The Looking-Glass Curse: The Complete Series Read online

  “It looks as though you got yourself rather drenched,” he said in a light tenor that had a little bite to it. His lips formed a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I got the feeling he wasn’t all that happy to see me.

  “I, um—there was a pond—” I waved vaguely in the direction of the water. Okay, Lyssa, time to get a grip and find your tongue. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not really sure where here is. So, any help in that department would be hugely appreciated.”

  “How exactly did you come to be here, then?” the guy asked.

  Good question. “Ah, there was this mirror, and I touched it, and I… fell into it somehow.” I peered at him, gauging his reaction, but really, how insane could that explanation sound to someone who lived in a world with giant talking flowers? He was either used to craziness, or he was part of my crazy hallucination.

  “Hmm.” The man adjusted his hat, his own gaze searching. I couldn’t tell what for. Then he held out his hand with the same tight smile. “I’m Hatter. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Interesting name, but I couldn’t say it didn’t fit. I gave his hand a quick shake, hoping mine was dry enough. “Lyssa.”

  “Lyssa,” he repeated. Something about the way he rolled the two syllables over his tongue, as if tasting them, sent a giddy shiver through me. He spun away from me in one smooth movement, motioning for me to follow him at the same time. “Why don’t you come to the city, and I’ll see what I can do with you. You never know who else you might run into wandering around out here.”

  I wasn’t sure running into him was the best luck ever, but at least he sounded like he was trying to help. I hurried after him, swiping my damp hair away from my face. “Thank you. I didn’t mean—if you were on your way somewhere else—”

  “Just taking a stroll,” he said. “I’d have ended up heading back this way anyway.”

  We passed more trees with their radiant leaves. Buildings came into view up ahead, some short and stumpy and others stretching several stories high, all of them a little odd. One had only windows on its first floor and what looked like a front door up on the third, doorstep and all. A bungalow there appeared to have been flipped right upside down. Another, taller structure shot up narrowly toward the sky with a bulge around its middle where one floor jutted out twice as wide. Farther in the distance, a silver spire of a tower glittered with the sunlight.

  The closer buildings were all painted in hues just as vibrant as the trees and the road and Hatter’s clothes: this one mauve and robin’s egg blue, that one crimson and daffodil yellow. Just looking at them made me feel dizzy.

  “People really like their bright colors here, huh?” I said when I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. In my pale peach top and gray pants, I stood out like a sore thumb. A very drab sore thumb.

  “It keeps us entertained,” Hatter said in an inscrutable tone.

  Some of the other people that “us” must have referred to ambled past us as the road veered into the city. A lot of them looked normal other than their flashy clothes, though no one else I saw wore the full suit-and-hat ensemble my companion had opted for. And some…

  My legs locked at the sight of a figure with a man’s body and a frog’s head, topped by a little wool cap. And there, a couple storefronts beyond him, was a sheep in a lavender sundress walking on its hind legs, a purse slung over its shoulder. My mouth opened and closed and opened—and Hatter tugged me off to the side by my elbow.

  “This way,” he said, the bite in his voice more obvious. I yanked my gaze away from the strange figures and followed him through the doorway of a shop that gleamed orange and turquoise, but at least had the doors and windows approximately where I’d have expected them to be.

  Hallucination, I reminded myself. Or else this place was simply crazy. Frog-dudes and walking sheep weren’t any weirder than me having a conversation with a daisy.

  The building we’d come into was a shop. Hats of all colors and shapes perched on display ledges and counters around the room. Hatter’s place of business, I guessed? He led me past all that to a door at the back, where a flight of stairs led us up to an apartment.

  Maybe I should have been a little more worried about going into some stranger’s home, but I felt a whole lot safer in here than I did out there with the animal-people. Especially when we stepped into the open-concept living-dining room, and I could breathe again.

