A Dream So Dark

by L. L. McKinney

  She glanced over her shoulder, meeting a gaze identical to her own. Alice stared at herself, rather a reflection, a perfect copy, save for the massive, flowing white dress caught in the breeze. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

  “Why not?” Alice asked once she pulled her attention away from following the beading around the bodice. Something about the glint in the jewels tugged at her.

  “You know why.” Reflection-Alice looked out over the chasm. Down in the deep, something shifted in the shadows, bubbling. “We can feel it.”

  Alice followed her gaze. “The Darkness.”

  “It stirs. She stirs.”

  Alice looked back to her reflection. “Can we stop it?”

  “Not without the Heart.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  Reflection-Alice set her hand over her chest. “Hidden.”

  “Hidden where?”

  “In a place that cannot be seen, only felt.”

  “That helps.” Alice faced the chasm again, peering into the depths. Then she raked her gaze over the horizon once more, pausing when she noticed a familiar rise of stone in the distance. The shape, the color, the splotch of brightness where it was carved out. She didn’t believe it at first, but the longer she stared, the more certain she was. “Is … is that Stone Mountain?” she asked, incredulous, looking back at herself.

  Reflection-Alice nodded.

  “What in the world is Stone Mountain doing in Wonderland?”

  “It’s not.”

  “But.” Alice looked to the monument again, and sure enough, there it was. But something caught her attention just past it, a flicker of light glinting off of something. Just beyond the mountain, the crystal-like spires of Legracia, the White Palace, reached for the sky. “That wasn’t there a second ago. Where did it come from? What’s it doing here?”

  “It’s where it belongs,” Reflection-Alice said, gazing into the distance, her skirts flowing around her.

  A throbbing picked up behind Alice’s eyes, part confusion and part annoyance. “I don’t—what the hell is going on!” Wonderland was weird AF, but this? This was Inception levels of ass-backward. Stone Mountain next door to Legracia, and was that Coke Museum? Oh hell no. “This … this isn’t possible. It’s finally happened, I’m losing my damn mind.”

  “Not entirely,” a new voice called.

  Alice turned, as did her reflection, to spy the last person she ever expected half strolling, half stumbling toward her. The smell of booze reached her before he did.

  Hiccupping around burps, Sprigs shuffled over to stand just behind the two Alices. The old Black man scratched at his mostly bald head, the two tufts of white hair sticking up on either side of that dark brown dome. It was strange to see him outside of the pub—the guy practically lived on a barstool—and here of all places.

  “Okay.” Alice took a slow breath and nodded. “I’m dreaming. That’s what this is.”

  “Mmm, you’re half right. But mostly wrong.” Sprigs’s voice slid along his tongue and between his teeth like butter over hot metal. He had that old Black man voice Daddy used to call sanded; the roughness was smoothed by a life long lived, but the cracks were still there. He’s seen some thangs, as Daddy would also say.

  Daddy … Normally thoughts of her father would send Alice’s emotions wild, but she kept her head, stayed steady. Weird.

  “This is the In-Between.” Sprigs scratched long, knobby fingers along the white scruff coating his chin. “The point where your world and my world meet.”

  “Your world?” Alice asked, only to be met with a look. “Right, Wonderland, duh.” Of course the oldest, longest regular of the Looking Glass Pub would be Wonderlandian.

  “This is the Veil.” Sprigs gestured. “It’s not here, nor there, nor anywhere. So it’s pretty much everywhere.”

  Alice blinked and looked back over the horizon. A few more familiar locations had popped up, like her church and Ahoon. “I get it. I think. These are all places I know, from both worlds.”

  Sprigs nodded. “Normally you’re passing through here too quick to linger, to see anything, but now that you are…” He shrugged, as if to say, This is what you get.

  “Right. So how do I get out?” Alice asked.

  “That’s the tricky part,” Sprigs muttered, glancing around. “Not sure.”

  Well, that’s helpful. “How’d you get here?”

