A clean young adult portal fantasy with romance, coffee-fueled snark, and mirror magic. Great for fans of Alice in Wonderland with a supernatural twist.

When barista Ali discovers her grandmother's antique mirror is a portal to a magical realm, she stumbles into more than she bargained for. One moment she's about to lose her Victorian home to foreclosure, the next she's riding shotgun with a dangerously attractive white-haired biker named Rabbit through a world where nothing plays by the rules.

But this fairy tale has teeth. The ruthless Queen of Hearts views Ali as a threat, the seductive Cheshire Cat has his own agenda, and Ali's supposed dead parents? They were actually royalty in this mirror world—making her a princess with a target on her back.

As Ali uncovers her true heritage and her growing feelings for Rabbit, she must choose between two worlds. Return to lattes and late rent, or claim her birthright and face a queen who's already stolen Rabbit's heart once before?

Sometimes the most dangerous thing in the mirror isn't your reflection—it's the truth staring back at you.

A fun novella with no explicit scenes. 

 

✨Read a Sample now:

 CHAPTER 1

"Excuse me. I ordered a non-fat pumpkin spice latte. This tastes like it's got fat milk." The twenty-something blond across the counter looked at Ali meaningfully as she slid her half-consumed beverage across the gleaming counter. Her manicured fingernails tapped on the tall cup, making sparkles fly off the fake gems glued on her nails.

The lunch crowd had rushed into the coffee shop, and this socialite wanna-be had timed her complaint just right.

Ali gave the rhinestone princess across the counter a strained smile. "No, ma'am. I definitely used non-fat milk." It had been a long day and she wasn't up arguing with someone who wanted a free refill. She probably had a bet with the pair of young women seated nearby. The blonde's friends exchanged amused looks while Ali squirmed. Ali didn't want to reward this brat's attempted theft.

The rhinestone princess fixed Ali with a menacing look and glanced at her badge. "Look, Ali, you made a mistake. I want you to fix it. The customer is always right, right?"

Stumped, with a pile of customers in line, Ali forced a smile and reached for the latte. Just as her fingers touched the cup, her coworker Sue swept it away.

With a sunny smile, Sue told the blond and the equally surprised Ali, "Won't take a moment, honey. You've forgotten all about the fat tester, right Ali? We'll fix you right up," she assured the blond. She turned her back and hummed while she did something with the drink. They saw her lift the straw and pass it through a light coming off one of the machines. It beeped, and Sue nodded happily. She turned back to the blond with a smile and slid the drink across the counter. "Nope, the machine says it's definitely low-fat. I love technology! You have a nice day now."

Faced with grumpy customers behind her, the blond settled for a hard look and backed off. Her friends giggled as she returned to her seat.

Ali shot Sue a grateful looked and helped the next customer. It wasn't until the next break that they got a chance to laugh about it.

"I couldn't help it; she was trying to rip us off." Sue grinned and flipped her blond braid behind her shoulder as she put her feet up on one of the break room chairs. At seven months pregnant, she used every chance she could to rest them. Her husband was trying to convince her to quit her job, but she wanted to wait until the baby was born. As a young military man, his pay wasn't much. "She probably shoplifts, too."

"Ugh! She can have my job if she needs something useful to do," Ali said. She enjoyed her job at the café, but her heart wasn't in it lately. Nothing had been right since her grandmother had died two months ago. Lately everyday had been a blue Monday.

Sue smiled wryly. "Honey, she could live for a month just by pawning those shoes. I don't think she's going to be working in a café anytime soon."

Ali sighed as she eyed her worn sneakers. She didn't begrudge anyone their money, but she wished she had more. She was going to lose her grandmother's house if she couldn't raise more cash.

She fingered her locket. Her grandmother had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday. Made of platinum with gold scrolling, it was the most expensive gift her grandmother had ever given her. Inside was a picture of her grandmother and a tiny mirror. Ali remembered how she'd laughed in delight and teased her grandma; after assuring her that she really loved it, of course. "Is this for signaling airplanes if I'm lost? I'm going to have a hard time checking my makeup with this."

Her grandmother had smiled. "Alice of Wonderland traveled through a mirror to another world, Ali. This mirror might lead you to new adventures. Each day is a new opportunity."

Ali felt a new surge of determination as she reviewed her grandmother's words. Whatever came, she would make the best of it.

It was dusk when she got off work and headed for her bicycle. She looked both ways, then stepped off the curb—and was nearly run down by a motorcycle that came out of nowhere. The wind from its passage tore at her clothes, making her gasp. She caught an impression of pale hair and a flash of white on the tank before it roared around the corner. She hopped back, then jumped as a truck horn blared. Muttering an expletive, she ran for her bicycle and fumbled with the combination lock. The world was full of crazy drivers tonight.

