Mad as a Hatter (Sons of Wonderland Book 1) Read online

  “But where would the fun be in that?”

  I shake my head at the grin on his face. He had enjoyed that way too much.

  I take another step, frowning over the exchange. A particularly persistent root rises into the air, catching the heel on my stiletto, and I pitch forward so fast I have no time to catch myself. Before I can hit the ground, White’s arm wraps around me from behind, stopping me inches from face planting. I stare into the eyes of a small flower, it’s petals white and mocking. It smiles at me, razor sharp teeth revealed at its center. A forked tongue flicks out, tasting the air, tasting me. I gulp as White lifts me back up. He lets me gain my footing again before he lets go.

  “Watch your step,” he grunts, his amusement from a few seconds ago gone. “It’s best to step high.”

  “Yep.” My heart is going crazy. If I don’t have a heart attack before this nightmare is over, I’ll consider myself lucky. Not nightmare, I correct myself. This is all somehow real. “Was that one of the talking flowers you mentioned?”

  White glances at the tiny flower, kicking at it with his boot. It snarls in rage, attempting to bite through the hard rubber. White frowns and stomps on it, grinding his toe into the ground. When he steps away, there’s bright red mixed in with the white petals. I cringe and look away, disturbed by the brutality.

  “That one was just a seed. The worst they can do is nip you. It’s the big ones you gotta watch out for.”

  I glance at the bright spot on the dark forest floor one more time before I follow after White, my shoulders tense. We don’t have trouble with any more bugs.

  We finally break through the tree line, a clearing spread before us. In the center, there’s a cute little cottage, vines growing up its walls, smoke coming from the chimney. It’s exactly the kind of house I’d expect the Hatter from the book to have. Which is why I immediately feel suspicious. Nothing is this innocent in the Wonderland I’m coming to know.

  “It’s . . . cute,” I say, staring warily at it.

  “Look closer,” White mutters, his ears twitching in agitation.

  I do as he says, squinting hard until the sight before me begins to shimmer and change. When the true house is revealed in the clearing, I feel my stomach drop out from underneath me. That feeling you have when you’re on a roller coaster and suddenly, you’re free-falling? That’s what I feel when I behold the monstrosity that is the Hatter’s house.

  At first, the cabin had been light colors, pinks and blues and pastels, happy almost. Now, it moves between black and a dark, royal purple, the colors shifting like a dark reflection in water. It’s massive, resembling a castle now more than a cottage. Gargoyles stand guard on the roof, their faces twisted and sneering as I look into their eyes. When one ruffles its wings, I take a step back. The gargoyle doesn’t move again, but its eyes focus on me, the intruder.

  “This is the Hatter’s house?” I ask. Another stupid question, but I have to ask. I’m not sure I want to meet the master of this mansion.

  White nods his head, choosing not to speak. I appreciate the consideration. He knows I’m trying to digest the new information. The place seems in disrepair, desperately needing some TLC. Windows are broken here and there. Some of the stone is worn away in some places, chunks sitting at the base where they fell. There’s a porch at the entryway, but it leans heavily to the side, the boards lifted up and coming unnailed. The harder I look at the house, the worse it appears. I turn my head, and I realize the whole house is crooked, like someone lifted one side the barest hint.

  There’s an aura around it, a dangerous air that makes my skin crawl. I feel threatened, my fight or flight instincts rearing their heads, tussling for control. From inside the house, chilling laughter filters out. I lean a bit more towards flight.

  “Is this like the house from Hansel and Gretel?” I whisper. I don’t know why I do. “Leading children inside, so they can be eaten?”

  White laughs and shakes his head.

  “The witch would be safer than the Hatter. At least with her, you know what to expect.”

  “Then why on Earth are we coming to see him?”

  It doesn’t seem smart to meet up with someone worse than a witch who ate children. Or is that an exaggeration? I’m not sure if I trust White’s word. He could be teasing me for his own amusement.

  “It’s prophesied.” He stares at the front porch.

  As I watch, the door flies open, bright light spilling from the open doorway. A man steps out, a top hat sitting gracefully on his head. He throws his arms wide, a manic smile on his lips.

