Wonder (Insanity Book 5) Read online

  “I was hoping you’d tell me a new Wonderland Monster arrived,” I say.

  She wipes her mouth again, looking a bit tipsy. “Worse.”

  “Really?” the March says.

  “Is this about the chaos on the streets of London?” I say.

  “The chaos is only a handshake with darkness.” Fabiola kicks a man out of his chair and tells him to leave, then pulls the chair over and sits. “Sit down. This new mission is different.”

  I sit. “A scarier Wonderland Monster?”

  “That’s too soon to tell. What we have here is an offer.”

  “An offer? From whom?”

  “From the most vicious killer in history,” Fabiola says. “A murderer. He always arrives in time. Not a tick too soon, and not a tock too late.”

  Chapter 3

  There isn’t much time to digest the sentence Fabiola uttered. The bar’s door flings open. A man and a woman enter. Everyone else leaves immediately.

  The man is tall and has an oval head. Like a cantaloupe. The woman is stocky, short, and mean. There is something wicked about them. Not exactly morbid. But a feeling of inevitability surges through me. Then I realize who they are. Time itself.

  “You think she is the one, Mrs. Tock?” the tall man asks the short woman, as if I am a silent picture on the wall.

  “Could be.” Mrs. Tock knocks her cane on the floor. “Hard to tell. But she’s got that look.”

  “What look exactly?” Mr. Tick says.

  “The look that says, ‘I can’t go back to yesterday because blah blah blah.’”

  I find myself staring at my tattoo.

  “Meet Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock,” Fabiola says, obviously not fond of them. “The two creeps that messed up time in Wonderland.”

  “Pleasure to meet you again, White Queen.” Mr. Tick plays with his hairies. “Sad to see you go from warrior to drunk, though.”

  Fabiola grips the chair tighter, but suppresses her anger.

  “How does it feel to deceive people into thinking you’re an angel in the Vatican?” Mrs. Tock says. “Or, tell you what, let’s skip the subject for now. We’re here for the girl.”

  “Me?” I say.

  “Didn’t Fabiola tell you about the offer?” Mr. Tick says.

  “She was about to.”

  “Let me summarize it for you.” He grabs a seat and sits, tapping his pocket watch. “I’m afraid we have little time.”

  “But you’re time.” March Hare says.

  “Shut up, March,” Mrs. Tock says. “Go play with kids. Or eat your cereal.”

  I’m about to stand up for him when Fabiola grips my hand. I sit back, reluctant to know what’s going on.

  “We have an offer from Black Chess,” Mr. Tick says.

  “So we’re playing with open cards now?” Fabiola says.

  “Why not? The Inklings are ready. So is Black Chess. All in the name of World War Wonderland.”

  “Get to the point,” I demand. “Who in Black Chess sent you?”

  “The big guys, which I’m not going to reveal,” Mr. Tick says. “Trust me. My offer is more tempting than knowing who really runs Black Chess.”

  “I’m listening,” I say.

  “She is feisty, Mr. Tick,” Mrs. Tock remarks.

  “A desirable trait if she really is her,” Mr. Tick says.

  “Cut the crap,” I say. “Why are you here? Talk or leave.”

  “Before we talk, let me ask you a question,” Mr. Tick says, leaning forward. “What do you know about time travel?”

  Chapter 4

  “That’s it.” I stand up. “You better leave now.”

  “Wait, Alice.” Fabiola pulls me back again. “Time travel is real. Not like the Einstein Blackboard, which only sends you back to Wonderland.”

  I sit down.

  “Only Mr. Tick and I,” Mrs. Tock says, “can execute time travel.”

  “Although there are a few conditions that have to present themselves to properly do it,” Mr. Tick says. “But you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Why do I need to worry about it in the first place?”

  “Because of our offer,” Mrs. Tock says. “We want to make you time travel.”

  “What kind of offer is that?” I say.

  “We want to send you to the future,” Mr. Tick says.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “We’re time, darling,” Mrs. Tock says. “We don’t joke.”

  “Ask older people,” Mr. Tick adds. “Or the man who just missed his ride outside.”

