White leads me through corridors and twisted hallways, confusing me with each turn until I’m so hopelessly lost, I can’t think straight. Everything is weird, like I’m having a bad LSD trip. I expect nothing less from Wonderland, though. I keep expecting to run into more creatures in the hallways—the house is huge, after all —but save for Dormouse and the Hatter, I see no one else. It makes the giant house feel abandoned, more like a Colosseum than a home. There’s no warmth in the walls, a chill permeating the air.

I lose track of our direction early on, coming to terms with the fact I can’t escape if I want to. Not that I want to. My curiosity has been peaked, and I find myself more and more drawn to the Hatter. It’s one of my weaknesses, that curiosity. If my mom was still alive, she’d be rolling her eyes at me right about now. She always used to say I was attracted to the odd ones. I guess she was right.

Finally, we come to the end of a corridor, and White stops before a dark-purple door. There is a silhouette painted on the wood, right in the center. It’s of a teapot pouring into a teacup. It seems appropriate for the Hatter’s house, but I wonder why the other doors don’t have the same detail. White pushes open the entry, a loud creak breaking the silence, and I follow him inside.

The room . . . isn’t what I was expecting. Not that I’m expecting a four-star hotel or anything. I knew the house didn’t seem taken care of. I knew it was worn and leaning, but I assumed the room would at least be clean.

The entire area is covered in a layer of dust so thick that I immediately feel my nose tickle, a sneeze right on the verge of escaping. It’s like no one has entered the room in decades, like it was sealed shut. I almost feel like I’m in uncharted territory when I realize my shoes leave prints in the dust.

White doesn’t seem bothered by the dust as he walks inside a few steps and gestures for me to follow. I try not focus too hard on the little clouds that rise with each of his steps. His nose twitches, so slightly that I barely catch it.

“When the Hatter is finished, he’ll come by and get rid of the dust.” White’s voice is completely void of emotion, like he’s absolutely bored with the turn of events.

I step into the room a few more paces, looking around me, putting White at my back.

“Why am I here?” He doesn’t answer. I turn to ask him again only to find he’s left. Figures.

Looking at the room, I realize it’s like someone flipped the entire thing on its head. There’s furniture hanging from the ceiling, a chair, a table, a lamp. The lamp is even turned on, giving off a hazy beam of light through the dust. There’s a chandelier standing straight up in the center of the room, growing right from the floor. My lips quirk at the oddness. The bed seems like it might have been an afterthought, a giant four poster monstrosity with a canopy. It’s as dusty as everything else, and although I can tell the bedding is purple, I can’t tell what shade. The closer I look at the bed, though, I realize there’s something off about it, too, but I can’t place my finger on what. Maybe the posts are shaped weird?

I move towards a doorway in the room, propped open. It leads into a bathroom more luxurious than I had at home, or, it will be, once it’s clean. There’s a clawfoot bathtub in the center of the room, big enough for two. I ignore the images that pop into my head with that thought, and I move further inside.

The faucets are molded, grotesque creatures in silver. They have frighteningly sharp teeth where the water flows from. The sink faucets follow the same idea, although I can see there are different creatures sculpted for each one. They’re almost beautiful in a scary sort of way.

“Clara Bee,” a voice dripping with sex and violence calls from the bedroom. It isn’t the Hatter. It certainly isn’t White.

I whirl around, dust spinning with me, creating a rising cloud as I look back through the doorway and into the room. My heels slide in the thick grime coating the floor, but I keep them steady. I don’t see anyone in the room, but I know I didn’t imagine it. On the bed, I can see a spot where the dust has been disturbed, the imprint of a body, but there’s no one there. Someone had been lying on the bed.

“Hello?” I call warily as I step closer. My hand wraps around a heavy candelabra that is on a table right outside the doorway. It’s shaped like some sort of monster worm, razor sharp teeth opening for a candle to be placed in. I don’t look too closely at the details. It’s golden though, and heavy.