  “Welcome home, Clara,” he shouts, his voice echoing around the clearing.

  His voice is tinged with barely concealed madness, making my heart skip a beat. I take a step back, my eyes wide.

  Heart attack, here I come.

  Chapter 6

  “Cut it out, Hatter,” White hisses at the man standing on the porch. “There’s no need to freak her out more so.”

  At first, my mind can’t quite comprehend anything but the mad glint in his eyes, the intense ‘back away’ vibes that crawl across my skin. I school my features, refusing to cower before him. For whatever reason, White thinks meeting the Hatter is important, so I’ll just stand here. No one will know my heart is beating a million miles a minute. White’s ears twitch towards me, and I curse under my breath. Maybe White knows my heart is trying to thump out of my chest, after all.

  As I look, really look, at the Hatter, I’m able to see past the insanity and ignore the instinct to run ingrained in me. He’s dangerously attractive, emphasis on dangerous. He wears a pair of black leather pants and a long purple jacket, the end brushing the back of his knees. It’s an old-fashioned style and seems to be velvet, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. After the tablecloth fiasco, I’m not taking anything at face value.

  He isn’t wearing a shirt underneath the jacket. It gives me a nice view of his chest. I can tell he’s muscular but lean, more like a slightly bulked-up runner. The signature top hat is perched on his head, frayed and worn. His maroon hair flops down over his forehead, threatening to hide one golden eye.

  Those glittering eyes are rimmed in coal, and his lips are painted black. His jawline looks like it can cut glass. I’m startled to find him beautiful, a bit entranced with him. He’s not anything like I expected.

  There’s this air about him, dangerous and threatening. White essentially said the same thing. I shouldn’t underestimate the Hatter. There is more to him than I see.

  As I study him, I realize the Hatter hadn’t answered White. Instead, his eyes are fixed on me, seemingly appraising me the same way I have been doing to him. His gaze drops to the still seeping wound on my arm, and his entire demeanor changes. Anger clouds his face as he leaps from the porch, heading right for me. I don’t move as he snatches the injured arm and inspects it closely. Something whispers to me that I’m in no danger. I don’t know if I should listen to it or not.

  “You let her get bitten?” he accuses, glaring at White.

  His grip is like steel around my wrist, but he isn’t hurting me. He’s gentle, taking care not to squeeze too roughly.

  “I put the antidote on it,” White grumbles, annoyance in his words.

  Hatter looks up into my eyes, the gold sparkling as they study me. I open my mouth, intending to say something, anything, to break the intensity, but nothing comes out. There’s a slight tick of his lips, like he’s fighting a smile before he turns and storms towards the house, pulling me behind him. White sighs loudly but follows us.

  I don’t have much time to look around the house as we barrel through the doorway, Hatter dragging me quickly behind him. He jerks me to the left into a gigantic room that looks like its intended purpose is for hosting extravagant parties. So far, I’ve encountered rotten smells, but this room is like a breath of fresh air, the smell of blossoms reaching my nose first. There are giant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the crystals smoky with dust. Vines climb along them, reclaiming them bac
k into nature. The entire room is the same, flowering vines climbing along the walls, trees sprouting from the marble. I’m thankful none of them seem to have faces. It’s as if the plant life has no idea they’re inside a house, taking up space in a ballroom. It gives the entire room an enchanted feeling, like I just stepped into a fairytale. I suppose I actually did, though this one is closer to the grim versions than the modern one.

  Dissecting the ballroom, spanning the entire space, is a long table set with tea pots and dishes. I swallow the giggle that threatens to come up. This is no time to get hysterical. Especially if I’m about to sit down to a tea party with the Mad Hatter like I suspect. We power past dozens of empty chairs, heading for the far end of the room. My heels clack double time on the vine-covered tiles, barely keeping me upright. I lose my footing several times only for the Hatter to tug and steady me again. If I wasn’t so far outside my element, I might have been annoyed.

