A few kids managed to break the silence, coughing bubbles and flowers from sucking on the hookahs.
Those bubbles weren’t pink. They weren’t blue. They weren’t green.
“Why are the children coughing... red bubbles?” the young reporter asked.
“Silly me. I forgot,” the priest said, stepping back into his flying car and pulling a lever that pumped air into more balloons. “Our Hookah of Hearts, which has already sold more than six million pieces all over the world, well, it’s not just a hookah.” The balloons began to take off again. “This hookah holds a deadly disease like nothing you’ve ever seen.”
Faces began to redden, confused by the man’s continued speech of madness.
Was he joking? Why would the Dodo Corporation send a loon like him to represent them?
“And I repeat”—his smile broadened, too wide to be benevolent—“a deadly virus like nothing you’ve seen before. It should start working in a few hours. Within three days”—the automobile hovered above the ground—“this world as you know it will end.”
What once was silence escalated to ascending grunts of panic. More children kept coughing. Parents worried, watching him escape into the sky. More people in the world couldn’t believe what they were watching on the news.
“Who are you?” a reporter screamed at the floating priest.
“I told you. My name is Lewis Carroll,” he said from high above, looking like someone sweet and colorful in the middle of a never-ending nightmare. “And I am a Wonderland Monster.”
Chapter 1
St Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican
I am waiting in line to enter the confession room so I can talk to Fabiola.
Tens of men and women entered the booth before me, most of them slouched by the weight of whatever truth, or sins, they were about to confess.
But knowing Fabiola—from the few times we’ve met—I’m aware of her positive influence on people.
Until it’s my turn, I fiddle with the key Lewis Carroll gave me three weeks ago when I first met him through the Tom Tower.
I pulled it out of my cell’s wall this morning, fearing it wasn’t safe in there anymore. Not after I stupidly lost another key to the Mad Hatter last week. I messed up. Who knows what this Hatter would do with it.
But this golden key in my hand—Lewis instructed me not to lose it under any circumstances. I plan not to disappoint him.
I’m looking forward to knowing why it’s so important, along with the date scribbled on the walls of my cell in the asylum: January the 14th.
I wonder what happened on that day. If I could only remember why I wrote it on the wall—and if it was me who did it.
An old lady pats me on my shoulder, informing me that it’s my turn.
I stand up, take a deep breath and enter the booth, waiting for Fabiola to slide open the window in between.
In the dark and silence of the booth, I’m reminded of Jack. Silly Jack who would never give up on me.
Silly Jack who may be only a figment of my imagination. A figment so nice I can’t risk finding out he’s not real.
“Are you here for a confession, Alice?” Fabiola asks behind the closed window. I wonder if the White Queen can see through walls.
“No,” I say. “How can I confess what I don’t remember?”
“Trust me.” I hear her fingernails on the wooden frame. “It’s a lot easier than trying to confess what you actually remember.”
I lower my gaze and fiddle with the key, assuming Fabiola’s heard humanity’s darkest secrets between these walls.
“The Pillar lent you his plane to come and see me?” she says.
“Yes. But he doesn’t know what I want to see you about.”
“And what do you want to see me about?”
“Did you hear about me entering a delirious version of Wonderland through the Garden of Cosmic Speculation last week?”
“I did,” Fabiola says. “I too had a vision that I met you inside and showed you the Impossible Six.”
“Lewis, you, the March Hare, Jack, me, and a little girl.”
“If you’re here to ask me about the little girl, I have no answer for you... at least not now.”
“I admit I am curious, but it’s not what I’m here for.”
“Why are you here then, Alice?” Fabiola sounds impatient. I get the feeling she is afraid that talking to me for longer periods will force her to confess too much to me.
The irony.
“I think what I saw was some kind of epiphany, a sign for me to do something,” I say. “I want to gather the Impossible Six and create an opposing force against Black Chess.”
Fabiola slides open the window.
Chapter 2
“You want to stand up to the Queen of Hearts and Black Chess?” Fabiola’s eyes show concern.
“I don’t want to wait for the monster of the week anymore,” I say. “I know about the Circus. How it all started. Black Chess has to be stopped.”
“You know nothing at all, believe me. But it’s admirable that, although you’re not sure if you’re the Real Alice, you want to play the hero’s part.”