Chapter Eight #2
“Yeah. In the woods. Duh.”
I punched his arm. He laughed and kept going.
He walked a little way along the road, scanning the treeline, then veered off onto what might generously be called a path. He pushed branches aside and held them long enough for me to duck under, then let them snap back behind me.
The further we went, the quieter the woods became. Birdsong faded. The air grew heavier, tighter, like it was thinking about something it didn’t like.
We stepped into a small clearing, and there—standing alone like a sentinel—was the hickory tree.
“That’s it,” Owen said.
It didn’t look particularly magical. It looked… sad. Sick.
“This?” I asked.
As we approached, the smell hit me first. Sharp and rotten, like sulfur and burnt metal. The bark near the base was stripped in ragged patches. Leaves browned and curled on the ends of drooping branches. The wildflowers around it were mostly dead, stems blackened and bent.
“Oh, no,” I whispered. “This must be what Alice meant when she said they were killing the tree.”
“You have the potion?” Owen asked.
I pulled the small vial from my pocket. The liquid inside glinted sharply in the dim light.
“Right here,” I said. “Where do I pour it?”
“On the tree?” he suggested.
“Helpful,” I muttered, but there wasn’t exactly a manual.
I ventured closer. At the base of the trunk, where roots met earth, a pool of thick, black sludge bubbled like tar in a slow boil. The sulfuric stench clawed at the back of my throat.
“Uh, Owen?”
He came up beside me and grimaced down at it. “What is that?”
“I have no idea. Do I pour the potion on that?” I looked up at him. His gray eyes mirrored my uncertainty.
“Try it,” he said quietly.
“Here goes nothing.”
I pulled the cork and forced three deep breaths into my lungs like the instructions had said. Then I tipped the vial and poured all four ounces straight into the bubbling black muck.
“Protect and save us from harm,” I chanted. “Let these oils now work their charm.”
For one long heartbeat, the bubbling stopped.
Then it exploded.
The sludge began to roil violently, burping and spitting like it was about to erupt. I staggered back, but Owen grabbed my arm and yanked me with him.
We’d cleared the worst of it when a geyser of black ooze shot upward, arcing through the air like corrupted lava. It sizzled when it hit the ground where we’d been standing seconds before.
Owen’s arm tightened around me. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.” I turned—and saw the ooze boiling again. “Owen…”
“Let’s get out of here.”
We took a step back. The earth rumbled under our feet. A deep crack split the ground at the base of the tree. The black muck vanished into the fissure as a column of searing white light shot up, blindingly bright, swallowing the clearing in brilliance.
I threw up a hand to shield my eyes. Even through my fingers I saw a shape forming inside the light, sharp and tall and unmistakably human.
Then, like someone flipped a switch, the light snapped off.
In its place stood a woman in an enormous red ball gown trimmed in white iridescent jewels.
Her brown hair was swept up in an elaborate style, crowned by a gold, jewel-encrusted circlet.
Diamonds—or convincing fakes—sparkled at her throat.
Her lips were blood red, her cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Her blue eyes were winter-cold.
She glanced down at the black sludge soaking the hem of her skirt and made a face of regal disgust. Lifting the heavy fabric, she stepped daintily out of the mess and straightened to her full, imperious height.
Then she fixed us both with that icy stare.
“Who are you,” she demanded, “and why have you summoned me?”
“Summoned you?” I echoed. “I didn’t summon you.”
The woman scanned the clearing, frowning. “Where is Alice?”
Owen and I exchanged a look. The same question thudded between us.
“Alice is… gone,” I said. “She died.”
Shock flashed across the woman’s face. Her hand flew to her chest. “Died? No. No, no, no. This is terrible. This is unacceptable.” She paced in a small circle, the stained gown dragging in the muck. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “I’m her niece. Piper.” I had no idea if I should curtsy or shake hands or run.
The woman swept closer and gripped my chin, turning my face left and right with clinical scrutiny.
“Her niece, you say?” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“Are you her heir?”
My stomach did a small, traitorous flip. “I am. How do you know that? And who are you?”
The woman drew herself up to full offended height. “I’m the queen, that’s who. And you will not use that insolent tone with me, young lady.”
It was like being scolded by a fancy version of Gladys. My spine tried to shrink and straighten at the same time.
The queen’s gaze finally slid to Owen. She circled him the way she had me, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know you,” she said.
