The White Rabbit Read online

  "Mary, be careful. I can not go against the queen,” he cautioned, in case she was thinking of interfering.

  "I know you think you can't,” she said placidly. “Here, have anther cookie."

  * * * *

  Ali dusted the books, even looked at a few, but she still had no idea of the value. How did you figure out what a book was worth? Maybe there was a list somewhere. If she had time, she'd go to the library and use the internet to check it out, but the buyer would be here in a couple of hours. She'd just have to hope for the best.

  As she was sorting through, them, though, she came across an old leather journal. Opening it, she found it was one of her grandmother's old diaries. By the date inside, her grandmother had been in her early twenties when she'd written it. Curious, she was about to read more, but the phone rang, so she set it aside and forgot it.

  The doorbell rang promptly at two o'clock. Ali opened the door, a greeting on her lips, and frowned. A cheerful hail made her look down in surprise. A dwarf in a business suit stood on her doorstep, his beard neatly braided and his long, rather coarse blond hair slicked back and tided in a tail at the base of his neck.

  "Good afternoon, ma'am. My name is John Beaudreault, purveyor of fine old books. Mrs. Heart sent me."

  Blinking back her surprise, Ali stammered, “Oh! Er, yes, you're right on time. Why don't you come in?” While it wasn't every day she opened her door to midget book buyers, she didn't want to be rude and stare. With everything she'd experienced lately, it was just startling to see a dwarf on her doorstep. Shaking her head, she reminded herself to be practical. “The books are just this way, Mr. Beaudreault. Would you like a drink? I have some iced tea ready."

  "No, thank you. I'm fine. And please, call me John. You have an interesting old house."

  "My grandmother loved it. Here's the books. Help yourself.” She gestured him to precede her into the library and made herself comfortable in an armchair, then remembered her drink in the kitchen. She hopped back up. “Excuse me, I forgot something. Let me know if you change your mind about that drink."

  She didn't see the dwarf's wide grin at her back, didn't see him sneaking books out of his satchel.

  The phone rang as she entered the kitchen. It was one of her elderly neighbors, Mrs. Potter, wanting her grandmother's cornbread recipe. Ali rolled her eyes at the timing, but obediently fetched her grandmother's recipe box and found the card in question. She rattled it off, then had to deliver the No Bake Cookie recipe, too. She finally wiggled out of the lengthening conversation by mentioning she had a guest and promising to come over for a visit.

  "Sorry about that,” she said as she walked into the library, drink in hand. “I had a phone call—oh! You've already found some you like?” John had a stack of books on the coffee table.

  "Indeed I have! He said with a sparkle in his eye. “You can donate anything left on the shelves to goodwill if you like, but I must buy these beauties from you!” His hands trailed lovingly over the books on the table.

  "What are they?” Ali set down her glass on an end table and came over, curious to see what had him so excited.

  "This is a first edition Mark Twain,” the dwarf said, holding up a hardbound book. “I can give you two hundred dollars for it. This one here is The Catcher In the Rye, by JD Salinger. You've heard of him, haven't you?"

  "Sure. I had to read it in high school. Didn't like it much,” she answered, looking at it doubtfully. “I've seen lots of them in the bookstore. How much could it be worth?"

  He gave her a chiding look. “Ms. Ali, a first edition copy like this is going to bring you twenty five hundred dollars today. It's a great find."

  She gulped, grateful she hadn't sold it at the yard sale for fifty cents. She looked at the next book, a faded version The Hobbit. Curious, she flipped open the first page and saw the print date. ‘1937?’ It says ‘first printing', too."

  John rubbed his hands. “Yes. I'm offering you thirty five hundred dollars for it."

  Her jaw dropped. She gingerly set the book down, afraid to touch it now that she knew the value. Yikes! She'd owned less expensive cars! “Wha-what about that Cat in the Hat?,” she stammered. How much could a children's book possibly be worth?

  He sighed with pleasure as he patted the last book. “This fine old Seuss is worth between nineteen hundred and six thousand dollars. I need to make a profit when I resell, of course, so I'll give you fifty five hundred. Does that sound fair?"