  The wooden furniture was painted in a variety of colors but faded with time so the cacophony wasn’t anywhere near as stark as outside. The walls were a tame beige. Hatter motioned for me to sit at the little dining table, which had four seats around it: a bar stool, a beach chair, a beanbag cushion, and a velvet wingchair.

  “Let me get you something to dry yourself off with,” he said, “and then we can determine what to do with you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hatter

  I wasn’t in the habit of giving a tremendous amount of thought to my supply of towels. The stack of them in the cupboard next to the bathroom came in a rather large number of sizes, colors, and patterns. For a few seconds I stared at them in something of a daze, as if one of them might be particularly more suited than the others for the task of drying off a recent arrival from the Otherland. Shaking myself, I grabbed the polka-dotted one on the top.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the young woman—Lyssa; of course, almost the same but not quite—had picked the beach chair to sit down on. When I came back to the main room, she was running her fingers through the damp strands of her hair, such a pale blonde it was almost ivory. Her head jerked up at the sound of my footsteps. I could see hints of resemblance in the soft curve of her cheeks, the straight slant of her nose, but only when I looked closely.

  Hearts take me, I had to keep my hat on straight. I’d been picturing this scenario—or one like it, in any case—for so many years I’d lost track. I didn’t take strolls past the Pond of Tears Lane for no reason. So why did nothing I’d ever imagined saying feel remotely appropriate?

  She was too fucking real. Too real, and too unaware of what she’d stumbled into. How could I be angry with her?

  Even if I also was, unreasonably, a little.

  “Here,” I said briskly, handing her the towel.

  She rubbed it over the flexible pants that hugged her slim legs and then wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl. I schooled my gaze carefully above her neckline. I really shouldn’t be affected by the sight of other parts her wet clothes had been hugging. No, letting my mind stray even one inch in that direction would be the most unwise thing of all.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, as perhaps I should have back when she’d first mentioned her encounter with the pond.

  “I guess,” she said, staring around her with those wide blue eyes. “I mean, I still have no idea what’s going on. This place is so crazy, but… it feels so real too. Are hallucinations supposed to last this long?”

  Her stomach gurgled loud enough that I could hear. She clapped her hand over it, a delicate flush creeping over her cheeks. “I didn’t eat breakfast. Maybe I fainted or something.”

  She was hungry. I could at least offer her a little hospitality. I grabbed a couple of teacups off the shelves and filled them from my pot which was always fresh and hot no matter how often anyone poured from it. Nifty bit of magic, that.

  “Cream or sugar?” I asked, setting the cup in front of her.

  She eyed the clear brown liquid as if it might be more salty pond water. “Um, a little of both, please.”

  I set the creamer and the sugar bowl on the table along with a plate with the scones I’d picked up from the bakery down the street this morning. Lyssa considered those with some wariness too, but when her stomach grumbled again, she lifted one and took a bite. Her eyes widened even more as she chewed.

  “What flavor is that?” she said.

  “Honey pineapple coriander,” I said. “One of my favorites.”

  “Oh. Er. It’s an interesti
ng combination.”

  She did keep eating it, though. I dropped into the wing chair and tipped back my hat so I could study her with my eyes unshaded.

  “First things first,” I said. “This is not a hallucination. Wonderland is perfectly real, even if it seems strange to you.”

  Lyssa paused in mid-chew. “Wonderland?” she repeated.

  I swept my arm to indicate everything in this building and the world beyond. “Wonderland. A wonderful place where all are welcome.” Had I let a little too much sarcasm creep into that pitch? Lyssa mostly looked bewildered.

  I took a sip of my tea—dark and sharp, exactly right—and leaned my elbows onto the table. “Most of your sort who visit arrive through dreams, but occasionally looking-glasses do the trick. Where was this mirror that you say you fell through?”

  Lyssa swallowed the rest of her scone and licked the crumbs off her thumb. Very few weren’t won over by honey pineapple coriander once they gave it a try. I might have been more satisfied by her reaction if the motion hadn’t drawn my attention to her full lips.

