Mad as a Hatter (Sons of Wonderland Book 1)

by Kendra Moreno

  “So, you saved me?” I ask softly, a small smile curling my lips when I realize I had been worried for no reason. He was only trying to save me. I’m already softening towards the lunatic. Whatever that said about me, I don’t want to know. I’m enjoying the intrigue I feel either way.

  “Yes,” he replies, that grin still on his face. He leans closer, entering my space, but I don’t pull away. I don’t even think to. “Nothing is free in Wonderland. I’d like a kiss for payment.”

  I wrinkle my nose in confusion.

  “A kiss? Seriously? Right now?”

  Even I can tell my voice is breathy, and I curse the telltale sign in my head. His face softens when he hears the tone.

  “Not now. Not now.” He leans away from me and claps his hands together, making me jump again. He stands. This close, I notice the muscle rippling across his stomach, the chiseled abs that were easier to ignore when I was wary of him. Now, they’re right in front of my face, and the ache to touch slams into me hard, but I do my best to ignore it. Trouble. The Hatter is trouble.

  “Gentle Creatures,” he calls to the four other guests at the table. “It’s time.”

  They all set their teacups back on the saucers and stand, happiness apparent on all their faces. That sense of peace increases, and I find myself wanting to go with them, to find the same calm as they have.

  “Come along, old friend,” the Hatter says to the latecomer, squeezing his shoulder affectionately.

  “Would you tell my wife I love her?” the man asks in a daze, the crown on his head catching the light and sending sparkles around the room. It makes me blink when they shine across my eyes.

  The Hatter hesitates. I can see it. His eyes look away from the man and find me instead. Whatever he sees seems to steady him, and the next time he speaks, he sounds saner than I’ve yet to hear from him. He smiles before returning his attention back to the man.

  “When she joins you, you can tell her we all did.” His voice is warm when he says it, echoing of long ago memories. I don’t ask, but I file it away for later.

  And then the Hatter is leading them off, further into the ballroom and towards a particularly overgrown section in the back. Giant Mushrooms arch over something, but I can’t see where exactly they go. I assume there’s some sort of door there. The mushrooms don’t move; no mouths open as the people walk towards them. They leave White and I behind in silence.

  “Where are they going?” I ask White as I lean to the side to try and get a better look. There’s a bright flash, but that’s all I can make out. The growth is too thick, forming a wall between us and them.

  “The Hatter’s tea party is the last stop before the Hereafter,” White answers, sadness on his face. “Hatter sits with them all.”

  “Those people were dead?” Surprise catches me off guard. I had been sitting with dead people, and I hadn’t even known it. “They didn’t look dead.”

  “They look more alive than when they were living.” He meets my stare. “We shed our misery when we die. And the Hatter,” he pauses, his eyes haunted. “The Hatter sees us in both skins.

  Chapter 8

  White leads me through corridors and twisted hallways, confusing me with each turn until I’m so hopelessly lost, I can’t think straight. Everything is weird, like I’m having a bad LSD trip. I expect nothing less from Wonderland, though. I keep expecting to run into more creatures in the hallways—the house is huge, after all —but save for Dormouse and the Hatter, I see no one else. It makes the giant house feel abandoned, more like a Colosseum than a home. There’s no warmth in the walls, a chill permeating the air.

  I lose track of our direction early on, coming to terms with the fact I can’t escape if I want to. Not that I want to. My curiosity has been peaked, and I find myself more and more drawn to the Hatter. It’s one of my weaknesses, that curiosity. If my mom was still alive, she’d be rolling her eyes at me right about now. She always used to say I was attracted to the odd ones. I guess she was right.

  Finally, we come to the end of a corridor, and White stops before a dark-purple door. There is a silhouette painted on the wood, right in the center. It’s of a teapot pouring into a teacup. It seems appropriate for the Hatter’s house, but I wonder why the other doors don’t have the same detail. White pushes open the entry, a loud creak breaking the silence, and I follow him inside.

