Chapter Eleven
I managed to stop myself from walking straight into him, though only barely, my boots scraping against the concrete as I staggered back a couple of steps. “Fuck. I didn’t see you there.”
The man’s lips curled slowly into a smile, white teeth flashing in the darkness.
Between his dark skin, black suit, and the weak alley lighting, that smile was almost all I could properly make out, hanging there long after any normal person would have let it fade.
He gave a slight bow and mimed tipping an imaginary hat.
“Tom Cheshire at your service.”
My pulse was still trying to hammer its way out of my chest as I moved to step around him.
“It’s considered polite,” he said, still smiling, “to offer your own name in return when someone’s had the courtesy to provide theirs.”
“Lysander.”
“Do you have a surname, Ly-san-der?”
He stretched the syllables of my name out in a way that somehow made it sound both mocking and oddly intimate.
“Carroll.”
“Lysander Carroll. He tasted the name as if it were fine wine. “An excellent name.”
“I’m thrilled you approve.”
Apparently, my sarcasm bounced right off him, because the smile never even wavered. I was beginning to suspect a nuclear holocaust wouldn’t wipe it away. The mushroom cloud would rise, and Tom Cheshire would still stand there grinning pleasantly through the fallout.
I looked up, partly as an excuse to avoid looking at him.
The sky overhead glittered with stars, sharp and clear against the blackness.
No clouds. No sign whatsoever of the dome beyond the faint knowledge that it existed.
Whoever had built the thing had done a terrifyingly good job because if I hadn’t already known it was there, I never would have guessed.
“Where are you headed on such a fine night, Lysander Carroll?”
“Is it a fine night?”
“Is it not?”
Answering a question with another question. Great. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Ah.” Tom nodded as though I’d confirmed a theory of his. “We’re all looking for someone. It’s characteristic of life, isn’t it? That constant search until the day you die. Whether that be tomorrow, next year, or fifty years from now.”
I didn’t much care for the emphasis he placed on “tomorrow.” Either my paranoia had reached fever pitch, or it sounded like a threat.
And if it wasn’t a threat, I had little interest in philosophy.
Either way, continuing to converse with Tom Cheshire didn’t feature highly on the list of things I wanted to do.
“Well,” I said, “I really am looking for someone, so if you’ll excuse me…”
I’d barely made it three steps before he spoke again. “Where will you look? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”
I glanced back over my shoulder. “I doubt it.”
Tom’s smile widened fractionally. “Of course. I’m sure you know Wonderland’s layout as well as I do.”
“The layout?”
“Where to go.” A deliberate pause. “Where not to go if you know what’s good for you.”
“There are places I shouldn’t go?”
I didn’t think it was physically possible, but the smile grew wider still. Any more, and his face would split in half. “There are far more places you shouldn’t go than places you should.”
I took the bait. “Where?”
Tom lifted one elegant hand and gestured vaguely off to my left. “Over there, for a start.”
“What’s over there?”
“The Hart residence.”
Well, that made sense based on what I’d already witnessed tonight. “And what exactly does the Hart residence look like?” I asked. “Purely so I can avoid it.”
“Large. White. Difficult to miss unless you’re spectacularly unlucky.”
“Avoid the giant white mansion,” I said dryly. “Got it. Thanks.”
“And you certainly don’t want to go that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction this time.
“Why not?”
“That’s where the unfortunates live.”
“The unfortunates?”
“The people who came to Wonderland and never left.”
Goosebumps broke out on my arms. “Do you mean guests?”
“If you like.”
“Why don’t they leave?”
Tom gave a lazy shrug. “Some won’t. Some can’t. Some, perhaps no longer remember there was ever anywhere else to go.”
“That’s insane.”
“Most truths are.”
I stared at him for a moment, increasingly unsure whether he was genuinely helpful or simply entertaining himself by confusing me. Probably both.
“You could ask them yourself, of course,” he continued pleasantly. “Though that would involve going somewhere I specifically advised against. Some people do that. They see it as a challenge. It’s the contrary nature of human existence to treat warnings like an invitation.”
“Right.” I turned away again.
“And you don’t want to go that way either.”
I counted to ten. It didn’t help nearly enough. “Maybe,” I said carefully, “instead of listing every direction I shouldn’t go, you could try telling me where I should go.”
For the first time, Tom’s smile faltered. Not completely, but enough for genuine confusion to crease his forehead. It was strangely unsettling. “Back inside the club, he said eventually. That’s relatively safe.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the fire door behind me. It looked almost expectant, like it knew I’d come crawling back, eventually.
Yeah, right? Not happening. Round two with Zane and Zeke was low on my list of aspirations. So was accidentally purchasing another drink I couldn’t afford or stumbling across a screening room playing my impromptu porn debut.
”No thanks,” I said. “I’ve had about all I can stomach of that place tonight.”
Tom shrugged again. “Then I wish you luck. And I advise caution regarding whom you speak to.”
“Why?”
“Because not everyone is as accommodating as I am.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Most people here are motivated by self-interest. Their appetites. Their entertainment. Nobody comes to Wonderland for altruistic reasons.”
“Then why do they come?”
“To indulge themselves.” His tone remained conversational, and he still smiled, but something colder lurked beneath it now. “Pleasure. Excess. Fantasy. Wonderland exists because there are always people willing to pay for the freedom to do exactly what they want.”
“Anything?”
“You sound like you don’t believe me.”
“Like if I wanted to murder someone,” I said, mostly to test him, “you’re saying I could?”
Tom’s expression didn’t change. “Do you want to murder this person you’re searching for?”
I sighed. “No. I was merely conjuring up a ridiculous scenario that couldn’t be possible.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, the answer remains the same. Anything is possible here if you know the right doors to open.”
That answer did absolutely nothing for my rapidly deteriorating peace of mind. I gave getting something useful out of him one last shot. “Fine. Is there anywhere crowded? Somewhere people might actually know where someone is?”
Tom rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “The Harts know everything.”
“Not them. Someone else.” Someone less mobster-like.
“The casino, perhaps. The Scarlet Deck is busy at this hour.”
It felt like something of a breakthrough. “Great. Point me in that direction.”
“You’ll need money.”
I slipped my hand instinctively into my pocket, fingertips brushing the coin I’d nearly left behind. “I have money.” How far one gold coin would get me remained to be seen.
“Do you?” Tom seemed surprised. “Well, isn’t that interesting?” He lifted his hand to point. “That way.”
“Any landmarks? Helpful details? A map, maybe.”
The smile returned in full force. “Don’t concern yourself. The Scarlet Deck will find you.”
What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
“Nice watch, by the way.”
I instinctively dropped my gaze to it. “Thanks. It was a gift.”
When I lifted my head after what could have only been a few seconds at most, Tom Cheshire was gone.
Not walking away. Not disappearing into the shadows. Gone.
And I hadn’t heard a single footstep.