I’m running, fast, through a phosphorescent forest. The colors are bright, pulsing to a beat I can’t hear, leading me to somewhere I have never been. Mushrooms break through here and there, giant beasts that tower over me and seem to be reaching, reaching for something. Maybe they’re reaching for me, great gaping mouths opening in their stalks. Something splashes against my face, and I wipe it away. I expected water, the beginnings of rain. Instead, my hand comes away smeared with red. I look up and wish I hadn’t. Bodies, swinging, dripping, dozens. I have no idea where I am, what I’m running from, but I keep going. I ignore the wetness that begins to coat my skin. I don’t want to know.

Laughter rings through the trees, reaching me as I stumble over roots that seem to rise up as I jump over them. Keep running, I chant to myself. The laughter comes again, closer. This time, it’s hard to miss the menace in that laugh, the danger. This is a game, nothing more. I’m the mouse, but who is the cat?

I break through the tree line, stumbling at the suddenness of branches no longer ripping into my clothes. I look down at the fancy dress I’ve never worn before, the purple bright and flowing. It’s ripped where the trees snagged on the material, the skirt practically in shreds. In front of me, the man from the courtroom, the one with the rabbit ears, stands, his face solemn. He raises his arm and taps his wrist watch. The simple tink, tink, tink rings through the clearing, echoing and making me flinch each time it reaches my ears. Fear skitters across his face when the laughter comes again, its source right behind me. I turn.

I shoot upright in my bed, gasping for air, the fear still sending goosebumps along my arms. My body is clammy, my hair wet from sweat. I push it away from my face, working to get my heart rate down. What an odd dream to have, I think, taking deep breaths.

Thanks to the bizarre workings of my mind, my day starts with the feeling that something is off. Things are out of step, like everything in my life just shifted a centimeter to the right. Not noticeable but enough to drive me bonkers. It takes longer to get ready, my normally tamable hair refusing to straighten, so I have to leave it wavy. My heel snaps after barely putting the stiletto on; my favorite pair. I almost leave my apartment without my briefcase, then have to turn around again because I really do forget my phone. At the boutique, overpriced coffee shop around the corner, I order a Venti instead of my usual Tall. Today is an extra caffeine kind of day.

I walk into the utilitarian law office, coffee in hand, and my employees erupt in cheers. Someone whistles. A genuine smile crosses my face. My employees are everything to me. I’m just the face and the experience, nothing more. My employees are the backbone.

I‘m barely thirty-four, practically a baby in the law world, but that didn’t stop me from making a name for myself. I have a reputation already, that I fight for those no one else will fight for, and I’m damn proud of it. I know my dad would have been proud to see me now. I wish he could have lived long enough. Before I had graduated with my law degree, a stroke claimed his life. It was a hard final semester, one I thought I wasn’t going to make it through.

I pass the group of employees, shaking their hands and thanking them. I make a mental note to meet with finance as I make small talk and accept the congratulations. These people deserve bonuses for all their hard work. I used to be in their shoes, working for a lawyer, racking up the hours I needed to get where I am now. I had worked for a man still very important in the law world. In fact, I went up against him often since he always seems to represent the big corporations. He is a complete asshole. When I had worked for him, he thought it had given him the power to grab my ass whenever he wanted. The day I walked from that law firm with my final check was one of the most empowering moments of my life. I had flipped him off on the way out. I can still see the indignation on his face as I did it. The thought makes me smile widely like it usually does. I want my employees to know they are people, not livestock or slaves. They are so much more than just workers.

As I make my way to my office, my personal assistant comes up and begins listing my duties for the day. Jessica is a bit newer in the office, but she does a damn good job. I hope I can keep her around as long as possible, but she’s currently five months pregnant. I’m already dreading her being on maternity leave but equal parts excited for her. It’s her first child, a little girl. I can’t wait to meet her.

“Oh,” Jessica says as I take a seat at my desk. “You also have a new consultation at three. With an Alistair White.”

I crinkle my eyebrows.

“Doesn’t sound familiar. Did I already talk with him on the phone?”

“I’m not sure. He just called and said he needed to schedule a consultation. I assume he’s bringing in a new case.”

I nod my head, shuffling through the papers on my desk. “Thanks, Jessica.”

I have a lot of paperwork to do before the numerous phone calls I’m obligated to make every day. The afternoon is full of appointments. The husband and wife clients from the case the day before want to come in and discuss some of the actions they’re taking to protect themselves in the future. They’re sweet people. I have a few more ongoing cases with appointments and a meeting with a precinct officer.

I bury myself in my work. My day is spent preparing forms for upcoming cases, assigning tasks to my employees, and scheduling various meetings. I’m so deep in my work that before I know it, it’s three in the afternoon, and Jessica is poking her head in to announce Mr. White has arrived.

“Bring him in,” I reply, moving my paperwork to the side. I always give my clients my full attention. The most I do is take notes, writing down anything I think is important.