She was still shaky when she rode into her grandmother's driveway fifteen minutes later. The old Victorian stoically looked on, its windows sad and dark. Built over a hundred years ago, the old girl had seen her share of births and deaths. It would handle a new owner more gracefully than Ali would. She hated the thought of handing over the keys to a stranger. Would they treat the house well?

It wasn't as if Ali had the means to fix it up. The graceful turrets needed new shingles and the paint was peeling. The inside was old and worn, and she had a feeling that was the least of the things wrong with it. She needed a handyman with deep pockets. What she had were aging neighbors and a bank that wanted to foreclose.

The rose garden remained achingly beautiful, a living testament to countless hours spent alongside her grandmother. Together they'd nurtured antique roses and coaxed daffodils from the earth, watching as their dedication transformed into a flourishing rose hedge that crowned the white picket fence. Sweet peas danced along the fence's exterior, their evening perfume mingling with the lavender nestled below. White and red climbing roses cascaded over the gate's arch, while lemon thyme cushioned the spaces between flagstones. Twin spiral topiaries stood sentinel by the front steps, ivy spilling elegantly from their terra cotta homes. Herb gardens curved in perfect semicircles on either side of the porch, ready for kitchen duty. Ali plucked a sprig of mint as she passed, pressing it to her nose and inhaling deeply.

Coming home had always felt like stepping into paradise, but today the sweetness carried an edge of grief. Her grandmother's presence lingered in every bloom. If she lost the house, it would be this garden—this piece of their shared history—she'd mourn the most.

The lock clicked open under her key, and she flipped on the overhead light, memory washing over her with the warm glow. How many afternoons had she burst through this door to find her grandmother in the kitchen, the air rich with the scent of baking? She'd call hello, and Grandma would wave her into their sun-filled sanctuary. While Ali fetched milk from the fridge, Grandma would open that avocado green oven, releasing another batch of perfect cookies into the world. The kitchen might be trapped in the sixties, but it had always sparkled with both cleanliness and love.

Ali poured herself some iced tea and scrubbed away her makeup. Once comfortable, she hauled out the ancient air popper—a relic from the eighties that still worked perfectly. The popcorn tumbled out in a hot cascade, and she dressed it lavishly with salt, butter, and crumbled blue cheese. Carrying her indulgence to the living room, she sank into the familiar embrace of the well-worn couch. The shabby chic room felt clean but hollow, missing the gentle rhythm of her grandmother's knitting needles and their evening chats. Her eyes drifted to the abandoned basket of yarn and needles. Maybe learning to knit would help fill this silence.

The looming foreclosure haunted her thoughts—just one more week before she lost it all. Twenty-five thousand dollars might as well have been a fortune; there was no way to conjure that kind of money in seven days. Grandma's words echoed in her head: never fix a loan problem with another loan. The antique appraiser's appointment next week offered a thin thread of hope. Maybe something in the attic's treasures could at least give her a foundation for starting over, even if it couldn't save the house.

The TV show failed to hold her attention. Switching it off, she decided to savor one last proper bubble bath before downsizing to some shoebox apartment with only a shower stall. Gathering her pajamas, she climbed the protesting stairs, her bare feet finding familiar paths across the worn yellow and brown linoleum. The claw-foot tub, despite its chipped finish and stubborn stains, still held its Victorian dignity. Determined to make this final bath memorable, she detoured to the bedroom for candles. A flicker of movement caught her eye as she entered—something in the corner. Her head snapped toward the source: the mirror.

The cheval mirror's surface felt cool beneath her fingertips as Ali traced its frame, remembering how her grandmother would pause here each morning, smoothing her silver hair in the ancient glass. Though the thought of selling it made her chest ache, it would have to go. The combination of back taxes and her grandmother's long illness had gutted the estate. Even if Grandma had survived, the house might still have slipped through their fingers.

Storm clouds gathered outside, dimming the room until her reflection became a blue-tinged shadow. Her dark hair and eyes faded to stark black, like a reflection in a night-darkened window. The effect transformed her into something ethereal, almost ghostly.

"That's enough of that," she scolded herself, squaring her shoulders as she turned away. A flicker of movement stopped her mid-step. She pivoted back to the mirror.

Nothing.

She scanned the room behind her, finding it empty. Turning back to the glass, she searched for whatever had caught her eye. The mirror looked normal, except—was that a tree reflected in its depths? Impossible. No windows faced this direction. Yet as she leaned closer, details emerged with startling clarity, then color bloomed. The tree's leaves danced in an unseen breeze, and beyond it stood others unlike any she'd ever seen. Another quick glance confirmed her grandmother's ordinary bedroom remained unchanged behind her. Strange.

