Malice in Wonderland Bundle 3 Read online

  Malice smiles at him. “Okay, let’s get back to furniture upheaval.” After all, she doesn’t want to end up going too far, and pushing him away.

  He gives a nod and grin, so she presses her hands to a chair. That’s when she smells it: the scent of chocolate.

  “Hmmm?” Hatter says. He perks up, inhales. “Smells like cake.” He licks his lips.

  Malice nods. “Indeed. I must admit, with the swirly way I’m feeling, munching on chocolate cake would be a truly divine experience, don’t you think, my dear Hatty?”

  “Of course, My Queen. The Cook’s sweets are always most splendid indeed.”

  “Indeed they are. Let’s pay him a visit and partake...of his cake! I made a rhyme!”

  “A splendid one, and yes, let’s see what the chap is up to...”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE COOK’S MAIN KITCHEN is still filled with the warm, chocolatey scent, the stove still giving off waves of heat, but the siren-calling pastry has been whisked away and the Cook has left.

  “To the Icing Room!” Malice shouts.

  The room is down the hallway.

  Malice opens the door into the opulent, extravagant room that exists solely for circular pastries such as donuts and cakes.

  They immediately spot the Cook in the center of the room., which is circular, just like the pastries it honors.

  The Cook, wearing his white chef’s hat and apron, stands upon a dais, gazing intensely at a round, steaming chocolate cake atop a gleaming pedestal of pure silver.

  This room, in which the Cook applies his glorious icing designs, is large, with a high arched ceiling and floors of deep red marble. A large sparkling chandelier lit with hundreds of birthday candles hangs from the ceiling.

  Malice and Hatter approach him—their footsteps echo loudly. Yet still the Cook stares at the cake.

  Malice and Hatter are standing off to the Cook’s side, so perhaps he just hasn’t seen them yet.

  “Oi, Cook!” Malice says.

  “Cook, hey, cook!” Hatter says.

  From behind her, the Cheshire Cat says, “Wow, he’s mighty...intense, isn’t he?”

  The Cheshire Cat must’ve appeared behind them when they weren’t looking.

  Malice circles the dais to face the Cook. She waves her hands in the air repeatedly. “Hey!” She stomps her foot. “Hey, artistic pastry genius!”

  Finally the Cook lifts his head to look at her. “Queen?” It’s like he’s coming out of a daze. “I didn’t hear you enter.”

  Malice waggles her brows. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy eying that luscious, plump cake.”

  The Cat swoops and hovers next to her cheek. “Heya, Cook. What’s cooking?”

  “Cat,” the Cook says, as way of greeting. “Well, what was cooking is this cake. I made it for you, My Queen. I shall decorate it with a beautiful design inspired by our recent talks.”

  Malice giggles. “You mean our talks this morning? So long ago. Why, it’s nearly nightfall now. Hmmm. What did we talk about?...” She taps her chin, trying to remember.

  The Cook says, “Nuh uh, My Queen. It’ll be a surprise, and when you see this cake next, it shall be a gloriously ornamented confection of splendor and radiant beauty! It shall be one of the most marvelous pieces of pastry you shall ever set your eyes and tongue upon, My Queen!”

  At this point, Hatter, who had been quietly watching out of the Cook’s view, sidles up next to Malice. “I would like to partake of the cake, as well.”

  The Cook draws back slightly—apparently he hadn’t even noticed Hatter until just now. “Greetings, Hatter. Didn’t see you there. But of course, the cake is much too big for one person and is meant to be shared, if she deems you worthy...” He looks to Malice.

  “Of course I shall let him partake of my cake, the rake! Even if he refuses, I’ll make...him. For goodness’ sake...umm, um, is there another ‘cake’ rhyme I can make?” She is consumed with the black rose obsession to create poetry.

  “Fake?” the Cat offers with a smirk.

  Malice shouts back, “No, my passion’s not fake. At the very notion, my head, I shake! This is the most glorious pastry that anyone could ever hope bake. And that’s a truth you cannot shake!”

