Ensnared

  The epiphanies and events of the past twenty-four hours start to spin around me. I stumble toward the empty table Dad pointed out and slide into my seat. The netherling customers I saw earlier still haven’t noticed me.

  One is a reptilian creature. The other is monkey-faced and woolly. The lizard looks like a floating head and hands. Queen Red’s memory of Bill the Lizard resurfaces—the details emotionless and distant. The lizard’s body seemed to disappear when his clothes took on the color of leaves around him. It was like his suit was the chameleon instead of him.

  Is this Bill? If so, my kingdom is in more danger than I imagined. Grenadine, Red’s amnesiac stepsister and my temporary stand-in as queen, doesn’t have the royal blood or crown-magic pulsing through her that I do. She’ll be hopelessly lost if the lizard isn’t showering her with ribbon reminders. By getting Bill stuck here, I’ve made things even worse.

  “It’s an optical delusion, just so you know.”

  My attention snaps up to a white, egg-shaped creature standing over me. Parts of his oblong body are studded with colored beads and shimmering ribbon glued in place. He looks like a giant Fabergé egg that escaped from a museum.

  He sets down a glass of water, plops a basket of steaming rolls on the middle of the table, then slides a menu toward me. “My customer you keep gaping at. His suit is hooded and made of simulacrum silk. Comes from enchanted telepathic silkworms. It’s transparent when pulled over other clothes. It connects with the wearer’s mind and reflects their surroundings. Observers are deluded into seeing only the body parts that are bared. Tricky, aye? Comes in handier than you’d think.”

  His yolk-yellow eyes, red nose and wide mouth remind me so much of the egg-man I met in Wonderland, I can’t help but blurt the name. “Humphrey?”

  “Hardly,” comes the sour answer. “Name’s Hubert. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to make a proper acquaintance?”

  Wow. He even sounds like Humphrey. I squint. “Uhhh . . .”

  “Well, are you going to sit there with your brain idling, or are you going to order some fare?” One praying-mantis arm straightens the collar beneath his chin, while the other balances a tray with a pad and pen as he awaits my answer.

  “You’re his brother, aren’t you?” I ask, pushing aside the menu. The yeasty bread smells too good to resist so I grab a roll and sink my teeth in.

  Hubert’s cheeks burn red. “Oh, I see. Since we’re all the same shape and color, we must all be related, right? An egg by any other name and all that rot.”

  “Well, no. Since you work here, and the place is named after him.” I take another bite of my yeasty roll. “Figured it was a family thing.”

  “Firstly,” he snorts, “I’d ask that you not speak with your mouth so full of bread. And secondly, if you’ll take a look at the menu, the inn is called ‘Humphrey’s and Hubert’s.’ Centuries of lazy-tongued patrons shortened it. But it’s right there in print, so see that you don’t.”

  “So you’re business partners.”

  “That would be a were.”

  I wince. “Right. I’m sorry, I just thought—”

  “Psssh. I know all about you and your dastardly thoughts.” He waves his buglike arm. “You’re the one who plugged up the rabbit hole.”

  My own cheeks grow warm as the latest bite of bread forms a doughy lump, almost too big to swallow. “Th-th-that was an accident.”

  “An accident.” The flush of Hubert’s cheeks bleeds into his whole face and body. I worry he might explode, sending his beaded embellishments ricocheting off the cushioned walls and floors like bullets. “An accident like the one that broke Humphrey’s shell and caused him to be exiled to the garden of souls? An accident like that?”

  Thumping the prongs of my fork against the breadbasket, I frown. “Well, yeah. He fell off a wall. And later he tripped over Chessie’s head.”

  “Pushed. He was pushed off that wall. By your great-great-great-grandmother. All so Humphrey would crack atop Rabid White. All so his innards could coddle that little fellow’s flesh. Eat it away so Queen Red could ‘save’ him.”

  I shake my head. “What happened to Rabid was an evil spell . . .”

