Wicked Wonderland Read online

  Wicked Wonderland

  Book 1 in the Looking-Glass Curse trilogy

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First Digital Edition, 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Eva Chase

  Cover design: Sly Fox Cover Designs

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-989096-28-4

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-989096-29-1

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Free Story!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Hatter’s Favorite Honey-Pineapple-Coriander Scones

  Next in the Looking-Glass Curse trilogy

  Consort of Secrets excerpt

  About the Author

  Free Story!

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  Chapter One

  Lyssa

  I should have known something was wrong the second I tripped over Brian’s jeans coming in the door. He could be a bit of a slob, sure, but he didn’t usually leave his pants… and shirt… in a heap in the apartment foyer.

  I caught my balance, which was a pretty impressive feat considering I was clutching a heavy bag in each hand, and my first naïve thought was that he’d had some kind of accident, gotten sick on himself, and peeled off the mess as soon as he’d gotten in the door—

  Then my gaze snagged on the silky midnight-blue dress that was also crumpled on the floor, a few feet into our living room. Brian definitely hadn’t been wearing that.

  It wasn’t one of my dresses either.

  My mind glazed over with an uncomfortable prickling that seeped down into my chest. I walked through the apartment on autopilot, rounding the corner to where I could see through the open bedroom door just in time to get a stunning view of my boyfriend’s naked ass as he plowed into an equally naked woman on our bed. She gasped, he groaned, and my fingers went slack around the handles of the bags I’d been holding.

  One jar of pickled eggs and four bottles of kombucha hit the floor with a thud and the crackling of shattered glass. Brian flinched and jerked away from—out of—oh, God, I might hurl—the other woman.

  “Shit. Shit,” he said as he scrambled off the bed. The woman gave a little shriek when she saw me and groped for her slip.

  Somewhere in that moment, I split down the middle. One part of me kept my mouth clamped shut so I didn’t actually puke from all the horror churning in my stomach. The other part zipped off far, far away to watch from a detached numb distance.

  Brian had obviously been looking for something very different from me. The other woman’s dark brown hair was almost as far as you could get from my pale blond. Tall, curvy. Maybe that was the problem? He’d wanted a bigger handful of boobs?

  My stomach lurched harder. The other woman darted past me toward the door. Brian stood there raking his hand through his hair, still swearing.

  “I didn’t know you’d be home early,” he said finally.

  A laugh sputtered out of me. Which side of me had that come from? Maybe both. Because my boyfriend—correction: ex-boyfriend—was apparently such an asshole he thought that was some kind of excuse. Because this was the perfect cap on an already awful day.

  “I had a meeting with my supervisor right before lunch,” I said. “The call center laid me off.”

  How many times had he brought women over while I’d been sitting in my little cubicle taking repetitive customer service calls on other days? He’d moved into the apartment three months ago. Had the cheating started right away? Had he been screwing around even before—

  My horror collided with the numbness, and my brain derailed in a burst of sparks. I jabbed my hand toward the door.

  “Get out. Now.”

  “Lyssa, come on. We should at least talk about—”

  “Now!” I snapped in a voice that didn’t sound like mine at all. It must have been convincing, because Brian hopped into his boxers and fumbled with a shirt faster than I’d have thought was humanly possible. Then he was hustling through the apartment, dodging the bags of shattered glass, stopping for just long enough to scoop his PSP off the table. For fuck’s sake.

  He nearly fell on his face as he hauled on his jeans, which would have been satisfying, but sadly he managed to catch his balance. Before I had to turn on that sharp voice again, he’d ducked out the door. It closed behind him with a thump. His lady friend had already fled, taking her dress with her.

  I dragged in a breath, and my chest hitched. A sour vinegar-y smell filled my nose. I looked down at the plastic shopping bags leaking kombucha and pickling juice onto the hardwood floor.

  I didn’t even like that crap. It was Brian’s favorite drink, Brian’s favorite weird little snack. After getting the news about the lay-off, I’d just wanted to do something to make someone else happy, because accomplishing that would make me feel better too.

  Why did I have such shitty luck with boyfriends? Maybe Brian had been a little rough around the edges, but I’d shown him I didn’t mind that. I’d thought he was in it for the long haul. How many signs had there been that I’d missed?

  I rubbed my forehead and left the mess, flopping down on the linen couch instead. Deep breath in; deep breath out. Over and over, until my feet felt steadier where they were braced against the floor.

  The apartment was in my name. Brian had kept forgetting to set up a meeting with the landlord to get on the lease. He’d have to come back and get the stuff that belonged to him, but I could put it in boxes near the door so I hardly had to see him. Or give him a time to come and be somewhere else so I didn’t have to see him at all.

