Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
HOOK
Stepping through that bloody ridiculous door, I half expect to be assaulted by a kaleidoscope of colours, trees twisted into impossible shapes, and some other kind of wonderfully deranged extravagance this place is rumoured to have on display.
But what I step into? It's about as magical as a bilge rat's arse.
The landscape sprawling ahead of me is as grey and lifeless as a corpse washed up on shore.
Everything's cracked and tattered, looking as though it's been through hell and back.
I set my boot on a path that seems more shattered than whole, as if Wonderland got bored of its own fantastical bullshit and decided to let itself go.
The once vibrant foliage now hangs limp and defeated, as if it's lost the will to live.
I yank on a nearby branch, and the damn thing snaps off in my hand with barely a whisper of resistance.
It's brittle, with hardly any leaves, and the few that do cling to life are as faded as a tart's lipstick after a long night.
Their colour reminds me more of a bad hangover than any flower I've ever seen.
"Well, this is bloody disappointing," I grumble, stepping onto a path that's more dust than anything else.
A muted cloud kicks up around my boots, a lacklustre welcome to whatever sorry state this place is in.
"Where's my welcome fanfare? The cheers?
Don't they know Captain Hook has graced them with his presence? "
A half-leaning, partially broken signpost sits up ahead, looking about as useful as a chocolate teapot. I squint at the carved lettering, trying to make out what it says, which is a feat in itself given how weathered it is.
"The Palace," one arrow reads, and underneath it, some helpful sod has scrawled, "Certain death.
" I can't help but smirk. My kind of place.
Another arrow proclaims "Tea Party," and "The Jump Inn.
" Three paths, all spiraling off into different directions, each one looking as questionable as the next.
But of course, none of the arrows actually point to any of the paths.
"Well, aren't you just a fountain of clarity," I sneer at the sign.
I'm about to unleash a particularly clever quip about Wonderland's lack of originality when I raise my hand and... wait. Hand?
It's meant to be a hook. It was a hook, and that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
I lift my other hand, just to make sure I haven't gone completely mad and mixed up my left from my right.
But no. I have two hands. TWO. I flex my fingers, turn my hand over, my heart pounding a war drum in my chest. "What in the seven hells? "
I stare at it, my breath catching in my throat.
The hook—the one that's been with me for years, as much a part of me as my own black heart—it's gone.
In its place is a hand. My hand. Whole, flesh and bone, moving without hesitation.
I stretch my fingers out, flexing them, watching in disbelief as they respond, knuckles cracking.
"Well, I'll be damned," I mutter, half expecting it to vanish again.
Another of Wonderland's cruel tricks. But no, it's still there, as real as the nose on my face.
I put it behind my back, then whip it out in front of me quickly, as if I can surprise myself and it'll be a hook again. But no, still a bloody hand.
It's been so long, I've almost forgotten what it's like to have a hand there. The weight of it, the sensation of air on my skin—it's foreign and familiar all at once.
I heave in a breath, trying to refocus. This is Wonderland—nothing's normal here, and I'll be damned if I let a little thing like regaining a limb throw me off my game.
I mumble the flower's riddle to myself, hoping against hope it might actually give me some kind of answer. "The way to the palace is twisted and strange; follow the path where the trees rearrange... Step after step..."
I shake my head, growling, "Bloody nonsense. About as useful as a fork in a sugar bowl."
I grab my compass out of my pocket instead, the metal cool against my newly restored fingers.
The needle spins lazily, not settling on anything for a second.
I tap the face, scowling. "Come on, you useless trinket.
Which way? Don't tell me you've gone as mad as everything else in this godforsaken place. "
It points left, then jerks right, as if it's as confused as I am. "Fantastic," I mutter. "Even the compass is drunk." I shove it back into my pocket with a disgusted grunt, letting out a sigh. Fine. If Wonderland won't give me a straight answer, I'll play it my way.
"Eenie, meenie, miney, mo..." I point to each path in turn, the words slow and deliberate, dripping with sarcasm. "Catch a mutinous bastard by his toe..."
My finger lands on the third path, apparently my lucky choice.
It better be. If this is what the Queen did to Wonderland – and I have no doubt that this sorry shell of a place is her doing – I will not let this happen to Neverland.
Not over my dead body, which, given the state of things, might be a very real possibility.
I glance down the dirt track, winding off into the distance until it disappears into the murk. I'd call it inviting, but I'm not in the business of lying to myself... others, yes, but me? Not bloody likely.
"Wonderland," I drawl, my voice a mixture of challenge and resignation, "don't let me down."