just after. Three guesses as to who really dropped out of school and spoiler alert, it wasn’t me.
A siren sounds in the street outside and laughter forgotten, I duck beneath the desk. Not again. I’ve been so careful to creep low, stay out of sight from the Step-Herd Wives when they pass the warped windows. Drawing my knees up to my chest, my trousers I tried to sew for myself stretch, more than a couple of the seams snapping. Chels wafts into the small space, giving me a ‘told-you-so’ look. The pattern was already cut, the sewing machine was collecting dust and I tried my best. What else does she want from me?
Curling into a ball over my bare feet, she purrs and I rest back against the wood. At some point in the near future, I need to assess what I’m doing with my life. Today is not that day. The siren’s outside continue to blare, so loud I’m convinced there’s a speaker on every building. Communication sounds just beneath the noise and I’m certain this time – I’ve been rumbled. Say goodbye to stalking around the Hattery in hopes its long-lost owner will pop out of one of the painted portals.
Stan hops from Chels’ back to the ground, his tiny claws scratching at a wooden panel. I try to shoo him aside from making a right mess of the flooring, my fingers stroking the slight bump to an otherwise smooth surface. Picking him up when he tries to claw my hand, I shove him in my hair and pry the panel back.
A beautifully crafted wooden box provides an assortment of random objects anyone else would throw out. But not Hatter. He saw treasure amongst the trash, keepsakes within the crap. That’s probably why he liked me so much. I pick at a thimble, some paperclips and the torn-away ends of his fingerless gloves. All ten are right here, stashed for safe keeping. Lifting a red ribbon, it unravels to reveal a tooth. A tiny spec of a canine, definitely human and I’m fairly certain it’s mine. The rubble that rains down from the rest of the ribbon confirms it – fyi, the damn rock cakes in this realm are actually made with rocks.
As quickly as it began, the siren cuts off, leaving another noise to frown at. Cheering! I crawl out of my hiding spot, climbing the desk to peer through a circular window. Being on the second story, I’m provided a clear view of the street outside and no one would spot me, unless they were specifically looking for a peeking Tom.
A crowd of animals has assembled, all in their best dressed attire. Frilly frocks, high heels. Huge fascinators fixed between their furry ears and purses clutched in claws and hooves. Straining to see who or what they’re cheering for, I smush my cheek against the glass.
At the far end of the street, where I was washed up and spat out, a row of playing cards with spears waddle forward. Their bodies sway in time, stubby feet stepping in line. Working their way closer, I watch all of the Hearts leading the parade. A whole deck of them, from aces to tens, proceeded by a float.
Smothered with roses, it rolls smoothly up the cobbled street. A stage on off-roading wheels, draped in red and white sashes. Amongst the flowers, painted illustrations fill the gaps, much too dainty to make out from up here. They wind and twist as a comic strip would, take the eye of the beholder on a journey to the tip of the podium. And there she is. Amidst a tall, vertical heart, stands the Queen.
Younger than I remember, her beauty radiates. Flawless creamy skin, vibrant red curls. I’d put her around my age, with a body to die for. Tall and athletic, cinched at the waist by a corseted dress in black and red, split thigh up one side of the skirt. Killer black boots are visible on her dainty feet, her appearance that of a rockstar as opposed to a Queen. But fuck that bitch, for it’s the male at her side that has my undivided attention. The very same one with his arm around the Queen’s waist, his cold green eyes observing the gathered crowd.
Tweed.
My breathing stalls. My chest tightens. I drop low when his face tilts upwards, not missing the keen interest he has in the Hattery. Balling my fists, I slam them down on the wooden desk at my feet. So that’s where he’s been. Probably where they both were the past couple of days. They took my hissy fit at face value and ran back to their precious queens. So much for liking a challenge.
“Chels, I’m free of vamp blood right?” I double check, already jumping down to the floor. The curved smile follows me racing down the stairs, swinging in front of my face as I hit the bottom step.