Her hand reached toward the glass of its own accord.

The transition felt like sliding through silk-smooth water. One heartbeat she stood barefoot in her grandmother's familiar room; the next, she existed elsewhere.

Towering trees created a living canopy, parting along a narrow track where golden sunlight warmed her upturned face. She gaped at the impossibly blue sky—nothing like the pewter clouds she'd left behind—wondering if she'd somehow slipped into a dream. But dreams didn't come with the scent of wild strawberries on the breeze, did they?

"Hey, watch it!"

Ali leaped backward with a gasp as a cyclist burst into view, missing her by inches. Her heart hammering, she gaped at the rider—a man perched so low to the ground his eyes met hers despite being seated. The bizarre contraption he straddled looked nothing like a normal motorcycle, its frame hugging the pavement in a sleek, alien curve. Where had he materialized from, and what in the world was he riding? Whatever it was, it had a white rabbit painted on the tank.

The man yanked off his dark glasses, revealing startling green eyes that narrowed as they swept over her. "Get out of the road, lady. I don't have time for hitchhikers."

His tone sparked her temper. Despite his military-short white hair, his face was young. He wore some kind of fitted black shirt, leather pants, and boots—all of it screaming attitude. "Excuse me," she shot back, stepping aside. Just her luck—the one time she dreamed up an attractive man, he had to be a jerk.

Instead of moving on, he stared. One puzzled pass of those green eyes made her skin prickle with uncertainty. She glanced down and froze. "What the..." Her sensible work clothes had vanished, replaced by black boots, dressy pants, and a frilly top that left little to imagination. She tried to picture herself conjuring up this outfit and failed miserably.

The man's gaze lingered on her neckline, his rush apparently forgotten. Ali crossed her arms defensively, then realized that only made matters worse.

He jerked his eyes away, inhaling sharply. "I don't have time for this." Something unintelligible escaped under his breath as he shifted his strange vehicle into gear.

"Fine," Ali snapped, turning away him. She didn’t need his speculation. Trying to ignore both him and her impossible outfit, she focused on the bright red fruit hanging just above eye level. It resembled a bell pepper and grew from a gnarled tree, seemingly the source of that intoxicating strawberry scent. Curiosity drew her hand toward it.

"It's poison, hot stuff. One taste and you'll never wake up." The biker hadn't left after all, still watching her with those intense eyes.

Ali snatched her hand away. "It looked like a pepper!"

He grunted. "Whatever. Look, princess, stay on the path and keep your hands to yourself. You'll get to the city soon enough." His fingers tightened on the handlebars, ready to leave.

Ali scanned the dense woods, imagination conjuring what might lurk in those shadows. Lions and tigers and bears... "Er, how far is it to the city?" This was feeling less like a dream with every passing second, and she wasn't one for self-deception. Years of reading sci-fi had taught her about wormholes and alternate universes. Suddenly, the biker who'd nearly flattened her was looking more like salvation than menace.

He muttered something distinctly unflattering and fixed her with an exasperated glare. "Miles, and I'm guessing you don't have a personal escort arriving any moment?" His gaze shifted forward as he flexed his wrist on the throttle. Without looking back, he growled, "Get on, before I change my mind."

Swallowing her pride and her better judgment, she swung onto the bike behind him and tentatively gripped his waist. "My name is Ali."

"I didn't ask." He gunned the engine.

Ali's fingers clenched around his trim middle as they shot forward. Brilliant move. Romeo here would probably wrap them around a tree, and she'd have no one to blame but herself. When would she learn to stop trusting attractive strangers? "What's your name?" At least she'd have something for his headstone if she survived and he didn't.

"Rabbit. Do you mind? I'm driving here."

So much for small talk, though she couldn't fault him for keeping his eyes on the road. Any faster and the machine might actually take flight—and she definitely wasn't ready for that possibility.

It was difficult to see much of the blurred scenery, but she got a general sense of the odd flora and fauna. Ferns of impossible size dotted the forest floor and bright red monkeys swung from tree to tree. The dirt road they traveled was impossibly smooth and rock free, and she begun to wonder if it was pavement of some kind.

They pulled up to what looked like an upside-down top hat made of brick—a cottage so whimsical it belonged in a fairy tale. Two men lounged before it in weathered lawn chairs, their cushions worn thin from use. Between them sat an overturned wooden barrel that served as a makeshift table, laden with brown bottles, towering sandwiches, and a plate of perfect-looking brownies.