  “Or the student who’s going to fail tomorrow’s test because he didn’t respect us, time, enough and ended up sleeping through his classes,” Mrs. Tock says.

  “Or the man who is going to die in” — Mr. Tick stares at his watch — “about three seconds before he ever did what he always wanted to do.”

  “And why?” Mrs. Tock snickers at Mr. Tick.

  “Because he thought that time, us, is on his side.” Mr. Tick high-fives Mrs. Tock. He has to lower his hands though.

  “We get it,” Fabiola says. “Tell us why you want to send Alice to the future. Why would Black Chess openly offer us this? What’s the point?”

  “Didn’t you figure it out yet?” Mrs. Tock sneers.

  “Here is the deal,” Mr. Tick says. “Black Chess will use our services because we have common business interests. They want to send Alice into the future so she can locate what’s left of the Six Impossible Keys.”

  Chapter 5

  “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to send me back in time to know where I hid them?” I ask.

  “And risk the possibility that you may have changed their location in the past twelve years and then forgot about it?” Mr. Tick says.

  “Or better, the possibility of you using them for your own cause while you’re in the past?” Mrs. Tock says.

  “I’m not sure I’m following,” I say.

  “The logic is that in the future, the keys should have been already used, and that either Black Chess or the Inklings has already won the Wonderland Wars,” Mr. Tick says. “Also, there is one other advantage.”

  “Which is?”

  “The rules of time are that you can bring objects back from the future, but not from the past to the future,” Mr. Tick says.

  “Aren’t you time? Change the rules,” I say.

  “We’re actually working for Time. Mr. Time doesn’t want to be known at this time in history. But we have full authority to talk on his behalf,” Mr. Tick says. “So just humor us. We can’t send you into the future without your consent.”

  “So let’s say she follows this loony plan and brings back the keys from the future,” Fabiola says. “Why would Black Chess help us do that?”

  “Black Chess’s problem is the whereabouts of the Six Impossible Keys. Taking them by force from you isn’t the trouble. They believe they are stronger,” Mr. Tick says. “So the idea is bring the keys, have them in your possession, and fight us when we try to take them from you. They’re up to that challenge.”

  If I accept, we’ll have to have a plan to hide the keys immediately. Maybe I can find a way to send a message back to the future. It’s risky.

  “What do you think, Fabiola?” I say.

  “I say no. Because you’re the only one who knows the whereabouts of the keys. Sooner or later, you’ll find them here without their help. They need us. We don’t need them.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know for sure if you’re the Real Alice?” Mr. Tick asks me. “Think of it. All the evidence you gathered from the past could have been given to you. Maybe the sneaky Pillar played you into thinking you were the Real Alice. How do you know he didn’t plant the keys you found in the basement of your house and made you think you’d found them yourself?”

  “I met Lewis Carroll’s ghost in here,” I say. “He told me I’m the Real Alice.”

  “It’s a ghost. An apparition. Who said it can’t be manipulated?” Mr. Tick argues. “But the future never lies. You wi
ll definitely know if you’re the Real Alice by finding all the keys there and knowing what happens to you in the future.”

  “I’m not so keen about my future without my past,” I say. “I think I’ll decline. Please leave now.”

  “She leaves us no choice, Mrs. Tock,” Mr. Tick tells his wife.

  “I hate it when people don’t accept our kindness.” Mrs. Tock shakes her head.

  Suddenly the March Hare stiffens in place, as if electrified by an invisible current. He falls to the floor.

  “We planted this. Cyanide in his milk,” Mr. Tick says. “To wake him up, he needs an antidote. And only we have it.”

  Fabiola reaches for her Vorpal sword, but neither of the two loons flinch.

  “I wouldn’t do that, because the only way to save the March Hare is to go back in time and relieve him from his poison,” Mrs. Tock sneers, all the joy in the world flaming in her eyes. “Cyanide is incurable.”

  “Besides, it’s time that cuts like a knife. Not a Vorpal sword,” Mr. Tick mocks Fabiola. “So please sit down and accept our offer.”

