“Why?”
“A little earlier, a few women who knew her from the Vatican came all the way here asking for confessions and advice.”
“Oh. What happened then?”
“She told them, ‘If you want to ask Him something, just raise your hands and say it.’ Then she offered them a beer. One of the women left crying. Another said Fabiola was possessed by the devil. This one before them, isn’t the White Queen anymore.”
“I see.”
“And then someone came and asked for the Pillar.”
“I suppose this didn’t end well at all.”
“She threw a glass at him and threw him out.”
“I wonder why she hates him so much,” I say.
“I wonder if she can ever forget her days in Wonderland.”
“So you know how Fabiola was before becoming a nun?”
The conversation is interrupted by Fabiola. “It’s time to start real Inklings work.”
“I was hoping you’d tell me a new Wonderland Monster arrived,” I say.
She wipes her mouth again, looking a bit tipsy. “Worse.”
“Really?” the March says.
“Is this about the chaos on the streets of London?” I say.
“The chaos is only a handshake with darkness.” Fabiola kicks a man out of his chair and tells him to leave, then pulls the chair over and sits. “Sit down. This new mission is different.”
I sit. “A scarier Wonderland Monster?”
“That’s too soon to tell. What we have here is an offer.”
“An offer? From whom?”
“From the most vicious killer in history,” Fabiola says. “A murderer. He always arrives in time. Not a tick too soon, and not a tock too late.”
Chapter 3
There isn’t much time to digest the sentence Fabiola uttered. The bar’s door flings open. A man and a woman enter. Everyone else leaves immediately.
The man is tall and has an oval head. Like a cantaloupe. The woman is stocky, short, and mean. There is something wicked about them. Not exactly morbid. But a feeling of inevitability surges through me. Then I realize who they are. Time itself.
“You think she is the one, Mrs. Tock?” the tall man asks the short woman, as if I am a silent picture on the wall.
“Could be.” Mrs. Tock knocks her cane on the floor. “Hard to tell. But she’s got that look.”
“What look exactly?” Mr. Tick says.
“The look that says, ‘I can’t go back to yesterday because blah blah blah.’”
I find myself staring at my tattoo.
“Meet Mr. Tick and Mrs. Tock,” Fabiola says, obviously not fond of them. “The two creeps that messed up time in Wonderland.”
“Pleasure to meet you again, White Queen.” Mr. Tick plays with his hairies. “Sad to see you go from warrior to drunk, though.”
Fabiola grips the chair tighter, but suppresses her anger.
“How does it feel to deceive people into thinking you’re an angel in the Vatican?” Mrs. Tock says. “Or, tell you what, let’s skip the subject for now. We’re here for the girl.”
“Me?” I say.
“Didn’t Fabiola tell you about the offer?” Mr. Tick says.
“She was about to.”
“Let me summarize it for you.” He grabs a seat and sits, tapping his pocket watch. “I’m afraid we have little time.”
“But you’re time.” March Hare says.
“Shut up, March,” Mrs. Tock says. “Go play with kids. Or eat your cereal.”
I’m about to stand up for him when Fabiola grips my hand. I sit back, reluctant to know what’s going on.
“We have an offer from Black Chess,” Mr. Tick says.
“So we’re playing with open cards now?” Fabiola says.
“Why not? The Inklings are ready. So is Black Chess. All in the name of World War Wonderland.”
“Get to the point,” I demand. “Who in Black Chess sent you?”
“The big guys, which I’m not going to reveal,” Mr. Tick says. “Trust me. My offer is more tempting than knowing who really runs Black Chess.”
“I’m listening,” I say.
“She is feisty, Mr. Tick,” Mrs. Tock remarks.
“A desirable trait if she really is her,” Mr. Tick says.
“Cut the crap,” I say. “Why are you here? Talk or leave.”
“Before we talk, let me ask you a question,” Mr. Tick says, leaning forward. “What do you know about time travel?”
Chapter 4
“That’s it.” I stand up. “You better leave now.”
“Wait, Alice.” Fabiola pulls me back again. “Time travel is real. Not like the Einstein Blackboard, which only sends you back to Wonderland.”
I sit down.
“Only Mr. Tick and I,” Mrs. Tock says, “can execute time travel.”
“Although there are a few conditions that have to present themselves to properly do it,” Mr. Tick says. “But you don’t need to worry about that.”
“Why do I need to worry about it in the first place?”
“Because of our offer,” Mrs. Tock says. “We want to make you time travel.”
“What kind of offer is that?” I say.
“We want to send you to the future,” Mr. Tick says.
“Is this a joke?”