  As we near the seat at the head of the table, I begin to notice we aren’t alone. Sitting in a few of the chairs close to the end are creatures the likes I have never seen before. There is a man with antlers growing from his head, flowers blooming from them like a tree. He wears no shirt, and he looks at me as I’m dragged past, a peaceful smile on his face. Another creature appears more like a pig than a person, but she sits upright, and wears pearls more elegantly than I could ever pull off. There is one other person at the table, a woman with great curling horns. When she looks at me and smiles, I realize her eyes are slit like a goat. She opens her mouth as she waves, a bleat coming out instead of words. I take this all in remarkably well. This is Wonderland, after all, and following the encounters I have already had, this is a cakewalk. Odd people and creatures are to be expected.

  I’m dead certain I’m not dreaming now. I’m not creative enough to make this stuff up.

  Hatter stops at the end of the table and pulls out the first chair, gesturing for me to sit. I take the seat gratefully. As soon as I scoot in, I slip off my heels under the table. No one will know, but I’m not wearing the blistering things a moment longer. I’m pretty sure my feet are bleeding at this point. They aren’t made for falling down a rabbit’s inter-dimensional portal and trekking through a forest.

  The Hatter takes the head chair. As he sits down, he throws his jacket tails behind him with more flair than I could manage on a good day. He looks out over the table.

  White trails in behind us, clearly exasperated. He watches as the Hatter lifts lids on the teapots and checks their contents.

  “I told you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I gave her the antidote.”

  The Hatter chooses a black teapot with a picture of a skull on the side and begins pouring the liquid into a delicate mint green teacup.

  “The antidote for what?” I ask, finding my voice. It’s the first time I’ve spoken in front of the Hatter, and he tenses.

  He looks up at me, his hands still pouring the tea, like it’s second nature by now. I suppose it should be. He must have poured thousands of teapots.

  “You were bitten by a Beezle,” he informs me, his honey voice sliding along my bones and waking me up in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. “They inject a poison when they bite. For all intents and purposes, you should be dead.” A manic gleam enters his eyes, his head tilting to the side. “Or perhaps, you’re already dead. You’re sitting at my table, after all.”

  “She’s alive,” White interjects, purposely staying back away from the table. I look at him in worry, wondering if I’m doing something I’m not supposed to. Had there been a rule about not sitting at the Hatter’s table?

  “Would serve me right,” the Hatter mutters. “Would serve me right, yes it would.”

  “Hatter,” a voice calls from the doorway. “We have another arrival.”

  I study the man speaking from the doorway, realizing with amusement that he has mouse ears on his head and a tail peeking from behind him. The ears look pretty rough, chunks missing from both and a piercing here and there randomly. They don’t seem to follow the pattern most piercings do, sparkling everywhere besides the rim of his ear. He’s dressed in a fancy suit, though it’s dirty and ill-kept. Must be the Dormouse, I think. The Dormouse is always with the Hatter in the books.

  Then my attention shifts to the man that strides in after the Dormouse. There’s a rattle, and I look at Hatter just in time to see his face fall, sadness creeping across his expression. I have the sudden urge to take his hand. I have to physically curl my fingers into the material at my lap to stop the urge.

  The newcomer walks down the table and takes a seat directly across from me. He’s beautiful and golden, though older by far than any Wonderland inhabitant I have seen so far. His hair is a brilliant blond with streaks of grey just starting to take over. His face is kind as he looks at the Hatter, a smile on his lips. I get a sense of peace from him, the same as I had gotten from the other guests. There is a crown atop his head, a simple gold band, pretty but masculine.

  “Welcome to the tea party, your majesty,” The Hatter says sadly.

  The man nods and lifts a teacup, taking a sip before sighing deeply.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve had good tea,” he groans, his eyes closing in pleasure. I get this sudden feeling of hopelessness from the man—king?—as he savors the drink. It passes quickly, more like a residual speck of his prior feelings.

  Hatter turns his eyes back on me, and the emotions switch instantly from sadness to delight.

  “Won’t you have some tea, Clara Bee?”

  “Uh, White told me not to take tea from anyone,” I reply hesitantly, my eyes jumping from White to Hatter.

