“Let the caucus race begin!” one of the guards shouts as the doors slam shut.
The crowd howls as the ramps click open, propelling the balls into play along the twisted run with a sound as loud as thunder. It doesn’t take long to realize why Manti and his opponent feared the addition of the tiny animals. The creatures have the ability to turn themselves wrong-side out and become nothing but teeth. Spatters of red appear on the insides of the orb, smearing as the occupants try to avoid the snapping torture. They’re stuck in a rotary fish tank with furry piranhas.
My netherling sensibility holds me captive, makes me hungry to watch. Each participant tries to stay balanced enough—in spite of being eaten alive and slipping in his own blood—to increase the momentum of his rolling ball and be the first to the end of the run.
Manti’s orb reaches the finish line, and he’s quickly dragged free while the still snapping inside-out puppy—saturated with blood—is shoved back into its box. Two guards help Manti stand, pouring something down his throat from a bottle. The gouges in his skin miraculously heal, leaving no scars.
The lion’s sphere comes to a stop and two other guards drag him free. He’s been gnawed so much, his fur is gone—leaving his whole body a raw gaping wound.
The spectators start to chant: “Take him apart! Show us the heart!”
With a fluid stride, Manti leads the way. The guards drag the unconscious lion fae to a round, deep puddle of water, set into the ground and edged by flat stones.
“Into the pool of fears!” Manti shouts.
The guards dump the lion in. He awakens and flails at the surface, howling in terror as bubbles churn and the water runs red. What’s left of his skin is eaten away by an acidic reaction until something drags him down inside the depths. A few seconds later, a meaty object bobs to the surface. Manti picks it up tenderly and lays it on a gold, satin pillow, showcasing the still-beating heart for all to see.
I should be terrified. Instead, I’m furious. The thought that the queen plans to do the same to Morpheus’s heart triggers a murderous compulsion inside me. Wonderland is violent and bizarre, but charming in its way. AnyElsewhere is a whole new level of cruelty. Bedlam on steroids.
The cheers grow deafening as an exquisite woman strides gracefully onto the scene. Her hair is parted down the middle, one side dark burgundy and the other a fiery crimson. Her dress is at once startling and beautiful, just like her. Red and burgundy ruffles cascade over a black tulle underskirt. It creates the effect of zebra stripes, flaring out to a full, lovely shape that drags on the floor. Pulsing, shimmery red beads the size of lima beans embellish the elbow-length sleeves. But they aren’t beads at all. She’s wearing the hearts of sprites on her sleeves.
Her wings mirror mine: opaque and jeweled. That, with the addition of matching eye patches, glistening skin, and a small gold tiara, leaves no question as to her identity. She might be centuries old, but she looks young enough to be my mom’s sister.
Manti holds up the pillow for Hart and kneels on one knee. “For you, O Majestic One.”
She places a gold crown on his head and takes the heart. Blood drizzles between her fingers as she holds the throbbing organ high.
“Any other challengers feeling lionhearted today?” she asks, her melodious voice a blend of two octaves, as if she were singing a duet with herself. Or maybe it’s her voice combined with Red’s.
I waver in midair, reminded of how Red used me for a mouthpiece a year ago, how it felt to have her vines burrow through my blood veins and manipulate me like a puppet.
“Any of you wish to challenge the king?” the queen taunts once more.
My throat dries. It’s now or never. Grimacing, I slip off my fox mask and drop it. I flap my wings to lift myself above the crowd, high enough to be seen in the lantern lights yet out of reach of any hands or claws.
“I wish to challenge the queen!” I shout.
The Queen of Hearts places her bleeding, macabre prize on the pillow, frowning up at me as she wipes the blood from her hands onto Manti’s white mane. Several of the guards shove aside the spectators below me and aim arrows at my wings.
The burgundy side of the queen’s hair turns crimson, strand by strand. “Weapons down! I command you.” Red’s voice breaks from Hart’s mouth on a gust of air. A vinelike appendage unfurls from the queen’s forearm—a physical manifestation of Red’s possession. The ivy snaps at the guards. “I said weapons down!”
They lower their bows and back up.
“No! I am the one in charge,” Hart shouts, her voice rising an octave. She wrestles Red’s tentacle protrusion, her burgundy locks overtaking once more. “Capture the girl and bring me her life-clock! It is special. It will be the pride of my collection.”
Confused by her command, I beat my wings harder to stay adrift and out of reach.