Pulse trapped in her throat because suddenly nothing made sense, she grabbed his hand. “Why am I here?”
There’d been one other time in her life when words had shifted her reality, and it’d not been magic at all but a tumor the size of a golf ball in her brain. Was she sick again? Stomach revolting with worry she squeezed his fingers.
His jaw clenched. He looked at their clasped hands and she expected him to let go. Hatter sighed and pulled her in for a hug.
Stunned, she didn’t move. It didn’t seem like a kind hug, or even an I-want-to-strip-you-and-make-love-hug. He trembled and she sensed, that much like the snake, power rippled behind the touch and if he wanted to he could hurt her. Maybe he did want to.
A part of Alice wanted to shove him back, make him let her go. His hard fingers bunched into the back of her shirt. But she just couldn’t because this was the man she’d loved her entire life. The man she’d craved since age 13.
“You smell like cinnamon and tea,” she shyly admitted. “My favorites.”
He cleared his throat. “It is time.” Was his voice shaking? Time for what? She wanted to ask, but doubted he’d elaborate as he hadn’t done so yet and, if she’d learned anything in her short life, it was not to ask stupid questions she knew would never get answered. For now, she’d wait and watch.
Alice looked and then blinked, trying to rattle the image loose. Much like the fictional Alice, she was presented with a table, empty, save for the small slices of strawberry-festooned cakes. Each one had a sign in it. One read: Eat Me. The other: Poison. And she couldn’t stop the delighted thrill that zipped down her spine as she recognized one of her favorite scenes from the book.
Nibbling on her lip, she glanced at him. What was she supposed to choose? Alice hadn’t had a choice, so this was kind of different and whole lot confusing. Hatter didn’t move for one or the other and his blank face gave nothing away. There’d be no taking a lead off his cue.
Was he testing her?
She looked around for any sign or clue, but it was pointless. Nothing could or would help her. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the Eat Me slice. Just as she ripped the tip off, the sharp slap of his hand made her drop it. Shocked, she glanced at her stinging hand. “Did you just slap me?”
At least he had the good sense not to deny it. Most people would have said, I didn’t do that, or, that’s not what I meant. “Bad is good. Good is bad.”
Then he tore off two chunks from the Poisoned one and handed it to her.
The white frosting looked delicious, but the cake was green. And not St. Patty’s Day dyed green either. No, this was sitting out on the counter, rotting from humidity, green. She wrinkled her nose as the smell finally smacked her nostrils. Spoiled eggs and ten day old banana peels.
Her stomach soured. “You know, I’m not actually all that hungry.”
He rolled his eyes, popped his into his mouth and before she had a moment to protest, he’d slid hers between her teeth. Reflex forced her to chew, her tongue bursting with the unexpected notes of strawberry cordial.
But the delicious buzz lasted only a second before Alice was slammed with vertigo. The bit of rotten cake revolted in her stomach. She reached out blindly, almost falling as the world slid sideways and her with it. Like looking at fun house mirrors while the walls around her rolled and rolled. She screamed. A firm set of hands clamped onto her waist and then she could breathe, because he felt so real and immovable. Blessedly still. She gulped in air and clung like a baby monkey to its mother’s back.
“Breathe, Alice.” His hands petted her hair, calming the panic laying siege. After a second, trusting herself not to throw up, she opened her eyes.
Either the world had grown, or she’d shrunk. Grass towered around them.
“Come.” He gripped her hand, and she allowed herself to be led, still feeling drunk and wobbly.
He wound a tight path through the emerald forest. Any other time she might have enjoyed it, looked around and absorbed it all. She was finally in Wonderland. But right now she was too tired to care and simply wanted to get to where they were going.
In the distance she spied a teapot with a twilight meadow scene painted on it. As they neared, she noticed a white cottage covered in thorny roses at its center.
He walked up to the teapot. What exactly did he plan to do with that thing? Gah, she hoped that wasn’t his house. While fitting, she had zero desire to curl up on a cold ceramic floor.
Then he did a strange thing. Which was kind of stupid, because was the Hatter capable of doing ‘‘strange?’’ His name sort of implied the fact that he was as bizarre as seeing a man-sized white rabbit swearing at her.
He reached for the red door of the cottage and his hand phased through the teapot like it was little more than a mirage. The door swung open.
She frowned and tapped the teapot, shocked at its solidness. He looked at her and somehow she understood his intention.
“This is your home?” she asked.