Chapter 61
Chapter Sixty-One
ALICE
Oh, hell no. How the hell did we even fall for that? The oldest trick in the book, and we walked right into it.
Idiots.
Hook’s hand clamps on my arm, dragging me backward. There’s no getting back inside that house. Not now. Not with the Bandersnatch on the roof, its massive paws pressing into the tiles. Even if we did manage to get inside, it’d tear through the place like the walls were made of paper.
"Shit," I breathe, my chest already burning. My heartbeat slams into my ears, pounding so hard I feel it in my throat.
The Bandersnatch takes a step forward, claws scraping over the slate, weight pressing down into the structure beneath it. Too heavy. Too damn heavy. The tiles shift, bending, bowing, ready to collapse. But the roof caving in is the least of our problems.
I think.
Break. Break. Break.
I barely whisper the word, but I think it. Feel it. We need it to happen, because right now, that thing is poised to leap, and I don’t know where it might land. And even if we run—it’s fast. Too fast.
"When I say run, you run," Hook whispers.
"Run where?" There’s nowhere to go. The field. The forest. The gates. All impossible. All beyond our reach.
Hook still pulls me back, slow and deliberate. His free hand inches toward his knife, even though we both know that thing won’t do shit. It didn’t last time. It barely slowed it down.
I grit my teeth, fists clenched so tightly my nails bite into my palms. The jagged mouth of the Bandersnatch gapes wide, strings of drool dripping from its knife-like teeth. No. I’m not looking at that.
Its glowing eyes lock onto us, waiting—watching.
One wrong move and this thing will lunge.
Break. Please, oh. "Please break."
I shove the word out like a command, like I can force the roof to do what I want. I try to feel it, to make the word more than just a thought in my head. As if I can take it, push it down my arms, out of my body, and into the real world.
I know I can’t. I know it’s ridiculous—even if Hook and even Sophie said otherwise. But part of me, a small, tiny part, thinks... what if?
So I try.
I clench and unclench my fists. I grind my teeth so damn hard I’ll need an orthodontist when I get back home. And I push. Everything in my chest. Every ounce of will.
And then—it happens.
The Bandersnatch shifts its weight. The slate under its massive paw cracks. Then another. And before either of us knows what’s happening, the roof caves inward. Tiles slide off, stone and wood collapsing with a deafening crash, swallowing the beast in an explosion of dust and debris.
A strange, snarling growl rips through the air.
"Run," Hook says.
I don’t hesitate. We bolt.
We sprint toward the gates. Toward the path leading to the place we saw through the window—the one that glowed on the map, shimmering with something unnatural.
It has to be safe.
It has to be where we need to go.
Hook is right behind me, pushing me forward, urging me faster. I try, sucking air down into my lungs, taking deep gasps to keep going. My legs burn, my breaths hurt my ribs, but I don’t slow down.
My dress.
Too damn long. The fabric twists at my legs, snagging, pulling. If I had half a second, I’d rip the damn thing off just to be able to move faster.
Behind us—
Splintering wood. A snarl. A crash.
The Bandersnatch is out of the house.
Oh, God.
It tore right through the walls.
"Fuck," Hook growls as he levels with me, his hand pressing against my back, shoving me forward.
I risk a glance over my shoulder.
Mistake.
The Bandersnatch is coming.
I can’t see it clearly, but I feel it. The debris flying around it, the way the trees seem to bend in its wake. It feels faster than before.
"Use your magic," Hook shouts.
"I can’t. I don’t know how."
"You do. Reach for it."
It’s hard to think when you're running for your life. Hard to focus on anything except the thing behind us.
But I try.
I try to picture something—anything—but all I see is teeth, claws, and blood. My mind won’t stay where I need it to be. I don’t even know how to use my magic, and my brain still doubts it even exists.
Magic.
I don’t have damn magic.
My mind scrambles as I try, grasping for anything—any instinct, any spark, any power that might be buried inside me. I throw my hands out—like I did with the spiders, like I can will something into them. As if I can force the magic out the way Peter Parker throws webs from his hands.
I almost visualise that.
Maybe if I could just launch something—trap it, hold it back, keep it from gaining on us—
The ground shudders.
