Page 46 of Locked in Wonderland

Every person in the room looked at me when I entered. Every single one, even those that had to twist their bodies to do so. If it weren’t for the masks, it might not have been so disconcerting, but with everyone’s faces either partially or fully covered, it made me think of a horror film, like they were all mannequins about to come alive.

Silence settled over the room like a blanket.

“Hi,” I said.

The spell broke instantly. People resumed talking. Most looked away. A few continued watching me.

A man rose from a nearby table. “Come and join us.”

Given that my entire reason for being here was gathering information, it would’ve been stupid not to accept the offer.

The table seated four, with three seats occupied. One by the man who’d called me over—a broad-shouldered man with a black mask and shockingly red hair. One by a man wearing a rabbit-eared mask. And the last by a man slumped in his seat, his eyes closed beneath a brown, furry mask.

“Harlan Maddox,” said the red-haired man in a booming voice. He pointed to the rabbit. “And that’s Marcus Hale.”

I introduced myself and shook both their hands. Then I pointed at the third man. “And what about him? Who’s he? And more importantly, is he all right?”

“Dorian Moss,” Harlan said. He shrugged. “He’s either asleep or dead.”

“Or dead asleep,” Marcus suggested.

“Or sleeping like the dead,” Harlan countered.

Marcus shifted in his seat. “Or ignoring us with impressive dedication.”

I regretted asking, the verbal parrying like watching a rapid-fire tennis match. And just when I thought they’d finished, it started up again.

“He could be hibernating,” Harlan suggested.

Marcus shook his head. “Humans don’t hibernate.”

Harlan looked thoughtful. Or at least that’s the impression I got from the little I could see of his face. “Perhaps he’s setting a trend. Maybe we’ll all soon go to sleep in the winter and not wake up till spring.”

Marcus laughed. “That would only work if we had seasons here. As you’re quite aware, there are none. Therefore, one might be at risk of never waking again.”

Harlan stroked his chin. “A very valid point, my friend. I shall abstain.”

Only then did he remember my presence, squinting up at me. “Do sit down, Lysander. You’re making the place look untidy.”

I sat, my attention still fixed on the man whom they had introduced as Dorian Moss. “Maybe you should check that he’s okay.”

“No,” they said in unison.

Both men turned my way, their expressions curious. “Tell us what you know, Lysander,” Harlan said.

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Marcus picked up a large teapot and moved it toward the old-fashioned china cup sitting in front of me. “Have some tea.”

I automatically covered the cup with my hand. I didn’t want a repeat of the nightclub. “Thank you, but no.”

When he continued tipping the teapot, I snatched my hand away just in time to avoid the stream of steaming liquid.

“You must have tea,” Harlan said.