  Hatter’s jaw has dropped in a kind of shock. “Well played, My Queen, well played. I am in awe of your rhyme abilities.”

  Malice says, “Thank you, Hatty. Now, dear Cook. We are consumed by the mad desire to eat your marvelous pastry. The aroma called to us and lured us here. Your cooking is simply so marvelous, so scrumptious, that Her Highness and Mad Hatter here simply cannot resist its temptation. We simply must have the cake now! No need to put the icing on.” She waves her hand dismissively.

  “I’d like some cake too,” the Cat says.

  The expression upon the Cook’s face collapses into dismay. “What? It hasn’t even cooled, Your Highness.”

  “We don’t care, do we Hatter?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head.

  “Cat?” she says.

  The Cat’s floating head wobbles side to side to indicate a “no”.

  The Cook stammers, “But— But— The icing. I’m going to make a special design, just for you. A special surprise.”

  Malice takes a guess when she says, “You mean black roses designs?”

  When the Cook cringes, she knows she guessed correctly.

  The Cook says, “You’ll be gobsmacked when you see the design I’ve created. I put it together in my mind as I was staring at the unclothed cake. All that remains is for me to set my glorious creation in icing, just as a sculptor would set his conceptions in stone. But like so much other great art, it takes time, and so, regretfully, Your Royal Highness must remain patient...”

  Malice stamps her foot. “Bollocks to that! The Cat’s already out of the bag.” She casts a sly side glance and grin to the Cat. “I already figured out your surprise, and I’m sure it would’ve been splendid, but the black rose flows through us, demanding we partake of that cake!” She smiles crookedly at him.

  Hatter is nodding next to her, saying, “Yes, it is a most desperate urge.”

  The Cat adds, “Yes, icing can ofttimes be too sickeningly sweet, anyways.”

  The Cook is shaking his head slightly, as if in a dazed shock.

  Malice sets one of her feet atop the raised surface of the dais. “So I’ll be claiming my pastry now.”

  The Cook shakes his head in a more determined manner. “No, I shall not allow it.”

  All three individuals in the room who aren’t the Cook gasp.

  Malice feels a surge of anger and experiences a brief fantasy of punching the Cook in his face. She takes a moment to analyze her feelings—the exact texture and flavor of her hate—as the others watch her expectantly, waiting to see her reaction. She doesn’t want to murder the Cook, like she might if she was heartless, nor is she sickly sweet, like when her ticktock heart used to make her way too nice. She is somewhere between heartless and goody good. So the black rose medicine seems to be working.

  She says, “You can’t disallow my partaking! I’m the Queen...”

  The Cook lifts his nose up in the air. “Nevertheless,” he says, then turns his head away.

  Malice stomps her foot. “But it’s my cake!”

  The Cook huffs, with his nose still turned up in the air. “Well, of course it is, but it’s simply not ready. I simply cannot allow you to eat the cake before it has been appropriately icinged. Why, it just wouldn’t be proper!...not the behavior befitting a queen.”

  Malice’s furiousness is rising within. She stomps her foot, shouts, “But I am the Queen, and if I command that I shall partake of the cake, so it shall be done.”

  The Cat mutters, “Blimey, the power’s gone to your head,” causing Malice to shoot a glare at him.

  The Cook shakes his head. “I have nothing but respect for you, as My Queen, but the realm of food and pastry belongs to me, and so you must concede to my authority in this matter, when I say
, nay, you shan’t besmirch the honor and integrity of my carefully-baked good.”

  Malice scowls. “But I want it! You said it’s mine, so I shall just take it!” She takes a step forward.

  “No!” the Cook shouts. He grabs the platter and lifts the cake. “Another step and I plop it on the floor!” His hands are shaking severely and Malice fears for the pastry’s safety. Too much shaking could send the cake toppling over, and there is no way she will eat a cake that has fallen on the floor.

  The Cat says, “He looks like he means it.”

  While Hatter says, “Please don’t hurt her!” (He’s referring to the cake.)

  Responding to Hatter, the Cook says, “I would rather see my beautiful pastry creation destroyed, than allow the travesty of its unadorned consumption!”