When the man steps into the room, adjusting his suit jacket, I have to do a double take. It’s the same man from the courtroom, the same man that had played a role in my odd dreams. He doesn’t have rabbit ears this time, and I’m relieved to know he left them at home. I get all kinds in my office, but a furry is a new one.

“Mr. White, I don’t believe we’ve met before.” I stand from my seat and come around the desk to shake his hand. He hesitates a moment before placing his fingers gently in mine. Tingles shoot up my arm, not wholly pleasant. An ache starts in my bones, like there’s some pressing matter I’m forgetting. It’s quick, passing just as quickly as it comes, before he pulls away and moves to take a seat. I do the same and pick up my pen. “So, Mr. White. What brings you to my office?” I ask.

He grins, and I’m struck by the beauty of it. There’s also something else, something dangerous, but I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it’s his eyes, the glimmer in them hinting at something nefarious.

“Clara Ortega,” he states, his voice a smooth tenor. “I’m afraid I come under dire circumstances.”

“Is there already a court case opened? Has anyone been served?”

“No, things are just beginning, the gears barely beginning to creak into motion. But I fear it’s now or never,” he replies. “We desperately need you.”

“Explain the situation to me.” I write down ‘FAST’ on my notes. If the situation is as he says, everything needs to be planned for quickly. These kinds of cases are brutal.

“There is a Queen who has taken over,” he begins. I keep my face neutral. It isn’t unusual for my clients to exaggerate when it comes to those who have done them wrong. ‘Queen’ is definitely a new one, though. Most of the time, I get various curse words or ‘Devil’ or other such things. People like to weave their stories into epic tales. I find it makes them feel stronger to do so. “She’s choking our people, killing them, ruining them, and taking everything for herself. We are at her mercy, and we can’t fight back. So, we need you to set events in motion to take her down.”

On my paper, I write ‘embezzling, threats, harassments’. This sounds like one nasty CEO. Things will have to be handled delicately.

“She’s abusing her power,” I clarify, continuing to write on my paper. “Draining the company. Taking from the employees. How big is the company?”

“Massive,” White replies. “A whole World’s worth.”

I write ‘international’ down before dropping the pen and threading my fingers together.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. White. These kinds of cases are difficult, especially without proof. We’re gonna have to move quickly before rumors spread. Word travels fast in the business world.”

“I understand.” He nods his head.

“First things first, we need proof. Any documents that show embezzlement, harassment, abuse, anything of that nature. If there’s anyone in the HR department willing to get documents, that’s a sure way to go.” I pick up the pen again and jot down the things I’m saying, keeping track. I always like to remember what I tell my clients.

“I can get you the proof,” he says.

“Perfect. We don’t take any money until the case is won. If you don’t win, all court fees will be paid in full by us. We only take fifteen percent of your allotment. Most of that goes towards my employees and the court.”

I look up into his eyes from my notes, and my eyes widen. I blink hard, and they’re still there. The rabbit ears are clear as day on his head. I look around for a moment, expecting someone to be playing a prank on me. Maybe my employees are playing a joke in celebration. I wait for someone to pop out and say, “got you!” No one does. I look at him again. There’s a small smirk curling his lips.

“Is there something wrong?” he asks.

“Uh, no. Nothing at all. When can you have the documents to me, Mr. White? I’d like to begin preparing my team for this case as soon as possible.” I’m watching him closely, trying to ignore the ears that are moving and twitching on his head, something I’ve never seen fake ears do. My eyes keep wandering to them.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he says, glancing at the watch on his wrist. I get a quick look at it; the thing is intricate, moving gears apparent through the watch face before he hides it away beneath his sleeve again. “Now, I really must be going. I’m late for an important matter.”

“Wait, I’ll need your contact information.” He stands up as I ask. I copy him, rising to my feet and walking to the door of my office with him beside me.

He pulls a card from his jacket and hands it to me. Again, I’m struck by the outdated suit. He’s wearing a waistcoat and ascot for crying out loud. He must be into the whole vintage revival thing. I see Hipsters, all the time, wearing things like he is. Maybe he carries around a typewriter in his free time, too, refusing to use a computer.

I glance down at the card in my hand, flipping it backwards and forward. There’s nothing on the front besides a silver silhouette of a rabbit.

“This doesn’t have-,” I begin but when I look up, Mr. White is gone. I look around the office, searching for those rabbit ears on his head, but it’s like he completely vanished, just like he did in the courtroom. The elevator dings, and the doors open, but there’s no one inside or waiting. I watch, weirded out, as the doors close, and the numbers begin counting down to one.

“Jessica,” I call from my doorway. She looks up at me from her desk where she’d been sorting papers. “When you get a chance, can you bring me another coffee please?”

Apparently, I’m going to need it.

I look at the clock on my desk and sigh. Another long night. It’s close to midnight when I pack up my paperwork and latch my briefcase. The rest of my employees left hours ago, checking in with me before doing so. I had stayed to finish up the court papers from our last case. I look over at the giant fruit and chocolate basket sitting on the floor and smile. The husband and wife team showed up today, ecstatic and in good spirits—as they should be. I’d never be able to eat so much fruit. I plan on taking it to the office kitchen area and letting everyone have at it. I had already taken some of the chocolate, though. Can’t let that go to waste.