  She sat down quickly, her head swimming. “Oh, sure. Very."

  "Ms. Ali? Ms. Ali! Oh, no! Put your head between your knees."

  It was a near thing, but Ali managed not to pass out, either then, or when Mr. Beaudreault paid her in cash. She sat for a long time in the library, just staring at the money in her hand. Finally, when it sank in, she started to cry, deep, painful sobs of relief. She'd done it! She had saved the house.

  As soon as she'd calmed down, Ali drove to the bank and deposited the money. The bank was closed for business, but they had a drop box for cash deposits and she didn't want that kind of money sitting around the house. First thing tomorrow she'd check that the money went to the mortgage. Meanwhile, she picked up take out and a bottle of wine. She had to celebrate! In between bites of moo goo gai pan, she swigged the wine and laughed for joy. She was free!

  * * * *

  A shot of sunlight poked her in the eye early Monday morning. With a groan, she blinked her eyes. She'd fallen asleep on the couch and hadn't closed the curtains. Her head felt wooly and she blamed the wine. She'd fallen asleep in her clothes, and she blamed the wine for that, too. The late for work, she took credit for. After all, the wine wasn't responsible for everything.

  Still, it was a great morning, even for a Monday. She had the house paid for! Not even her dirt dry mouth bothered her as she pried herself off the couch and padded to the shower.

  She felt like a new woman as she slid into her work clothes. Taking care of the present had a marvelous way of freeing up energy for the future. She didn't have to be a clerk in a coffee shop forever. Even though she wasn't sure what she wanted to be, there were possibilities now. She might even meet someone, have a relationship. There had never seemed time or energy before, though she'd been lonely.

  The covered mirror caught her eye and her smile faded. No. She needed a real man, not one conjured up by a mirror. Maybe she should sell it, she thought, but shied away from the idea. There'd be time for that later, if she wished. No need to rush. After all, it had been a favorite of Grandma's.

  A sudden suspicion made her frown. Had Granny known about Rabbit? Had adventures with him? Could they have been ... close? She gulped. He'd never said anything, but Granny had never gone on dates, or had a particular male friend. Maybe she'd still been grieving for Grandpa, but he'd died when Ali was a baby, and Granny had never seemed morose.

  Rabbit had acted like a skeptic when she'd mentioned traveling to other worlds, but maybe it was an act. Maybe he knew more than he admitted.

  With a start, she remembered the diary downstairs. If grandma had known about the mirror, surely she would have written it down. That was what journals were for, right? Telling secrets that you couldn't tell to anyone else?

  She found herself gripping her locket, and suddenly common sense kicked in. Her grandmother had given her the locket. She had known about the mirror, wanted Ali to know, too. She was leading the way to secrets, not hiding them.

  Besides, Rabbit was too young for her.

  Ali glanced at the clock and gasped. She'd better get it in gear or she'd be looking for that new job faster than she wanted. Ali raced down the stairs and grabbed her purse and keys, locking up behind her. It wasn't until she hopped in the car and slid her keys into the ignition that she noticed her new key chain.

  Dangling from her fitfully purring car's steering column was a white enamel rabbit.

  Ali blinked. The hare glinted in the sun and stared innocently back.

  She glanced at the house, paralyzed for a mo
ment. The key chain had been a cheap auto store purchase when she'd gotten home last night.

  Rabbit hadn't been in her house. The mirror was covered. She would have seen him. Her pulse raced as she looked back at the house, and her hands gripped the wheel. Would he be in there if she went inside? Or was he waiting in the mirror?

  She shook off her thoughts and drove doggedly to work. All day the rabbit key chain sat heavily in her pocket, and that wasn't the only oddity. The café was serving iced white rabbit sugar cookies, and they never had before.

  Ali had one at lunchtime and bit its head off.

  She started to feel dizzy and thought maybe there was something wrong with her eyes, because every time she looked at something shiny, she saw images reflected back at her, images that had nothing to do with her surroundings. Finally, after the lunch rush, she pleaded sickness and went home. She pulled into her driveway relieved to have made it safely back. Truly drained, she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. What a day, an unbelievable, bizarre kind of day.

