The Hidden Library

by Heather Lyons

  we’ll dance until dawn,

  burning pages and worlds to ashes,

  odes of wreckage, set to song.”

  Rosemary takes over, her voice, crystal clear and as beautiful as before, her eyes closed:

  “Come, little children,

  harken to true home,

  lost no more,

  forever scribed in wise tome.

  Chaos is fleeting,

  significance understood within poem.

  Embrace the truths of eyes,

  past the fires and gloam.”

  A good five seconds of stunned silence from the rest of us settles the room, but Finn breaks it. “Speaking of shutting someone up, sedate her.”

  “Gladly.” Victor digs in a bag Finn has brought and extracts several vials and a pair of syringes.

  A door opens behind me. Finn barely looks up from the vial he’s picked up. “Don’t get in my way.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Van Brunt says. Says!

  Finn injects a hypodermic needle into the rubber end of the vial. “Mary, record the interrogation.”

  She’s quick with her answer. “Naturally.” Her phone is slipped out and turned on.

  After rummaging around several drawers and cabinets, Victor dumps a number of items onto a rolling silver cart. Rosemary screeches bloody murder as she watches him approach. Without prompting, Mary helps pin down the raving woman while the doctor sticks a needle into her arm.

  Soon enough, her fight leaves her. Her eyes droop. The screeching ceases.

  “Did your girlfriend tell you about this?” Finn holds up a syringe for Todd’s viewing. Victor has already moved to his bed and is now in the process of holding Todd down for Finn. But the villainous barber doesn’t struggle against the doctor one bit. He calmly lies there, as if nothing was amiss with this picture.

  “You mean your little truth potion?” Todd’s blackened teeth flash. “I know lots about it.” And yet, he doesn’t seem bothered by this, either. “Which little world did you find it in?”

  Mary wanders back over to where I am. “Too bad we don’t have popcorn.” And then, leaning down so I can see her smirk, “Although, popcorn might be dangerous for you, seeing as you can’t really chew.”

  Oh, ha ha.

  Finn doesn’t answer any of Todd’s questions. He merely plunges the needle into Todd’s chest, right into his heart. The villain gasps; his body spasms up into an arc. As if she knows I need a better view, Mary pushes the wheelchair I’m confined within closer to where he’s now convulsing.

  It’s a pretty, pretty sight.

  “How much dosage did you administer?” Mary inquires as the fiend’s eyes turn white.

  My partner merely shrugs.

  “I’m just kidding. I really don’t give a flying fig. Overdose away.”

  It doesn’t take much time before Todd’s body slumps back down upon the mattress. Spittle decorates his mustache, and he appears as if he’d just run a thousand kilometers and wasn’t given any chance for rest. But his glazed eyes are open, wearily so.

  Finn stands next to the bed, arms crossed. “Tell me your name.”

  “Sweeney Todd,” the man slurs.

  “Tell me your real name. The one you had at birth.”

  “’S my name.” Dulled laughter burbles out of him, adding to the froth already decorating his whiskers. “Sweeney Patrick Todd.”

  “Bullshit.” It’s Victor. His voice is unnaturally loud in the room. “Sweeney Todd was hanged.”

  Glazed, dark eyes swing toward the doctor. In the same warbling, off-key voice from before, he singsongs nonsensical words about shaving, pies, and gallows. And try as they might, no line of questioning leads Todd to reveal any other answer than this one.

  His name, as he knows it, is truly Sweeney Todd.

  “What specifically did you do to Alice to make it so she can’t speak or move on her own? Drugs? Injections?”

  I’m surprised that Finn has switched to this so quickly. He has an excellent opportunity to grill this brute on his heinous actions, and instead, he’s asking about me.

  There’s no hesitation. “Gave ‘er a nice injection, I did. A nice li’l concoction that made ‘er fall asleep.” Slurred as it is, his Cockney accent, which I’d previously assumed was fake, fully emerges. Back in Ex Libris’ attic, his accent sounded almost American. But now? Now I can see it was the other way around. “And then I took ‘er back to the room an’ had a nice little time, cuttin’ her soft, soft skin an’ puttin’ the wee beastie ’n her. Tiny little bugger it ’twas. Pretty, too.” He chortles quietly when his eyes find mine.

