The White Rabbit Read online

  "Hey!” she protested, a little unsteady herself. “You could have let me wake up."

  He grunted and hit a button. The tent sucked down into a little box, folding itself as it shrank. “I don't think so. Go use the bushes if you have to—we're still an hour away from breakfast."

  She was so distracted by his incredible kiss that it took her a good twenty minutes to remember the miraculous yard sale. Either that, or it was the dreamlike quality of her other life when she was here. Where was here, anyway? Should she just out and ask him if he believed in other worlds? She'd had some hazy idea that he was involved in the garage sale, but how could that be? Did she really think that Mrs. Heart's grandson was a white-haired biker named Rabbit? One with supernatural junk moving abilities? “Rabbit?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Can you travel to other worlds?"

  "What?” he laughed through the word, as if he couldn't believe his ears.

  Well, he thought she was a ditz anyway. Why not? “I came here through a mirror. Every time I go to sleep here, I flash back to my world."

  He didn't say a word, but she could tell by the tension in his body he was listening.

  "I'm losing my house in my world. My grandma died and my job doesn't pay enough to pay all her debts. Yesterday we had a garage sale that raised a lot of money, but some really weird things went on.” She summed up her suspicions. “So you see why I'm asking."

  Rabbit pulled over and turned around to look at her. His gaze was suspicious as it passed over her. “You didn't look crazy,” he said, as if excusing himself for giving her a ride.

  She huffed. “You know I'm not crazy."

  He just shook his head and got back on the road.

  "You have magic here—your tent, this thing we're riding. How could I not know about your money system unless I was a foreigner? Which reminds me, you still have mine."

  He shook his head. “You might have escaped from an asylum."

  She stiffened. She didn't need him thinking like that. The last thing she wanted was to be confined to this world's version of a loony bin. “I guess I don't have to worry about you wanting to sneak anymore kisses, then, do I?"

  "I guess not."

  She clenched her teeth as her dig fell flat. “You can pull over. I think we've traveled far enough together."

  He just laughed. “I'm not turning you loose on the road, sweetheart. You think you've seen magic? You wouldn't like what you'd stumble on out here."

  "It doesn't look so bad. Besides, you were willing to let me walk when we first met."

  "Until I realized it would be murder to let you wander around by yourself. You're like a babe in the woods. You would have died within a minute if I hadn't stopped you from eating that fruit."

  "My hero,” she drawled. “Now will you stop?"

  "Five minutes and we'll be somewhere where I can feed you. Are you really ready to forgo breakfast over a snit?” he asked reasonably.

  "You said I was crazy!"

  "I said you hadn't looked crazy."

  "Same thing!” She desperately wanted to hit him, but that might prove dangerous, since he was still driving.

  "Sautéed mushrooms and grilled steak with blue cheese. Garden fresh salad. Fruit tarts,” Rabbit said casually. “Champagne and bread so fresh it's still steaming ... any of that sound good to you?"

  She stopped ranting. Her stomach rumbled. “You're saying we're having that for breakfast?” Maybe she could eat something just to spite him. For all she knew, it was her money buying breakfast.

  "See for yourself,” he said as he pulled off the road.

  She blinked. He was headed for a small castle with a wide circular drive. The walls appeared to be made entirely of glass blocks, with windows of stained glass. She could see shapes moving dimly behind the icy walls. The turrets were roofed in chocolate shingles, with lacy chocolate trim. Awed, she slipped off the bike and came closer, marveling at the green gumdrop shrubbery and hedges, glittering under a dusting of sugar. Piped roses and flowers of royal icing filled the flowerbeds surrounding the castle.

  Rabbit grinned at her wide eyes. “I see you like it. The blocks are made of poured sugar, and the stained glass is also colored sugar. It took the baker and his assistants two years to complete."

  She shook her head in disbelief. “How did they preserve it? Shouldn't it melt in the rain or something?"

  He looked at her from under his lashes like a mischievous elf. “Don't you believe in magic, Alice?"

  She started. She hadn't told him her full name. Was it a lucky guess?

  He stepped forward and opened the gingerbread door for her. Delicious smells wafted out and curled around her nose. “Come on—I'm starving."