I stretch as I stand from my chair, my joints popping from sitting in the same position for so long. I really need to look into getting one of those fancy chairs that support your spine better. God knows I spend enough time in it.

I turn off the lights in the office as I go, dropping the large space into almost darkness. The flood lights stay on, shining direct beams of light into the gloom. It gives the room a creepy feeling, like I’m being beckoned into the darkness. I shake my head to clear the thought and step into the elevator.

In the lobby, Gerald, the night guard waves to me as my shoes clack against the marble. The sound echoes, adding to the ominous vibe that seems to be following me.

“You need me to walk you to your car, Ms. Ortega?” he asks, his eyes watching the street suspiciously.

“No thank you, Gerald. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow,” I reply, leaving the building and hanging a left. The employees park in the garage, but the building gave each company a designated parking spot around the side of the building. It’s where I park my Jaguar. Of course, it isn’t always so dark when I park there. I make another mental note to tell the building manager that lights need to be put in around the parking area. Right now, there is no lighting whatsoever. If I was any other woman, I would be worried, but I take some self-defense classes every now and then. The only way a person could catch me by surprise is if they shoot first. Apparently, the chances of that are pretty low for a woman. We get all the extra worries besides being robbed.

I pull my keys from my briefcase, their jingle loud in the silence, and I curse the fact I didn’t take them out while inside. Number one rule of self-defense: don’t stand there digging through your purse. Don’t be distracted. I look up when there’s a sound across the street, drawing my attention. At first, I don’t see anything, but a flash of white catches my eyes. I narrow my gaze, trying to get a better look at a shape I can barely see when my sight seems to sharpen. Mr. White is across the street, standing without a care in the world even though everything around him is dark and seedy. Remembering I need his phone number, I wave my arm to get his attention.

“Mr. white,” I call, my voice echoing.

He turns to look at me before beginning to walk away, his pace slow and lazy. Those rabbit ears twitch at a quicker rate. If it was a prank, he would have taken the things off by now. I have to assume it’s some weird quirk that he has.

“Wait,” I yell, stepping off the curb and running after him. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. I cross the abandoned street, striding after him, the clack of my heels full of purpose. I’m maybe ten yards behind him when he turns down a dark alley. I pause at the mouth, hesitating. Everything in me screams not to go after him, not to go after a man I hardly know into a dark alley, especially one as weird as Alistair White.

“Mr. White.” Even I can hear the strain in my voice, the nervous thread. “I really need your phone number, so we can begin working on your case. I’d appreciate it if you would come out of the alley.”

Something stirs in the dark, and I force myself to hold my ground as Mr. White appears in the darkness, his white ears like a beacon. Forget this, I think, preparing to turn and leave.

“Ms. Ortega,” he drawls, his voice taking on a sinister tone I haven’t heard before.

He isn’t dressed in his full suit anymore, only wearing the green waistcoat with no shirt underneath. His arms are muscled, toned, and I jerk my eyes away when I realize I’m staring. Instead of meeting his eyes though, mine land on the ears still very much on his head.

“We have to get rid of the Queen,” Mr. White says, taking a step forward.

“Right.” I take a half step back warily. “Your card doesn’t have a phone number. I need it if we’re going to be working together.”

“So, you agree she needs to be taken care of?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Of course. But like I said, we need to work fast.”

Seemingly coming to a decision, Mr. White holds out his hand for the card, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as our hands come close. I expect him to pull a pen from somewhere, and I’m prepared to offer one if he needs. I always have pens in my briefcase. What I don’t expect is for him to breath on the silver rabbit silhouette and throw the card on the ground. I’m ready to ask him what the hell he’s doing, but before I can, a bright light flashes on the concrete in front of me. The ground opens up, a spinning vortex of colors that picks up trash and debris in the alley and shoots it into the air. My hair flies around my face, catching against my lipstick. A whistling noise fills the passage, the kind they tell you warns of a tornado. I’m so thrown, I hardly react. I don’t even back away at first, curious about what is going on.

“What the hell?” I mumble, coming to my senses and trying to back away from the thing that very much resembles the portals I see on sci-fi shows on late night TV. I fall backwards, my heels catching on the pavement, and I go down hard. It doesn’t stop me from trying to scramble away, but it’s no use. The whistling gets louder, and I feel the vortex pull at me, like I’m being sucked inside its gravity. I shriek as I’m yanked backwards and into the portal. My fingers latch onto the edge just before I go in completely, the asphalt digging into my palms, and I know my hands will have slices all over them. I try to pull myself out, using all the strength I have, but it does no good. White just stares at me as my fingers slip from the edge, and then I’m falling down, down, down. I scream, my stomach flipping somersaults at the sensation.

I watch as Mr. White jumps in behind me, a grin on his face, enjoying this way too much.

“Let’s go kill the Queen!” he whoops.

The portal closes behind him. There’s nothing but darkness.