“What do you plan on doing with that?” the voice asks.

Confused, I stare harder at the imprint when I see no other signs of disturbance. Slowly, a grin begins to form over the bed, exactly where the dust is moved. I’m pretty sure my eyes pop out of my head when two eyes blink at me from the darkness.

“Cheshire,” I whisper, because who else can it be? I keep the candelabra raised like a weapon. Trust no one.

A man slowly comes into focus, those eerie yellow eyes watching me. He has a punk rock vibe going on, and at home, I’d think he was in a metal band. He has shaggy dark-grey hair, streaked with blue that falls over his forehead in that messy look some guys just pull off. It looks like he might style it back a lot, but right now, it’s more like he’s been running his hands through it. There are big cat ears on top of his head. One ear has piercings running up the edge of it. Both are missing small nicks here and there, and scars glow bright-pink. He’s lounging on the bed like he owns it, a grey and blue tail draping over his hip, twitching lazily.

“You know who I am,” he says, grinning wide and sinister. I immediately realize I need to be on guard around him.

“Only from the stories at home,” I reply, eying the leather jacket and motorcycle boots he’s wearing. “Though none of them describe you the way you look now.”

“How do they describe me?” he asks lazily, but I can tell he’s coiled strength and danger. I know he can be off the bed quicker than I can react, tearing my throat out if he wants.

“You’re just a cat with a wide smile.” I clench the candelabra tighter. “And you’re one of the good guys, I think.”

Cheshire’s eyes begin to twinkle as he sits up on the dust-covered bed. He crawls across the comforter, stalking me like a panther, dust billowing around him in clouds. It does nothing to detract from his attractiveness. As he moves, his body shifts, his clothing fading away to reveal fur sprouting from his skin. His canines sharpen, peeking from the corner of his lips. He looks more like the cat he is now. He’s still humanoid—there’s no mistaking he’s a man—but he’s covered in the grey fur, blue stripes giving little touches of color.

“Like this?” he asks, grinning like a shark.

“No.” My voice sounds strangled when I answer. “Definitely not like that.”

Cheshire has a magnetism the same way the Hatter does. While I can appreciate how sexy he is, I don’t feel the same pull as I do to the Hatter. Something in me calls for him and not this teasing, dangerous man in front of me. Something tells me that Cheshire is all rebel, bad boy. Not my style. Nope, apparently, I like the crazy ones.

Cheshire laughs at my discomfort and transforms back into the leather-wearing man faster than I can follow. He stands from the bed and shakes the dust off, beating his jacket to remove the grime. That sneeze threatens to overtake me again as I watch him closely. He never acknowledges my earlier comment.

“Are you on the good side here?” I ask, my body tense. I don’t know what I’ll do if he says he’s on the bad side. Maybe I’ll bash him over the head with the candelabra and take my chances with the maze of hallways outside.

He looks at me, curiosity in his eyes. Guess that makes two of us.

“I’m on nobody’s side but my own, Miss Clara Bee,” he says.

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” I growl, frustrated with feeling outside the loop. I need more information in a place meant to confuse me. I need to get my head straight.

“Because you are prophesied,” he replies, shrugging like it’s completely normal to have a prophecy written about you. Perhaps, it is common in Wonderland.

“Prophesied to do what?”

There it is, the question that has been bugging me since I was dragged through a rabbit portal into Wonderland, the question no one seems to want to answer. But I need to know, my very soul calls for an explanation.

Cheshire is suddenly in front of me, stopped barely a foot away. My breathes stutters as I look up into his face, my eyes wide. The candelabra is sandwiched between us, useless at this point. Stupid Clara, stupid, I think. You should have been paying better attention.

“You’re the first to bring about the fall of the Red Queen, Clara Bee. The first of the triad. The first to bring a Son of Wonderland to his knees.”

My jaw drops, and I stop breathing. Cheshire winks at me, completely nonchalant.

“What?” I choke.