  Revulsion comes at the thought of something—a beastie?—harboring within me. Hadn’t the doctor mentioned a parasite? Is that it? Did Todd infect me with a parasite? Desperately pushing that terrifying thought aside for the moment, lest I go insane with all the what ifs, fury flames to life. And it does so in Finn, too, although I must admit I’m impressed he does not unleash his balled fists to beat the stars out of Todd once more. Instead, he asks about the specifics of the injection.

  “Now,” Todd says amiably, “that I don’ know. I was given the supplies an’ told to be careful, as there was no more beasties and drugs to be had.”

  “Who gave them to you?”

  Todd looks up at Finn, his glazed eyes bright in the harsh lights shining down upon them. “The lady. She was the one to give ’em to me, an’ she was the one to tell me how to use ’em right.”

  It’s not hard to see that what little of Finn’s patience he still has is rapidly wavering. And yet, Todd is giving details—lots of details, and without prompting.

  He wants us to know these things.

  “What lady?”

  “Well, you see, she never tol’ me ‘er name. But she was a lady, all right. Held ‘erself like she was the Queen of England, she did.”

  “What did this lady look like? Do you know her name?”

  “She din’ see fit to me ‘er name, nor did I ask. Not my concern, see? She was tall for a lady, with all this dark hair piled up high on top of ‘er head, like a tower. An’ every time I ever saw ‘er, she was wearin’ red and black. Said she an’ Alice ‘ere go way back.” Gleaming eyes fall upon me. “Said this was a little present, just for you. To remin’ you of your place. To finish what she started long ago.”

  Had somebody tossed a bucket of ice water upon me, I couldn’t be more surprised.

  “Alice?” It’s Finn. He’s squatting down in front of my chair, his hands curling around my maddeningly limp ones. “Do you know who he’s talking about?”

  Of course I bloody know whom Todd’s talking about.

  Finn stares at me for a long moment after my singular yet assuredly angry blink before saying, “Is this someone from New York?”

  I’m annoyed with his daftness until I realize he is being careful with his answers. Knowing Finn Van Brunt as I do, he will be out the door with a gun in his hand the moment he knows a name. It warms yet frustrates and terrifies me all at once, because I am the one who needs to be out the door, hunting down the Queen of Hearts.

  Still, I force myself to take a breath. Issue two clear blinks.

  “Your Timeline?”

  One blink.

  “England?”

  Two blinks.

  “Wonderland?”

  One blink.

  A loud snore originates from Todd’s direction, yet everyone else is silent as they watch me communicate via ridiculous eye movements.

  “Do you know what kind of drug he gave you?” Finn finally asks.

  Two blinks—and then . . . and then his eyes widen, too.

  “Do you think—”

  One very firm blink.

  “SleepMist,” he murmurs.

  Another very firm blink.

  “It was a spray, though.” He looks up. “Mary, go check your stock of SleepMist, please.”

  She doesn’t have to be asked twice.

  “Do you know what he means by the beastie?”
>
  Two very frustrated blinks. Hearts has used a number of horrid drugs to torture people, but I have yet to hear about any parasitic kind.

  For a moment, Finn says nothing. He doesn’t even move. But then he takes a deep breath and squeezes my hands. “Victor? Can we try the new medicine on Alice?”

  Medicine? What new medicine?

  Victor digs a small canister out of one of the bags on a nearby counter. “I don’t know if this will work. Your injuries . . . Brom’s . . . They were different from hers.”

  Finn stands up, but does not leave my side. “Try anyway.”

  The Society’s resident doctor comes over, the bottle in hand. “I haven’t read her chart yet.” To Todd, he barks, “Where did you inject this beastie?”

  The villain’s eyes barely creak open. Burbles, “Spine. Pretty, pretty spine.”

  Mary returns. “All of my samples of SleepMist are still accounted for.”

  She and Finn haul me out of the chair. I’m forced to go down the path of indignancy once more when my bum, albeit clad this time, is visible to all.

