Page 12 of Locked in Wonderland

“Of course,” Lola said brightly. Too brightly. “We’re always here. Always processing.”

“Processing,” Percy echoed.

“And that’s when I get my clothes back as well?”

“Oh no, we burned them,” Lola said.

“Did you burn my phone as well?”

Lola affectionately swatted my arm. “Phones don’t burn, silly.”

“Don’t burn,” Percy echoed.

I was suddenly done with these people. In hindsight, it was nothing short of miraculous that it had taken this long. Nothing in my life had taught me how to deal with people who could drug someone and not show even an iota of remorse about it. I could stand here all day and argue with them, and it wouldn’t get me anywhere.

“Where do I go?” I asked.

I spent the next few minutes navigating a warren of corridors. When an anguished scream rang out, I froze in place. “What the fuck!”

“See,” Lola said, gesturing for me to hurry and catch up with her. “Sometimes it’s better not to be awake.”

“What are you doing to him?”

“Nothing. We’re with you.”

“What is your team doing to him?” Percy opened his mouth to respond. “And don’t tell me you’re making him prettier.”

His mouth snapped shut, his frown suggesting he genuinely didn’t know what else he was supposed to say.

Something suddenly occurred to me. “Warren White?” I demanded. “Is he here?”

They both shook their heads.

“Are you sure?”

“Never heard of him,” Lola said.

“Never—” Percy started.

“Heard of him, yes,” I snapped. “You don’t need to say everything twice.”

“Rude,” they both muttered in unison.

“And after all that we’ve done for you,” Percy added.

I counted to ten. It didn’t feel anywhere near high enough. “Just… get me out of here.”

Lola pointed at a door I could have sworn hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Through there,” she said, pulling it open. “That takes you into the gallery. Go through the gallery and you’ll be in Wonderland proper.”

I stepped through it. “The gallery?”

The door had already shut behind me with Percy and Lola on the other side, which was mostly a relief. The lighting in the room was dim, presumably to highlight the extreme chalkiness of the statues inside it. Seven of them, all spread out. Four males. Three females. All naked. All completely anatomically correct. And not in the way most statues were with the men, like the sculptor had run out of clay by the time they reached the genitals. In fact, the one closest to me looked like its creator had found himself with extra material to use up.

I stepped closer, admiring how realistic it was. The artist must have been incredibly talented. It felt as if I reached out, the skin would be warm to the touch.

And then I saw it. The slight rise and fall of the chest.

I stumbled backward, putting space between me and the breathing statue and narrowly avoiding crashing into another.