  “Oh, it was evil. But it was no spell. Our innards are like acid. Unless you possess the curative potion. Which of course Red just happened to have on hand, conveniently.” He huffs. “Why did you think Humphrey was in Sister One’s keep at the cemetery? Simply for his soul? He had so many cracks after falling twice, he could no longer be patched. He was a danger. It’s why everything here is cushioned, so I might not bring the same fate upon my patrons.”

  Hubert’s Fabergé-egg appearance makes sense now. He’s patched himself up. At the first appearance of any crack in his shell, he glues something else in place.

  “But that’s not logical,” I say, all the while knowing things rarely are where Wonderland is concerned. “Red manufacturing an accident just to have Rabid in her pocket? Someone that powerful would’ve had willing subjects left and right.”

  A loud grunt bursts from the pit below. I glance down to see Dad helping his brother to his feet. The other knights gather around Dad and congratulate him. They’re all smiling and laughing, even Uncle Bernie.

  Hubert shoves the menu into my fingertips.

  “You seem to know a lot about what happened with Queen Red,” I stall, glaring up at him.

  He scowls. “I heard it from the source. Your great-great-great-grandmother visited my inn. Her compatriot, Rabid, came with her. He told me his story, how she saved him. But I already knew the truth, because Humphrey had told me that she pushed him.”

  “You’re saying Red came here. To the human realm. Do you mean after she’d been banished from Wonderland?” Even before the question leaves my lips, I know that can’t be right. Red would’ve been wearing her Alice imprint if it had been after her banishment, living the life of a small human girl.

  “She came here while she still ruled,” Hubert corrects. “Long before the Alice brat wormed her way into the rabbit hole and caused all the mayhem and Red’s downfall.”

  My tongue dries. I take a gulp of water. “Why would Red have come to the human realm before the Alice incident?”

  “Are you daft? She visited because she was lonely. Her husband was betraying her. Seemed like she forgot herself after that, along with the kindness her royal parents had once instilled. She even forgot how to make friends of her own kind.”

  Red’s disgruntled and discarded memories shadow my thoughts. Hubert doesn’t know how right he is about her forgetfulness, or how deliberate it was.

  “The only way she could believe someone was loyal,” the egg-man continues, “was if they were indebted to her. Seems that’s the only way anyone in your bloodline can secure devotion. Just as you did by closing up the rabbit hole. Now we’re all dependent on you to open a way back, so we can’t possibly shrink you to bug size and squash you under our shoes as we’d like.”

  Hubert’s voice is shrill and echoing. The lizard creature and his woolly companion snap their gazes to us. The moment they see me, they grimace.

  “I’m nothing like Red,” I growl, surprised at the rage behind the words.

  Although, technically, I did bully the carpet beetle conductor to get my way . . . and I did force my dad to eat a mushroom and ride a butterfly across the world to London. But it was for the greater good.

  I clamp my jaw. “I’m not a tyrant like her. I’m just . . . determined.”

  “As was she. Determined to improve our world. She went so far as to study the humans, as if they’re better than us somehow. Something we should aspire to be.” The egg-man looks over my shoulder. “Those wings aren’t the only proof of your heritage. You’re a traitor, sending us all up river so you could save your petty mortal half. You’re nothing short of a—”

  “Benedict,” I interrupt between clenched teeth.

  Hubert’s eyes narrow—curious and hate-filled.

  “Eggs Benedict.” I point to a picture on
the menu. “Poached eggs. Canadian bacon. Hollandaise sauce and an English muffin. And I’d like a side of fruit.”

  He snatches the menu, then scribbles my order on his pad.

  “Also, for the record,” I add, shifting my attention to the glaring netherling patrons, “I’m here to open the portals and the rabbit hole again. The wraiths misunderstood me and sealed up everything.” I shudder a little at the thought of the nightmarish phantom creatures and their ear-gutting wails. “I’m going to reverse it all. I’m here to make things better.”

  “Of course,” Hubert scoffs. “Just like Red was going to make Wonderland better. But hers was a warped idea of improvement as well. She even took up with a human and started spouting off things better left secret.”

  A strange intuition pecks at my brain. “What human?”

