Page 6 of Escaping Wonderland

The path they were following continued its winding trail despite there being no obstacles for it to avoid. About a hundred feet ahead, it met another path, and another a little farther on, and even more after that, creating a tangled web of walkways that came from every direction and led to every direction. A few even led up and down, though her mind could not perceivehowthey did so.

But it was the building amidst those confused pathways that commanded Alice’s full attention. It stood on dozens of support stilts, none of which were quite straight and many of whichlooked far too thin and frail to support any weight. The purple-stone paths wound between those supports and through the shadows beneath the structure.

The massive wooden platform at the building’s base created a deck around it, and people milled about on that deck—humans and aliens together, dressed in clothing that must’ve represented a thousand years of history for at least ten different species, often with little rhyme or reason as to the combinations.

And the building itself…

It had at least six or seven floors, though it was difficult to tell because no single aspect of the structure lined up with anything else. The angles were all strange—some of them should’ve beenimpossible—and sections of it hung over the open air without any visible support. In the real world, such a building would’ve collapsed before even a fraction of it had been completed.

But none of that mattered here.

A wide, uneven set of steps led up to the deck, and a hand-painted sign stood on a tall, bent post beside them.

Hatter’s Tea Party,it declared.

“Come, come!” the praxian said impatiently, tugging Alice’s arm.

They raced up the steps and through the double doors leading into the building. The praxian stopped abruptly. Alice plowed into his back, causing them both to stumble forward. He waved his arms to the sides to keep himself balanced, and Alice grabbed his jacket to steady herself.

He turned his head and glared at her over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Alice muttered, releasing his jacket and taking a step back.

That was his own damn fault.

The praxian’s glare only intensified as he meticulously straightened his jacket, moving his arms and tugging the clothuntil not even the tiniest wrinkle remained. He turned away from her only when he was done.

Frowning, Alice looked up, and promptly forgot her collision with the praxian. They were standing in a large, circular room with a black and white checkered floor. The wide staircase ahead split in half partway up, the two pieces curving to lead to an open level that ran around the inside of the chamber. More stairs wound up the cylinder farther up. A massive crystal chandelier hung overhead—though she couldn’t see any chains holding it in place. There were at least two dozen doors all around the chamber, each of which was a different size, color, and shape, and the walls were lined with paintings that varied wildly in their subjects—tea pots, dolls, nude males and females of several species engaged in lewd acts. Alice’s cheeks heated.

Countless people—human and alien alike—milled about the space, many of them wearing masks or elaborate face paint. They wore dresses and gowns, suits and costumes, all somehow uniform despite being so wildly different.

But one figure stood out from the rest—a tall, lean man, his features shrouded in shadow save for his wide grin and vibrant, glowing teal eyes. Despite the people moving about all around, despite the myriad of distractions, those strange eyes met Alice’s and held them for an instant. Then someone walked past Alice and the praxian, obscuring her view. The shadowy figure was gone when her line of sight cleared. Her brows furrowed. She scanned the room, searching for signs of the shadowy stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She stepped forward, meaning to delve into the crowd to find the man—she wasn’t sure why, but something about him called to her—when a sharp voice brought her to a halt.

“You’re late, Miraxis!” A squat woman in a lacy red gown hurried toward Alice and the praxian. Her waist was cinched, exaggerating her wide hips and her large bosom, which wasbarely contained by her dress. She wore a mask with deep, dark eyeholes and a long, pointed beak, and her black hair surrounded her head in a mass of bouncing ringlets.

The woman shoved the praxian, Miraxis, aside and stopped in front of Alice, tilting her chin down. “Andwhatis shewearing?”

Miraxis wrung his hands and bowed his head. “Hurried as fast as I could, Madame Cecilia.Shearrived late, no time to change anything.”

“Then we’ll need to prepare her ourselves—quickly—before we get her to the Hatter. The king means to collect her tomorrow, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. That doesn’t leave Hatter much time to work. I’ve kept my heart out of the king’s collection so far, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

A tall, barrel-chested man dressed in a black and white checkered suit with a matching domino mask approached, carrying a silver platter with several small, pretty bottles arranged atop it. Each bottle had a little tag on it that saidDrink Me. He paused beside the red woman. “Madame.”

“Yes, yes.” Cecilia plucked a bottle from the tray, uncorked it, and offered it to Alice. “Drink this, girl.”

Alice frowned as she took the bottle. She brought it to her nose and sniffed. The faint fruity smell wafting from the bottle couldn’t disguise its sharp tang of alcohol.

Cecilia snapped, “We do not have time! Drink!”

Alice held the bottle out to the woman. “Thank you, but I don’t want it.”

Cecilia sighed heavily, took the bottle in one hand, and reached up to pinch the bridge of her beak with the other. “Whymust you be so troublesome? Hold her.”

Miraxis’s hands were on Alice before she could react. He pulled her back against his chest, wrapped one arm around hermiddle, locking her arms down at her sides, and grabbed her jaw.

Alice’s eyes widened as she struggled against him. “What—No!”

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