At the head of the table, perched regally upon a mismatched chair, sits a man in an extravagant black top hat. His fitted waistcoat hugs his frame, and a slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face, illuminating his sharp features as he leans forward, the very air shimmering with his charisma.
“Well, well, well… I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”
Chapter
Fourteen
The hare clambers back onto his chair between bouts of hysterical laughter, while the guy with the hat widens his arms and gestures to the empty chairs surrounding the table.
“We don’t have time for this,” Charming grumbles. “We need to push onwards to complete our quest and return to our world.”
“There’s always time for tea,” the guy answers.
True. Particularly when there is cake involved.
I take a seat to the right of the guy at the head of the table, across from the hare, who looks like he’s two tempos away from being declared insane.
Nash shrugs, and the rest of the gang takes the empty seats around the table. My eyes land on a tiny figure slouched in a chair.
“Is that a mouse?” I ask as the creature slumps to the side and lets out a rumbling snore a dragon would be proud of.
“Dormouse,” the guy declares.
The hare launches a tart at the mouse, smacking him in the face. “Wakey, wakey, she’s here,” the hare says.
The dormouse blinks his sleepy eyes and focuses on me as he swipes a little jam smear from his face and sucks it into his mouth.
“You’re here,” he whispers in awe.
“You appear to be popular,” Hart drawls.
I press my lips together. While everyone claims to be expecting me, I’m fairly certain they have me mistaken for someone else. However, I don’t think pointing that out is going to help my case. Better to play along.
The genie’s head pops up in the middle of the table as he eyeballs the scones.
“What I would give to taste one,” he says with a sigh.
The guy with the hat raises a bushy brow but doesn’t seem phased by my magical friend.
“You cannot eat or drink?” the guy asks.
The genie shakes his head before disappearing under the table.
“That’s a travesty,” the dormouse declares.
These are my kind of people.
The hare nods at the steaming cup of tea in front of me and downs his drink in one gulp.
I pick mine up, and Theo’s hand grips my wrist and tips the liquid onto the grass between us. “Let’s not drink the suspicious tea.”
I roll my eyes.
“Do you have a name?” Gwyneth asks.
“Hatter,” the mysterious guy confirms. This is the man meant to test our worthiness?
A cup floats into the air toward the hatter, and the teapot lifts before his face.