  “Wow,” the Cat says in a mocking way.

  Hatter lets out a little distressed whimper.

  Malice lifts her hands and presses her palms out against the air. “Whoa, whoa. Wait. Don’t do anything rash! It’s just a cake!”

  The Cook rises up and squares his shoulders in indignation. His shaking hands suddenly stop shaking at all. “Just a cake? Just a cake?! When I put the icing upon this cake, it shall become a work of art befitting a queen, and you shall revel in its glory! That is why I shan’t allow you to eat it, while it’s...it’s naked. I shall not have you defile it and besmirch its honor! I would rather destroy it than have its innocent state rent asunder. No! I’ll plop it, I swear I will!”

  “Crikey,” Malice mutters under her breath. “Oh, sod it!” She flaps her hands up in the air in defeat. “Very well, we’re leaving. Come on Hatter, Cat...”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HATTER AND MALICE WORK on a plan to distract the Cook.

  It’s Hatter who comes up with the idea of pretending an old man named Humphrey has arrived with a delivery of truffles. Humphrey is known for showing up unexpectedly with the delicacies—he has a specially trained pig who sniffs them out. Malice had once eaten some of the truffles, and didn’t see what all the fuss was about, but the Cook adores the gourmet fungus, and always rushes to greet Humphrey whenever he brings a new batch.

  Humphrey had, in the past, expressed his fear of entering the castle, so he would always meet the Cook outside.

  Malice thinks the Cat would be a good deliverer of the lie, but he claims he must observe his non-interference policy.

  Instead they have one of the guard cards deliver the false news.

  Of course, the Cook will probably return fairly quickly once he figures out Humphrey isn’t there, but it won’t take long to swipe the cake and run off with it.

  They hide in one of the hallways as the guard card goes in to deliver his lines. After the Cook passes by, the trio swoops into the Icing Room. Malice grabs the cake and they run off, giggling, to hide away in one of the guards’ lounges, making sure to lock the door behind them.

  They find all the necessary cake consumption supplies, and Malice is soon divvying up their slices.

  Malice gives the Cat a slice as well, but in order to eat it, he must materialize the lower part of his body. That’s something Malice has rarely seen him do, since he doesn’t like to take the risk of being beheaded. So, being the skittish scaredy cat he is, he teleports away in order to snack, leaving Hatter and Malice alone in the room.

  As Hatter and Malice sit at the little round table, cramming pieces of their second slices of cake into their gaping mouths, they hear the distant voice of the Cook echoing through the halls: “Malice! I’m so fuming mad at you right now! Well, enjoy your cake while you can, for that shall be the last one I make for you!”

  Hatter’s brow furrows. He covers his mouth with his hand before speaking through a mouthful of cake. “Plee shrounz mauhd.”

  Malice swallows, says, “Yes, he does sound mad, but I don’t think he deserves much of our sympathy. The cake was for me in the first place, and if he misses it so much, he can simply bake another one! He’s just being a prig.”

  Hatter considers her words, now nods. “Quite.”

  Malice briefly ponders whether to take a risk, before deciding to just go for it, so she says, “All that hubbub over a simple chocolate cake! Why, he acts as if it were a wedding cake or something!”

  Hatter jolts a little before collecting himself and continuing to chew.

  Malice continues, “Yes, just imagine, if this was our wedding cake. Would it have a miniature bride and groom, with a crown and top hat?” She smiles big, lost in the fantasy of a dream wedding. “Would you smush the cake in my face, according to tradition? Or could I maybe even smash it in yours? What flavor would you prefer, if...”

  As Malice is speaking, Hatter swallows his mouthful of cake. With determination on his face, his posture straightens, as if in preparation for his next actions...

  Malice watches his face in anticipation...and now here it comes, as Hatter scowls—not the reaction she’d been hoping for—

  He says, “There you go at it again. I’ve told you over and over that you’re too young for me.”

  Malice says, “But it’s just a game of make-believe. Okay, so I’m too young. But what if I was 19 right now, like in the play?”