  Her stomach led her forward with loud growls, but Ali couldn't hurry. The floors were tiled with blue and white sugar mosaics, and the inside was full of arches, pillars and flying buttresses. Sugar sculptures filled wall niches, and suits of silver and gold sugar armor guarded the walls. Fantasy greeted her wherever she looked.

  Rabbit waited with good humor as she looked around, smiled as she tried out a bench upholstered with silken cushions stuffed with cotton candy, topped with marshmallow pillows. She laughed with disbelief as she squished a marshmallow between her hands and it sprang back. “It really is magic."

  He shook his head and took her hand. “Come on and eat. I'll introduce you to the chocolate mud spa and fizzing seltzer pool after breakfast. You'll love it. It even has a bubbling waterfall."

  "You're kidding!” Her head swiveled from side to side as she tried to take everything in. To save her from tripping in her distraction, he linked his arm with hers and placed his hand over hers on his sleeve. His pace steady but slow enough for her look around, he guided her to a table set for two. After seating her, he slid into his own chair.

  With a sudden poof of pink smoke, plates of food appeared before them. Steam still curled from the sautéed mushrooms and the steak sizzled as blue cheese butter melted over the top. A napkin-covered basket of bread sat invitingly in the center of the table, flanked by two small plates of salad. A platter of cheese and fresh fruits waited under a small glass dome.

  Rabbit smiled at her astonishment as he poured the wine. He opened his mouth to speak, then his gaze dropped to the floor. “What are you doing here?” he demanded sharply.

  Puzzled, Ali glanced down at the large white Persian cat who had sauntered up to their table. It sat down on the tile, curled its luxurious tail neatly around its paws and blinked large blue eyes at them. She frowned at Rabbit. He didn't like cats? Feeling sorry for it, she reached out to pet it.

  "Don't touch him!” Rabbit shouted, startling her.

  "Why not?” she demanded, but she withdrew her hand. “Is there something wrong with it?” She glanced back at the kitty and blinked as a very human smile tilted his lips. Suddenly she was glad she hadn't touched it.

  With a lazy indolence, the cat transformed into a white curl of smoke that coalesced into a man. Tall and ruthlessly handsome, his silky white hair was pulled back with a silver clip and fell to the middle of his back. Catlike, his blue eyes studied Rabbit arrogantly, and her with smoky interest.

  Cat in heat, she thought with an inner gasp. How could a man dressed in silver silk look so ... lethally charming? His tunic seemed to have both Crusader and oriental influence, yet looked amazing on him. Those eyes ... a woman could drown in those eyes.

  A sudden splash of cold hit her, and she gasped, staring at the water all over her front. “What—?” She couldn't get the words out. That water was cold!

  Rabbit set down his water glass and looked coldly at the former cat. “Leave her alone."

  The stranger looked amused. “Nice aim. It stirs the imagination, doesn't it?"

  Rabbit's eyes grew artic. “What do you want?"

  In no hurry, the stranger conjured a column to lean against and pilfered a hunk of bread. “Aren't you going to introduce us?"

  Rabbit looked at Ali, his eyes taking in he
r drenched top and worried, irritated eyes. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Ali, the Cheshire Cat. Now spill it—what do you want?"

  The Cat munched thoughtfully on his bread and considered Ali, but this time his eyes didn't try to mesmerize her. “The queen was curious where you'd gotten to. She sent me to investigate. Ironic, isn't it?” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, with a hint of malice. “She'll find your activities ... interesting, don't you think?"

  "I'm not her pet anymore,” Rabbit retorted, his eyes hard. “You've taken that roll, haven't you?"

  The Cat looked at Ali, who could hardly believe her ears. He was that cat? So that meant she was ... she shook her head, dazed.

  He grinned. “Hard to believe the brotherly love in the air, isn't it? It's difficult to have your younger brother depose you, I think."

  "Half-brother,” Rabbit said grimly. He rose and pulled Ali—gently—from her chair. “We're leaving."

  The Cat looked innocent. “Where are you going? You'll see me soon enough in the city ... in the Queen's hall.” His eyes glittered at Ali. “She'll be so pleased to meet you."

