Rain pattered against the roof of the double-decker theatre. Inside, fairy lights twinkled like fireflies, woven between artificial leaves of the trees that made Toronto’s Winter Garden Theatre unique. It resembled a fairy tale—but only if the man in front of me was the villain.
“You’re
“All I mean is, one of us has got to make pretend niceties or they won’t like us.” Friedrich crouched down beside Aloysia in the nursery of the kidnapped child.
Aloysia did not bother to contain her eye roll. She had insisted
“Alice, dear… you really are too much for the real world to handle.” The Red Queen’s smile flickered to life in the darkness, much like the Cheshire Cat’s. She emerged from behind a gnarled Tumtum tree with a scarlet lantern held aloft. The fairy inside chittered angrily as it thrashed at the bars, and
Read it now
“Merry Christmas, Eliza.”
My husband Reynolds ruffled my dark hair, waking me. I came to on the living room couch with a gasp and wiped my mouth. My fingers passed over the pillow lines on my face.
It was nice to have a body again, after being dead for so long.
The thought
When someone dies, the general assumption is that they will stay dead. But every Day of the Dead, the laws of time and nature look the other way, and deceased relatives can drop by for family reunions.
Deceased relatives like myself.
I waited at the end of the driveway where my family lived. Reynolds stood by me with his arms crossed.
“Tell me, Eliza Booker. Do you really think you can cheat death?”
Smoke filled my lungs; my breath came in strangled puffs. Around me, a circle of fire blazed—all thanks to the pyre-loving poltergeist smirking like a Jack-o-lantern amid the chaos.
Its appearance continually shifted, like shadows that couldn’t latch onto a form.
August 31st
3:20 a.m.
I crept along the shadows of Buck’s Row in London, humming a song underneath my breath. Brownstone buildings loomed over me, and my foot clacked against a circular black plaque.
I giggled, a slightly intoxicated sound.
“Careful where you’re walking there, missum,” said a voice with a heavy London accent.
“If we said wedding vows, do you think we’d say ‘‘til death do us part,’ or ‘‘til death bring us together’?” I raised my gray, ghostly hand to view it in the moonlight.
“I don’t know, Eliza, but d’ya think you can ask this question again after we stop two raging yōkai from…
“Haddie Underwood, I always knew someday I’d have to post your bond.” My elder sister Zelda peered at me from the other side of the bars before her gaze slithered over to the man beside me. “But you. I can honestly say I never expected to bail my own father out of jail. What in all of Kingland happened?”
Read it now
It’s quite odd, realizing you’re dead.
Strangely, I didn’t know immediately. My epiphany happened last Derby, when I kissed my now-boyfriend, Reynolds, for the first time. He was a stranger then, but I realized when our lips met he had more substance. He was tangible; I was vaporous fluff.
And Eliza Booker is not vaporous or fluffy.
Let’s get one thing straight: I hate Pinocchio. It’s because of that dumb puppet we celebrate Pinocchio Day on April 1st, where everyone tries to see how many lies and pranks they can get away with. That’s fun—but then comes Honesty Day.
See, the Blue Fairy who brought Pinocchio to life felt slighted that he—and others—reveled in lying on April 1st.
To W. Darling: As you requested, below is my recollection of my team’s rescue of A. Liddell & discovery of the Red Queen’s plot to take over Wonderland.
I hope you find everything in order. -B.
The stone manor stretched into a gray March sky. Ivy trailed up the walls and framed the imperial letterwork: Institute for Madwomen.
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