Chapter 72
Chapter Seventy-Two
ALICE
I steady my breath, trying to ignore how my skin still hums from whatever just happened—whatever I just did. I manage to stand on my own, close to Hok, but he isn’t holding me. I still don’t feel steady.
My gaze lifts to the path beyond the gate, the incline sharp, winding up, almost unseen.
The Hall of Memories. That's what that place is? That's what the beast said.
"We need to get up there," I finally say, forcing the words out through the lingering haze in my head. "We need to get through the gate and to that path. But it's locked."
"Then unlock it," the Bandersnatch says flatly, as if I hadn't thought of that brilliant solution myself.
I let out a breath. "We can't. We don't have the key."
Hook drags a hand down his face. "It's locked," he says. "Obviously, it's got some kind of strange—" He stops, eyes narrowing at the iron bars. "Shape to it, not like a normal keyhole, but still working just the same."
"And we can't climb over," I say as my gaze follows his and rests on the jagged twisting gap where the keyhole should be. Not circular, not even remotely key-shaped. It's more like—
"Is that not the Vorpal Sword you hold in your hand?" the Bandersnatch asks, fixing its gaze on Hook.
Hook's grip tightens on the hilt. "It's a sword.
I mean—it was a stick, but then Alice...
" He trails off, and for the first time since I've known him, he stumbles over his words.
His brows pull together. His fingers shift against the hilt, like he's only just now really looking at it.
"Alice turned my spear into the sword," he says, more to himself than anyone else.
His thumb drags over the edge, thoughtful, calculating.
His expression sharpens, like something clicking into place. "This is the key?"
The Bandersnatch doesn't answer. Just stares.
Hook exhales, slow and sharp, rolling his shoulders. "You want me to stick the sword in the lock and hope something happens? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't even fit the shape."
The Bandersnatch tilts its head, that eerie almost-knowing smile curling its lips. "Is that not the way you both do things? Stab first and hope later?"
I swallow. The hum inside me grows stronger.
Steel.
The Vorpal Sword.
Of course. It was never just a weapon. I don't even know why the name feels familiar to me. The last time I was here, I never had the sword, never had a single weapon, but that sword feels right. Maybe that's why I wanted to hold onto it.
Hook steps toward the gate, staring at the lock for a long moment. Thinking, calculating, like he's solving some unseen puzzle.
Then, he lifts the sword, gripping the hilt firmly, and presses the tip into the jagged opening.
I hold my breath.
Bite my lip.
Every muscle in my body locks as I wait—wait for the gate to just swing open and let us in.
But nothing happens.
The metal remains cold and unyielding.
A stillness settles, stretching too long, too thick, pressing in on my skin until I can barely breathe.
The Bandersnatches shift, all of them circling. They're restless.
Something in my chest clenches.
"It's not right," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're doing it wrong."
Hook growls, pulling the sword back. "Well, by all means, you do it then."
The Bandersnatch shakes its massive head. "I have no idea why the world was put into the hands of two humans," it mutters. "You have one job. Just one. Save Wonderland, and you both still manage to be useless."
Hook glares at it. "You do realise what you just said, right? Save a whole world."
The Bandersnatch huffs. "It is her destiny."
I try not to listen to that, because one, I tell myself I don't believe it, and two.
.. I know I don't believe it, and three, I am no one's destiny.
Hell, I can't even be my own destiny, it seems, but that's another problem for another day, and one that's not here because my head just can't think of what's going on back home.
"The sword is the key," I say slowly, "but not just the sword."
Hook raises an eyebrow. "More riddles?"
I ignore him, stepping forward, lifting my hand to the sword. Hook lets me take it, but I can't read the relent in his face. I let my fingers brush over his where they grip the hilt, a spark of something between us. His fingers twitch beneath mine, but he doesn't pull away.
"The sword isn't the key," I murmur. "It's me."
And before Hook can say anything, before doubt can slip between my ribs and take root, I take the sword from him. I lift it to the gate, but it isn't the tip I use, not the blade at all, but the ball at the hilt.
I push.
Placing the ball over the opening at the lock, but it doesn't do anything. No, not on its own. "I'm the key," I say.
Magic surges through me, down into the steel, lighting it up from the inside.
The sword responds. Its glow pushes outward, burning through the gaps and pushing the ball of the hilt into the lock.
The gate seems to swallow it whole, and I swear the black iron ripples in a way that makes me question my own eyes.
I turn the sword, using the hilt as the key.
And with a thunderous groan, the gate shifts.
And it opens.