  Had it really been necessary for her to be quite this pretty? I couldn’t see how.

  “It was in my Aunt Alicia’s house—well, really she’s my grand-aunt,” she said. “I was just looking around, and the reflection on the mirror turned all weird, and when I reached for it…” She made a whirling motion with her hands.

  Grand-aunt. The years really had blurred together, hadn’t they? “You were visiting this grand-aunt?” I said, keeping my voice even.

  “No.” Lyssa knit her brow. “She died, about a week ago. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, though. For some reason I haven’t figured out yet, she left her house to me.”

  She died. Lyssa said the words casually enough, but they hit me like a finger-jab to the gut. I opened my mouth and closed it again, momentarily lost for words.

  “I’m sorry,” I managed.

  “Like I said, we weren’t close. Just some good childhood memories. She’s not around to explain why her mirror turned into some kind of portal.” Lyssa paused. “If I can even get back. How do people who end up in this ‘Wonderland’ through a mirror head home? Do I go jump in the pond again?”

  “No,” I said. “There are other ways, I’m sure. There always are. I’m afraid I’m not the best person to advise you on that matter, though.”

  She hadn’t meant to end up here. She knew nothing about any of us or our struggles. Nothing I could have been angry about was her fault.

  Yet at the same time, her presence in this world would appear to certain parties as a threat. The longer she stayed in my home, the more likely I incriminated myself if those parties discovered her.

  Two very good reasons to send her off from my life to those better equipped to handle her.

  “Who would be a good person to ‘advise’ me?” Lyssa asked, snatching up another scone.

  “I believe I know just the one.” I pushed my chair back from the table, and right then Doria poked her head into the room. My back stiffened.

  “Hey, we’ve got company!” Doria said, bounding into the room with a swish of her skirts and her long brown hair. She was wearing one of those tiered black gowns she’d become enamored with lately, with just enough dramatic ruffling and lacing to offset the lack of color to any outside observer’s critical eye. She draped her arms across the back of my chair. “Who’s your new friend, Pops?”

  I forced a smile. She knew I hated that nickname. Which I supposed to a fourteen-year-old meant all the more reason to use it.

  “My new friend is just about to leave,” I said, standing up. I slipped my hand under Doria’s elbow and guided her back toward the hallway. “And I don’t think you’re quite finished upstairs.” She normally slept later than this, or I wouldn’t have brought Lyssa here at all.

  Doria had enough sense to lower her voice, but not enough to stop her from asking, “What’s the big deal? You can’t blame me for being curious. She’s an Otherlander, isn’t she?”

  “She is,” I said, stopping by the doorway. “And more trouble than you need on your plate.”

  Doria rolled her eyes. “I think I can handle a Dreamer. I’ve talked to one before, you know. They’re kind of hilarious. Why should you get to have all the fun?”

  “Because I’m not having fun, and she’s about to leave. Can you trust me on this one thing?”

  I held her gaze for a long moment. Doria pouted, but she also sighed in resignation. “If it means that much to you, Pops.”

  She raised her hand to give Lyssa a little wave goodbye, and the frilly sleeve of her dress slipped down from her wrist to reveal a shape inked on her pale skin. A small black spade.

  My heart lurched. I snatched her arm and turned it so her hand was palm up, the shape still exposed. “What in the lands is that? What were you thinking?”

  “Geez, Dad, calm down. It’s pen. It’ll wash right off. Watch.” She popped her finger into her mouth and rubbed it against the skin. The ink blurred, turning into a faded smear. A breath rushed out of me.

  “Happy now?” Doria said archly.

  “A little more than before,” I muttered. “Don’t you dare leave the apartment with anything like that on you, all right? Why don’t you go upstairs and wash it all the way off, and by the time you’re done, this lady and I will be finished here.”

  Doria grimaced at me, but she ducked her head in acquiescence. I gave her hair a ruffle that I knew she’d hate about as much as I hated her calling me “Pops.” It was a fair trade.