  “I’m here because I can be here,” Sprigs offered, as if that made all the sense in the world. He glanced around, looking more than a little nervous. “Though I’d like to be somewhere else. It’s gettin’ late.”

  “Okay, so show me the way out.”

  “Can’t. You gotta—” He went quiet, eyes widening as he glanced around. The jerky motion made him waver on his feet, and Alice reached as if to steady him, though he spun full circle, throwing her off. “Too late. Go down. Down is up. Up is out.”

  Alice blinked, not sure she was hearing right. “Down is, wait, what?”

  “Too late, can’t stay. Go down,” he stressed before backing away from her.

  “Hey!” she called, reaching for him, though the dirt beneath him flashed white, a swirl of light as the ground opened up. He jumped in and was gone.

  Alice stared for a few seconds, not entirely sure what she’d just seen, or what to make of it. “Down is up,” she repeated quietly. “Up is out.” She glanced to her reflection, who’d stood nearby without saying one word that entire time. “You have any idea what it means?”

  “It means what it means,” Reflection-Alice murmured.

  “Ugh! Right. Of course.” She spun, glancing around, her eyes falling to the chasm and the darkness below. “Well, that looks like the only way down.” Did that mean she had to jump? Because that was not happening.

  “Have courage, Alice.” Reflection-Alice set her hand over her chest again. “Trust yourself. Trust your hear—ahh!” She screamed as a black blade burst between her fingers.

  “No!” Alice shouted, eyes on the metal slick with blood. It ran down the weapon, soaked into the white fabric of the dress, washing the entire thing red. Reflection-Alice gagged in her struggle to breathe before going limp, an arm encircling her from behind, keeping her upright.

  The Black Knight’s head appeared at her shoulder, his mask trained on Alice.

  Anger flared through her, drying up her shock. “You!”

  “Run, kitten,” he murmured, more pleaded.

  Alice’s hands went to her weapons, but before she could draw them, a sword erupted from her chest, same as her reflection. She cried out, panic blanking her mind. There was no pain, only the feeling of ice crawling through her, over her.

  Fingers tangled in her hair, wrenching her head around. A woman with white skin and fiery hair pulled atop her head sneered, red lips split in a vicious smile. “Poor precious one. You’ve lost your heart. Here, let me help you.” She twisted the sword and yanked it upward.

  Alice heard her bones snap, her flesh tear. There was no pain, but she threw herself forward with all of her strength, her mind filled with nothing but the need to get away. The sudden jerk took her by surprise as she all but flew out of the woman’s grasp.

  “No!”

  The scream followed Alice as she pitched forward and over the edge of the chasm. Then she dropped into the black, smacking into it with a feeling like hitting water. The cold filled her. The darkness consumed her, and she started falling, tumbling end over end, her arms and legs flailing, useless. She screamed.

  Thud. Alice grunted as she hit something solid. Pain radiated through her body. Air exploded from her lungs, and they struggled to draw more in for a few seconds. Her eyes flew open, her heart racing. She gagged on the precious oxygen her body fought to take in, though eventually she coughed and choked her way to breathing.

  Her arms felt like noodles as she pushed herself up, tingling fingers patting herself down. It took her panic-stricken mind a few seconds to realize she was alive, and mostly well. She glanced a
round.

  The pink sky above, the beginnings of purple clouds drifting along in the light. Purple grass beneath her, the blades fizzling in and out of sight, giving it the image of wind cutting through them. There weren’t any trees, really, just these scraggly-looking yellow things that were more like cacti with branches.

  This definitely looked like Wonderland. She took a slow breath, and a faint scent of citrus and bubblegum filled her nose, mingling with dirt and the sharp smell of peppermint. And it smelled like Wonderland.

  She sank back, shifting gingerly as her ribs ached faintly with the motion. Pain. Pain was good. It meant she wasn’t dreaming, or stuck in the Veil, or whatever the hell had been going on.

  Whatever that was before, with her Reflection, that had to be a dream. But Reflection-Alice had been showing up more and more in the real world, so maybe not.