  The Hatter suddenly slams his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. The other guests don’t react, drinking their tea lazily, but I damn near jump out of my chair, my heart skipping a beat in my chest. My eyes are wide as I lean away from the Hatter. My hands clench the sides of the chair hard.

  “I said drink the tea!” Hatter shouts, angry. His face softens when he sees how tense I am. “Please,” he adds, cringing.

  He holds the cup out to me. I look at White again. I don’t exactly trust him—he had tricked me, after all–but he seems to want me alive. He nods his head in encouragement, unaffected by the Hatter’s outburst.

  “Hatter won’t hurt you,” he says, his ears twitching. I’m not sure if that’s a sign of agitation or nervousness.

  I turn my gaze back on the Hatter, still holding the teacup out towards me, his hands barely shaking. He’s slightly smiling, the corner of his lip twitching.

  “Please,” he says again, and I find myself reaching forward to take the cup from him. I realize my own hand is shaking when a bit of the tea splashes onto the table.

  “So, I can trust you?” I ask, hesitantly.

  His eyes sparkle as the smile spreads across his face.

  “No,” he says. “Trust no one in Wonderland. Not even yourself.”

  Chapter 7

  I take the tea cup with trembling fingers, making sure not to spill any more as I set it in front of me. Remembering the last cup of tea I almost drank, I pick up a spoon and swirl it in the lavender liquid. Nothing. No steam or answering sizzle. I set the spoon back down on the table and pick up the cup again.

  “Good.” The Hatter nods. “You’re learning already.” He tilts his head to the side. “A smart Clara Bee, you are,” he sings.

  I lift the cup to my lips and take a hesitant sip. I close my eyes as the flavor hits my tongue. I’m pretty sure I moan as the taste of ambrosia floods my mouth. My whole body warms. I have no idea what it is I’m drinking, but it certainly can’t be tea. I’ve never had anything like it. Tilting my head back, I down the entire teacup before placing it back on the saucer it came from. My head feels a bit fuzzy, the tips of my fingers tingling.

  I open my eyes slowly, feeling like I’m coming down from a high; my vision is even blurry. I’d had the same feeling once when I tried some sort of pill in my college days. Ironically enough, m
y friend had said it was called Wonderland. What are the odds? When my vision clears, I stifle a squeak when the Hatter’s face comes into view. He must have moved when I was drinking the tea. Either he’s a ninja, or I was so absorbed with the tea, I didn’t hear him move. Now, he crouches beside me, his face level with mine, as he looks at me with wonder in his eyes. There’s something else there, too. A heat I can feel, the same heat answering in my own body. I shift uncomfortably, staring into the Hatter’s golden eyes.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve had tea with the living,” he whispers. “I forgot, I forgot.”

  Hatter leans forward, his hand coming up towards my face. It’s the first time I notice his nails are painted black. Normally, the detail wouldn’t do anything for me besides thinking the man is high maintenance. On him though, it fits his personality, and I find I like it. His fingers touch the corner of my lips, tickling with the slight touch. When he pulls his hand away, there’s a bead of moisture on the tip of his finger, a bit of tea that had clung. As I watch him, he sticks the finger in his mouth and sucks it off, his eyes locked with mine. He pops it free and smiles.

  “If it was up to me, Ms. Clara Bee would sit forever and sip my tea,” he sings softly. “Ms. Clara Bee.”

  I watch him, weirdly enthralled. There is something calling to me, begging to be acknowledged. I find myself leaning slightly towards him, like he’s pulling me into his gravity. It’s a pleasant feeling, like I’m meant to be there.

  “What was in the tea?” My voice is husky, and I cough to try and cover up the fact it’s because of the Hatter.

  He smiles wickedly.

  “Poison.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. Had I been tricked? Was this all some ruse to get me here and kill me?

  “What?”

  “The anti-venom for the Beezle,” he says. “It’s made with its poison.” He looks at me thoughtfully. “Clara Bee will live to see another day to spend with me.” Singing, again. I’m beginning to see a pattern.