Dirt explodes upwards, a violent burst of earth and stone.
Tangled roots surge from below, like something set off a landmine under the soil.
It’s not just a spray of dirt—it’s a blast. The force sends rocks and mud spiraling into the air, thick enough to block the sky for half a second.
Twigs and shards of bark shoot out like deadly shrapnel, cutting through the air, splintering against tree trunks, bursting apart on impact.
The Bandersnatch howls.
I can’t see it—can’t tell if I hit it or if it’s just pissed—but I don’t care.
"Do it again," Hook barks.
I latch onto whatever I just found inside myself, grab it tight, and force it out. Like I can rip the earth apart, like I can take the ground and throw it into the air like a weapon—
And I do.
A tree cracks in the middle, the sound splitting through the air like thunder, only thicker—denser. Then the tree falls, slamming down with a groaning roar.
"Again."
We’re still running, but we’ve slowed. My body moves on instinct, in sync with his, but my mind is lagging behind. I can see it now—the magic in my head, clear as a film playing in front of me.
So I do it again.
I shove the something down my arms, force it out—magic, energy, thought—I don’t know, and right now, I don’t care.
As long as it stops that thing from gaining on us—
The earth erupts. Closer this time.
Does that mean it’s getting closer? Probably.
A boom—deep and raw, like the land itself is breaking apart.
The ground splits.
Two massive pillars of dirt, roots, and shattered stone burst from the earth, ripping upward just as the Bandersnatch leaps.
It’s midair.
All teeth and claws, soaring toward us—
And then—
The debris swallows it whole.
The walls crash together, burying it beneath a wave of mud and rubble. Shattered limbs of trees cascade over it, covering its monstrous form.
A snarl rips through the mass—muffled, struggling.
But it’s buried.
For now.
We run again, pushing toward the gates, down the path, like they’re our only salvation—and maybe they are.
The path is overgrown, tangles of twisted roots and thick vines blocking the way. We didn’t see it at first. Didn’t notice how the earth itself had risen against us, closing the road ahead.
"Shit."
It’s not a path anymore. It’s not even climbable.
Bramble thorns stick out, vines snaking over the dirt like they’re alive, like they’re trying to keep us out.
Behind us, the Bandersnatch is digging its way free.
Hook grabs my wrist and yanks me aside, pulling me from the main trail.
"This way," he hisses.
I don’t argue.
There’s no time for that.
The hill—mountain—fortress, whatever this place is, looms over us, massive and unyielding. Someone, a long time ago, must have carved a winding path into the rock, leading upwards. The gates at the base stand tall, impenetrable, built from black iron and gold, symbols carved into their surface.
They glow faintly, thrumming with power.
I feel it.
It radiates from them, humming like a quiet warning.
Beyond the gates, the path is steep—too steep, almost vertical, like it isn’t meant to be climbed. Yet the building at the top calls to me, shimmering against the sky like it’s been waiting for me to find it. My breath catches.
If I closed my eyes and spun around in a hundred circles, I’d still be able to point exactly where it is.
But there’s no way up.
No matter what I feel inside me, whatever pull I have, whatever connection, unless we get through those gates, we’re not getting through there.
The jagged red cliffs stretch out like serrated knives, impossible to climb. But that’s the point, isn’t it? If something is this important, this protected, then it has to be guarded from all sides. That’s what I’d do.
"Where are we going?" I gasp, breathless.
Hook doesn’t slow.
"I don’t fucking know. But putting as much distance between us and that thing."
He pulls me toward a cluster of fallen rocks, half-buried in the dirt, wedged against the base of the cliffside. It’s not much shelter, but it’s something. He shoves me behind them first, throwing a glance over his shoulder before ducking in beside me.
We’re both breathing too hard, lungs fighting for air that doesn’t seem to come fast enough. My chest is tight.
Like I’m drowning.
I brace myself against the rock, my head tipped back, trying to force oxygen down my throat.
"That thing was waiting for us," I whisper, barely able to get the words out. "The whole time, it was right there, on top of us."
I don’t mean it as a question, but Hook answers anyway.
"Yep. And we bloody fell for it."
