The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(74)

Alice snorted. “Oh, I seriously doubt that. What did you do to me? Who are you?”

Crazy Cupcake Lady held up pudgy little fingers, shaking loose a blond curl of hair. “I’ll answer all your questions, but first”—she pointed to the bed—“let’s do sit.”

Startled, Alice realized she’d stood to a defensive crouching position. How frightening she must look in her boy shirts and cami. She rolled her eyes at the absurd picture and plopped back down with a huff.

She eyed the little woman evilly.

“My name is Danika, fairy godmother extraordinaire, and this is very real.”

Alice lifted a brow. “I’ve pretty much accepted I’m here. How that is even remotely possible, I can’t fathom. But why am I here? Why can’t I go home?”

Crazy Lady didn’t bat a lash. “I told you.”

“Umm. No, you didn’t. You laid a card on my table and walked off. You told me nothing.”

The lady rolled her eyes. “You really must listen. I told you, you had a man—”

“I thought you were freaking kidding. Like yanno, loco.” She rolled her finger against her temple. “Am I here forever? What’s happened? I can’t stay here; you know that. I’ve got a family. They’re probably worried...”

Danika held up her hands. “Three days, Alice. That’s all. If in three days you two do not fall madly in love, you’re free to go home.” She said it as if it wasn’t a huge commitment she asked for.

Alice wanted to laugh. Was she nuts? “Oh, is that all? Well, thank you for this honor.”

Danika frowned. “You’re... welcome?”

Alice scoffed. “Sarcasm, fairy. Ever heard of it? No, I will not stay here three days. He’s a tyrant. Do you know what he made me do? Walk barefoot for miles.” Alice curled her toes. “My heels were bloody—”

Danika nodded. “Yes. Yes, he came and saw me. Total misunderstanding—he’ll be much nicer now.”

Alice pinched the bridge of her nose. “What? When? I was with him, we never saw you.”

“Yes, dear. In the woods.”

Alice’s eyes grew large. “You were the lightning bugs!” She chuckled, feeling stupid that she hadn’t put that together immediately. Lightning bugs couldn’t heal feet. Then again, it wasn’t everyday she discovered fairies really existed.

Danika bristled. “Lightning bug, indeed!” Her full face flushed a rosy red as she inhaled long and slow several times through her nose. “I am a fairy.”

Alice grinned. “Of course you are.” And suddenly she wasn’t mad, just tired. She wanted to go home, pretend none of this had happened. Pretend she hadn’t met the man of her dreams, the man she’d obsessed about as a child only to discover he wasn’t at all what she’d thought he’d be. “Why don’t we just cut the three days down to one? Chalk it up to a failed experiment and move on?” She laughed, a short, humorless sound.

Very small hands gripped the sides of Alice’s nose, forcing her to look back at worried blue eyes. “This is no joke. You must know he needs you.”

“Stop it.” Alice swatted the fairy off her.

Undeterred, Danika grabbed Alice’s cheek. Her fingers were cold, and it was ridiculous how Alice suddenly felt like she was ten again when her mother caught her reading instead of doing chores.

“Send me home. Now.”

“I cannot. You rubbed the card. You agreed...”

Alice crossed her arms. “I didn’t agree to a damn thing. I rubbed the card, yes...” She frowned—man, she’d been stupid to do it—trying to remember if there’d been any fine print. But the card had only showed a bunny with rub me on it. “I didn’t,” she asserted again.

Danika huffed. “Humans and your nonsense of science and disbelief...,” she grumbled. “This is a world of magic and mayhem, and rules do not apply here. You cannot control this chaos, my dear—you must let it be. You agreed by rubbing. Period. You must accept it for what it is.”

Alice jerked out of Danika’s hold. “And just what is that?”

“Truth.”

Truth? The fairy spoke of truth, and Alice wanted to hit something. She’d spoken truth once before—and that truth had nearly ruined her life.

Alice had seen Hatter when she was thirteen. She’d known the encounter had been real, and she’d told anyone who would listen.

Her parents had taken her to psychologists; her friends had given up on her, called her crazy, psycho, a nut job. Eventually her mother had threatened to commit her if she didn’t quit talking like that.

So she’d stopped talking. She’d stopped telling others about it, and as the years wore on, she’d come to the realization it was easier to say they were right. It hadn’t been real. She’d never seen him. It’d been a dream, a result of a disease-ravaged mind. Nothing more, nothing less.

Her parents slept easier, she’d made new friends who knew nothing about her temporary “episode,” and the love that’d burned brighter than the hottest flame had cooled to an ember. She’d moved on. She’d still loved the Hatter and all his maddening ways, but as a favorite story. Nothing more, nothing less.

“He doesn’t want me.” The words spilled from Alice’s lips before she could censor her thoughts.