Praise for
THE GIRL IN RED
“Satisfyingly upends the familiar tale of a clever girl, a dangerous wolf and a brave savior, and folklore fans will enjoy this bloody near-future variation on a familiar theme.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The versatile Henry has reimagined another classic fairy tale, this time with a fascinating narrative about surviving the apocalypse.”
—Booklist
“With The Girl in Red, Christina Henry once again proves that retellings don’t necessarily lack originality.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Praise for
THE MERMAID
“Beautifully written and daringly conceived, The Mermaid is a fabulous story. . . . Henry’s spare, muscular prose is a delight.”
—Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches
“There is a current of longing that runs through The Mermaid: longing for the sea, for truth, for love. It is irresistible and will sweep you away.”
—Ellen Herrick, author of The Sparrow Sisters
“A captivating tale of an intriguing young woman who finds herself in the world of the greatest showman, P. T. Barnum. Original and magical, this is a novel to dive into and savor.”
—Hazel Gaynor, New York Times bestselling author of The Cottingley Secret
Praise for
LOST BOY
“Christina Henry shakes the fairy dust off a legend; this Peter Pan will give you chills.”
—Genevieve Valentine, author of Persona
“Turns Neverland into a claustrophobic world where time is disturbingly nebulous and identity is chillingly manipulated. . . . A deeply impactful, imaginative and haunting story of loyalty, disillusionment and self-discovery.”
—RT Book Reviews (top pick)
“Henry keeps the story fresh and energetic with diabolical twists and turns to keep us guessing. Dynamic characterization and narration bring the story to life. . . . Once again, Henry takes readers on an adventure of epic and horrific proportions as she reinvents a childhood classic using our own fears and desires. Her smooth prose and firm writing hooked me up instantly and held me hostage to the very end.”
—Smexy Books
“An absolutely addicting read. . . . Psychological, gripping and entertaining, painting a picture of Peter Pan before we came to know him in the film: the darker side of his history. The writing is fabulous, the plot incredibly compelling, and the characters entirely enthralling.”
—Utopia State of Mind
Praise for
ALICE
“I loved falling down the rabbit hole with this dark, gritty tale. A unique spin on a classic and one wild ride!”
—Gena Showalter, New York Times bestselling author of The Darkest Promise
“Alice takes the darker elements of Lewis Carroll’s original, amplifies Tim Burton’s cinematic reimagining of the story and adds a layer of grotesquery from [Henry’s] own alarmingly fecund imagination to produce a novel that reads like a Jacobean revenge drama crossed with a slasher movie.”
—The Guardian (UK)
“A psychotic journey through the bowels of magic and madness. I, for one, thoroughly enjoyed the ride.”
—Brom, author of The Child Thief
“A horrifying fantasy that will have you reexamining your love for this childhood favorite.”
—RT Book Reviews (top pick)
Praise for
RED QUEEN
“Henry takes the best elements from Carroll’s iconic world and mixes them with dark fantasy elements. . . . [Her] writing is so seamless you won’t be able to stop reading.”
—Pop Culture Uncovered
“Alice’s ongoing struggle is to distinguish reality from illusion, and Henry excels in mingling the two for the reader as well as her characters. The darkness in this book is that of fairy tales, owing more to Grimm’s matter-of-fact violence than to the underworld of the first book.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
Titles by Christina Henry
LOST BOY
THE MERMAID
THE GIRL IN RED
The Chronicles of Alice
ALICE
RED QUEEN
LOOKING GLASS
(novellas)
The Black Wings Novels
BLACK WINGS
BLACK NIGHT
BLACK HOWL
BLACK LAMENT
BLACK CITY
BLACK HEART
BLACK SPRING
ACE
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2020 by Tina Raffaele
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Henry, Christina, 1974– author.
Title: Looking glass: the chronicles of Alice novellas / Christina Henry.
Description: First edition. | New York: Ace, 2020.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019040132 (print) | LCCN 2019040133 (ebook) | ISBN 9781984805638 (paperback) | ISBN 9781984805645 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Alice (Fictitious character from Carroll)—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3608.E568 A6 2020 (print) | LCC PS3608.E568 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019040132
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019040133
First Edition: April 2020
Cover art by Pep Montserrat
Cover design by Judith Lagerman
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0
For all the girls who save themselves
And all the girls still learning how
CONTENTS
* * *
• • •
Lovely Creature
Girl in Amber
When I First Came to Town
The Mercy Seat
Elizabeth Violet Hargreaves trotted down the stairs in her new blue dress, her blond hair neatly done up in curls and ribbons. She couldn’t wait to show Mama and Papa how pretty she looked. Elizabeth had spent several moments admiring her appearance from all angles in her looking glass, until her maid Dinah had told her enough was enough and that she should get downstairs else she would miss breakfast.