  The room . . . isn’t what I was expecting. Not that I’m expecting a four-star hotel or anything. I knew the house didn’t seem taken care of. I knew it was worn and leaning, but I assumed the room would at least be clean.

  The entire area is covered in a layer of dust so thick that I immediately feel my nose tickle, a sneeze right on the verge of escaping. It’s like no one has entered the room in decades, like it was sealed shut. I almost feel like I’m in uncharted territory when I realize my shoes leave prints in the dust.

  White doesn’t seem bothered by the dust as he walks inside a few steps and gestures for me to follow. I try not focus too hard on the little clouds that rise with each of his steps. His nose twitches, so slightly that I barely catch it.

  “When the Hatter is finished, he’ll come by and get rid of the dust.” White’s voice is completely void of emotion, like he’s absolutely bored with the turn of events.

  I step into the room a few more paces, looking around me, putting White at my back.

  “Why am I here?” He doesn’t answer. I turn to ask him again only to find he’s left. Figures.

  Looking at the room, I realize it’s like someone flipped the entire thing on its head. There’s furniture hanging from the ceiling, a chair, a table, a lamp. The lamp is even turned on, giving off a hazy beam of light through the dust. There’s a chandelier standing straight up in the center of the room, growing right from the floor. My lips quirk at the oddness. The bed seems like it might have been an afterthought, a giant four poster monstrosity with a canopy. It’s as dusty as everything else, and although I can tell the bedding is purple, I can’t tell what shade. The closer I look at the bed, though, I realize there’s something off about it, too, but I can’t place my finger on what. Maybe the posts are shaped weird?

  I move towards a doorway in the room, propped open. It leads into a bathroom more luxurious than I had at home, or, it will be, once it’s clean. There’s a clawfoot bathtub in the center of the room, big enough for two. I ignore the images that pop into my head with that thought, and I move further inside.

  The faucets are molded, grotesque creatures in silver. They have frighteningly sharp teeth where the water flows from. The sink faucets follow the same idea, although I can see there are different creatures sculpted for each one. They’re almost beautiful in a scary sort of way.

  “Clara Bee,” a voice dripping with sex and violence calls from the bedroom. It isn’t the Hatter. It certainly isn’t White.

  I whirl around, dust spinning with me, creating a rising cloud as I look back through the doorway and into the room. My heels slide in the thick grime coating the floor, but I keep them steady. I don’t see anyone in the room, but I know I didn’t imagine it. On the bed, I can see a spot where the dust has been disturbed, the imprint of a body, but there’s no one there. Someone had been lying on the bed.

  “Hello?” I call warily as I step closer. My hand wraps around a heavy candelabra that is on a table right outside the doorway. It’s shaped like some sort of monster worm, razor sharp teeth opening for a candle to be placed in. I don’t look too closely at the details. It’s golden though, and heavy.

  “What do you plan on doing with that?” the voice asks.

  Confused, I stare harder at the imprint when I see no other signs of disturbance. Slowly, a grin begins to form over the bed, exactly where the dust is moved. I’m pretty sure my eyes pop out of my head when two eyes blink at me from the darkness.

  “Cheshire,” I whisper, because who else can it be? I keep the candelabra raised like a weapon. Trust no one.

  A man slowly comes into focus, those eerie yel
low eyes watching me. He has a punk rock vibe going on, and at home, I’d think he was in a metal band. He has shaggy dark-grey hair, streaked with blue that falls over his forehead in that messy look some guys just pull off. It looks like he might style it back a lot, but right now, it’s more like he’s been running his hands through it. There are big cat ears on top of his head. One ear has piercings running up the edge of it. Both are missing small nicks here and there, and scars glow bright-pink. He’s lounging on the bed like he owns it, a grey and blue tail draping over his hip, twitching lazily.

  “You know who I am,” he says, grinning wide and sinister. I immediately realize I need to be on guard around him.

  “Only from the stories at home,” I reply, eying the leather jacket and motorcycle boots he’s wearing. “Though none of them describe you the way you look now.”