“Owen McAllister, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing with alarming smoothness. “At your service.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course he knew how to bow.
“You’re the queen of what exactly?” I asked.
The woman turned that frostbitten stare back on me. “I’m the Red Queen,” she said, in a tone that implied I should have embroidered that on a pillow years ago.
“The… Red Queen,” I repeated. “As in Wonderland? Through the Looking Glass Wonderland?”
“I don’t know what this ‘through the looking glass’ is,” she sniffed, “but yes. I am from Wonderland.”
The world tilted a little. I swayed and grabbed for Owen’s arm.
“I think I need to sit down,” I managed.
He guided me to a fallen log and eased me onto it. I clutched my churning stomach and stared up at him. “Seriously? The Red Queen?”
“Yes, my dear,” the queen said crisply. “Did Alice not tell you?”
“Alice didn’t tell me anything,” I snapped. “About any of this.”
“Well, she must have told you something,” the queen said. “You conjured me with the potion, after all.”
“I thought this was supposed to close the gate,” I said, waving the empty vial. “Gate. Superhighway. Whatever we’re calling it.”
“Let me see that,” the queen said.
I handed over the vial. The Red Queen sniffed the glass and made a small noise of dismay.
“Oh, dear. Oh, no. This is a conjuring potion,” she said. “The superhighway is still very much open.”
“Great.” I sagged. “So I didn’t make the potion right.”
“Are you sure you read those directions right?” Owen asked gently.
I shot him a glare. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Except now I wasn’t. Not entirely. It had been late. I’d been tired and half-drunk and Tani had been chattering in my ear the entire time. There had been at least one “oopsie.”
Tani.
“Tani was helping me,” I said slowly. “She read the ingredients out loud. If I made a conjuring potion instead of a gate-closing one, she must’ve given me the wrong list.”
“Titania, you mean?” the queen asked.
My head snapped toward her. “You know her?”
“Everyone knows her,” the queen said. “She’s the queen of the fairies.”
“What?” I squeaked.
Owen let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s… an interesting twist.”
“I did suspect she was involved,” the queen said. “Full of mischief, that one. I certainly wouldn’t trust her. Why did you?”
“She told me she was Alice’s friend,” I said weakly. “She lives in the greenhouse. I thought she was a fairy, not the fairy queen.”
“Well, Alice had many friends,” the queen said with a sniff. “I am rather offended she chose to keep that particular annoyance around.”
“Awesome,” I muttered. “I’ve been taking magical advice from a chaos gremlin with wings.”
“Oh, Oberon would be thrilled to hear that,” the queen said. “If he weren’t currently stuck in another dimension.”
I blinked. “He’s what?”
“Stuck,” the queen repeated. “The Fae treasures were stolen. Her Majesty is here trying to recover them so she can rescue the king.”
My brain tried to keep up. “Which Fae treasures are we talking about?”
The queen sighed dramatically. “Must I explain everything to you? The Sword of Light, the Club of Dagda, the Spear of Lugh. Useless in this land, powerful in Faery.”
Owen’s gaze slid to me, questioning.
But I was already thinking of the crates in Dougal’s storeroom. Artifacts Alice didn’t want in her house. Magical antiques in an antique shop that sat across from a flower store guarding a magical tree in a Crossroads town.
I swallowed. “You know something,” Owen said quietly.
“No,” I said automatically. Then amended, “Maybe.”
“Piper,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Tell me.”
“Not here,” I said. “I need to… put some pieces together first. Figure it out.”
“Figure out what?” the queen demanded.
“How to get you back to Wonderland,” I said, pushing to my feet. “Preferably without turning the whole town into a portal disaster.”
“Oh, there’s no rush,” the queen said, slipping her arm through mine like we were old friends. “I haven’t been here in ages. And I should pay my final respects to dear Alice.”
Owen and I exchanged a silent conversation.
We cannot leave her here.
Nope. We absolutely cannot.
Owen gave a small nod. Decision made.
I plastered on my most diplomatic smile. “All right, Your Majesty. Let’s get you out of the ooze and into something… less swamp-adjacent.”
Together, the three of us headed back through the trees toward the truck—me clutching a mis-made potion vial, a stolen book under the seat, a fairy queen on the loose somewhere, and a real queen from Wonderland tracking black sludge across Hickory Hollow.
No pressure.