The White Rabbit

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Autumn Dawn

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  The White Rabbit

  By

  Autumn Dawn

  © copyright, Autumn Dawn

  Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright Dec. 2007

  Reissue released December 2007

  ISBN 978-1-60394-102-0

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  "Ah, excuse me. I ordered a non-fat pumpkin spice latte. This like, tastes like its got fat milk.” The twenty-something blond across the counter looked at her meaningfully as she slid her half-consumed beverage across the gleaming counter. Her manicured fingernails tapped on the tall cup, making sparkles fly off the fake gems glued on her nails.

  The lunch crowd had come into the coffee shop in a rush, and this Paris wanna-be had timed her complaint just right.

  Ali gave the rhinestone princess across the counter a strained smile. “No, ma'am. I definitely used non-fat milk.” It had been a long day and she wasn't up to arguing with someone who just wanted a free refill. She probably had a bet with the pair of young women seated nearby. The blonde's friends exchanged amused looks while Ali squirmed. Ali didn't want to reward this brat's gall with a free drink.

  The rhinestone princess fixed Ali with a menacing look and glanced at her badge. “Look, Ali, I say you made a mistake. I want you to fix it. The customer is always right, right?"

  Stumped, with a pile of customers in line, Ali forced a smile and reached for the latte. Just as her fingers touched the cup, her coworker Sue swept it away.

  With a sunny smile, Sue told the blonde and the equally surprised Ali, “Won't take a moment, honey. You've forgotten all about the fat tester, right Ali? We'll fix you right up,” she assured the blonde. She turned her back and hummed while she did something with the drink. They saw her take a straw up and run it through a light coming off one of the machines. It beeped, and Sue nodded happily. She turned back to the blonde with a smile and slid the drink across the counter. “Nope, the machine says it's definitely low-fat. I love technology! You have a nice day now."

  Faced with grumpy customers behind her, the blonde settled for a hard look and backed off. Her friends giggled at her as she returned to her seat.

  Ali shot Sue a grateful look and helped the next customer. It wasn't until next break that they got a chance to laugh about it.

  "I couldn't help it. She was trying to rip us off.” Sue grinned and flipped her blond braid behind her shoulder as she put her feet up on one of the break room chairs. At seven months pregnant, she used every chance she could to rest them. Her husband was trying to convince her to quit her job, but she wanted to wait until the baby was born. As a young military man, his pay wasn't much. “She probably shoplifts, too."

  "Ugh! She can have my job if she needs something to do,” Ali said. She enjoyed her job in the café, but her heart wasn't in it lately. Nothing had been right since her grandmother had died two months ago. Lately every day had been a blue Monday.

  Sue smiled wryly. “Honey, she could live for a month just by pawning that pair of shoes she had on. I don't think she's going to be working in a café any time soon."

  Ali sighed as she eyed her own worn sneakers. She didn't begrudge anyone their money, but she wished she had more of it. She was going to lose her grandmother's house soon if she couldn't raise more cash.

  Glumly she fingered the ornate locket around her neck. Her grandmother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday. Made of platinum with gold scrolling inlaid all over it, it was the most expensive gift her grandmother had ever given her. Inside was a picture of her grandmother and a tiny mirror. Ali remembered how she'd laughed in delight and teased her grandma—after assuring her that she really loved it, of course. “Is this for signaling airplanes if I'm lost? I'm going to have a hard time checking my makeup in this."

  Her grandmother had smiled. “Alice of Wonderland traveled through a mirror to another world, Ali. You never know if this mirror might lead you to adventures of your own. Meanwhile, it's to remind you to reflect on the past to cultivate wisdom. Mind that you don't live there, though. I raised you to shape your own future, after all."

  Ali felt a new surge of determination as she reviewed her grandmother's words. Whatever came, she would make the best of it.

  It was close to dusk when she got off work and headed for her bicycle. She looked both ways, then stepped off the curb—and was nearly run down by a motorcycle that came out of nowhere. The wind from its passage tore at her clothes, making her gasp. She caught an impression of pale hair and a flash of white on the tank before it roared around the corner. She hopped back, then jumped as a truck horn blared. Muttering an expletive, she ran for her bicycle and fumbled with the combination lock. The world was full of crazy drivers tonight.

  She was still shaky when she rode into her grandmother's driveway fifteen minutes later. The old Victorian stoically looked on, its windows sad and dark. Built over seventy years ago, the old girl had seen her share of births and deaths. It would handle a new owner more gracefully than Ali would. She hated the thought of handing over the keys to a stranger. Would they treat the house well?

  It wasn't as if Ali had the means to fix it up herself. The graceful turrets needed new shingles and the paint was peeling. The inside was old and worn, and she had a feeling that was the least of the things wrong with it. She needed a handyman with a big pocketbook. What she had were aging neighbors and a bank who wanted to foreclose.