  Something cold is sprayed on my back. I am settled back into the chair. Tension coats the air. Everyone in the room watches me as if I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.

  A minute ticks slowly by. Finn asks, a ghost of hope in his voice, “Can you move anything?”

  I try ever so hard, but alas, I am still merely a lump of frustration and rage in a chair.

  He squats back down next to me, once more claiming my hands. “I’m sorry,” his brother whispers. And then, to me, “I’m sorry.”

  Finn presses his forehead against our joined hands, and for a good half minute, nobody in the room speaks. Not even Todd, who is awake and watching us with great interest.

  Finally, Finn lifts his head. “I love you.”

  The determination in his eyes leaves me breathless. No. No. He cannot think—

  “I’m going to fix this,” he continues.

  A flurry of blinks is unleashed. And yet, he ignores my protestations, because he bends down and kisses me gently. Then he stands up, and no matter how many times I blink, he refuses to acknowledge my pleas.

  He cannot think of taking on the Queen of Hearts. Not by himself.

  “Brom,” he says quietly, “I haven’t yet had the chance to fill Alice in on everything that’s happened. She deserves to know, even though none of it makes sense. She stays for the interrogation as long as she wants.”

  I cannot see his father’s face to see if he agrees to this or not.

  “Victor, I want you to interrogate this bastard and then, when the drugs wear out, question him again. Question them all. I’m tired of all the secrets. And take care of Wen. Then go take your protocol.”

  Victor does a little mock salute.

  “Mary, don’t let Alice out of your sight, okay? And . . . be nice to Marianne.”

  “We’ll have girl time.” Mary pats the top of my head, and it’s a good thing I’m paralyzed, because I just might cringe. Oh, frabjous. More girl time.

  “And you.” He turns to Todd. “I’ll be back for you. We’ve got a score to settle.”

  I’m blinking furiously. His smile is sad. He gifts me one more kiss, whispers in my ear that he loves me, and then he’s gone, out the door, leaving behind a drooling pseudo-barber and a roomful of people who haven’t the slightest clue what to say to me.

  I WASTE NO TIME. I head directly to my apartment. I grab my pen, the Institute book, and a miniature-combined edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass that I’ve had in the drawer of my nightstand for nearly three years. I strap on a holster and then shrug into a warm coat. I put on steel-toed boots. I load my gun and screw on the silencer. I grab two extra clips. I select a switchblade Katrina gifted me for my eighteenth birthday and stuff it into one of my inside pockets. I grab a handful of energy bars and a bottle of water, filling my outer pockets until they bulge.

  And then I write myself into Alice’s story.

  Wales is bleak this time of year, and cold as hell. It’s nearly nightfall, and winds whip across the bluff I’m on. But I remember how to get to the rabbit hole, and I pray those guarding it remember me.

  A fat spider dangles from a web atop the hole. I clear my throat, feeling more than a little stupid addressing an arachnid, but at this point, I’ll do anything. I’ve failed so many people in my life. I’ve lost even more. I cannot fail nor lose Alice. “I come on behalf of the Queen of Diamonds.”

  It doesn’t even move.

  I elaborate my request. “I was here with the Queen several months ago and it is imperative I make my way into Wonderland so I might obtain her help.”

  The web twitches, as if I’ve finally got its attention.

  “I regret to inform you that the Queen of Diamonds has been poisoned. I—”

  “Poisoned!” The spider sounds pissed. “Who dared to poison our glorious and magnificent Queen?”

  “I have my theories,” I assure it, “but I can do nothing if I am here and Wonderland is beyond this hole. I ask of you to please grant me passage, so that I might find something of assistance for Her Majesty.”

  The spider springs from the web and lands directly on my face. It takes all of my will power and courage not to squash it and let loose some ungodly, unmanly scream. These spiders, if I remember correctly, are poisonous, and there is no anti-venom that will counteract their effects.

  It creeps up my face, into my hair. I am statue still as it examines one ear to the other. And then it runs down my face, its tiny legs tickling the whiskers I haven’t had time to shave off recently before stopping next to my mouth. Something light brushes my bottom lip. “You smell of the Queen.”