Elizabeth did not want to miss breakfast. She was a hearty eater, somewhat to her mother’s dismay, and breakfast was her favorite meal. There were always pots of jam with breakfast, and a sugar bowl for the tea, and Elizabeth never missed a chance to add an extra dollop of jam to her toast or sneak another lump of sugar.
If her mother caught her she would make that hissing snake noise between her teeth and tell Elizabeth if she kept eating like that she would become rounder than she was already. Elizabeth didn’t mind muc
h that she was round. She thought it made her look soft and sweet, and she’d rather be soft and sweet than hard and clipped, like her mother.
Of course, Elizabeth thought Mama was beautiful—or rather, she was beautiful underneath all her planes and angles. She had the same blond hair as Elizabeth, long and thick. When she took it down at night it would fall in rippling waves to her waist. Some of those waves had turned silvery grey, though Elizabeth didn’t think Mama was that old, really, and the silver was sort of pretty when it caught the light.
Elizabeth had her mother’s eyes, too, clear and blue. But Mama used to laugh more, and her eyes used to crinkle up in the corners when she did. Now there was always a furrow between her brows, and Elizabeth couldn’t remember the last time she laughed.
No, that isn’t true, she thought to herself. She could remember the last time Mama laughed. It was before That Day.
“That Day” was how Elizabeth always referred to it in her mind, the day that she came downstairs for breakfast to find her father at the table looking like he’d aged twenty years in a minute, his face the color of old ash in the fireplace. In front of him was the morning newspaper, freshly ironed.
“Papa?” she’d asked, but he hadn’t heard her.
Elizabeth had crept closer, and seen the paper’s headline.
FIRE IN CITY ASYLUM
NO SURVIVORS—TALES FROM TERRIFIED ONLOOKERS
Underneath these interesting bits was a photograph that showed the asylum before and after the fire. Elizabeth stared at the “before” picture. The building seemed like it was staring back at her, like something was rippling under the walls, something that wanted to reach out and grab her and drag her inside.
“Elizabeth,” Papa had said, and folded the paper hurriedly, pushing it to one side. “What is it, my darling?”
She indicated the food spread out on the table before him. “It’s breakfast. Did Mama eat already?”
“N-no,” Papa said. “Mama isn’t feeling well. She’s still asleep.”
That was strange, because Elizabeth was certain she’d heard Mama’s voice downstairs earlier. But Papa seemed to have something on his mind at the moment (that was what Mama always said, that Papa had Something on His Mind and Elizabeth Wasn’t to Bother Him) so perhaps he’d forgotten that Mama had been here already.
Elizabeth climbed into her seat and laid her napkin on her lap as she was supposed to do and waited for Hobson to serve.
The butler came forward and Elizabeth said, “Eggs and toast, please, Hobson.”
He nodded, and lifted the cover off the eggs, and Elizabeth noticed his hand trembled as he scooped the eggs onto her plate with a large silver spoon. He plucked two pieces off the toast rack with tongs and placed them next to the eggs.
“Jam, Miss Alice?” Hobson said, offering Elizabeth the jam pot.
“Not Alice,” Papa hissed through his teeth, and his voice was so harsh it made Elizabeth jump in her seat. “Elizabeth.”
Hobson brought one of his shaking hands to his face, and Elizabeth saw with surprise that he wiped away a tear.
“Hobson, are you all right?” she asked. She liked the old butler quite a bit. He always saved extra sugar lumps for her in a handkerchief and passed them illicitly at dinner.
“Yes, Miss Al—Elizabeth,” he said firmly. “I’m quite all right.”
He placed the jam pot near Elizabeth’s teacup and went to stand against the wall behind Papa. Elizabeth watched him, frowning.
“Papa, who’s Alice?” she asked.
“No one,” Papa said in his No Arguments voice. “I think Hobson must have been thinking of something else.”
Elizabeth ignored the No Arguments warning. “But then why did you get so angry when he said ‘Alice’?”
Papa’s face looked strange then, a kind of cross between chalky and mottled, and he seemed to be swallowing words trying to escape out of his mouth.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Elizabeth,” Papa said finally. “Enjoy your breakfast. You can have extra jam if you like.”
Elizabeth returned her attention to her breakfast plate, pleased to have permission for all the jam she liked but not so silly that she didn’t realize Papa was trying to distract her. Still, she supposed she could let herself be distracted for the moment.
And in truth, she had nearly forgotten the Incident at Breakfast until later, when she climbed the stairs to get a book and heard Mama making muffled noises in her bedroom. Elizabeth had put her ear close to the keyhole and listened.