  “How do they describe me?” he asks lazily, but I can tell he’s coiled strength and danger. I know he can be off the bed quicker than I can react, tearing my throat out if he wants.

  “You’re just a cat with a wide smile.” I clench the candelabra tighter. “And you’re one of the good guys, I think.”

  Cheshire’s eyes begin to twinkle as he sits up on the dust-covered bed. He crawls across the comforter, stalking me like a panther, dust billowing around him in clouds. It does nothing to detract from his attractiveness. As he moves, his body shifts, his clothing fading away to reveal fur sprouting from his skin. His canines sharpen, peeking from the corner of his lips. He looks more like the cat he is now. He’s still humanoid—there’s no mistaking he’s a man—but he’s covered in the grey fur, blue stripes giving little touches of color.

  “Like this?” he asks, grinning like a shark.

  “No.” My voice sounds strangled when I answer. “Definitely not like that.”

  Cheshire has a magnetism the same way the Hatter does. While I can appreciate how sexy he is, I don’t feel the same pull as I do to the Hatter. Something in me calls for him and not this teasing, dangerous man in front of me. Something tells me that Cheshire is all rebel, bad boy. Not my style. Nope, apparently, I like the crazy ones.

  Cheshire laughs at my discomfort and transforms back into the leather-wearing man faster than I can follow. He stands from the bed and shakes the dust off, beating his jacket to remove the grime. That sneeze threatens to overtake me again as I watch him closely. He never acknowledges my earlier comment.

  “Are you on the good side here?” I ask, my body tense. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says he’s on the bad side. Maybe I’ll bash him over the head with the candelabra and take my chances with the maze of hallways outside.

  He looks at me, curiosity in his eyes. Guess that makes two of us.

  “I’m on nobody’s side but my own, Miss Clara Bee,” he says.

  “Why does everyone keep calling me that?” I growl, frustrated with feeling outside the loop. I need more information in a place meant to confuse me. I need to get my head straight.

  “Because you are prophesied,” he replies, shrugging like it’s completely normal to have a prophecy written about you. Perhaps, it is common in Wonderland.

  “Prophesied to do what?”

  There it is, the question that has been bugging me since I was dragged through a rabbit portal into Wonderland, the question no one seems to want to answer. But I need to know, my very soul calls for an explanation.

  Cheshire is suddenly in front of me, stopped barely a foot away. My breathes stutters as I look up into his face, my eyes wide. The candelabra is sandwiched between us, useless at this point. Stupid Clara, stupid, I think. You should have been paying better attention.

  “You’re the first to bring about the fall of the Red Queen, Clara Bee. The first of the triad. The first to bring a Son of Wonderland to his knees.”

  My jaw drops, and I stop breathing. Cheshire winks at me, completely nonchalant.

  “What?” I choke.

  Chapter 9

  The door slams open and bangs against the wall hard enough that I think there might be a hole in the wall from the knob, but I don’t look away from Cheshire. I know I’m not supposed to turn my back on a predator or give him the opportunity to strike. The grin on his face is dripping malice, whether for me or something else, I don’t know. Either way, I’m not taking any chances.

  He lifts his hand towards my neck, wicked sharp claws on the tips of his fingers. Panic shoots through me, and I jerk hard to free the candelabra. It pops free, and I swing the heavy piece at Cheshire, aiming for his head. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting its mark. His fist wraps around it, stopping the metal inches from his face, the grin on his face widening impossibly.

  “Be gone, Cheshire!” the Hatter roars as he storms into the room. I assume he’s the one who slammed the door open. Why he waited so long to react when Cheshire was clearly threatening me, I don’t know. Cheshire fades quickly away, but just before he’s gone completely, he speaks.

  “Mind the Madness, Clara Bee.”

  Whatever that means. This entire world is mad.

  The Hatter watches me as I set the candelabra back where it came from before turning to face him. He looks exactly the same, his chest still beautifully displayed beneath his jacket. For the first time, I notice a dainty necklace hanging around his neck, but I can’t figure out what it is. I do know it draws my eyes to his abs again. I try my hardest not to focus on them.

