Page 49 of Trapped By Clocks and Hearts

A sudden shiver shot up my spine.

“I do live in the room beneath yours. I could hear you, remember?” She put her hands up. “Don’t worry, it didn’t sound bad. Like I said before, it sounded like those women were greatly pleasured—”

I whirled around to growl. “Enough!”

Stopping in her tracks, she merely blinked at me. “You know.” She shrugged. “Kudos.”

I clenched my jaw.

Why? I studied the light in her hazel eyes, the hint of a smirk on that mouth, the steadiness of her countenance. Why did I not intimidate her at all? It was infuriating.

Turning away with a huff, I mumbled, “I think you are mad.”

She threw her hands up. “Chez did say we’re all mad here.”

Scoffing, I pushed past the metal gate flanking the garden and glimpsing movement to the right, I glanced over.

Morning tea had been set up in the middle of the garden. Mismatched chairs encircled a long, ornate table adorned with a mishmash of teapots, cups, and saucers. The setting seemed almost deliberately disordered with a vibrant and eclectic assortment of tableware and curious decorations. Teacups filled with what appeared to be custard or soup, which seemed to occasionally change in color, and an array of pastries and cakes scattered across the table, their sizes and shapes defying the usual convention.

A small figure busied himself moving from one chair to the next whilst mumbling under his breath.

The Hatter was a homunculus of a man with wiry red hair, sticking all out of his oversized top hat. Dried flowers and herbs adorned his dusty overcoat, with ruffles bursting out of each sleeve. Beady green eyes glowed beneath round horn-rimmed glasses on his wrinkly face, sunken cheeks, and sharp cheekbones.

He was a vision for nightmares. Nobody would doubt his sanity. Where the line between genius and insanity blurred, he was the line.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Hatter, we—”

The Hatter waved his hand erratically as he yelled, “Please! Please, sit. I haven’t had company in such a long while.”

Allie met my gaze warily but moved to approach the table.

Seeing Allie’s eyes light up at the spread of decadent, mouthwatering food, I almost couldn’t help a shake of my head in knowing mirth.

Allie pulled out one of the leather seats.

“Not there!” the Hatter screamed at her and she jumped in alarm. “Those seats are for ghosts,” he relayed. “You can’t see them now. But they’ll be back later. Don’t be rude. Change places!”

Wincing as she watched his reactions, Allie slid to the far end of the table and sunk into a chair. She looked relieved when he didn’t yell at her again.

“Please! Help yourself!” The Hatter gestured toward the table.

I sat in the seat beside Allie’s but didn’t bother to sample the food. “Mr. Hatter, we seek your assistance to—”

“No!” the Hatter snapped. “No business. Tea first.”

I sighed in exasperation. Oh, this was going to be torture.

“He said help yourself.” Allie gave me a shrug as she reached for several things at once.

“Excellent. Excellent.” The Hatter rubbed his hands together. “I am sure the ghosts will be delighted to have company today as well. They lead such dull lives, you know.”

Fascination evident in her eyes, Allie dipped a strawberry into her tea. “Very interesting, Mr. Hatter.” Munching on a biscuit, she leaned over to whisper to me, almost conspiratorially, “Tastes like waffles.”

One corner of my mouth couldn’t help but curl up before I could fix my face. I cleared my throat once more as I sank back against my chair, folding my arms across my chest.

“Be careful, my dear,” the Hatter piped up. “Strawberry stains on white lab coats are the worst.”

Allie’s nod was emphatic. “Aren’t they? Some days, I’d rather spill nitric acid than a berry extract in my lab.”