  When she raised her head, she blinked in surprise, then growing anger. There was a large white rabbit sitting on her driveway, staring at her.

  Bursting from her car might not be the normal mode to catch a rabbit, but at that moment she wasn't sure the beast really was a rabbit. After all, Rabbit's brother could turn into a cat. Maybe Rabbit himself was trying to prank her.

  The bunny let her pounce, blinked as she scooped him up. “Rabbit?” she demanded, staring at it.

  The bunny wiggled his nose.

  "Rabbit?” she repeated doubtfully. “It is you, isn't it?” She started to feel a little stupid and glanced around to see if the neighbors were watching her interrogate a bunny.

  "Mr. Fluffy!” a little girl's voice cried, followed by a black girl in shorts and a pink flowered shirt. “Thank you for finding my rabbit!” She took the bunny from Ali's arms and scolded it, “That's a bad, bad bunny! Mommy's not going to give you any brownies tonight."

  Ali had looked away in embarrassment as the girl walked off, but her head whipped around at that. The girl rounded a corner and disappeared behind a fence. Ali sprinted to the corner after them, but there was nobody there. Shaken, she trudged back home.

  Mrs. Heart was outside, clipping her roses. She looked up and smiled at Ali. “My, my. What's all the fuss? You look peaked, dear."

  Ali put a hand to her head. “I don't feel well. I-I think I'm going to go lie down."

  Mrs. Heart frowned. “I has been awfully hot lately. Do you have any iced tea? No? I'm going to bring you some, and a nice lobster salad. I won't be a minute."

  Ali didn't have the energy to protest. Half-afraid of what she'd see inside, she opened the door to her house and peeked inside. It looked perfectly ordinary, so she dumped her purse and keys on the counter and lay down on the sofa.

  Mrs. Heart bustled in moments later and made herself at home in the kitchen. Ali heard the sound of cupboards and fridge doors in motion, then Mrs. Heart reappeared with a tray. “There we are! Now sit up and drink this tea down, every bit of it. You need the liquid."

  "Yes, ma'am,” Ali said faintly. Mrs. Heart really was a lot like her grandmother. Maybe it came with age. It was nice to be taken care of, though, and the salad really was great.

  Mrs. Heart looked pleased that her patient was behaving so well. “I knew it was just the thing. You look better already."

  "I feel better, thank you."

  "You're most welcome dear.” Mrs. Heart looked around the house and frowned. “It strikes me that you're a young woman all alone, Ali. You took such good care of your grandmother, and I know there was very little money for a long while. You deserve some pampering, and I see a few things around here that could use a man's touch. I'm going to have my grandson stop by and fix a few things."

  Ali perked up. “You mean your magic grandson? The one who can clear a room in five minutes flat?” Normally she would protest such a thing on principal, but this could be her chance. What if the grandson really was Rabbit?

  When Mrs. Heart laughed it sounded like little bells. “I'll speak with him. There's nothing he can't do. Why, he's very good with his hands.” She gave a wink that almost seemed rakish.

  Ali blinked, confused. Mrs. Heart, rakish? She really had taken too much sun.

  Mrs. Heart patted her knee. “That's a dear. You go upstairs and rest. I'm certain you'll feel much better once you've rested."

  Ali didn't know about that, but she did feel exhausted. Once in her room, she lay on the bed and stared at the sheet draped mirror. It would be foolish to uncover it. How could she have a life with a guy who couldn't enter her own world?

  Or could he? Was Mrs. Heart's grandson Ali's Rabbit? If so, why was he playing games with her?

  She must have been tired, for she drifted off, only to dream of rooms teeming with little white bunnies.

  Chapter Four

  It was dark when she woke up. Ali lay there a while, thinking she might drift off again. When she was sure she was awake, she snapped on the bedside lamp and considered getting a snack.

  It was while she was munching on cold lobster salad that Ali remembered the diary. She fetched it and brought it to the kitchen table to read while she ate.