  “Would you like to try and hit me with that, as well?” he asks, his eyes glittering. “I might let you.”

  He’s taking slow, measured steps towards me as I stare at him. More dust swirls around his legs.

  “That depends. Do I need to protect myself against you?” I tilt my head slightly, considering his question.

  He stops a few feet in front of me, his arms relaxed by his sides.

  “You need to protect yourself against everything in Wonderland,” he replies. “Especially me.”

  There’s overwhelming sadness in his eyes at the admission, and I find myself leaning towards him, wanting to comfort him.

  “Do you intend to hurt me?” I whisper. I had already let my guard down around him, and I’m questioning whether that was the right thing to do or not. He seems so adamant that he is dangerous.

  “Sometimes we can’t help who we hurt,” he says morosely, but then, a wide smile replaces it, spreading across his face. He closes the distance between us until our bodies are flush. I tense, but I don’t pull away. My mom would be so exasperated right now. I can hear her voice in my head clearly. Clara, what have I told you about cozying up to strange men?

  I don’t know what it is about the Hatter that makes me trust him. Maybe it’s because my job as a lawyer is to help the living while the Hatter helps the dead. Someone evil doesn’t help the unfortunate, no matter if it’s their job or not. I had seen genuine sadness on his face in that ballroom. Evil people don’t care when someone dies. Evil doesn’t mourn the passing of strangers. So, I might tense in surprise when he presses his body against mine, but I don’t push him away. I might lean closer.

  “Do you want me to hurt you?” he asks, his voice husky. “I can make pain feel like pleasure.”

  “Pain isn’t really my thing,” I whisper back. My body is growing heated, but I fight the compulsion to wrap my arms around his neck as I look into his gaze. His eyes are such a pretty shade of old gold, sparkling in the dim light of the room. They’re like two ancient coins shining in a long forgotten tomb. He studies me intently, and I let him, content to stay close.

  “Clara Bee, what are you doing to me? Is this only the prophecy?” he whispers in a sing song voice. I suck in a breath.

  “What is the prophecy?” I ask, because I need to know. Everyone keeps talking about it like it’s so important. It’s obviously a big deal to Wonderland. “How am I supposed to help bring down the Red Queen?”

  He smiles, softer this time as he begins to speak. His voice takes on a haunting quality, like it’s more than one voice speaking the word
s coming from his lips.

  “The first of three is Clara Bee

  Who will come to set Wonderland free.

  She’ll tame the Hatter and down the Knave

  Because Clara Bee fights for the brave.

  A triad begins to destroy the Queen

  Though nothing is ever easy, it seems.

  She must lose her heart while taking a stand

  To the first son of Wonderland.”

  As his voice stops, and the haunting quality fades away, I feel the rhyme slipping inside my bones and settling in, like the weight of the words are bearing down on me. My heart gives a hard thud as the Hatter continues to wear that soft smile. Comprehension and shock flood my body when the words register.

  “So, you see, Miss Clara Bee.” He tilts his head to the side, watching my reaction. “We are destined for each other.”

  I feel my face harden, his words causing a knee-jerk reaction.

  “I make my own destiny,” I say, lifting my hands and attempting to push him away. I say attempt because he doesn’t actually move. I don’t expect the raw strength I can feel in his body, the concealed power under his jacket. I don’t expect to like the feel of his chest against my hands.

  “Move,” I growl, shoving harder.

  “Tell me,” he says. “Is there a difference between pleasure and pain when your mind is a hurricane?”

  I pause, struck by the unbearable sadness in his eyes. Sympathy stalls my hands where they remain against his chest.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. I know immediately that I’ve done something wrong.

  His face shuts down, his eyes sparking in anger. The old gold color flashes, swirling in metallics.

  “I don’t need your pity,” he snarls before he swings around and storms from the room. I breathe a sigh of relief, clutching my chest to slow my heart rate. The various emotions I just witnessed make my head spin.