  A year and a half. A year and a half, and he— In my bed—

  He’d have to leave behind his key. Then I’d be done with him. It was weird how it really would be that easy to untangle him from my life in every practical way. Our lives hadn’t gotten all that entangled in the first place, had they?

  I’d thought it would take time. I’d thought—

  It didn’t matter now. I was never wiping that image out of my head, and I wasn’t giving him a chance to repeat it. Melody might tease me about being a pushover, but I wasn’t that much of a doormat, thank you.

  My hand went to my purse to grab my phone. I could call my best friend right now, and she’d put this whole rotten day in perspective. Melody was good at that. Though she might have to stretch her skills beyond their usual limits today, given the catastrophe my life had turned into.

  I was just reaching my thumb to tap her name when my ringtone warbled. For a second, I thought my best friend had psychically picked up on my distress and decided to pre-emptively call me. But it wasn’t her number on the screen.
It was my mom’s.

  Oh, no. Had Cameron gotten into even more trouble? It would figure if today’s nasty surprises weren’t over yet.

  I answered, gripping the edge of the sofa cushion with my other hand, preparing for news of my older brother’s latest exploits. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  Mom’s hesitant voice traveled over the line. “Oh, well, not much with me, but— Is this a good time to talk, honey? I know you’re probably at work.”

  I bit my tongue against another rough laugh. “That’s not a problem. What is it?” She wasn’t talking with the obvious quaver I associated with Cameron problems. It could be he was still keeping his nose clean after all.

  “It’s all very unexpected,” Mom said. “You remember your grand-aunt—Aunt Alicia?”

  “Of course.” Aunt Alicia had been my dad’s aunt. When he’d gotten sick and for a while after he’d passed on, she’d come by the house to check in on Mom, Cam, and me. She’d always brought the best picture books and let me sit on her knee while she brought the stories to life with her bright voice. My clearest memory of her was us tucked together in Dad’s old armchair, her hair, always pinned neatly back, shining blond and silver in the light from the living room window.

  I hadn’t seen her since I was eight or nine, around fifteen years ago. She and Mom had gotten into a fight about something or other, and she’d stopped dropping in.

  “Well, it seems she’s no longer with us. And she left a will—she didn’t have any kids of her own, you know, and she never married—and… She’s left everything to you.”

  My grip on the phone loosened. I recovered myself at the last second before I dropped it. “What?”

  “I guess you were the person in the family she felt closest to,” Mom said with one of her faint twitters. “I’m not sure exactly what you’ll want to do with it. There’s a little money, not a lot, and then there’s the Tenniel property. It’s quite an old house… Your father grew up there, and his parents inherited it from his grandfather… I’m not sure what state it’s in after your grand-aunt was living there all that time alone.”

  Aunt Alicia was dead. A pang ran through me, but it was muted, both by the more direct blows I’d just taken today and by all those years since she’d shown any interest in me. She must have lived an awfully lonely life if her best choice to inherit was someone she’d only known when I was a little girl.

  A flutter of excitement rose up under the pang. I didn’t want to be here anymore, and now I didn’t have to be.

  “I’ll have to go take a look at it, right?” I said. “Who do I need to talk to?”

  “Oh my God, Lyss, this place is freaking amazing!” Melody leaned forward to peer through the windshield as I parked just outside Aunt Alicia’s house. Which was now, according to the deed stuffed in my suitcase, my house.

  My best friend had given the place an accurate assessment. I stepped out to get a better look at the building, and it took me a second to catch my breath.

  The old Victorian stood on a couple acres of overgrown fields tangled with wildflowers. Three stories of dusty pink clapboard and carved wooden lintels loomed over us. A covered porch stretched across the whole front, and a tower jutted from the middle of the house with gable roof that pointed toward the stark blue sky. The narrow windows gleamed, revealing nothing but darkness on the other side.

  So, this was the place where Dad had grown up. His parents had died in a car accident not long before I was born, so I guessed Aunt Alicia had inherited the property then. It was only a couple hours’ drive from the city. Why hadn’t she ever brought Cam and me out here?

  Why had she given it to me now? There hadn’t been any explanation in the will, and her lawyer hadn’t been able to tell me anything useful. I was hoping the answer to that mystery lay somewhere inside. She wouldn’t toss me a house without some kind of personal message, right?

  We headed up the front steps to the double front doors. The key Aunt Alicia’s lawyer had passed on to me looked like something out of a museum. It must have been ages since they’d changed the locks. But it turned smoothly, the door opening with just a faint creak.