  Through clenched teeth, Hatter says, “But you’re not 19.”

  She shrugs and twitches her mouth. “So just pretend I am, like in the play.”

  He sighs. “I never should have gone along with that. That kiss, was a mistake.”

  “But I will be 19 in a few years. Do you think that then, maybe we—”

  “Enough!” he shouts. “The fact of the matter is, I know you’re too immature for me, because you nag like a child!”

  “What? How dare you!”

  “No!” he shouts. “It’s you! You are in the wrong here! And you can enjoy your stolen cake alone. I shan’t eat another bite!”

  Malice’s mouth drops open in shock. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

  “Well you did!” He jabs his fork into his piece of cake, causing the fork to stand upright. “You couldn’t control yourself, because you’re still an immature brat!” He stands up. “Goodnight!” He makes the word sound like an insult. Now, he turns and storms away.

  Malice calls out to his back, “Fuddy-duddy!”

  He doesn’t look back or respond to her words. However, he does slam the door as he exits the room...

  Leaving Malice alone with her undecorated cake.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MALICE SULKS FOR A few hours before going to bed. She has trouble sleeping, upset as she is from her argument with Hatty.

  But eventually the morning comes, and she must face a new day with a hangover of sorts—a dry mouth and a slight headache. As she takes her morning bath, she notices that the black rose’s intoxicating effects have diminished a lot—she no longer feels as darkly poetic or as naughtily rowdy—but the mental effects are still there in a more manageable way. She only hopes that the dark flower is still subduing her heart enough to keep it in check.

  In the bath, as she presses her hand to her chest, she is unable to tell if anything is awry. She recalls what the Queen of Hearts said about the Tin Knight, and in her sober state, she regrets sending the guard cards out to seek him.

  After her bath, while her long black hair still lies wet against her back, she sends her guard cards out to gather information about the Snark. She also instructs them to cease inquiring about the Tin Knight.

  As she furthers her morning preparations for the day, the results come back from various guard cards:

  The Cook is still angry at her, but he has prepared breakfast.

  Hatter refuses to go with Malice to visit the Jabberwock this morning, even though she told the guard to tell Hatty that she is really really sorry and will behave.

  Another guard returns to say that Humpty shall attend her trip, though he won’t be at breakfast, because he’s still feeling uncomfortable around her.

  So at least not everyone has abandoned her.

  Malice d
resses in her typical outfit of a moderately poofy black dress. As usual, she leaves her crown in her chambers.

  She realizes that with only one black rose, she may run out of her much needed medicine. So she picks a hidden away area of one of the gardens to plant four black rose seeds. Once they bloom, she will have a ready supply.

  It is after she returns from the garden that she decides to nibble a bit of a black rose petal, and then a little more...

  She spends the next two days “drunk on darkness”, taking many doses of the black rose. She is still getting used to its effects and is not quite sure how much to take. She has a great deal of fun trying to figure it out, though, but realizes that if she continues at this rate, she may run out in the future.

  Hatter and Humpty seem to be avoiding her, which, though regrettable, at least means she gets to keep more of the delectable flower for herself.

  She still intends to visit the Jabberwock, but loses track of the time and is distracted with writing poetry.

  On the second day of debauchery, a guard card comes to her in the hallway, shortly after she chewed a bit of the black rose. She wanted to test its effects when taken very early in the morning.

  “Your Highness,” says the guard, “there has been a discovery in the forest.”

  She giggles for no reason at all, and says, “What is it?” She realizes she is slurring her words.

  “A statue, in one of the clearings. It’s of you.”

  Malice giggles again, and now she realizes she’s doing so because of the black rose’s effects. “You’re joking.”

  “No, My Queen. It seems to have appeared overnight. No one knows where it came from.”

  “A statue of me? In the forest? Who put it there?”

  “At this time, we don’t know.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t know. But you should know that the statue is holding a sign...”

  She asks Humpty to go with her to see. He agrees, reluctantly. He’s still upset with her about the play, and has also been nagging her not to take so much of the black rose. She tries to ask Hatter along as well, but he is nowhere to be found.