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
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.
“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.”