Chapter Sixteen
The journey back to central Wonderland was uneventful.
No rats. No gangs. Just the same endless celebration.
People danced in the streets, shouted over music, and staggered between buildings with drinks in hand.
Whether they were the same people from last night or an entirely different crowd, I couldn’t tell.
Another boat must have come and gone, but who’d arrived and who’d left was anyone’s guess.
I felt better in my borrowed clothes. Far fewer people paid me attention now that I wasn’t wrapped head-to-toe in leather.
In all the drama of Donovan practically throwing me out, the old outfit had remained on his bedroom floor.
Good riddance. He could do whatever he wanted with it.
Sell it, turn it into dusters, or hand it to the next waif and stray who stumbled over his threshold.
A woman bumped into me.
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
Despite the collision having been entirely her fault, she staggered away in a drunken zigzag without responding. When I looked up, I found myself standing in front of the Black Teapot Supper Club.
Its wrought-iron sign hung above a narrow doorway, made up of a simple teapot silhouette against a cream oval bordered in brass. Painted steam curled upward from the spout to form the words BLACK TEAPOT, while SUPPER CLUB arched beneath.
Compared to everything else I’d seen in Wonderland, it looked strangely old-fashioned.
And oddly welcoming, which was a dangerous thought.
I needed to stop trusting things so easily.
I slid a hand into the pocket of my borrowed jeans, curling my fingers around the coin I’d transferred from the old outfit.
Having money reassured me. As did remembering that Donovan had demanded nothing of me.
Things might have ended on something of a bitter note, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been genuinely kind.
If there was one good person here, then there were likely more. I just needed to find them.
There was nobody entering or exiting the supper club. In fact, there seemed to be a curious space in front of it, almost as if people unconsciously avoided getting too close.
That should have worried me.
Instead, it felt entirely normal by Wonderland standards.
I paused at the door. For a moment, I half expected the crowds behind me to have vanished when I looked back.
They hadn’t. I laughed at myself for my overactive imagination as I turned back, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.
I’d slept now, so there was no excuse for thinking I’d passed through a magic portal.
A man stood just inside. So close that I jumped. His black trousers, white shirt, and expressionless face marked him as staff.
“Good evening, sir,” he said. “You’ll need a mask to enter.”
“A mask?”
“To preserve your anonymity.”
Right. Because why would anything here be simple?
“If you don’t own one, we can provide one for you.”
He didn’t wait for me to confirm that I didn’t travel everywhere with a mask, striding over to a counter and returning with a tray.
On it were six masks. I immediately discounted the two full-face ones.
One was a little too Phantom of the Opera for my liking, and the other made me think of Batman.
I also rejected anything with sequins and feathers, which was most of them.
I eventually settled on a plain gold one that would just cover my eyes.
When I went to walk away, he cleared his throat. “You need to wear it now, and you mustn’t remove it while you’re in the supper club.”
“Why not?”
He frowned. “To preserve your anonymity.”
“Why do I—?” I gave up. I could stand here all day and argue with him, or I could just do what he said.
I settled it in place, relieved to discover that it was fairly comfortable.
His gaze drifted over me, and I got the distinct impression that he would have been much happier if I still wore leather.
Was he about to tell me I contravened some sort of dress code?
Instead, he waved a hand at the door in invitation. “I hope you have a wonderful time. Do remember what the motto of this place is.”
“It has a motto?”
The man gave me a strange look. “If you know anything, tell at least three people.”
Right. A little odd. “And what if you know nothing?”
“Then talk to people until you do, and then pass it on.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Nodding, I pushed the door open and walked in.
The room was dark, its black-painted walls creating a cocooned feeling.
Brass sconces holding flickering candles provided the only light, leaving much of the room in shadow.
One wall featured floor-to-ceiling teapots—ceramic, cast iron, porcelain—while circular wooden tables dotted the floor.
Some tables had people, while others were empty.
Every person in the room looked at me when I entered.
Every single one, even those that had to twist their bodies to do so.
If it weren’t for the masks, it might not have been so disconcerting, but with everyone’s faces either partially or fully covered, it made me think of a horror film, like they were all mannequins about to come alive.
Silence settled over the room like a blanket.
“Hi,” I said.
The spell broke instantly. People resumed talking. Most looked away. A few continued watching me.
A man rose from a nearby table. “Come and join us.”
Given that my entire reason for being here was gathering information, it would’ve been stupid not to accept the offer.
The table seated four, with three seats occupied. One by the man who’d called me over—a broad-shouldered man with a black mask and shockingly red hair. One by a man wearing a rabbit-eared mask. And the last by a man slumped in his seat, his eyes closed beneath a brown, furry mask.
“Harlan Maddox,” said the red-haired man in a booming voice. He pointed to the rabbit. “And that’s Marcus Hale.”
I introduced myself and shook both their hands. Then I pointed at the third man. “And what about him? Who’s he? And more importantly, is he all right?”
