Wonder (Insanity Book 5) (3 page)

“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

M
ARGARET
K
ENT’S
O
FFICE,
B
RITISH
P
ARLIAMENT,
L
ONDON

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

S
OMEWHERE IN THE
F
UTURE

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 this 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

T
HE
P
RESENT
T
IME:
B
UCKINGHAM
P
ALACE,
L
ONDON

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.

“Brilliant plan, Margaret,” the Queen said. “I thought you were dumb. But you turned out to be a little better than that. Rather stupid, which is way better than dumb.”

“Thank you, My Queen.” Margaret wasn’t going to comment. Like always, she sucked in all the humiliation until she got what she wanted. “But that’s not just it.”

“What could you have possibly done better than getting the keys from Alice by sending her to the future?”

“The fact that only I control the aspects of this plan, My Queen.”

The Queen stopped feeding her dogs. She spat out the bone broth at them. The poor pets moaned and lowered their chins to the floor. “What do you mean, Margaret?”

“I mean the keys will be delivered to me, not you, My Queen.” Margaret tried not to snicker or smile. When doing business, a poker face was her mask.

“I’m not sure I heard you well.”

“No, you did,” Margaret said, hands laced before her. “And I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Holy Lords of Wonderland.” The Queen sighed. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“Who said I’m blackmailing you, My Majesty?”

“You said the keys will be delivered only to you, and not to me.”

“That’s right, but it doesn’t mean I will not deliver them to you.”

“I’m paradoxically, nonsensically, unexplainably confused.”

Because you are dumb little thing.
“Why so, My Queen? I will deliver you the keys, under one condition.”

“You
are
blackmailing me.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. Think of it as a small employee in a large company asking for a raise in exchange for the things they do and never take credit for.”

“It’s still blackmail.” The Queen chewed on a nut. “So you want a raise?”

I want to be the queen, but it’s too soon to bring that to the table. “No. I don’t want a raise.”

“It’s Mary Go Round all over again. You’re blackmailing me, but you’re not blackmailing me. You want a raise but you don’t want a raise. A puzzle?”

“Not at all.” Margaret took a single step forward. “I will give you the keys if you give me what I want.”

“Which is?”

“You know what I want.”

The Queen dropped her nut. She finally got it.

“I want what you have taken from me.” Margaret’s eyes moistened, although she’d sworn to hold back her emotions. “I want what made me become your tool for so many years. It’s time you bring it back.”

“You know I don’t want to give that back to you.” The Queen stared at her from top to bottom.

“But it’s mine. Not yours.”

“I believe things are only yours if you have them.” The Queen smiled flatly. “How can they be yours if you don’t?”

“They were mine once.”

“But they aren’t now. See the logic?”

“Then you get no keys.” Margaret collected herself and took a step back. “And you know what I can do with them.”

“I don’t think you know what the keys are for, Margaret,” the Queen said. “And you know I can chop your head off right now.” She glanced at her bowl of bone broth on the table. “How I’d love to drink your brain in that bowl.”

“Suit yourself.” Margaret turned and walked to the door.

“Wait.” Margaret didn’t turn and face the Queen so she’d keep up the tension. “I will give you what you want, but you must know you will be my enemy then.”

“I understand.”

“I hurt my enemies bad, Margaret.”

“I’ve witnessed that.”

“As you wish,” the Queen chirped. “What’s wrong with getting the keys in exchange for this stupid thing you want from me?” she mumbled. “Bring me the keys. You get what you want.”

“Thank you,” Margaret said, and walked out to the hallway, her chin up. She mustered her Duchess face as she dealt with all kinds of businesses.

A few moments later, she took the elevator, waited until she was alone, and began crying her heart out.

Chapter 9

S
OMEWHERE IN THE
F
UTURE

I am standing clueless in the most surreal situation you can imagine, trapped in my future self, and staring at my future daughter. Oh my God, I just noticed her hair is a replica of mine. And her walk reminds of myself. I’m going to cry bubblegum tears right now.

“Mummy, we’re late,” she says. “Have you slept in again?”

I kneel to the floor and open my arms, wanting her to jump into them. Instead, she stares at me, as if I am a loon. Then I realize I don’t even know her name.

“What’s wrong with you, Mummy?” she says. “Did you take your pills?”

“Pills? Huh,” I say, not caring about pills. “How about you come into Mummy’s arms?”