Ali's stomach betrayed her with a growl.

"Stretch your legs," Rabbit commanded as he dismounted. She followed, studying the bizarre architecture. The hat-house had to be some kind of roadside attraction or snack stand—nobody actually lived in something like that, surely?

"Rabbit!" The first man raised his bottle in greeting, his crossed boots gleaming. His brown vest hung open over his chest, and light glanced off both his smooth black scalp and gold hoop earring. When he grinned, a gold tooth winked. "Who's the babe?"

"Have a brownie?" The second man thrust forward the plate of treats, waggling unkempt eyebrows beneath his mop of hair. His Hawaiian shirt billowed like a sail around his frame, clashing spectacularly with khaki shorts that threatened to escape his hips. The socks-with-sandals combination completed his disheveled ensemble, along with several days' worth of stubble.

"She's not hungry," Rabbit intercepted before Ali could reach for one.

The hippie rolled his eyes and withdrew the plate with an exaggerated sigh.

"How about a beer, gorgeous?" the black man offered, snagging one from the barrel top. He tossed it to her.

Rabbit caught it and tossed it back. "She doesn't drink."

She glared at him. "I—"

Casually, Rabbit slid a hand around her waist and anchored it on her hip. Stunned by his move, she listened in silence as he spoke to the pair.

"I just stopped by to see what kind of progress you'd made on our project. Found any candidates, Hatter?" He sent a rueful glance at their snacks.

The black man, Hatter, spread his hands. "We've been looking, but a man has to eat. Bud and I were going to get going right after, not that we've had any luck. Looks like you have, though." He smirked. "Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you leave your friend with us? We'll bring her along after we all eat." He winked at Ali.

Bud wagged his shaggy brows in agreement.

Uneasy, Ali inched closer to Rabbit. His hand stroked her hip reassuringly, then slapped lightly. "Find your own hitchhikers—this one has places to be. We'll see you later," he said, and mounted his bike.

Ali wasted no time in swinging on behind him.

She waited until they rounded the corner before asking, "Was there something wrong with the brownies?" She could imagine the sardonic grin that curved his lips as he answered.

"If you'd had one of those, hot stuff, you'd loosen up considerably, and my cousin would definitely be late."

She blushed. "You mean it had stuff in it? Narcotics?"

"Magic mushrooms. They don't call him the Mad Hatter for nothing."

Ali declined to ask about the beer.

"What kind of candidates are you looking for?" Ali asked after a mile, her mind stuck on their strange encounter. Rabbit, the Mad Hatter... this was one elaborate hallucination. Had she cracked her head without realizing it? Maybe she was sprawled in the bathroom right now, peacefully bleeding out. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

"Nothing you'd qualify for, hot stuff," he dismissed her offhand. They rode in silence until another building emerged—this one a proper English cottage that looked plucked from a fairy tale. Knotty pine animals dotted its front lawn, frozen mid-frolic. The side yard bloomed with sculptured bushes and riotous flowers contained by neat, low hedges. People flowed in and out, most on foot, some astride stocky ponies that looked more like barrels with legs. No one else had anything resembling Rabbit's sleek machine.

A maid glanced up from emptying dirty water onto the flower beds near the front steps. "Rabbit!" she squealed. The pan clattered forgotten on the porch as she bounced forward, her blonde ringlets—and other assets—practically defying gravity in her low cut peasant dress. Her eyes swept past Ali as if she were invisible.

Rude, Ali thought, annoyed.

"Little bit of everywhere," Rabbit purred. He glanced at Ali and straightened up. "We need a quick lunch, Glenda. I can't stay long."

Pouting, Glenda cast an unfriendly look at Ali and flounced back to the inn. "Friend of yours?" Ali asked acidly. Not that it was her business, but she'd rode in with him. The least the wench could do was wait until she was in the ladies room before hitting on her ride.

Rabbit cleared his throat. "Thought you were hungry?"

Ali snorted and slipped her hand into her pocket as she approached the door. Her fingers closed around coins, surprising her. At least she wouldn't have to rely on his charity for lunch. Pity this dream—or hallucination—wouldn't let her take the money home. Assuming she could get home. She shoved that unsettling thought aside.

They settled at a table, and Glenda materialized with a plate and mug. She set them before Rabbit with a flirty smile. "I always know what you want, big boy." With a wink, she turned a sharp eye on Ali. "What can I get you, honey?"

Irritated, Ali placed the strange coins on the table. "I don't know. What will these buy?"

