“Victory!” Duke said as he pulled out the book. He held it up. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,complete with illustrations by Sir John Tenniel. Good man. You’re officially the world’s smallest librarian. And the most distinguished.”
He gave Koshka an exuberance of pets and scritches.
“Thank you, Jay Gatsby,” I said, taking the book from Duke’s hands.Thankfully the pages were uncut and as I flipped through them, I could tell it was the full text, words, pictures, and all. Even better, when I tested its magic, it started to give a little. This copy wasn’t locked because this copy wasn’t real.
“Perfect,” I said. “Well done, comrade. You earned your tuna today.”
“Shall we?” Duke asked. “Wonderland awaits.”
My elation at having found the book disappeared immediately when I remembered step two of our brilliant plan was actually going into Wonderland.
“We shall,” I said. “But brace yourself. It’s going to be weird.”
“I eat weird for breakfast, love. We go in, ask the March Hare a few questions, and get out. Easy as pie.”
“Easy as extremely strange and difficult pie,” I said. “Remember, don’t eat anything, drink anything, or smoke anything. And if you see the Queen of Hearts, run.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“If I start to go mad, you have permission to slap some sense into me,” I said.
“I’d never slap a woman. Perhaps a light pinching, however…”
“And if you go mad, I’ll—” I reached under his tuxedo jacket and snapped his suspenders.
Duke cried out and laughed. He rubbed his chest.
“My nipples may never recover,” he said.
“Trust me, it’s better than going mad.” To Koshka I said, “Keep watch, buddy. Don’t let anyone reshelve us.”
I placed the book on a side table open to the page before the famous Mad Tea Party chapter when Alice meets the March Hare.
“Okay, let’s go, Chicago,” I said.
“I have missed you calling me that.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “Now what? Do you need your umbrella?”
“I suppose not. We need to keep it open here. I’ve never attempted a book within book immersion before, so let’s hope the umbrella keeps us covered for both stories.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Duke said, “but I trust your judgment implicitly.”
“It might go easier if you help me. I’ll say Alice’s lines,” I said, pointing to the open page, “and you say the Cheshire Cat’s. Try to believe you’re a part of the story, try to believe the words.”
Duke smiled a little sheepishly. “Never gone undercover as a talking cat before, but I’ll do my best.”
And his best, it turned out, was very good. When he spoke, he did sound almost mad.
“In that direction…lives a Hatter,” he began, “and in that direction, lives a March Hare. Visit either if you like: they’re both mad.”
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” I said.
“Oh, you can’t help that…we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad!”
The magic was working. Our voices warped and slowed like someone playing a record album on the wrong speed. The outlines of our bodies wavered and faded. And if you want to know what it looks like when a Book Witch enters a story, it’s almost exactly like the Cheshire Cat vanishing, as it says in the book,quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin…
“How do you know I’m mad?” I read aloud.
“You must be,” Duke said, his voice distant and distorted, “or you wouldn’t have come here…”
