by Marie Hall
Dress a blazing shade of fiery orange, Alice shook her head. “She let Leo go, she’s—”
“To expect her to do that every time is the height of folly, my dear,” Danika said it softly and with love but also with force. “You did not see what I did. His experience will keep not only himself safe, but also her.”
“Danika, I swear by the gods,” Hatter growled, “can we trust you?”
It hurt that he should question her, but right now this wasn’t about her. This was about them and Chrysalis and righting a horrible wrong.
“If I fail in this, Hatter, I’ll let Galeta have her one hearts desire.”
“And that is?” His peaked brows quirked.
She shook her head, that was a secret only she and The Blue shared. “Trust me with her, I swear I shall do right by you.”
Become mad yourself… Danika snorted, Cheshire was not as dumb as he might sometimes appear. This was a mad, mad business. Sure to fail.
But it was their only hope.
Closing her eyes, she called the Huntsman.
The bar was raucous tonight. The queen had found herself a new consort from the crystal region. A flamboyant peacock of a man with legs like a frog’s and a waist that stretched out farther than he was tall. She claimed love at first sight. In truth, it was lust… for his pocket book.
But the pig faced queen wasn’t much in the way of looks herself.
Tonight was the eve of the royal couples hand fasting, mandatory party for all denizens of the Red Queen’s court.
The Huntsman sat in the corner booth, his brown cape on and with hood over his head, keeping to himself as he often did. Chugging one tankard after another, feeling nothing.
Even as the laughter grew, as the woman attempted to lure him in with seductive poses meant to expose their scantily clad bodies, he felt numb.
The bar had been honed out of solid obsidian, only well placed grooves in the walls meant to hold fat beeswax candles helped to cut through the dark interior. Dwarves danced with hamadryad’s. Their bark like skin appearing more reptilian than tree like in the low lighting as they twirled and danced on bare feet around their miniature partners.
Maidens dressed in gowns of only the finest spider silk paraded themselves about, in search of their own prince charming.
It was enough to drive a man half insane. Thankfully he was usually spared such prattle, a Huntsman didn’t make much coin.
A serving wench dressed in a gown two sizes too small shoved another tankard of ale in his face. “’Ere love, on the ‘ouse.”
Grunting a thank you, he turned his back to her. It wasn’t that Matilda was a bad woman, she might even be pleasant company, but it was no secret that was a woman in search of a man, and it obviously didn’t much matter whether he was rich or poor. So long as he had a pole between his legs, she’d take him.
Aeric had fallen prey to a woman’s charms once before—his jaw clenched—he’d never be so easily beguiled again.
A shiver of displaced air kissed his temple and then a pink bolt of light apparated before him. Danika’s floating head materialized within the sphere.
“Godmother,” he drawled, not particularly enthused to hear what she might say. It wasn’t his fault that all inhabitants of Kingdom were assigned a godmother. As far as godmother’s went, she wasn’t nearly as pushy as some. But it was no secret that godmother’s generally only came calling when they wished to set one up with their ‘one true love’. He snorted in disgust.
Last thing he wanted was to be saddled with another spoiled wench. Women didn’t want a man for who they were, they wanted a man for who they thought they could make them be.
A lesson he’d learned well.
“Huntsman, I’ve need of you.”
Danika kept him on his toes though, because she didn’t always come calling with the desire to pair him up.
But he wasn’t much in the mood to be contracted out right now either. Thanks to the Queen’s nuptial’s he’d been given a month’s wages and told to go enjoy himself. A rare kindness from his Queen, maybe she did love the toad after all.
“You’ve need of me,” his tone was brusque. “Indeed. And what does a godmother need that she’d come to a lowly Huntsman for it?”
He took a swig of the ice-cold ale as he waited. Her cherubic face twisted up into an embarrassed looking frown. “I wish you to find something for me. There is none in Kingdom as good as you.”
His brow twitched. “You’ve the Wolf. Ask him. I’m busy.”