Rabbit and Glenda froze. Glenda blinked slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes as she looked at Rabbit. "Now I get it. She's a mercy pickup, right? Poor boy, you've got your work cut out for you." Shaking her head, she retreated to the kitchen.

Rabbit found his voice. He snatched up the coins, hissing, "Put those away! Are you insane?" Noticing the curious stares from nearby tables, he shot them a glare until they turned away. "Never mind. I'll hold these for you." The money vanished into his pocket. "Saints," he muttered. "I'll have every thief from here to the capital on my tail."

"I was trying to buy lunch," Ali said frostily.

"Why not buy the whole inn while you're at it? Got any more treasures hidden away?" Unmoved by her glare, he cursed under his breath and scanned the room. "What fool let you loose on the road? Or are you running?" The idea seemed to click. His eyes tracked over her outfit with new calculation, as if mentally returning her to her rightful owner. His frown deepened. "Are you married?"

"No!"

"Engaged?"

She growled, aggravated. "I'm a free woman, all right? I just woke up one morning and decided it was time to hit the road." Sort of. She could tell he didn't believe her.

"So were did you come from?"

She looked at the ceiling and declined to answer.

Glenda came back with a plate and mug and accepted Rabbit's money. Her expression was kinder as she looked at Ali, almost pitying. "Don't worry, honey. Rabbit will take good care of you. You just listen to him and he'll get you back where you belong."

Ali frowned at Glenda's retreating back before attacking her sandwich and cider. The moment she pushed to her feet, Rabbit materialized beside her. "I'm just heading to the ladies room."

"Fine." He shadowed her path. When she emerged, he was still there, standing sentinel. Like at Hatter's, his hand found her hip, steering her toward the door. This time the touch sent sparks through her, impossible to ignore. "Stop it," she hissed, batting at his hand.

"You'll be safer if they think you're mine," Rabbit murmured, fixing her with a look that made her pulse skip.

Nice acting, Ali thought, trying to steady her breathing. Too bad her racing heart seemed convinced. "You're still worried about the money?"

He arched one dark brow—striking against his white hair—and leaned close enough that his whisper brushed her ear. "You're either a sheltered noblewoman or the most oblivious thief I've ever seen, and a thief would know the value of their goods." His brows knitted together. "Probably raised in a convent."

She coughed and forbore to mention Catholic school. Still, she was no innocent. "I know about money. I'm just not familiar with your currency."

He raised a skeptical brow. "Uh huh."

She halted beside his bike. "Look, thank you for the ride. I'm clearly cramping your style, so just return my money and I'll be on my way. I think I'm headed in the wrong direction anyway." Pride forced the words out, even as something inside her rebelled at the thought of striking out alone. Despite his rough edges, she'd grown oddly comfortable under Rabbit's protection.

His gaze fixed somewhere above her head. "Get on," he said flatly.

She glanced behind her and faltered. A cluster of men stared back, their intent written clear across their faces. This wasn't the welcome wagon. Looking back at Rabbit, she caught the dangerous glitter in his green eyes. If she refused, would he throw her onto the bike? Push her aside and take on the lot of them? Somehow she knew he wouldn't simply drive away.

White knight, indeed.

Lowering her eyes in surrender, she settled onto the leather seat. Rabbit slid his shades on with deliberate slowness, pinning the crowd with one last arctic stare before pulling away.

Darkness crept in as they rode, and Ali realized she'd arrived in Rabbit's world in late afternoon. "I thought you said it was 'miles' to the capital. We've been riding forever."

He guided them onto a nearly invisible trail. "It is. Many miles. We'll get there tomorrow."

She snorted, but exhaustion stole any fight from her voice. When he stopped the bike, she blinked in confusion. "Where are we? Just a pit stop?"

"We're staying here tonight. Next inn's an hour away, and you keep nodding off." He swung off the bike with fluid grace and began digging through his saddlebags.

"I can manage another hour," she protested, hearing the sleep-deprived whine in her own voice.

He tossed her a snack bar and declined to comment.

Grumpily, she crunched on the bar and watched him set up a small tent. It barely looked big enough for one.

"Settle in. I'm going to stay up and make sure we're not followed."

Too tired to argue, she slid into the sleeping bag and promptly fell asleep.

---

Ali blinked and refocused. She was standing in front of the cheval glass, still dressed in her jeans and work shirt. She cast a wary look around and backed away from the glass, not quite willing to test it.

She didn't take a bath. She crawled into bed and stared at the mirror. Oddly, it didn't stop her from falling asleep.

---

The Queen of Hearts lounged on her throne, alone in the vast emptiness of her stone castle's great hall. A fluffy white cat sprawled across her lap, accepting her idle caresses as she gazed into her mirror. The tall glass, housed in an ornate golden frame, was kin to the one in Ali's room—no coincidence, for they shared the same ancient source.

