Wonder

If I accept, we’ll have to have a plan to hide the keys immediately. Maybe I can find a way to send a message back to the future. It’s risky.

“What do you think, Fabiola?” I say.

“I say no. Because you’re the only one who knows the whereabouts of the keys. Sooner or later, you’ll find them here without their help. They need us. We don’t need them.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know for sure if you’re the Real Alice?” Mr. Tick asks me. “Think of it. All the evidence you gathered from the past could have been given to you. Maybe the sneaky Pillar played you into thinking you were the Real Alice. How do you know he didn’t plant the keys you found in the basement of your house and made you think you’d found them yourself?”

“I met Lewis Carroll’s ghost in here,” I say. “He told me I’m the Real Alice.”

“It’s a ghost. An apparition. Who said it can’t be manipulated?” Mr. Tick argues. “But the future never lies. You will definitely know if you’re the Real Alice by finding all the keys there and knowing what happens to you in the future.”

“I’m not so keen about my future without my past,” I say. “I think I’ll decline. Please leave now.”

“She leaves us no choice, Mrs. Tock,” Mr. Tick tells his wife.

“I hate it when people don’t accept our kindness.” Mrs. Tock shakes her head.

Suddenly the March Hare stiffens in place, as if electrified by an invisible current. He falls to the floor.

“We planted this. Cyanide in his milk,” Mr. Tick says. “To wake him up, he needs an antidote. And only we have it.”

Fabiola reaches for her Vorpal sword, but neither of the two loons flinch.

“I wouldn’t do that, because the only way to save the March Hare is to go back in time and relieve him from his poison,” Mrs. Tock sneers, all the joy in the world flaming in her eyes. “Cyanide is incurable.”

“Besides, it’s time that cuts like a knife. Not a Vorpal sword,” Mr. Tick mocks Fabiola. “So please sit down and accept our offer.”

I stare at their ugly faces without flinching. I muster the look of the unafraid, but my knees are shaking. Not the March Hare. Please don’t kill him.

“Think of it as a school trip on a bus,” Mr. Tick tells me. “Except you don’t have to kill your classmates this time.”

“You’ll also get to know Jack’s fate in the future,” Mr. Tick says. “I think you want to know about that.

“Shut up, you creeps.” I grit my teeth. “Let’s do it. Send me to the future.”

Chapter 6

MARGARET KENT’S OFFICE, BRITISH PARLIAMENT, LONDON

Margaret Kent had her acquaintances gathered around her. The Cheshire, Carolus Ludovicus, and a crew of Red mercenaries. She sat back in her chair, imagining she would be Queen when this was all over. It was simple, really. She would get the keys, chop off the Queen of Hearts’ head, and play football with it in a festive celebration broadcast on live TV.

But it was a long road to freedom.

“Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock offered Alice the deal, and she took the bait,” Margaret said. “It’s only hours and the Six Impossible Keys will be ours.”

“Meow.” The Cheshire moaned happily, still disguised in Jack’s body, which made him look weirder.

“Don’t meow in my office.” Margaret groaned. “This is Parliament, not a barn.”

Carolus laughed next to the Cheshire. He had just gotten his Lullaby shot, a sedative that kept him calm enough not to kill anyone, or to look for Lewis Carroll to kill him.

Margaret actually felt nauseated, having a man looking like Lewis Carroll and another looking like Jack Diamonds in her office. It seemed so wrong, but she didn’t want to give it much thought now.

“My point is that sending Alice into the future is taking place at the Inklings,” she said. “It’s your job to surround the place, and make sure to get the keys by force when she wakes up.”

“What if she tries to trick us?” Carolus asked.

“Then you bring her to me. We’ll torture her until she tells us where the keys are.”

“Could I volunteer to do the torture?” the Cheshire said. “I’d like to see the look on her face, being tortured by Jack, the love of her life.”

Margaret smirked. “Nasty idea. Brilliant.”

“We’ve always been two messed-up individuals,” the Cheshire said.

“Me too,” Carolus said eagerly.

“One happy family.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Wait and see how much we’ll want to kill each other when we find the keys.”

“Meow.” That was Carolus this time.

Margaret glared at him.

“You said you don’t want the Cheshire to meow, not me,” Carolus said.

“Your meow sucks,” the Cheshire said.

“Yeah?” Carolus said, and stared him in the eyes.

“Yeah,” the Cheshire retorted. “It lacks cat subtlety.”

“What the hell is that?”

“Something only cats can do,” the Cheshire said.

“Like gri

“Your gri

“You mean a cat piss in his boots. Want to punch me in the face to show me how to grin and meow? Ha!” Carolus began to lose his temper.

“Seriously,” the Cheshire said. “You’re nothing without a pill thinking it’s a man. You’re a ghost of a man at best.”

“Girls!” Margaret rapped her hand on the desk.

“He started it.” Carolus grunted.

“What?” The Cheshire rolled his eyes. “Is this high school on mushrooms all over again?”

“You never went to school,” Margaret shouted. “Stop it, and let’s talk about the Inklings.”

“What about it?” the Cheshire said.

“I heard rumors it has a secret tu

“Will do,” Carolus said.

“Aren’t you coming?” the Cheshire asked Margaret.

“No.” She sat back in her comfortable leather chair, tonguing a pen in her mouth. “I have to tell the Queen about my plan with the keys.”

“She doesn’t know yet?” Carolus said.

“Not yet, and there is a reason for it.” Margaret smirked.

Chapter 7

SOMEWHERE IN THE FUTURE

I wake up in a big bed inside a white room with cushiony drapes and modern furniture. I am suffering from a headache. Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock told me it would subside soon. It’s surreal to imagine another version of me lying on a couch a few years ago in the back room in the Inklings, while I am here in the future. All at the same time.

I straighten up, remembering that the March Hare’s life is at stake. I haven’t had enough time to get to know him, but he reminds of Constance, whom I saved in my first mission. Both are pure children at heart, and all I want to do is hold them tight and protect them.

But where am I? How many years into the future? And how has the Inklings turned into this beautiful room I am in?

The headache begins to subside and I get off the bed. This room is big and beautiful. Mostly white.

I am wearing a white dress. The tiles on the floor are black and white, like a chessboard. Except they’re made of elegant, expensive, shiny material, like I have never seen before.

There is a window to my right, overlooking a garden. It catches my eye. I can’t help but go look.

The garden is vast. Endless. Full of lilies and greens. It reminds me of… wait… is that a hedgehog of a rabbit?

It is.

No. Not a rabbit. A March Hare.

I realize the garden is another fabulous replica of Wonderland, probably designed by the March Hare — in the future.

Does this mean he is alive? Does this mean I will succeed in getting back the keys and saving him?

Too many ideas roam in my head and stir that headache back again. It’s surreal being in the future. All those possibilities.