She huffed and he had no problem picturing her crossing her arms over her busty chest. “Wolf and Red are currently indisposed. They recently birthed a litter, a wolf never leaves his mate so soon after that, and well you know. Otherwise trust me, I’d be seeking him out in a nanosecond.”
“Not interested.”
“Bloody hell, Huntsman, you’re the most vile, awful, mean-spirited…” Her nose scrunched up.
And on and on it went, it was often this way with his godmother. It’d only taken her ten years to figure out that there’d be no love matches in his future. He was a bachelor and damn proud of it.
“Duly noted.” He tipped his head at her before taking another swig.
“Gah! A pox on you, you black-hearted fiend. I’m not asking, I’m telling.”
He chuckled. “Want to run that by my Queen. I’m sure she’d love to hear you say so.” No need to tell her that he was currently supposed to be taking some much needed time off.
“Huntsman, I’ve never asked you for anything.”
“Not true. You asked me to follow your filthy blackguard. I did.”
She huffed. “I never asked you do anything that really mattered. Life or death—”
“As I recall you used those exact same words when telling me how Hook—”
“Will you shut up!” Her lips snarled, but he noticed she wasn’t simply angry. Anger he could ignore.
What he’d never been able to ignore and damned his black heart for, were the tears sparkling in her big blue eyes.
As a Huntsman he was often asked to exact justice, sometimes even against those he knew were innocent. It wasn’t always pretty, in fact, it often wasn’t. He’d learned long ago to stop caring.
But there was something about a woman’s tears that he’d never been able to ignore.
“What,” he growled, “do you want?”
As if sensing his wavering capitulation, her lips turned into a wobbly grin. “The Hatter’s and Alice’s daughter.”
“The moon cursed one, what of her?”
All within Kingdom had heard of the tragic fate that’d befallen the Hatter’s daughter. But just because it was tragic didn’t make it unique, tragedy and fairy tales often went hand in hand.
“She’s escaped,” she hiccupped, “she must be found before the Ten—”
“Decide she must be handled.” He grinned, deducing the truth immediately. “Very clever, Danika. You know the Ten will turn to me should that fate be handed down.”
He read the truth of it in her eyes.
Snorting, he chugged back the last of his brew. “So I find her first. And then what, I put an arrow through her head, a sword through her heart?”
“NO!” Her hands waved manically around. “No. You bring her to us. I’ll give you the tool you’ll need to capture her. Once she’s captured, you’re free.”
He hated to be mercenary about this, but then again… “And what of payment?”
“Whatever you desire. Your choice.”
His eyes narrowed, almost able to smell her anticipation through space and time. “What do you want?”
“I’ll determine that at the end of the mission.”
“So you’ll do it?” She beamed.
“Aye.” He slammed the tankard down on the rough-hewn table and flipped a coin to the center of it. “I’ll do it. My terms, my rules. No exceptions.”
“As long as she remains safe, then aye, your rules.”
Nodding, he stood to go. �
�Where is the girl?”
“Follow the twisted trail of dead bodies in Wonderland.”
Bloody hell, Wonderland. His night just kept getting better and better.
~*~
Stopping by his hut to gather supplies, the Huntsman noted a strange item sitting on his dinner table.
And it was the width of his palm. Just a small mesh of black rope. Picking it up, he flipped it over and frowned. What was this?
The prickling fog of Danika’s pink light unfurled before him and then her floating face appeared once more. “Good it’s you. I spelled the netting to engulf in flame anything that tried to touch it.” She chuckled. “Except for you of course. Of course.”
Her lack of commonsense sometimes astonished him. “You do realize if it’d been anyone else my home would have caught on fire.”
“Let’s be real here, Huntsman, you’ve nothing of true value to lose. Besides, the net is powerful magic, I dread to think what it could do in the wrong hands.”
“Of course,” he muttered, only a fairy would care more for her trinkets than a man’s home. “So what does this do?” He tossed it up in the air.