"So she's finally discovered the mirror's power, if only a fraction of it," she mused. "We are not pleased." Her eyes narrowed at the twin images reflected in her glass: Ali standing entranced before her grandmother's mirror, and Ali nestled in Rabbit's arms.

That last sight stung more than she cared to acknowledge.

Crimson nails traced through the cat's snow-white fur with deliberate gentleness. "Dear Cat, something must be done. Little Ali threatens to unravel everything if she continues to blunder about unchecked. It would be better for all—her safety most of all—if she remained in her own insignificant world instead of meddling in ours." She paused, considering. "You will deliver Rabbit a warning. I'll grant him that much grace. After all," her lips curved into a cruel smile, "he was once our favorite."

The cat met her gaze with glacial blue eyes, its expression carrying all the enigmatic wisdom of its kind.

The queen smiled in dark approval and relented. "Though not as entertaining as you, of course." She glanced coldly at the mirror. "Go cause havoc, my pet."

---

It was easy to write the experience off as a vivid dream.

Ali attacked her morning to-do list with unusual vigor, carefully avoiding even a glance at the cheval glass.

The attic had been her childhood playground—a treasure trove where she'd rummaged through ancient trunks for dress-up clothes and hidden wonders. But she hadn't ventured up here in years, except to stash holiday decorations. Now it revealed itself as the fire hazard it was: a labyrinth of dust-draped furniture and teetering boxes. Some items were obviously destined for the curb—moth-eaten clothes, yellowed magazines, a prehistoric humidifier. After hauling down the eighth box, her back screaming in protest, she stood on the lawn contemplating the merits of gravity-assisted decluttering.

Mrs. Heart appeared as Ali studied the attic window, calculating the trajectory of airborne junk. At seventy-six, she moved with the careful precision of someone who knew exactly how much a broken hip could cost. Her trademark straw hat sat firmly in place, gardening gloves and pruning shears completing her perpetual gardener's ensemble. "Miss Ali. Looks like you could use a hand."

Ali eyed her elderly neighbor dubiously. "Thank you, but those stairs aren't exactly hip-friendly."

Mrs. Heart's laugh crackled with warmth. "Oh, I wasn't volunteering myself, child! My great-grandson's coming over this morning. Strong young back on that one."

Unwilling to rope an unsuspecting stranger into her mess, Ali hedged, "Oh, please don't trouble him. It's mostly clothes—I'll just toss them out the window and collect them later."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Heart declared, already retreating with surprising speed. "He'll be happy to help. I'll just go call him." Either selective hearing was her superpower, or her age-related deafness was suspiciously convenient as she marched back to her yard, Ali's protests evaporating in her wake.

Ali shook her head and trudged back to the attic, determined to stick with plan A. Mrs. Heart was a sweetheart, but Ali drew the line at press-ganging innocent bystanders.

An hour later, Ali was reconsidering her stance on help. What possessed her grandmother to save seventy-two pairs of underwear? Or thirty-six purses? She kept launching garbage bags out the window, marveling at the sheer volume of saved treasures. Anything potentially valuable went into a separate pile, while the rest might find new life at a garage sale. Someone, somewhere, might actually covet a purple polyester shirt with fuchsia flowers. Stranger things had happened. She barely glanced outside now, just enough to avoid concussing innocent passersby with airborne bags. The phantom grandson had never materialized—smart man.

By mid-afternoon, her energy flagged. The attic was barely a quarter cleared. She really needed an army up here. Surrendering temporarily, she trudged downstairs to make a sandwich. As she slumped at the kitchen table, movement in the front yard caught her eye. She glanced out, then froze, sandwich halfway to her mouth.

A full-fledged yard sale had materialized on her lawn. Mrs. Heart and Mrs. Hutchins held court at a makeshift cashier's table, collecting money from eager bargain hunters. Everything she'd been hurling out the window had been transformed—clothes neatly folded on tables, hanging on improvised racks, displayed with careful attention to detail.

Abandoning her lunch, Ali rushed outside, skidding to a stop before the two elderly entrepreneurs. "What...?" was all she could manage.

Mrs. Heart's face lit up. "My grandson helped us set up. We wanted to surprise you."

Ali blinked rapidly, fighting sudden tears as she surveyed their handiwork. "How did you do all this without me hearing? This is incredible!" She swallowed the lump in her throat, searching the crowd for their mysterious helper. "Where is your grandson?"

Mrs. Heart waved dismissively. "Oh, he had somewhere to be. Why don't you go rest a bit, dear? You look worn out."