  “His name was Dodgson. Known by most of your kind as that author fellow . . . Lewis Carroll.”

  I press my spine into my chair and stare at Hubert in disbelief. “You’re trying to tell me that Queen Red knew Lewis Carroll. Personally. Before Alice Liddell ever found her way to Wonderland.”

  Hubert’s yellow gaze darkens like dried yolks. “As I heard it, Red put on the glamour of a male professor and befriended Dodgson at some fancy university here in Oxford. They had endless philosophical discussions about a magical realm and where there might be an entrance. Red helped Dodgson come up with a mathematical formula to find the longitude and latitude of the gateway. It’s how Dodgson discovered this inn. Perchance you should question Rabid, seeing as he was a part of it all and is your royal advisor now.” The egg-man purses his mouth and taps his lip. “Oh, wait. He’s stuck in Wonderland, and there isn’t any way there or out, thanks to you. So I guess we’ll never know.”

  He wobbles away on his praying-mantis limbs, leaving my mind reeling.

  I don’t allow guilt to surface this time. I’m too intent on this new development. Hubert’s explanation supports my dad’s claim that Charles knew about the entrance to Wonderland before Alice fell down the rabbit hole. But why would Red plant the possibility of such a place in Charles Dodgson’s mind to begin with? Why would she want him to find Wonderland?

  Dad’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I look up. He’s on the restaurant level. Hubert stands between him and Uncle Bernie. The egg-man jots something on his notepad, taking Dad’s order. The moment the inn’s owner totters to the kitchen, Dad slaps his brother’s back. They part ways, Uncle Bernie returning to the pit and Dad headed toward me.

  Frowning, I spin my fork on the table. Soft candlelight reflects off the prongs as I try to wrap my head around the Charles Dodgson twist.

  “What are you thinking about?” Dad tugs gently on one of my side braids.

  “Nothing.” Until I can make sense of this information, it’s not worth sharing.

  Dad drops into his chair and rubs his thumb over the dimple in his freshly shaved chin, as if debating whether to press the subject.

  “You were amazing out there,” I say to distract him.

  He grins and dabs sweat from his face with his napkin. “It all just came back to me. Like riding a bike.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “The egg-fellow is putting a rush on our meals. We have to leave within the hour.” He casts a side-glance to the netherling guests who are leaving.

  “Okay. What’s the plan?” I slide the basket of bread to Dad.

  He takes a bite of a roll. “It’s the changing of the guards this evening. Bernard is going in. He can assure us safe passage through the infinity mirrors, in case I’m rusty at pinpointing the portal. But we’ll still have to make it through the gate.” The worry lines on his forehead indicate there’s something more.

  “Did Uncle Bernie tell you what happens if we get turned away?” I venture, letting the that we’ll become mutants go unspoken.

  Dad glances down. “He didn’t have to. I remember.”

  I cringe. He’s no doubt witnessed something or someone becoming a looking-glass reject. Skin prickling under my tunic, I slide my half-full glass of water his way.

  Dad takes several sips. “If you’re worried about mutations, that’s only a danger where the passage connects to the tulgey wood. It’s a result of being swallowed then forcibly coughed out of a tulgey’s throat, and is only a danger to those with magic in their blood. Humans are immune.” A troubled furrow crosses his brow as it hits him that the immunity doesn’t apply to me.

  “It’s okay, Dad. “I pat his hand. “We don’t need to take that gate until we leave AnyElsewhere.”

  “And then we’ll be trekking out in reverse, so you’ll be safe.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised at how convoluted the rules are. Nothing about Wonderland is simple.

  “Now, about the gate that bridges the human world.” He taps his fingers on the glass. “It has an eye. My family made a treaty with it, a century ago. The terms are it will let two guards in and two out at each change. Bernard and my cousin Phillip are the two knights going in. They have to smuggle you and me with them. If the gate catches them, it will strike us all dead.”

  My whole body goes rigid. Nice. I’ve not only endangered my loved ones and all of Wonderland’s occupants, but also the uncle I’ve barely known for two hours and a second cousin I’ve never met. It seems senseless. “If the gate is so formidable, why are knights even necessary? Why should any of you put yourself in danger?”