  “Thank you, Mouse,” I said.

  She replied with a light punch to my shoulder that was as close as she got to hugging me these days and scampered back upstairs.

  When I turned back around, Lyssa shook herself out of a stare. “So, ah, that was your…?”

  “Daughter,” I said, and immediately saw the gears spinning in her head. I spent enough time in front of mirrors in the shop below to know I didn’t look all that old by Otherworld standards. Even if that wasn’t an accurate representation of my age, I might as well save her wondering. “Adoptive daughter, technically speaking. She was orphaned when she was two.”

  Doria had held on to her early memories for a few years after that, but these days, I was the only parent she’d ever known other than the stories I’d told her.

  “Oh.” Lyssa rubbed her face. Her hair was starting to dry, the strands of it falling around her face fine as thistledown. “I’m sorry. I’m still finding all of this very confusing. This is a place called Wonderland. Sometimes regular people come here when they’re dreaming? And for some reason this mirror in Aunt Alicia’s house—”

  She looked so lost that my throat constricted. The floor creaked over my head as Doria paced in her bedroom. I had to handle this quickly, in a way that was best for everyone.

  “Look,” I said, cutting Lyssa off. “All that really matters is that you’d like to get home, isn’t that right? I think I know someone who can arrange that. We can get it sorted out right now. Then you can return to your life and forget all about this wondrous place.”

  If past examples were anything to go by, forgetting us wasn’t hard at all.

  “Okay,” Lyssa said. She took another gulp of her tea and stood up. “Home. That sounds good.”

  “Come on then, looking-glass girl.”

  I led her back downstairs and through the shop. The thought of her reactions when we’d entered the city made me hesitate.

  “Try not to stare too much at anything—or anyone,” I said. “Act like you think you’re dreaming, and this is all par for the course.”

  “Like I’m dreaming,” she repeated. “I’m still not totally sure I’m not.”

  Hopefully no one else would realize she wasn’t either.

  We headed down the street and around the corner to the park. It was only mid-morning, but a couple of guys in neon panda suits were dancing around and chugging glitzbeer by the gate. A few actual pandas in neon overalls were sprawled on their backs on th
e grass, soaking in the sun and puffing cigars. A couple wearing very little at all ran their hands over each other’s bodies beneath the meager shade of a sapling.

  A group of sprightly old women dashed by, shrieking with laughter as they tried to catch the gray-haired gal in the lead to mash her face with a coconut cream pie. I tipped my hat to them and managed not to wince when they tackled their target.

  It was hard to blame Lyssa for wanting to go home as quickly as she could. These days, this place was a little much even for me.

  “I don’t have a direct connection to the guy who’s most likely to know your fastest route home,” I said. “But I’m acquainted with someone who does. Chess is… a little odd.”

  Lyssa raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Even by our standards,” I added. “But he’s a decent fellow. You’ll be in good hands. Just don’t take anything he says too seriously. Around this time of day, I’d expect to find him… here.”

  We came to a stop at the edge of a vast game board of red and white squares painted on the neatly trimmed grass. A man with an owl’s head was shoving his red bishop, which was about the height of his waist, into place with his feathered arms. We were standing by the white king and queen. The other white pieces were scattered across the playing field, but there was no sign of Chess. Which didn’t mean he wasn’t around, of course.

  Lyssa eyed the game. “Is this why he’s called Chess?” she said. “Because he loves playing it?”

  I shook my head. “Just a coincidence. It’s short for Cheshire.” I craned my neck to scan the distant hedges, and a lilting voice spoke just behind me.

  “And where are you trying to get to today, Hatter?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lyssa

  I spun around, expecting to see the guy who’d spoken to Hatter standing right there. The stretch of lawn behind us was empty. What the hell?

  Then the sun caught with a flash on teeth in the curve of a wide grin. A wide grin that was floating in the air a few feet away from me, not attached to anyone at all.