Her eyes bugged when he did. “Don’t do that!” she shrieked, hands held palms out. “Because the child was cursed by the moon, only the power of the moon can contain her. Should you stumble upon her by day, you must toss the web on her, the moon’s light strengthens her, but only if she’s free to roam. With the net she’s as weak as any other, the black netting will call forth that light and help you to contain her properly, and more than that, the net is made from truth, it’s power is beyond—”
“This wee thing?” he snickered, palming the scrap of what must pass for fairy rope. “I doubt it could hold a bug, much less a girl.”
She growled, exposing the length of her baby fangs. He almost laughed. He’d seen scarier.
“It will grow to encapsulate whatever it’s thrown over,” she rolled her eyes as if that much was obvious, “Do not use it to trap anything but her. No fish, no fowl, nothing. Do you understand me?”
“Do you think I’m five?”
She huffed. “Bloody hell, you vex me.”
Mutual. He lifted a brow.
Rolling her eyes, she said, “that is the only net of its kind. Jericho had it fashioned for me, now that you have it I can’t leave the fire charm on it. So do not lose it. Put it away where you cannot lose it. I can’t stress that enough, Aeric.”
He sighed. “Understood.” Forehead lifting, he made a point of showing her how he tucked it into the leather pouch he kept around his waist. “See, safe.” He tucked the flap down.
Blue eyes narrowing into thin slits, she nodded. Somewhere along the way their interactions had devolved into childish antics. He wasn’t sure why, then again he was known to be somewhat of a heartless bastard within his closest circles. There was that.
“Any other gems of advice to toss my way?”
“Aye. You will rue the day you dared to mock me and in order to find her you must learn to first be mad yourself.” Then with an emphatic humph she vanished.
It’s not that he tried to be a bastard, it’s just that it came naturally to him. Snorting, because he doubted telling her that would mollify her in the slightest, he grabbed a burlap sack and stuffed it with food, camping supplies, and a change of clothes—enough to last him a week, anything longer than that and it wouldn’t matter anyway because he’d stop the search. But if it were true that she was leaving a trail of death in her wake, he doubted he’d need more than a day or two at most to find her.
Closing his eyes, he called the sands of time to him. His body, his clothes, even the pack on his back began to tremble as his body reformed itself into a million grains of sand, leaving nothing behind as he went in search of his prey.
~*~
The sky was a panoramic wash of faint pinks and oranges. Purple-limbed trees quivered from the stiff breeze. The haunting melody of wind song whistled through weathered leaves.
Shedding the sand like a dog shaking its wet body, the Huntsman stood just outside the demarcation of the natural and unnatural. Wonderland stood inches before him, swirling with fog and ringing with the maniacal laughter of madness. He hated the insanity of this place. It was the one area of Kingdom he tried his damndest to avoid if he could.
“Bloody damn tears,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders twice before, with a determined breath, he took the first step inside.
Already the suns powerful rays were weakening. And it was hard to gage whether it was because the sun was actually setting, or the woods were simply too dense to allow its penetration.
Just then a trail of scuttlebugs scuttling on big clopping feet moved to the right of him. Growling, he stomped the head of one that dared to crawl up his boot. The bugs were known to strip the flesh off a sleeping man in less than two hours. They might appear benign and cartoonish, but the branch shaped creatures were opportunistic vultures through and through.
It was said that only the most brave or most mad walked through Wonderland, it was easy to understand why.
An hour or so later, he was greeted by a fork in the road. Literally. A long-handled, silver fork was wedged into the soil, and two roads diverged from it. To the right the soil was smooth and worn. Beds of softly snoring flowers lined the walkway. To the left the path was overgrown with weeds as tall as a man in some spots; fallen polka dotted tree limbs, and curled bramble gardens full of thorny barbs.