  We stepped inside onto the hall’s soft runner. A mahogany table with bowed legs squatted by one wall; a matching grandfather clock ticked by the other. Ahead of us, two arched doorways led into the main floor’s rooms before a grand staircase rose up to the second floor. At the flick of the light switch next to the doors, a brass chandelier blinked on high above our heads.

  Aunt Alicia had looked after the place right up until the end. Only a faint layer of dust had settled on the furniture from the several days she’d been in the hospital before her death last week. A delicate smell like dried lilac perfumed in the air. A few framed charcoal sketches hung on the walls—country landscapes and town scenes that I recognized as Aunt Alicia’s own work. I still had a sketch she’d done of me as a kid, tucked into a memento box somewhere.

  Melody glided from doorway to doorway, her eyes lighting up behind her chic glasses. “Holy crap. Can you imagine the photoshoots you could have in this place?” She clapped her hands with a wide grin.

  “You mean, the photoshoots you could have,” I said teasingly. My best friend was an aspiring fashion photographer-slash-designer. She’d just gotten her most recent collection accepted into one of the independent boutiques downtown for the first time. The dress she had on right now, a bold pattern of purples and golds that set off the black bob of her hair to amazing effect, was her own work. “If you want to set something up, you know I’ll be all for it.”

  She waggled a finger at me. “First I want you to agree to model some of my stuff. You’ll look great in it, Lyssa. I promise.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’ll look better on a professional model,” I said. “At least now I can help by providing the set.”

  We’d had this conversation about a gazillion times. My five-foot-five frame was hardly model height, and while, sure, I was thin, it was in an awkward way rather than gracefully slender. Melody maintained that gawky was “totally a thing” in the high fashion world these days. I didn’t have a complex about my body or anything—I was pretty happy with it, most of the time—but I didn’t see any need for it to be splashed across catalogue spreads for all kinds of strangers to evaluate.

  Like usual, Melody let out a playful huff. “I’ll convince you one of these days. You’ve got to let loose, girl! Especially now that you’re done with that drag of a job.”

  “It’s more like they were done with me,” I pointed out. “And it wasn’t that much of a drag. I don’t know why I was one of the ones who got laid off. Everyone else complained all the time, but I kind of liked it, helping people get the info they needed. There weren’t that many jerk customers. I was pretty good at it too, you know.”

  “Of course you were,” Melody said. “You never saw a problem you didn’t want to fix. Don’t you need a little break from taking care of everyone around you?”

  I wrinkled my nose at her. We’d had this conversation lots of times too. “I don’t have to take care of you.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Maybe there’d been a bit of that element to our friendship when we’d first clicked in ninth grade. Melody’s parents had just gotten into what she now called “The Shouting Era,” a five-year lead-up to their eventual divorce. So I’d encouraged her to hang out at my place as much as she wanted, which ended up meaning nearly every evening. You’re always so together, she’d said to me once back then. Whenever I’m around you, I feel like anything that’s wrong, it’s got to be fixable.

  In return, I could thank her for introducing me to my first alcoholic beverage (wine coolers, which I still liked), my first joint (which had also been my last), and my first party make-out session (with Tommy Milton, who hadn’t stuck around, but he’d been a really good kisser). I grounded Melody, and she pushed me to spread my wings. The balance worked just fine.

  “Anyway,” Melody said now, as we wandered through the dining roo
m and into the kitchen fitted with appliances that looked like antiques, “that’s not even getting into the real deadweight you just cut loose from your life. Adios, Brianito!”

  “I know you didn’t like Brian that much,” I said. “But you could pretend to be sad we broke up.”

  “Why bother? He showed his true colors, didn’t he? Good riddance. I’m glad you know what an asshole he is so you can move on.”

  “I think I’m going to take a break from dating for a while.”

  She laughed. “Who said anything about dating? Have a fling, a one-night-stand or two. It’s about time you lived it up. You’ve got a place to live and money to last you a little while. Just this once, you don’t need to worry about anything except what you want—and then go for it.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “And what if what I want is to curl up on that velvet sofa over there with a steady supply of ice cream and binge-watch all of Netflix for a month?” I pointed toward the living room—or maybe that was the family room, or the sitting room. It was hard to keep track.

  Melody brushed past me and tugged on a strand of my hair. “I know you’ve got more wildness than that in you, Lyss. Sometime you’ve got to let it out, or else you’re going to explode from bottling it up so long. Come on, let’s see what’s what upstairs.”

  As we headed up the staircase, a small furry body tumbled onto the landing. A black kitten that couldn’t have been more than a few months old peered at us and meowed piteously. I clucked my tongue at him and scooped him up. Melody gave me a curious glance.