“Alice, Alice,” Mama said, and it sounded like she was sobbing.
“Alice,” Elizabeth said to herself, and tucked the name away. It meant something. No one wanted her to know what it meant, but it certainly meant something.
Elizabeth didn’t know why she was now thinking of That Day as she tripped down the stairs in her lovely dress. That Day had been strange and confusing, all the adults in the house speaking in hushed voices.
Her older sister Margaret had even come from across the City in a carriage to confer with their parents in the parlor and Elizabeth had been told in no uncertain terms to go to her room and stay there while this interesting conference occurred.
Margaret was quite a lot older than Elizabeth—twenty years older, in fact, and had two little girls of her own. These girls were ten and nine years old to Elizabeth’s nine but had to call her “Aunt Elizabeth” and she did rather enjoy exerting the authority that came with being the aunt. It meant that when she said that they had to play a certain game they had to listen or else she could tell them off without getting in trouble for it.
They would see Margaret and her husband Daniel (who always called her “Sister Elizabeth” and made her laugh by tickling her cheeks with his mustache) and the girls today at Giving Day. All of the families of the City gathered in the Great Square for their children to receive their gifts from the City Fathers.
Elizabeth had noticed last year that some families—her own papa, even—also gave something to the City Fathers in return. She couldn’t tell what it was, though, because it was a sealed envelope.
She paused outside the door of the breakfast room, to make certain that Papa and Mama were both in there so she could make her grand entrance and hear both of them ooh and aah at how pretty she looked. The two of them were murmuring quietly to each other as they passed the jam and the butter.
Elizabeth swept into the room and paused just inside the door, holding the hem of her new dress in both hands. Mama hadn’t even seen the dress because Dinah had gone with her to the shop to choose it. Elizabeth wanted it to be a surprise for everyone, and of course her hair had never looked quite so nice as it did just then. Dinah had taken extra care on it that morning.
“Ta-da!” Elizabeth said, and waited for the applause.
Instead her mother gasped and said, “Alice!”
Papa’s face went from ruddy to white in a moment, and he looked at Mama and said, in a warning voice, “Althea!”
Mama covered her mouth with her hand, and Elizabeth heard little coughing sobs leaking out from behind her fingers.
Alice again, Elizabeth thought. This time she was not curious about the name so much as annoyed. Who was this Alice to steal Elizabeth’s thunder? Where were her “oohs” and “aahs”?
“What’s the matter, Mama?” Elizabeth asked. “Don’t you think I’m pretty in my new dress?”
Papa took a very long draught from his teacup and put the cup back on the saucer with a clatter. Then he held his arms out to Elizabeth, who went to her father and climbed into his lap.
“Of course you look pretty, my sweetheart. I’ve never seen a creature so lovely as you.” He winked at her. “Except your mother, of course. And you are just the image of her.”
Elizabeth smiled proudly across the table at Mama, who seemed to be struggling to get herself under control. S
he stared at Elizabeth as if she were a ghost instead of her own daughter.
“You look very pretty, too, Mama,” Elizabeth offered.
Mama did look pretty in her white gown, the same one that she always wore to Giving Day. It was her nicest one and it never was taken out except for this special day once a year. Mama usually wore it with a pink sash around her waist but that sash had been replaced by a blue one that was a little darker than the blue of Elizabeth’s dress. Elizabeth wondered what happened to the other sash.
“Elizabeth said you look pretty, Althea,” Papa said.
The way he said it was like he was talking to a child that needed to be reminded of her manners. Elizabeth had never heard Papa talk to Mama this way before.
Mama closed her eyes, gave a shuddering breath and then opened them again. When she did the ghost hadn’t left her face entirely but she looked more like Mama again.
“Thank you very much, Elizabeth,” Mama said. “You look charming in that dress.”
If Mama had said this the way that she usually said it Elizabeth would have wriggled with pride but it didn’t sound the way Mama usually said it. It was stiff and hard and Mama didn’t mean it. Elizabeth could tell.
“Why don’t you have some breakfast?” Papa asked, kissing the top of her head. This was the signal for her to hop off his lap and go to her own chair.
She did, though a lot of the joy of the day had been drained out already. Well, perhaps Daniel and Margaret would compliment her dress when they arrived.
Still, Elizabeth thought as she put an extra-generous dollop of marmalade on her toast, I must discover who this Alice is.
Elizabeth was tired of Alice spoiling her days.
After breakfast Elizabeth went into the garden to wait for Margaret and Daniel and her nieces to arrive.
“Mind you don’t get your dress dirty,” Mama said. She sounded almost normal when she said that.
Looking Glass Page 1