Hook pulls out his knife, scanning the ground as he does. He crouches, snatching up a long, thick branch—not quite a staff, not quite a weapon.
But it’ll do.
He grips it with practiced hands, pressing the tip of his knife into the wood, carving it sharper, deadlier. Turning it into a spear.
I watch him for half a second before I hear it.
The Bandersnatch snarls—sniffing us out. Hunting.
But the sounds are fainter, thinner. It’s moving in the other direction.
Its growls echo through the forest, twisting through the trees and bouncing off the cliff face, making it sound like it’s everywhere at once.
I shudder, pressing my back against the stone.
"What do we do now?"
Hook keeps sharpening.
"You use your magic, and I use this."
His voice is steady, calm, but his hands move fast, his grip tense, his jaw set.
"I told you. I don’t know how."
His dark eyes snap to mine, hard and unforgiving.
"You keep telling yourself that. You keep saying you don’t have magic, but what was that back there if not magic? What did you do?"
"A panicked fluke. Wonderland’s magic."
He stares at me for a long, hard second.
"Or yours."
I can feel the argument forming in my mouth, like something solid I could actually pull out and throw at him, but it doesn’t want to come out.
It doesn’t want to be spoken.
"It’s just this place," I say.
But it feels like a lie.
Hook moves fast—so fast I don’t have time to flinch back before he grabs my hand and pulls me to him.
There’s something fierce in the way he looks at me, something so sincere it makes me want to look away—but at the same time, I can’t stop looking at him.
"You lost your wonder, Alice."
I don’t know what that means, but I feel it, sharp inside me, like a slow, twisting blade.
"What if I never had any?"
The words slip out before I can stop them.
A soft drumbeat thrums in my head, responding to them, answering them, like something inside me disagrees.
He doesn’t let go of my hand.
Instead, he moves it—not to him, but to me.
Pressing it flat against my own chest, right over my heart.
He holds it there, his warmth sinking into me, and when he’s sure I won’t pull away, he lets go—but only so he can take my chin, tilting my head so the only way not to look at him is if I close my eyes.
"Once upon a time," he says, his voice low, steady, intentional, "a girl fell down a rabbit hole into a world ruled by a queen so mad, everyone around her had gone mad too."
My stomach tightens.
I know this story.
"Once upon a time," he continues, "a girl became something more."
I shake my head, but I don’t look away from him.
"I’m not that girl anymore. She was just a kid full of dreams and useless pieces of imagination that got her nowhere."
Hook doesn’t blink.
"No," he says. "She was a girl filled with dreams and power."
And then—
He kisses me.
His hand slides into my hair, fisting it, the other pressing against my chest, like he’s trying to anchor me, feel my heartbeat against his palm.
His mouth is hard, demanding—fierce and real.
He tastes me, like he’s searching for something. Like he’s trying to find something in me.
And maybe—maybe he is.
But just as quickly, he stops.
My breath is ragged, my skin burns where he touched me, and my hand—
It’s in his.
I don’t know when that happened. But I squeeze his fingers tight—and he squeezes back.
His cheek presses against mine, the roughness of his stubble scraping my skin, his breath warm at my ear.
His voice is soft, but the words cut deep.
"The magic is inside you. It always was. Someone told you it wasn’t, and you believed them.
But you—" His grip tightens. "You are what Wonderland needs. "
I’m breathless—not from running, not from fear—but from this.
This moment.
When he pulls back, he’s still close—so close we’re almost touching, so close the only thing I can see is him.
I want to let go of his hand, but not to let him go—so I can slide my fingers inside his coat, so I can feel the heat of his skin beneath his shirt.
His other hand moves along the side of my neck, fingers curling at the back, holding me there.
"Every world needs you, Alice. Go and get the amulet. Take it to Neverland. Give them their magic too."
"Hook, I..."
But he lets go.
So fast I stumble.
I reach for him, but he’s already moving—already pulling away, already standing, already stepping back into the moment.
Because I hear it.
The Bandersnatch is coming.
Hook steps out, knife in one hand, makeshift spear in the other—and I realise what he’s about to do.
"Hook, no—"
His gaze slams into mine, locking so deep I feel it in my chest.