  At least the rose garden was as beautiful as ever. Ali had spent much of her childhood helping her grandmother tend the antique roses and weed the daffodils. The garden had bloomed under their loving care, rewarding them with a thick and luxuriant rose hedge lining the white picket fence by the sidewalk. Sweet peas lined the outside of the fence, filling the early evening with luxurious fragrance while lavender snuggled at their feet. Climbing roses in white and red smothered the arch over the gate, and lemon thyme filled in the spaces between the flagstone walkway. Spiral topiary parked by the front steps, ivy trailing gracefully from their square clay pots. A herb garden grew in a neat semicircle on each side of the porch, ready to be snipped for the kitchen. Ali broke off a piece of mint on her way and inhaled the fragrance deeply. Coming home always felt like a little bit of heaven.

  Memories twisted her heart with bittersweet pain. So much of her grandmother was still here. If she lost the house, it would be the garden she missed the most.

  She unlocked the door and flicked on the dim overhead light, smiling at the memory of baking cookies. Grandma had always had something in the oven when Ali used to come home from school. She'd call hello from the kitchen and beckon Ali into the sixties style kitchen. Ali would get the milk from the fridge while Grandma opened the avocado green stove and pulled out a batch of cookies. The kitchen might be dated, but it was sparkling clean and filled with love.

  Ali grabbed some iced tea, then washed off her makeup in the bathroom. When she was comfortable again, she popped s
ome popcorn in the eighties era air popper and slathered it with salt, butter and grated blue cheese. She carried her bowl to the living room and sat on the lumpy old couch to watch a show. Done in shabby chic, the room was clean and comfortable, if a bit quiet. She was too used to her grandma knitting as they talked about the day. She missed the quiet clack of the needles and eyed the abandoned knitting basket, wondering if she should take up the hobby.

  She had a million things to do before they foreclosed on the house next week, but she wanted to ignore the whole mess a while longer. The twenty-five thousand she owed on grandma's home equity loan might as well have been a million. It wasn't going to be raised in a week, and she'd promised Grandma she wouldn't make the mistake of paying off a loan with another loan. She still had a little time to go through her grandmother's things in search of valuable antiques. Trouble was, she had no idea what anything might be worth. She had an appointment with an antique appraiser next week. God willing, there'd be something among all the junk stuck in the attic. It might not save the house, but it would be a start on a new life.

  She watched the show about half way through, grew bored, and flipped it off. Might as well take a bath before she was stuck in a bread box apartment with only a shower. She climbed the creaky stairs to the house's single bathroom, her feet padding on the cracked yellow and brown linoleum. The claw foot tub was chipped, the finish so worn she could never get it quite clean, but she loved the shape. Since this might be the last long soak she'd have for a while, she went to the bedroom to collect some candles. As she walked in she caught a flash of movement in the corner. Startled, she glanced over and saw the mirror. With a roll of her eyes for her jumpiness, she walked over and touched it.

  The glass felt cool and smooth. Ali ran her fingertips over the cheval mirror, remembering the many times she'd seen her grandmother checking her appearance in the old glass. It was probably worth some money and she hated to part with it, but it had to go. Back taxes and a lengthy illness had drained her grandmother's estate. Even if her grandmother had lived, they might still have lost the place.

  It was growing dimmer as the storm clouds closed in, and the girl in the mirror became a blue silvered shadow. Her dark hair and eyes became colorless black, like the reflection cast on a dark window. It was as if she were turning into a shade herself.

  "That's enough of that,” she told herself sternly, choking off the strange feelings. Straightening her back, she turned away from the mirror, then stopped. A glimmer of movement in the corner of her eye made her turn back.

  There was nothing there.

  Frowning, she looked behind her. The window was shut to the storm and there was no candle to throw shadows. What, then? Hoping to spy the source of movement, she studied the mirror. It was as it always was, except ... was that a tree reflected in the glass? How could that be? No windows faced the mirror. Peering closer, she made out details, then color. The tree was moving in a slight breeze, and now there were others, like none she'd ever seen. She chanced a look behind her, saw an ordinary room. Odd.

  She reached out to touch the glass.

  It was like flowing through water. One moment she was barefoot in her grandmother's room, the next she was elsewhere.

  Tall trees shaded the wood, but the track she stood on parted them enough to allow golden sunshine to warm her face and touch her hair. Gaping at the warm blue sky, which was nothing like the pewter gray one she'd left, she wondered dazedly if she were dreaming. Dreams didn't come with strawberry-scented breezes, did they?

  "Hey, watch it!"

  Ali jerked her eyes down and jumped back, just as a man on a bike swerved, nearly running her down. Staring at the man, whose seated position brought him nearly eye level to her, she tried to figure out where he came from and what the dickens he was riding. Motorcycles she knew, and they didn't look like his sleek silver beast. Whatever it was, it had a white rabbit painted on the ... tank, for lack of a better word.

  The man whipped off a pair of dark glasses. His green eyes narrowed as he looked her over. “Get out of the road, lady. I don't have time for hitchhikers."

  She frowned at his tone. His white hair was crew cut, but his face was young, and he wore an odd black, short sleeved shirt, leather pants and boots. “Excuse me,” she said indignantly, moving aside to let him pass. Just her luck. One of the rare times she dreamed about a good looking guy and he had to be a jerk.