  Alice tugged at her collar with one hand and patted at her chest with the other. Her dark skin was slick with sweat but unmarred. She could practically see that blade sticking out of her chest, coated in her blood. She checked the rest of herself over as well.

  Relief started to rise through her—until she realized her bag was gone, and with it, her weapons. Of course it was gone, that … mess that was pretending to be Chess had thrown it off somewhere. So not only was she in Wonderland, still unsure the hell how, but she was somewhere in Wonderland she didn’t recognize/had never been, and she was unarmed.

  Great. She huffed, wincing as she shifted to get her feet under her. She stood slowly, carefully, her knees knocking a little as her legs held her weight. Okay. Okay, this is fine. I’m fine.

  Then something cold, hard, and sharp pressed to the side of her neck.

  “Ugokuna.”

  Eleven

  PETS

  Shadows crept along the floor, carpeting it in darkness. In fact, everything was darkness and mist. It covered the walls, clear up to the high ceiling. It filled once-vibrant corridors, now decrepit and broken. It crawled over solid surfaces and coiled in the air, a living, breathing thing that had infected this place.

  The Black Knight did not like the darkness, even though it did his bidding. Like now, when he paced the open area of what had once been a grand dining hall—the lengthy tables and chairs broken and crumbling, strewn across the floor. The darkness was quiet, contemplative. It allowed things that shouldn’t be to take shape, to come to life, like his traitorous thoughts.

  For as long as he remembered, he had been loyal to his lady. He did as she requested, performed every task she set before him, even so much as attacking an unarmed enemy and her daughter. He was unwavering. Until the night he met her.

  He gestured, and the darkness gathered, swirling to coalesce into a more corporeal form, nearly identical to his, but at the last minute, he flicked his fingers and the puppet shifted. The body slimmed, the hard lines of the armor softened into clothes. Hair flowed from its head, twisting outward in coils and curls. Alice.

  When he drew his sword, so did his shadow puppet. They faced each other, and for a time, neither moved. He stared at it. At her. There was something about Alice Kingston that … affected him, especially when it came to causing her harm. Yes, he did as ordered. He attacked her. He used her to poison the traitor. He went after her friends to force her hand. And every time he caused her pain, a part of him broke. Like bits of stone being chipped away, his resolve faltered. This weakness could not stand.

  He struck. The shadow puppet countered. Where there should have been a clash of metal there was silence. The Vorpal Blade slammed into the shadow sword. The Black Knight felt the impact in his arms, but darkness was swift and silent. They danced around each other, the puppet pushing into and out of his guard, testing it.

  When it left itself open, he moved to strike but froze when it looked up at him with that face. It wasn’t hers, not really. There was no light in the eyes, no defiance, no warmth. There was only the cold black, but still he couldn’t bring himself to cut her down.

  The puppet didn’t share his qualms and, with a quick twist, its shadowy blade drove up at his face. He threw himself back, barely avoiding being skewered.

  Panting, eyes wide, his heartbeat quickened. He … hadn’t seen that coming. The puppet held the lunge briefly before drawing back, almost dramatically, and taking another ready stance. He stood there reeling, until the damned thing lifted a hand and beckoned with a curl of fingers, taunting him. Impossible.

  Irritation smoldered like coals within him. He tightened his grip on his sword to stop the trembling in his fingers. If he wasn’t careful, that anger would rise to full flames. That was why he was training, hoping to burn some of it away.

  “Knight,” a raspy voice called from the shadows lining the hall. A Fiend padded forward, materializing from the black.

  Ignoring it, the Black Knight pushed into another attack. The puppet lifted its blade to block, then twisted out of the pin and into a swipe, driving him back. It followed up with a flurry of jabs.

  The Fiend watched with a single yellow eye at the center of its head. “Her Majesty summons you.”

  He didn’t stop. Instead, he spun into another attack, which the puppet barely managed to counter. Pressing his advantage, he drove his opponent back.

  “Knight!” the Fiend snarled, its needlelike teeth glinting.

  He remained, focused on the puppet. The two exchanged blows and strikes, neither gaining the upper hand nor losing it.