  Ali's skin prickled with foreboding.

  "Goodbye, Cat.” With a last warning look, Rabbit turned her and strode for the door.

  It was some moments before Ali remembered their abandoned lunch. She was hungry, but her stomach was knotted with tension, too. They were on the road again, with Rabbit driving at a suicidal pace. She flexed her hands against his stomach to get his attention. It didn't work. Frustrated, she shouted over the roar of the wind, “Rabbit!"

  "What?"

  "What happened back there?"

  "Not now,” he yelled back, and his tone wasn't encouraging. He let her stew for a few miles, then took a narrow side road to the right. The trees here grew tall and close. Draped with shrouds of emerald moss, they might have been menacing save for the golden sunlight slanting through their branches. Ali wondered how golden light could possibly filter through such thick foliage, but didn't ask. Rabbit wasn't slowing for questions.

  After a few miles the trees thinned and a beach came into view. They road ten feet from the rock strewn surf and pulled to a stop. Wondering, she stayed put until Rabbit dismounted and looked at her. Without a word, he went to stare at the sea.

  She followed more slowly. Arms folded, she stood beside him and watched the troubled waters.

  After a time, he said flatly, “I was the queen's lover. Cat replaced me."

  Wide eyed, she regarded him.

  His smile was self-mocking. “Ours is a possessive family. I had foolishly developed feelings for her. I wasn't ready to be replaced.” He contemplated the sea. “To be fair, Cat didn't have much choice. The queen's wily and powerful. I was too angry to support him, and our family was disgusted with the ‘Queen's whores'. They turned their backs before he'd even shared her bed. I think it was their spinelessness that drove him there, as much as anything else."

  "Were you close before that? You and your brother?"

  He sighed. The waves lapped for a time before he answered, “Yes."

  Uncomfortable with the subject, she still had to know, “If it's, ah, over between you, why does the queen care what you do?"

  He looked at her ironically. “She's a jealous woman."

  "So she tracked down that waitress and gave her grief, too?” she asked skeptically.

  He gave her chiding glance, then climbed up on one of the huge boulders. “You're not a servant."

  "Actually, I am, in my world. I work at the Java Joint in town. I serve coffee and stuff."

  He glanced at her sideways. Dismissively, he said, “You're a threat. The waitress was not."

  Ignoring the wash of pleasure at his words, she crossed her arms and leaned against another bolder. “How many waitresses have there been? More than one, I'd bet. Why's she so bothered now? She doesn't even know me.” Put like that, his concern sounded silly, paranoid.

  He looked at her through his black lashes. “There were many like her at first. I was very ... angry. I think it amused her—the queen. There have not been many lately. I've outgrown trying to make her jealous. That's why she's curious about you."

  She shook her head impatiently and set aside her thoughts as counterproductive. “You owe me breakfast."

  He jumped off the boulder. As he looked down at her, his eyes warmed. He stared at her lips, then looked up at the sky. Muttering something inaudible to the clouds, he pulled her close and kissed her. Surprised, she stiffened as his arms came around her, then slowly softened as his ardor warmed her. It felt—

  Chapter Three

  Ali opened her eyes with a jolt. She staggered as the queer sensation of shifting places left her momentarily dizzy. What had happened? She hadn't gone to sleep. One minute he'd been kissing her, and then.... She flushed at the memory. The bed offered a good way to recover her shaky legs, so she sat down and stared at the thread-worn carpet.

  This couldn't be healthy. She was becoming obsessed with a man who only existed in a mirror. Worse, she was starting to shift from place to place with jarring frequency. She had to stop this. It wasn't as if.... She bit her lip and refused to finish the thought. Grabbing a sheet from the pile of unfolded laundry in a basket, she threw it over the mirror.

  There. She didn't have time for this.

  Whatever this shaky, scary feeling was.

  * * * *

  She started her campaign in the kitchen the next morning. Though she felt an unholy urge to stew a rabbit, she settled on cookies as the next best thing. She was going hunting for information at Mrs. Heart's, and the cookies would make a good excuse to visit. Ali had a burning urge to discover the identity of Mrs. Heart's grandson.