  Instead of taking off, he stared at her. One pass of his quizzical eyes was all it took to make her wonder. She looked down—and stared. “What the.... “Her night gown was gone, replaced by black boots, flowing burgundy harem pants and a clinging black velvet top with red silk sleeves. She tried to imagine herself dreaming up such an outfit and failed. Bad fashion sense aside, she'd never worn a shirt that flashed that much cleavage.

  The man eyed her heart-shaped neckline, seemingly forgetting about his rush for a moment. Defensively, Ali crossed her arms under her breasts, then realized it made the problem worse.

  He looked away and took a deep breath. “I don't have time for this.” Muttering something inaudible, he shifted into gear.

  "Fine,” Ali said, turning her back on him. Men never looked twice at her, and she'd bet her virtue that he was the first to notice her breasts. Of course, how could he help it? Her top must have had a built in push up bra—either that or they'd learned to defy gravity. Trying to forget it, she looked up, examining the bright red fruit just above eye level. It looked like a red bell pepper and grew from a twisted tree. It seemed to be the source of the wonderful strawberry scent teasing her nose. Curious, she reached for it.

  "It's poison, hot stuff. One taste of that and you'll never wake up.” The biker had stopped and was watching her.

  Ali snatched her hand away and backed up. “It looked like a pepper!"

  He grunted. “Whatever that is. Look, princess, just stay on the path and keep your hands to yourself. You'll get to the city soon enough.” His hands flexed on his handlebars and he started to roll.

  She looked around, seeing nothing but woods, wondering what lurked within them. Lions and tigers and bears.... “Er, how far is it to the city?” This ‘dream’ was beginning to seem all too real, and she'd never been one to kid herself. She was a Star Trekker girl. She knew about wormholes and alternate universes. Suddenly the biker who'd almost turned her into road kill was starting to look like a white knight.

  He growled something unpleasant and looked at her with disgust. “Miles, and you don't have a babysitter coming along at any moment, do you?” He looked forward and flexed his wrist on the throttle. He didn't look back. “Get on, before I change my mind."

  Unreasonably grateful, she straddled the back of his bike and gingerly grabbed his waist. “My name is Ali."

  "I didn't ask.” With that soothing comment, he took off.

  Ali clamped her hands around his trim waist and held on. Oh, this had been bright. Romeo here was going to splatter them against a tree, and she had only herself to blame. When would she learn not to throw herself on the mercy of cute strangers? “What's your name?” In case she survived the crash and he didn't, she ought to have something to write on his tombstone.

  "Rabbit. Do you mind? I'm driving here."

  So much for conversation, though she couldn't argue with him keeping his eyes on the road. Much faster and the machine would take off and fly, and she wasn't ready for that.

  It was difficult to see much of the blurred scenery, but she got a general sense of the odd flora and fauna. Ferns of impossible sizes dotted the forest floor and bright red monkey-looking things swung from tree to tree. The dirt road they were traveling was impossibly smooth and rock free, and she began to wonder if it was pavement of some kind.

  It seemed like only a few minutes before they pulled up to a cottage with two men seated before it. The cottage was made of brick and shaped like an upside down top hat. Both men reclined on wooden lawn chairs with worn cushions. An upside-down wooden barrel laden with brown bottle
s, tall sandwiches, and a plate of brownies sat between them, begging to be eaten.

  Ali's stomach growled.

  "Stretch your legs,” Rabbit told her as he dismounted. She followed suit, looking curiously around. Surely the upside down hat wasn't a house? Maybe a road-side refreshment stand?

  "Rabbit!” the first man called, tilting his bottle to him in greeting. His booted feet were crossed, and he wore brown pants and a vest. Light bounced off his bald black head and the earring in his ear. He grinned, flashing a gold tooth. “Who's the babe?"

  "Have a brownie?” the second man offered, wiggling his shaggy brows as he held out the plate of treats. His Hawaiian print shirt was two sizes two big and matched his baggy khaki shorts. He wore socks with sandals and badly needed a shave and a haircut.

  "She's not hungry,” Rabbit cut in before she could accept.

  The hippie rolled his eyes and put the plate back.

  "How about a beer, gorgeous?” the black man offered, snagging one from the barrel top. He tossed it to her.

  Rabbit caught it and tossed it back. “She doesn't drink."

  She glared at him. “I...."

  Casually, Rabbit slid a hand around her waist and anchored it on her hip. Stunned by his move, she listened in silence as he spoke to the pair.

  "I just stopped by to see what kind of progress you'd made on our project. Found any candidates, Hatter?” He sent a rueful glance at their snacks.

  The black man, Hatter, spread his hands. “We've been looking, but a man has to eat. Bud and I were going to get going right after, not that we've had any luck. Looks like you have, though.” He smirked. “Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you leave your friend with us? We'll bring her along after we all eat.” He winked at Ali.

  Bud wagged his shaggy brows in agreement.

  Uneasy, Ali inched closer to Rabbit. His hand stroked her hip reassuringly, then slapped lightly. “Find your own hitchhikers—this one has places to be. We'll see you later,” he said, and mounted his bike.