The hunter in him knew that in Wonderland what was good was bad and what was bad was good. Meaning, the cleared path likely led to trap. A fifty-foot frog with a taste for human flesh, trees that excreted gas from their flanks—so toxic to humans that it would cause them to lay down and sleep, never to stir again. Or some such other buffoonery as that.
Whatever foul thing the mind could conjure Wonderland could replicate to exacting detail. This was a place sprung from the twisted and demented mind of the Mad Hatter himself. Who was said to be not quite so mad anymore.
Not that it mattered, because his forest remained, and every year it grew more and more volatile and dangerous to the unwary. Retrieving his long handled machete from his pack he made to the left.
Thirty minutes later, he’d barely cleared his way through fifty feet. Hacking and chopping along the way. Wondering absently at the lack of animal chatter.
Pausing to wipe at the sweat on his brow, he gazed up at the sky. There wasn’t even a bird in the air.
“Chrysalis, where are you?” He spoke forcefully, not afraid to make himself known. “I’ve been sent.” Hack. Hack. “To find you.” Hack. “You do not have to be afraid.”
For another hour, he slogged his way through while talking to her. And he knew she was around. The stench of death was in the air.
It was why there were no birds, no animals—only insects, or creatures too stupid to care what happened to them.
By this point he’d managed to work his way inside a clearing, where he realized it wasn’t even close to night. More like late afternoon. Panting from exertion, he tossed his hood back, before undoing the clasp around his neck. Kneeling, he opened his sack, rolled his cape up and shoved it down the opening. Sweat poured off him in rivulets. Mouth dry, he looked at the ground.
To the right the soil was arid, loose and dry. But to the left, patches of dead leaves stuck to wet mud. Old tracks of animals crisscrossed everywhere, but all eventually headed linearly. There was drinking water off to the left somewhere.
“Come on, girl,” he whispered in a soft, beguiling tone. “I do not wish to harm you.”
His neck prickled. The heavy sensation of eyes boring into his skull made him whip his head up to gaze at the trees surrounding him like macabre sentinels.
Aeric might not come into these woods often, but he knew them well. It was his business to know Kingdom. To understand the inherent danger in the seemingly benign. The flowers, grass, stones, even the trees themselves could come alive and attack, whether in defense or simply becau
se of hunger.
The key to surviving in a place like this for long was in keeping focused and sharp.
“Chrysalis,” he continued to call her name, knowing she was close. Feeling the ever growing weight of her eyes press in upon him.
Keeping his head on a swivel he followed the trail of rodents toward the water source, while also making certain to constantly acquaint himself with his surroundings.
A few steps later he heard the gurgle of rushing water. The sky that’d been so bright just seconds ago was now turning gray, black clouds threatened on the horizon. Rumbling his way.
Danika had mentioned to follow the bloody trail, but he’d yet to find one. So either the girl was on the opposite side of Wonderland, or she’d cleaned up her mess (as he likely suspected might be the case). It wasn’t as though she were a mindless beast; she was a cursed human, meaning her intellect was probably not as diminished as some might believe.
The problem he was running into now was that apart from the bugs and rodent trails, there were no other tracks to follow.
A break in the line of bushes showed him the brook. The water was crystal clear and running down a bank of smooth river stones. Chucking his pack, he dropped it beside the gnarled stump of a hollowed out leech tree.
Leech trees were demonic creations. They bore a façade that resembled a mighty oak, but the closer you drew to the tree’s side the more the truth of it was revealed. The façade was just a smoke screen that only wavered into reality once you entered into striking range. The tree was actually made up of thousands of thorny vines wrapped around one another, the moment one came into contact a vine shot out, embedding the thorns into your flesh to keep you immobile so that it could feast on you with minimal struggle to its delicate sappy maw.
Thankfully this one had gone dormant a while ago. Kneeling beside the brook, he scooped water into his hands and drank deeply.
A red licorice bush grew along the bank, it’s deep red color made his stomach gurgle. He hadn’t eaten since he’d left the bar last night. But eating anything that grew in Wonderland was probably foolish at best.