  I stare at their ugly faces without flinching. I muster the look of the unafraid, but my knees are shaking. Not the March Hare. Please don’t kill him.

  “Think of it as a school trip on a bus,” Mr. Tick tells me. “Except you don’t have to kill your classmates this time.”

  “You’ll also get to know Jack’s fate in the future,” Mr. Tick says. “I think you want to know about that.

  “Shut up, you creeps.” I grit my teeth. “Let’s do it. Send me to the future.”

  Chapter 6

  MARGARET KENT’S OFFICE, BRITISH PARLIAMENT, LONDON

  Margaret Kent had her acquaintances gathered around her. The Cheshire, Carolus Ludovicus, and a crew of Red mercenaries. She sat back in her chair, imagining she would be Queen when this was all over. It was simple, really. She would get the keys, chop off the Queen of Hearts’ head, and play football with it in a festive celebration broadcast on live TV.

  But it was a long road to freedom.

  “Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock offered Alice the deal, and she took the bait,” Margaret said. “It’s only hours and the Six Impossible Keys will be ours.”

  “Meow.” The Cheshire moaned happily, still disguised in Jack’s body, which made him look weirder.

  “Don’t meow in my office.” Margaret groaned. “This is Parliament, not a barn.”

  Carolus laughed next to the Cheshire. He had just gotten his Lullaby shot, a sedative that kept him calm enough not to kill anyone, or to look for Lewis Carroll to kill him.

  Margaret actually felt nauseated, having a man looking like Lewis Carroll and another looking like Jack Diamonds in her office. It seemed so wrong, but she didn’t want to give it much thought now.

  “My point is that sending Alice into the future is taking place at the Inklings,” she said. “It’s your job to surround the place, and make sure to get the keys by force when she wakes up.”

  “What if she tries to trick us?” Carolus asked.

  “Then you bring her to me. We’ll torture her until she tells us where the keys are.”

  “Could I volunteer to do the torture?” the Cheshire said. “I’d like to see the look on her face, being tortured by Jack, the love of her life.”

  Margaret smirked. “Nasty idea. Brilliant.”

  “We’ve always been two messed-up individuals,” the Cheshire said.

  “Me too,” Carolus said eagerly.

  “One happy family.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Wait and see how much we’ll want to kill each other when we find the keys.”

  “Meow.” That was Carolus this time.

  Margaret glared at him.

  “You said you don’t want the Cheshire to meow, not me,” Carolus said.

  “Your meow sucks,” the Cheshire said.

  “Yeah?” Carolus said, and stared him in the eyes.

  “Yeah,” the Cheshire retorted. “It lacks cat subtlety.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Something only cats can do,” the Cheshire said.

  “Like grinning?” Carolus grinned, mustering a Lewis Carroll look. Which really irritated Margaret.

  “Your grinning would scare only a child,” the Cheshire argued. “Mine makes a soldier piss in his boots.”

  “You mean a cat piss in his boots. Want to punch me in the face to show me how to grin and meow? Ha!” Carolus began to lose his temper.

  “Seriously,” the Cheshire said. “You’re nothing without a pill thinking it’s a man. You’re a ghost of a man at best.”

  “Girls!” Margaret rapped her hand on the desk.

  “He started it.” Carolus grunted.

  “What?” The Cheshire rolled his eyes. “Is this high school on mushrooms all over again?”

  “You never went to school,” Margaret shouted. “Stop it, and let’s talk about the Inklings.”

  “What about it?” the Cheshire said.

  “I heard rumors it has a secret tunnel you can use to escape,” Margaret said. “So go make sure Alice won’t escape when she wakes up.”

  “Will do,” Carolus said.

  “Aren’t you coming?” the Cheshire asked Margaret.

  “No.” She sat back in her comfortable leather chair, tonguing a pen in her mouth. “I have to tell the Queen about my plan with the keys.”

  “She doesn’t know yet?” Carolus said.

  “Not yet, and there is a reason for it.” Margaret smirked.