Ali thanked them profusely before retreating to her abandoned lunch, her throat tight with gratitude. Though emotion dulled her appetite, hunger won out. She rushed through her sandwich, energized by fresh purpose. Maybe the mysterious grandson could be persuaded to help with the remaining furniture and trunks—though after his generosity, she hesitated to ask more.

She climbed the attic stairs, pushed open the door, and froze. The space was completely empty.

Magic, whispered her first awestruck thought. Then logic kicked in.

She bolted downstairs, only to halt again at the sight of every piece of attic junk meticulously arranged across her lawn. She gaped at Mrs. Heart, who met her bewilderment with serene composure. "H-how?"

Mrs. Heart's smile never wavered. "My grandson moved it while you were eating."

"How?" Ali pressed, dumbfounded. "The stairs are right by the kitchen. I would have heard him. I would have seen him!"

That enigmatic smile again. "His friends helped."

"But there was so much stuff!"

Mrs. Heart patted her hand. "Don't fret about it, dear. Your grandma was a treasured friend. We're happy to help."

Further questions felt ungrateful, but Ali couldn't shake her wonderment. Moving all that stuff should have created an unholy racket. Who was this phantom grandson? Some kind of magician?

Even more baffling was the flood of buyers descending on their impromptu sale. It was as if someone had plastered ads on every telephone pole and shined a spotlight into the sky. Within two hours, everything but the display furniture had vanished—and even those had eager bidders. Purple hats, mismatched shoes, all of it claimed new homes. The "valuable" antiques drew astronomical offers. A worn baseball set—glove, bat, and ball supposedly signed by Mickey Mantle—fetched two thousand dollars from a buyer who practically threw money at Mrs. Heart before fleeing with his prize. Ali stared after him, stunned. Had that really been lurking in her attic?

Mrs. Heart shook her head sadly. "I don't think you got nearly what that set was worth. Ah, well. It is a garage sale. I hope he enjoys it."

The parade of valuable discoveries continued. A tarnished saxophone bearing a legendary blues player's nameplate commanded another small fortune. An objectively hideous painting fetched six hundred dollars, while a collection of threadbare dolls brought five hundred. Ali's head swam.

"Best take a rest on the porch swing, dear," Mrs. Heart suggested. "You're looking rather pale." She smiled down at a striking white cat lounging beneath the table. When had Mrs. Heart acquired a cat? The thought slipped away, because Ali couldn’t concentrate. The day had been unreal.

By sunset, they'd amassed thirteen thousand dollars and change. Ali gaped at the cashbox, stunned. "Mrs. Heart, this is incredible! How can I ever thank you?"

"I only wish it could have been more," she replied softly, patting Ali's hand. "Go inside and rest now. Quite an exciting day, wouldn't you say?" She shuffled toward her own yard, the white cat ghosting along in her wake.

Ali stood alone on her ravaged lawn, clutching a cookie tin filled with impossible money.

Exciting? This was something else entirely. The whole day reeked of the same magic that pulsed within the cheval glass. Heart racing, she bolted upstairs and tossed the money tin onto her bed. Then she marched to the mirror, shoving her wild hair back from her face. Would it happen again? Would he be there? She fixed her eyes on the gleaming surface...

---

Dawn light woke her. Too cozy to move, she snuggled deeper into the warmth holding her, then rolled over and warmed her back on the wall of heat, trying to rearrange her pillow. Instead, it was pulled away. "Hey!" She rolled to her back and opened her eyes.

Sleepy green eyes smiled back. "Bossy, aren't you?" His gaze dropped speculatively to her lips. "How old are you? Eighteen?"

"Nineteen." Fresh from sleep, she was too fuzzy to remember why his hungry look might be trouble.

His eyes moved lower, as if remembering what lay under the sleeping bag. "You must belong to someone," he said huskily, with a hint of disappointment.

"I told you I don't."

"You're lying. Women like you don't wander around without bodyguards and keepers. Some man is looking for you right now."

"Nope. Only you." It wasn't what she'd meant to say, but his eyes kindled. She'd never seen such green eyes.

"I'm going to pay for this, I know it," he muttered, but he kissed her anyway.

Ali's heart skipped a beat. She'd been kissed before, but none had affected her like this. It was as though every cell in her body had suddenly awakened. His lips were gentle but firm against hers, making her feel both protected and breathless at the same time.

When he finally pulled away, he looked a little unsteady. "You're dangerous," he said with a rueful smile as he got to his feet and pulled her out of the tent.

"Hey!" she protested, a little unsteady herself. "You could have let me wake up properly."