“Dorian Moss,” Harlan said. He shrugged. “He’s either asleep or dead.”
“Or dead asleep,” Marcus suggested.
“Or sleeping like the dead,” Harlan countered.
Marcus shifted in his seat. “Or ignoring us with impressive dedication.”
I regretted asking, the verbal parrying like watching a rapid-fire tennis match. And just when I thought they’d finished, it started up again.
“He could be hibernating,” Harlan suggested.
Marcus shook his head. “Humans don’t hibernate.”
Harlan looked thoughtful. Or at least that’s the impression I got from the little I could see of his face. “Perhaps he’s setting a trend. Maybe we’ll all soon go to sleep in the winter and not wake up till spring.”
Marcus laughed. “That would only work if we had seasons here. As you’re quite aware, there are none. Therefore, one might be at risk of never waking again.”
Harlan stroked his chin. “A very valid point, my friend. I shall abstain.”
Only then did he remember my presence, squinting up at me. “Do sit down, Lysander. You’re making the place look untidy.”
I sat, my attention still fixed on the man whom they had introduced as Dorian Moss. “Maybe you should check that he’s okay.”
“No,” they said in unison.
Both men turned my way, their expressions curious. “Tell us what you know, Lysander,” Harlan said.
“About what?”
“About anything.”
“I don’t know anything.”
Marcus picked up a large teapot and moved it toward the old-fashioned china cup sitting in front of me. “Have some tea.”
I automatically covered the cup with my hand. I didn’t want a repeat of the nightclub. “Thank you, but no.”
When he continued tipping the teapot, I snatched my hand away just in time to avoid the stream of steaming liquid.
“You must have tea,” Harlan said.
“Must I?”
Harlan nodded. “Oh, yes. Especially if you have nothing to tell us.”
It didn’t make a great deal of sense, but the expectant looks on both their faces made resistance seem futile, and they had been polite enough to let me join them.
I brought the cup to my lips. While it didn’t taste like any tea I’d ever drunk before, it was surprisingly refreshing.
Refreshing enough that I drained the entire cup.
Marcus nodded approvingly and refilled my cup. I was halfway through that one when I realized neither man had touched their own. “What about you?” I asked. “Aren’t you drinking?”
“Oh no,” Harlan said. “I never touch the stuff.”
“Me neither,” Marcus agreed.
I put the cup down, alarm bells ringing. It was just tea, right? Before I could ask, an actual bell rang, the coincidence making me want to laugh.
“Grab on!” Harlan shouted with unrestrained glee. “We’re moving!”
A grinding noise came from below as some hidden mechanism sprang to life. The section of floor beneath us shifted, carrying our table smoothly to the right. The sudden movement had me grabbing the edge of the table to avoid being pitched onto the floor.
Dorian Moss didn’t fare so well. His chair moved away without him, leaving him to slide gracelessly onto the floor. He lay there for a moment before gingerly rising to his feet. Harlan and Marcus watched with obvious amusement.
“Every single time,” Marcus said.
The table eventually came to a halt. Dorian lumbered over, retook his seat, and immediately closed his eyes again.
“This is Lysander,” Harlan informed him.
Dorian grunted but didn’t bother opening his eyes. At least we’d finally established that he wasn’t dead.
“What was the point of the table moving?” I asked.
Harlan waved a hand vaguely in front of him. “How else would we get a different viewpoint?”
“By turning around.”
They both laughed as though I’d said something utterly absurd. I was beginning to regret having accepted Harlan’s invitation. Surely there was someone in this place who spoke more sense than they did.
As if to prove my point, Harlan sat up straighter. “Tell us what you know, Lysander.”
I took a deep breath. “We already did this, and I told you I know nothing.”
Marcus leaned forward. “Then tell us everything that’s happened to you since arriving in Wonderland. Dorian loves a story, don’t you, Dorian?”
Dorian managed another grunt without opening his eyes.
For reasons I couldn’t even explain, I did exactly that. Well, a heavily edited version, anyway. I left out the sex parts.
“So you see,” I finished. “I’ve had no luck finding Warren. People either don’t know him, pretend they know him only to later admit they don’t, or they are just too—”
I really wanted to say mad.
“―self-absorbed to even care.”
“When is a crow not a crow?” Harlan asked, smiling.
I blinked. “What?” The question was obviously about my tattoo, but beyond that it had no relevance to anything.
“It’s a simple question.”
“It’s not. A simple question would make sense. That doesn’t.”
Marcus shook his head. “You shouldn’t go around saying things don’t make sense simply because you don’t understand them. People might take offense.”
I was saved from having to respond when the bell rang again, and we repeated the entire moving process. This time, Dorian remained seated, opening his eyes just long enough for the movement to finish before closing them again.
The change in viewpoint left me facing a section of the supper club that had been behind me. I blamed that for not noticing the man standing there earlier.
Something jolted in my chest. The last time I’d seen him had been at the nightclub.
Nico.