  Another Fiend formed beside the first. “Her Majesty summons.” Three glowing blue eyes fixed on him from various points of its head.

  Deflecting a thrust, the Black Knight lifted a hand. The puppet halted. It held the sword above its head, motionless as it dissolved, leaving curls of shade floating in the air until they faded.

  “Tell her I come,” he muttered.

  The Fiends turned and disappeared once more into the darkness, leaving him alone.

  Whirling, the Black Knight exited the dining hall and moved through the blackened corridors, his stride swift. It carried him quickly enough toward the center of the palace, and the throne room. The grand doors swung wide when he shoved them aside, far enough to slam into the attached walls and rattle the hinges. The resounding clang echoed through the hall, clear up to the high ceilings that weren’t visible due to the swell of shadow looming overhead. Flickering torches lit the space; chandeliers were suspended from chains that seemed to float in the air, attached to nothing above.

  His steps thudded against the carpet trailing from the door to the throne, a massive seat of metal and glass that looked like it had been split from a mountain, the edges jagged and deadly despite the deceptive softness in their shine. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and reached to press his fingers to the sides of his helmet. A seam materialized beneath his touch, and he parted it, drawing the helmet free and shoving a hand through his hair. Her Majesty always insisted he remove the helm in her presence. He did so, even though she was not here. Not yet. And while the throne was empty, the room was not.

  Chained to a table, the links rattling and scraping against the stone floor as she moved, the Poet girl worked diligently. Her hands shook; this was visible in the slight sloshing of liquids in the jars and containers she used. She threw a glance toward him as he approached, her eyes wide and frightened.

  “Crimson.”

  He looked away from her, pretending to survey the room. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

  “Red awash away.” She turned from the table. The chains clinked and drew her up short. She couldn’t go far. “Lost in a sea of say.”

  “Then we can agree that you don’t know me, and you can be done,” he snapped.

  “Sparkle and shine a tale to tell!” The Poet, Maddi the others called her, shifted to face him as much as she could, her arms drawing back toward her work. “Not who, not how, not when.” Her voice cracked the faintest bit, and she sniffed.

  “You should get back to work.” He tucked his helmet into the crook of one arm
. Where was Her Majesty? If his summons was so urgent, surely she would be here.

  “P … please.” Maddi strained against her bonds. She swallowed thickly, her face screwed up in pain, as if speaking hurt. “T-talk … me. To. Addison’s woe…”

  Ire spiking to fury, he whirled on her, hand going to his sword. “Shut. Up,” he warned darkly. The ferocity of his anger surprised him. Strewth, could he not control himself? His concern for Alice, his anger at Addison, both had been growing steadily since he initiated phase one of Her Majesty’s plan.

  Maddi had gone quiet, her lips pressed into a thin line. She stared at him with such sadness. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe she knew him. Well, she believed it, at least.

  “T-truly lost to me?” she asked, her voice small.

  “You should focus on your work,” he repeated, relaxing, his hand dropping from his weapon. “Her Majesty does not like to be kept waiting.”

  “You know me so well,” a voice called from somewhere behind the throne, the tones deceptively melodic, like crystal bells.

  Maddi squeaked and turned back to the table as Her Majesty strode forward, the shadows at her feet constant companions, swirling beneath her. Pale and swathed in silk and satin the color of blood, she didn’t look half as lethal as she had the potential to be. She watched him as she approached, her eyes fixated until she came to a stop in front of him where he stood before the throne. “And yet you kept me waiting.”

  He stood silent for a moment, his muscles aching with the tension of his earlier restraint. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I was training and did not immediately hear the summons.”

  When she lifted her chin, he dropped to one knee.

  “Milady…” he murmured.

  With a hum she turned and climbed the few stairs to the platform cradling the throne. The Black Knight remained as he was, his head bowed until she lowered herself into the curve of the seat and waved a hand. “Rise.”

  He straightened on command. That was when he saw the human standing to the right of the throne. He’d likely come in behind Her Majesty.