The books around them were cheering, yelling, and Jay had sat in red-carpeted opera houses and been the only one to hear the coded message in the crescendos and diminuendos and still never felt as alone as he did at that moment. It was a terrible kind of feeling to be an outsider.
Shawm was a kind woman, but not by nature. Her kindness was a choice, a gift, and it could easily be taken away. Jay had seen her stripped of her kindness, all cold edges and murderous eyes, and had never once even considered the possibility that one day he might be on the other end of that glare.
The books, though, they had smiles plastered across their faces like they had fishhooks in their mouths or guns pointed at the backs of their heads, yelling and clapping as one giant, crazed mob. They fell silent as soon as Shawm parted her lips to speak. Her lips closed again, though, and rather than words she only hummed, light and melodic.
Then, lightly, she tipped her head back, widening her gaze so that she should glare at all of them at once. All but Cheshire-Cookie Cat, who trailed after her only half a step behind.
"Who's been painting my roses red?" She asked, quietly, looking at all of them but only talking to Cheshire-Cookie Cat. Cheshire-Cookie Cat gave a little half-shrug, and arched her neck to the side, tugging at the collar around her neck with one finger. She fixed it so that the charm hung against the center of her neck.
The girl stretched her hand up and around, pulling a small box from her opposite back pocket. She tapped the box against her hand and placed the cigarette that pokes out between her teeth. She leans forward slightly, already biting down too hard on the end of her cigarette, turning it to mush between her teeth. It has to taste disgusting, but Cookie's been doing it for as long as Jay can remember.
Shawm indulges her with the virtuosity of an action done ten thousand times. She meets Cheshire-Cookie Cat halfway, without taking her steely gaze off any of them, and snaps her fingers. There's a sound like two clashing swords and a little spark bursts into a flame between her red-nailed fingers. The charm on Cheshire-Cookie Cat's necklace, a small little sword, glints off the light of the flame as the paper alights and Cheshire-Cookie Cat settles back on her heels.
Jay looks around and realizes he was the only person watching, everyone else with their flat paper eyes turned away. It's the first outright use of magic he'd seen so far, though, so he keeps his eyes fixed on the dying embers, his own magic reading out and brushing the edges, trying to find something familiar about it. Shawm using simple displays of magic to appease their mutual, persistent friend wasn't new, whether it be lighting cigarettes or changing the radio station, but... Jay pushes a little closer, trying to be subtle, the magic that Shawm had used didn't feel real. He couldn't sense any thought or intent behind it. It was like knowing on the front door of a movie set. The front was there, but there was no real house.
Shawm turned towards him and he pulled away abruptly, tensing, but she only walked over to one of the rose trees with a regal sense of purpose. This time, when she spoke, her voice was booming, but barely raised above her normal volume, "Who's been painting my roses red?"
No one answers, and Shawm's gaze cuts through all of them, leaving Jay feeling gutted.
"Who dares to taint the royal flower bed?" Her lips curl up into a sneer for the briefest of seconds.
Still, no one answers. Jay doesn't know if it's because none of them have been expressly addressed, or because they all have the taste of yarn in their mouth like Jay does. His lips keep tight against each other, like the bodies of lovers who will never see each other again. Afraid to part.
Her tone tilts up, changes from rhetoric to decreeable, "For painting my roses red, someone will lose their head."
One of the books next to Jay, Don Quixote, is the first to arch his spineless back, nearly folding himself in half and protesting, "Oh, no! Your majesty!"
YOU ARE READING
Wonderland Syndrome
AdventureThe library was nice at night. It smelled of old, grassy notes with a tang of acids like the first hint of the taste of an orange and a dash of vanilla over an underlying mustiness. It was Jay's favourite place to read, tonight accompanied by the e...
