Theo shifts awkwardly. “Uh, sorry. Allergies.”
Genie pops into existence and eyeballs the mess of cooked mushrooms as Eugene and Hamish run into the steaming pile and squat to lay tandem eggs. Sir Sweeps-A-Lot rushes in andfreezes next to the tree Malachi is hugging, like he’s confused.Join the club.
“Look at them trying to give us a well-rounded meal,” I praise. You can always count on my capons to spin a dangerous situation into gold.
Absolem squirms on the ground, over to a flat piece of land, before a new bigger mushroom grows and lifts him back into the air.
He sighs deeply and mutters, “The answer is a mountain.”
We all gape at Charming, apart from Malachi, who sticks his tongue out against the bark before freezing and side-eyeing us to check if we caught him.
“We answered the riddle. Now tell us about the Grimm brothers,” I demand. Absolem blinks slowly. It seems he doesn’t enjoy demands. “Please?”
He smirks. “The Grimms are architects. To find them, you need to find yourself.”
“I’m right here,” I point out. Easy. Also, we’re looking for builders?
“No, you are not,” the caterpillar argues. “You are not yourself at all, but you can be.”
“And how do I achieve that?”
“Seek the seasons, traverse the lands. Beware of queens and treats.”
“Oddly specific, and yet tells us nothing,” Nash grumbles.
“To mend the cracks, she must take care. A heart to each, and burdens share. Four trials loom, their truths concealed. In love’s reflection, fate is sealed.”
“More riddles.” Gwyneth groans.
My forehead crumples. I’ve heard that before. Did I read it? Ha, who am I kidding? I never read. Maybe Gwyneth read aloud. That’s far more likely, but there’s no recognition on her face. I must be imagining it. Absolem offers one last cryptic clue.“When you are completely lost, that is when you will be found. Remember, our destination is rarely where we believe we want to be.” His eyes droop. “Now go. I grow tired. My time of change is almost here, and I must rest.” That’s a dramatic way of saying he wants a nap.
A soft snore rumbles from him as the cheeky cat reappears and winks at me. “The hatter is ready for you, Daphne. It’s time for you to face the queen.”
The one with the penchant for head removal? Nothing to fear there. “I thought the plan was to avoid the queen, not face her.”
“Plans change, predictions shift, and peril calls,” the cat says with a wink.
Malachi leaps away from the tree with a scowl. “What in the ever-loving psychedelic nightmare just happened? And why does my mouth taste of wood?”
Chapter
Eighteen
The drug haze dissipates as swiftly as morning fog, leaving me with a weighty ache in my head that throbs like a distant drum. Tall, twisted trees loom above us, their branches weaving a tapestry of emerald and shadows, casting dappled patterns on the ground carpeted with vibrant moss.
“What happens in Wonderland, stays in Wonderland,” Malachi declares, his voice echoing through the forest. The air is thick with enchantment, yet a prickling tension coils in my stomach as we venture deeper into the magical forest. Unseen creatures whisper as we pass.
Chess, the mysterious cat, had vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving behind a heavy atmosphere tinged with foreboding. Nash’s arm brushes against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. “Do you understand what Absolem was talking about?” he asks, eyes narrowing with concern as he surveys our surroundings.
“Which part?” I reply, attempting to mask the uncertainty in my voice. Several riddles float through my mind, tangling together like the roots of the ancient trees around us.
“When you froze like someone had whispered your death. ‘To mend the cracks, she must take care, a heart to each, andburdens share. Four trials loom, their truths concealed. In love’s reflection, fate is sealed.’” His words hang heavily in the misty air, each syllable reverberating with an ominous portent.
I bite my bottom lip. How did he remember that? The forest creatures pause in their morning bustle to watch us as we pass. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. I was thinking Gwyneth may have read it from a book,” I murmur.
“Not that I can remember,” Gwyneth chimes in, her voice a soothing melody that cannot ease my anxiety. The shadows around us stretch and twitch, and I can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is lurking just beyond our sight, waiting for the right moment to strike.
We enter a small clearing, and I notice the table is back, brimming with extravagant offerings—towering stacks of pancakes drizzled in glistening syrup, their edges adorned with delicious berries, and plates filled with pastries, flaky and golden, filled with creams that swirl and twirl like clouds of enchantment. Bowls overflowing with sandwiches, cut into shapes—bunnies, stars, and hearts—sit alongside vibrant salads studded with edible flowers that bloom in shades of violet and gold. A mouth-watering array of colorful cupcakes, each topped with swirls of cotton candy frosting and tiny candy umbrellas, dares guests to take a bite. The teapot drifts gracefully from place to place, pouring steaming tea that puffs and curls into the air, filled to the brim with aromas that tickle the senses. They have the Hallows beat hands down for breakfast, despite the lack of sausage.