  A preliminary flip through revealed that her grandmother was a sporadic dairy writer. There were only a few pages about her being a young mother, then a leap of months until the next entry. Years went by between updates. Obviously she'd had better things to do. At least her handwriting was neat, and Ali read the updates with interest. She was getting sleepy, though, when a passage suddenly made her sit bolt upright. About two-thirds of the way through, her grandma had made reference to Ali.

  "How will I tell her?” she'd written. “She thinks her parents died in a car crash. If I tell her the truth, will she try to go after them? I can't get rid of the mirror, no matter how I'd like to smash it, and for Ali's sake, I can't try to find them. Who would take care of her if something happened to me? I wish I'd never found that mirror!"

  Ali went cold. The mirror had something to do with her parent's deaths? Why? What had happened?

  A shock rippled through her as she thought, what if they're still alive?

  She fingered the old photo of her parents her grandmother had taped between the pages. Torn between running upstairs to investigate the mirror and reading further, Ali grimly searched the diary, but there was nothing else, not even another entry.

  Carefully, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She needed to absorb the shock, to think this through. Absently, she stoked her locket. Okay, maybe her parents were dead, maybe not. She did know now that they'd entered the mirror and not come back. Her grandmother had implied they'd been lost. Had they discovered the world in the mirror, gone exploring and gotten stuck? Or had something more sinister happened?

  Ali drew a breath. She needed to know, and that meant going back. The thought of seeing Rabbit kicked up her heartbeat, but she had cause to be cautious. Much as she liked him, she really knew so little about him. She was becoming dangerously enamored of him, and the reminders he'd sent her today had shaken her up. At least she thought he'd sent him. Who else would bother?

  * * * *

  The Queen of Hearts read over Ali's shoulder and raised a brow. How interesting. She would be coming back, then, despite the cover on her mirror.

  Annoying, that. It made carrying out her own plans a little more taxing when it would have been so much easier to use Ali's mirror as a portal, and she needed the energy elsewhere.

  In spite of her pressing need to deal with her rival, the queen was aware of the dangerous unrest growing in her kingdom. The King of Spades was massing troops in the north, and her own subjects were unruly, disgruntled with what they termed her despotic rule. Granted, she'd increased taxes substantially since she'd taken the throne, but it took money to feed and train her army. The lavish gardens, servants, and upkeep on her many homes—taken from dissenters, of course—came at a cost, on
e they should be glad to pay.

  There had been peace during her rein, which proved her tougher laws had good effect. They had more police than ever helping to keep the peace, and all her people could do was complain. She didn't dwell on it though. After all, they were only ignorant peasants, unable to know what was good for them. Like a kind but stern mother, she would have to discipline them.

  Ali, though ... she deserved to be humiliated. Crushed.

  The queen didn't favor merciful executions. She liked to twist the heart, to make it bleed. Even her most loyal subjects were not immune to the slow poison of her will. If anything, the pleasure grew more intense the closer she allowed them to her heart. It was a talent she had, a weakness, perhaps, but one that gave her great satisfaction.

  After all, everyone needed a hobby.

  "Cat,” she called softly. She had never understood how, but her pet had the talent of hearing her no matter how far away he was. She'd recognized early on that his abilities would have made him a dangerous foe, so she had quickly made him her own.

  It had been pleasurable, luring him into her power, binding him with it. Better still had been the torment she'd wreaked on his family, the irrevocable way she'd split them apart. Bitterness divided the once powerful family, crippled even Rabbit, who'd been so resilient at first. She didn't need that girl raising him from his apathy. If the brothers ever united in purpose they could topple the throne.

  "Cat,” she called again, growing testy. The creature had become difficult lately. Subtle things, like making her wait for him. He was wise enough not to push too far, but soon he would slip, and she'd delight in taking him in hand.

  He appeared before she could call a third time, in human form, this time. Interesting. Unless she desired pleasure from him, he usually came to her in his feline form. This change of habit was unsettling.

  She took a moment to admire him, to savor her plans to humble him. “Dear Cat,” said, with a dark, secret smile. “We have work to do."

  * * * *