  Chapter 7

  SOMEWHERE IN THE FUTURE

  I wake up in a big bed inside a white room with cushiony drapes and modern furniture. I am suffering from a headache. Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock told me it would subside soon. It’s surreal to imagine another version of me lying on a couch a few years ago in the back room in the Inklings, while I am here in the future. All at the same time.

  I straighten up, remembering that the March Hare’s life is at stake. I haven’t had enough time to get to know him, but he reminds of Constance, whom I saved in my first mission. Both are pure children at heart, and all I want to do is hold them tight and protect them.

  But where am I? How many years into the future? And how has the Inklings turned into this beautiful room I am in?

  The headache begins to subside and I get off the bed. This room is big and beautiful. Mostly white.

  I am wearing a white dress. The tiles on the floor are black and white, like a chessboard. Except they’re made of elegant, expensive, shiny material, like I have never seen before.

  There is a window to my right, overlooking a garden. It catches my eye. I can’t help but go look.

  The garden is vast. Endless. Full of lilies and greens. It reminds me of… wait… is that a hedgehog of a rabbit?

  It is.

  No. Not a rabbit. A March Hare.

  I realize the garden is another fabulous replica of Wonderland, probably designed by the March Hare — in the future.

  Does this mean he is alive? Does this mean I will succeed in getting back the keys and saving him?

  Too many ideas roam in my head and stir that headache back again. It’s surreal being in the future. All those possibilities.

  I turn and face the room again.

  I walk to a wardrobe — probably my wardrobe. When I open it, my mouth hangs open. Look at those beautiful shoes. And at those endless, beautiful dresses. All mine? I pick one after the other and take a better look at them. They don’t look my size. A little bigger, belong someone who is a bit chubby.

  Then it occurs to me. I am in the future. I could have gained weight. How old am I?

  I put down the dresses and locate the mirror in the room. A wall mirror. Beautiful as well, with calligraphy on the white frame.

  Standing there and staring at my reflection, I look much different. Not just older. I have gained weight. Not much, but it explains the dresses. God, I have a couple of wrinkles under my eyes. I must be in my early thirties.

  I can’t tell whether th
is is fun or shocking, seeing myself so many years into the future. So I let it go.

  “But wait, Alice,” I say to my reflection. “You live in what looks like a good house. You’re probably rich. Does this mean…?”

  The words are stuck in my mouth. But I think all of this means that the Inklings won. There can’t be another explanation. Whatever the Wonderland Wars are, I’m sure I wouldn’t be living as luxuriously in the future.

  Unless we won.

  “We won!” I raise my hands in the air and shout like a kid with a trophy. “Yeah!” I bend my elbow and wave it in the air, as if I am surrounded by an audience of millions.

  Really? We won?

  I run back to the window and open it. Why isn’t there a soul outside?

  “We won!” I scream out at the garden. “Suck on this, Black Chess.” I jab my finger at no one.

  I am jumping in my room. Left and right. Wondering where my friends are. What happened to them in the future? Fabiola. The March Hare. The Pillar. Where are they?

  And Jack? Is it possible I found a way for Jack to stay in this world?

  All kinds of thoughts weigh down on my shoulders. I can hardly breathe from the excitement. I need to meet someone to get answers.

  I run to the door, hoping to meet whoever is living with me in the house.

  But then I stop. My heart drops to the floor when I hear a voice outside. It’s not a voice of a Wonderland Monster.

  It’s a sweet voice.

  Of a child.

  But it scares the heck out of me.

  Why?

  Because there is a little girl, standing by the door. She is about six years old. She has blond hair, flabby cheeks, and an incredibly amazing smile. She is holding a lollipop. Licking it.

  She looks at me.

  Then she says, “What’s taking you so long, Mum?”

  Chapter 8

  THE PRESENT TIME: BUCKINGHAM PALACE, LONDON

  Margaret stood before the Queen, watching her feed peanuts to her dogs. The Queen awarded them one each, only after they slobbered and licked her feet. The Queen liked the feeling while she drank bone broth of the people whose heads she had chopped off last week. Human bone broth gave her power, like drinking an enemy’s blood from their skulls.