  I hope that’s a good thing.

  “What is your name?” I tell it, and it adds, “We know this name. You may pass, but you will be required to have one of our Guards accompany you, in case your words are lies. If they are, your death will be painful and slow.”

  I heave out a sigh of relief. “That’s fine. You’re more than welcome to come with.”

  “Oh, no,” it says, springing back onto the web. “I am the Guardian. I do not leave.” It plucks its web, and ringing peels sound. “You will have a different Guard. May you have success in your quest, Sir Finn.”

  Sir Finn?

  I incline my head and then duck into the hole. I won’t lie—it’s a bit terrifying to launch oneself into a hole filled with who-the-hell-knows how many poisonous spiders, just waiting to attack, but I remind myself that Alice is waiting back at the Institute.

  I can’t fail her. I won’t.

  I throw myself down the rabbit hole.

  Spiders scuttle up and down the walls, plucking thick, white webs lining their paths. Murmurings I cannot distinguish trail my descent, and when I hit the ground, grow louder. The walls drip arachnids; they dangle perilously close to the top of my head from above. Glinting black bodies encroach on my space in a thick circle—so wide that, even if jumped, I could not get past their battlements. A small path parts before me, and a spider the size of my handle trundles forward. I stay perfectly still as it crawls up my boot, up my leg, and partially up my chest. It has fangs—large ones, too.

  This is no Charlotte’s Web.

  “I am Grymsdyke.”

  Jesus. Its voice alone is the stuff of nightmares. “I am Finn Van Brunt.”

  “You ally yourself with the Queen of Diamonds.” It’s not a question, though.

  “I do.”

  “You claim she has been poisoned.”

  “She has. We don’t know what it wrong with her, other than the poisons came from Wonderland. I am here to find her help.”

  The spiders break into quiet murmurings.

  Grymsdyke’s legs dig into my chest. “Where is the Queen now?”

  “Back at our home. She is paralyzed and cannot move. I must hurry on this quest if I am to save her.”

  The spider scuttles across my chest and onto my shou
lder. One of its legs paws at my face; the course hairs brushing against my skin feel like flames.

  Fantastic. Fangs and leg hairs that cause irritation. This arachnid is a winner.

  “I will accompany you.” It lets out a weird grunting combined with a trill, and the spiders part before us.

  Grymsdyke settles on my shoulder, just below the collar of my pea coat. Thankfully, it keeps its hairy legs away from my face. As we make our way into Nobbytown, it makes a weird coughing sound. “Your dress is strange.”

  I let out a quiet laugh. Even in the dark, I can see my breath, it’s so brisk.

  Neither of us speaks as I weave through the teetering buildings toward The Land That Time Forgot. By the time we arrive, my teeth are chattering. Exhaustion threatens to pull me under. And still, I knock, because there are many miles yet to go.

  A small slat in the door, positioned somewhere in my kneecap region, slides open. “Password?”

  Shit, I have no idea. I didn’t actually pay much attention to what Alice said last time. “I need to see the Hatter.”

  The slat shuts with a thunk.

  I take in the knotted wood before us. “How thick do you think these doors are?”

  “As thick as most,” Grymsdyke says, “and not a bit thicker.”

  Gee, thanks. I smooth my hands across and around the door, testing it. Beyond the wood, the thump of loud music beats. I’m close to knocking again when—there. I find what I need: a thin hairline crack.

  I nudge my shoulder up a bit. “You better hold on.”

  It makes that weird coughing sound again. “You mistake me for one who has hands.”

  Spiders, apparently, have very little sense of humor.

  I kick the door as hard as I can, against the hairline crack, and then kick it once more with equal pressure. It splinters, collapsing inward and past a startled rabbit in a purple waistcoat and a knit hat.

  “That’s my password,” I tell it. “Now, which way to the Hatter?”

  It rubs its paws together, trembling. “Sir—good sir, our illustrious, benevolent—”

  “Cut the bullshit. I need to see him, and I’m not down with waiting.” And then, because I figure what the hell, “I’ve got myself a nice venomous spider here who would be happy to persuade you.”