  Mrs. Heart opened her door with a smile at Ali's knock. “Why, Ali, dear! How nice to see you. Come in.” She ushered Ali into her small front parlor and saw her settled in a chair. “Let me just get the tea things."

  Ali reclined in the overstuffed floral chair, content to wait. These old dears liked to go through their rituals of hospitality, and Ali didn't mind a bit. It gave her time to study the sitting room.

  Though it was not the first time she'd been in Mrs. Heart's home, she considered the relentlessly cheerful French Country décor with new interest. Sure, the pale blues, whites and yellows were pretty, but why hadn't she noticed the absence of family photos before? Didn't all elderly people collect those photographs? Her own grandmother had a million of them.

  Mrs. Heart bustled back in with a tea tray. “And what is this?” she asked as she set the tray on the coffee table next Ali's plate of cookies.

  "A thank you gift for your grandson and his friends. I thought you could tell me where he lives and I could drop it off,” Ali said with a smile. “He really helped me out yesterday."

  "Tut-tutt! No need for you to go out of your way. He can come here to get it.” Mrs. Heart smiled as she poured the tea. “Tell me, how are you getting on? I hope the sale yesterday caught you up on all your grandmother's bills. I can't abide the idea of the house being auctioned off."

  Ali's smile lost some wattage. “Er, not quite. I'm afraid I still owe a lot of money. I thought I'd take my mind off the problem by visiting with you. You don't have a picture of your grandson around, do you? I never got a chance to meet him."

  Mrs. Heart shook her head. “You really must concentrate, dear. The house is so much more important just now.” She thought for a moment.

  Ali blinked, chastened. How could she argue with such touching concern?

  Mrs. Heart nodded decisively. “You'll have to sell off the book collection, then. It should bring in quite a bit of revenue. Such a shame to part with all those old classics, though."

  Never much of a reader, Ali was puzzled. “You mean all those old books in the library? I was thinking of giving them to charity.” The room was more of a den with a few bookshelves, but her grandmother had preferred the grander name. The only time Ali had been in there was to vacuum.

  "Not when you're in danger of losing t
he house, child. Now, I have an acquaintance with an antique book dealer. He'll be over at your house this afternoon at two. I suggest you go home and dust. These fellows are very particular about how books are treated, you know.” Mrs. Heart rose and whisked away the tea things with brisk efficiency.

  Ali reluctantly left the cookies, determined to come back later for answers. She was effectively distracted, though. Could there really be anything valuable in those worm-eaten old tomes?

  * * * *

  The white cat waited until Ali's footsteps left the porch before abandoning his post behind the couch. He sauntered around the sofa and jumped on top.

  Mrs. Heart, also known as his godmother, smiled at him. “Ah, Cat. There you are. You've done a superb job of helping that young lady. Are you certain I can't introduce you?"

  With a wisp of smoke, Cat materialized into his human form. If he felt guilty about betraying the only member of his family who would acknowledge him, he kept it to himself. He could hardly tell the queen's intensions to the one person the queen held over his head. Cat had many tricks, but few allies. He couldn't be with Mary Heart, protect her, every minute of the day, especially in this world. The queen was too devious for him to risk it.

  He answered her question with his own. “Why do you stay in this world? I know it amuses you, but wouldn't you rather spend your golden years in the Mirror Lands?” Where he could watch over her, he added silently.

  Mary snorted. “With my vile cousin as queen? I think not. I'm comfortable here, thank you.” She poured him a cup of tea. “How is your brother?"

  "He's in good health,” Cat said carefully, which really said nothing at all. He took a sugar cookie to have an excusably busy mouth.

  Mary knew the tale, though. “Still not speaking? Pity. Perhaps I should introduce him to Ali."

  Cat choked and hastily set down his tea. She couldn't know, could she? But as he looked at her, he was reminded that the duchess was an old hand at politics.

  Mary handed him a napkin and made sympathetic sounds, but there was a gleam of laughter in her old eyes. “There now. You should be careful what you try to chew. You may find the mouthful too big for you."