  Dad takes another gulp of water. “There were once two eyes, one that watched whoever went in, and one that kept track of who tried to get out. But the eyes fought for power instead of working together. The one on the outside managed to kill the other, not realizing it would leave a blind spot inside. That’s where we come in. We monitor the looking-glass world for anyone trying to escape.”

  I raise my eyebrows. It’s such a wonder, how humans have been living alongside a magical world for years, yet most have no clue.

  “One last thing,” Dad says. “My brother says that for the first time, there’s someone in AnyElsewhere wielding magic in spite of the iron dome. It’s made changing guards complicated over the past month. They usually switch once every two weeks. But the only contact they’ve had with the knights at the Wonderland gate are messages via their mechanical passenger pigeons. The guards always pack extra supplies as a precaution, but they’re about to run out. Whoever’s wielding this magic, they’re powerful enough to shake up the landscapes and confuse things. Those kinds of theatrics aren’t very popular. The prisoners are angry and jealous. We could be going into a battle zone.”

  My shoulders tense. Even though it’s not the first time I’ve stepped into otherworldly unrest, this news catches me off guard. “I thought I’d be the only one who could use magic.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” Dad drops a crescent-shaped piece of bread into his mouth and chews while unutterable fears move across his face like storm clouds.

  “What if it’s Red?” I blurt.

  “Using her magic? How?”

  “I don’t know. But the timing has to be more than a coincidence. Maybe she’s immune to the iron since technically she’s using the zombie flower’s body.” I shut my eyes against the image. I won’t back down. I’m done running from her, from my destiny and my mistakes. One way or another, her reign of terror is about to come to an end.

  Dad grabs my hand. I open my eyes to find his eyelid twitching.

  “You still haven’t told me why you were in a room on the train with her name etched on a plaque.” His fingers tighten around mine. “I don’t want you stirring up trouble. She’s been dealt justice. She’s where she belongs. We’re going to go in, get Jeb, and go out the Wonderland gate. No interactions with anyone or anything other than that. And for sure no getting sidetracked with revenge or old debts. Okay?”

  The diary on my neck feels as heavy as a brick in spite of its teensy size. There’s more to this mission. We’re rescuing someone else, too. I’m not leaving AnyElsewhere without three things: Morpheus, Jeb, and the total annihilation o
f Red.

  Dad swallows the last of the water. “Allie, give me an answer. We need to be straight with one anoth—”

  A clatter of dishes stops Dad in mid-statement as Hubert sets down our steaming food along with water and a cup of coffee for Dad. The netherling glares at me before starting toward the kitchen.

  “Great tableside manner, Eggbert,” I say, louder than I should.

  Dad grimaces as our host stops mid-step and totters around, his white shell warming to red beneath his beaded bedazzlements.

  “Next I see you”—Hubert points his tray at me—“you’ll either be in a coffin, or be banished from your kingdom for your irresponsible actions. Enjoy your last meal here as the reigning Red Queen, either way.”

  He leaves Dad and me to eat in the abandoned dining room, the metallic clang of swordplay from the pit hanging between us like a razor-sharp death knell.

  While Dad goes with Uncle Bernie to collect weapons and practice a few more fencing moves, I wander the halls in search of Chessie.

  I’m afraid to call his name aloud, considering Hubert’s reaction to me and how so many netherling guests share his prejudice. Instead, I call to Chessie in my mind, hoping I have the ability like Morpheus does. Hoping it’s a netherling talent I can master.

  A door opens and I duck into the shadows. A maid comes out, pushing a cleaning cart. Ski-shaped runners provide momentum in place of wheels, so the cart moves smoothly over the cushioned floor. A combination of ground pepper and cleaning products stings my nostrils as she passes by.

  The maid’s profile reminds me of a bulldog—complete with a flat, wet muzzle that causes her to snort with each breath. Her body resembles a pig’s, aside from her lobster-claw hands. Tufts of fur speckle her greenish cheeks, elbows, and knees from beneath a short-aproned uniform.