He grunted and hit a button. The tent sucked down into a little box, folding itself as it shrank. "I don't think so. Go use the bushes if you have to—we're still an hour away from breakfast."

She was so distracted by his incredible kiss that it took her a good twenty minutes to remember the miraculous yard sale. Either that, or it was the dreamlike quality of her other life when she was here. Where was here, anyway? Should she ask him if he believed in other worlds? She'd had some hazy idea that he was involved in the garage sale, but how could that be? Did she really think that Mrs. Heart's grandson was a white-haired biker named Rabbit? One with supernatural junk moving abilities? "Rabbit?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you travel to other worlds?"

"What?" His laugh held more disbelief than humor.

Well, he already thought she was a fool. Why not go all in? "I came here through a mirror. Every time I fall asleep here, I wake up in my world."

His silence spoke volumes, but she felt the tension ripple through him.

"I'm losing my house back there. My grandmother died, and my job doesn't cover her debts. Yesterday we had this bizarre garage sale that raised a fortune, but strange things happened." She laid out her suspicions. "So you can see why I'm asking."

Rabbit pulled over and twisted around to face her. His eyes raked over her with new wariness. "You didn't seem crazy," he muttered, as if apologizing to himself for picking her up.

She bristled. "You know I'm not crazy!"

He just shook his head and returned to the road.

"You have magic here—your tent, this machine we're riding. How else could I be so clueless about your money unless I'm from somewhere else? Which reminds me, you still have mine."

"Could be you escaped from an asylum," he suggested.

She stiffened. The last thing she needed was him thinking that way. Being trapped in this world's version of a mental ward wasn't on her agenda. "Well, I guess that means you won't be trying to steal any more kisses, will you?"

"Guess not."

Her teeth clenched as her barb missed its mark. "Pull over. We've traveled far enough together."

He just laughed. "I'm not abandoning you on this road, sweetheart. You think you've seen magic? You wouldn't survive what lurks out here."

"Doesn't look so threatening. Besides, you were ready to leave me when we first met."

"That was before I realized letting you wander alone would be murder. You're like a lost child. You'd have been dead in minutes if I hadn't stopped you from eating that fruit."

"My hero," she drawled. "Now stop the bike!"

"We’re five minutes to somewhere I can feed you. Do you really want to skip breakfast over wounded pride?" His voice held infuriating reasonableness.

"You called me crazy!"

"I said you hadn't looked crazy."

"Same difference!" Her fingers itched to smack him, but assaulting a driver seemed unwise.

"Sautéed mushrooms, grilled steak with blue cheese. Garden-fresh salad. Fruit tarts," Rabbit said casually. "Champagne and bread still warm enough to steam... any of that interest you?"

Her rant faltered as her stomach betrayed her. "That's breakfast?" Maybe she could eat just to spite him. For all she knew, her own money was funding this meal.

"See for yourself," he said, turning off the road.

She blinked. Before them stood a small castle with a sweeping circular drive. Its walls seemed built entirely of glass blocks, punctuated by stained glass windows. Shadowy figures moved behind the translucent walls. The turrets wore roofs of chocolate shingles, trimmed with delicate chocolate lacework. Mesmerized, she slid off the bike, drawn to the green gumdrop shrubbery and hedges that sparkled with a dusting of sugar. The flowerbeds surrounding the castle bloomed with impossibly perfect royal icing roses and flowers.

Rabbit grinned at her wide eyes. "I see you like it. The blocks are made of poured sugar, and the stained glass is also colored sugar. It took the baker and his assistants two years to complete."

She shook her head in disbelief. "How did they preserve it? Shouldn't it melt in the rain or something?"

He looked at her from under his lashes like a mischievous elf. "Don't you believe in magic, Alice?"

She started. She hadn't told him her full name. Was it a lucky guess?

He stepped forward and opened the gingerbread door for her. Delicious smells wafted out and curled around her nose. "Come on—I'm starving."

Her stomach led her forward with loud growls, but Ali couldn't hurry. The floors were tiled with blue and white sugar mosaics, and the inside was full of arches, pillars and flying buttresses. Sugar sculptures filled wall niches, and suits of silver and gold sugar armor guarded the walls. Fantasy greeted her wherever she looked.

Rabbit watched with barely concealed amusement as she explored, his smile widening when she discovered a bench dressed in silk cushions stuffed with cotton candy and crowned with marshmallow pillows. Her delighted laugh echoed as she squeezed a marshmallow between her palms, watching in wonder as it bounced back to shape. "It really is magic!"

He shook his head and captured her hand. "Come eat first. After breakfast, I'll show you the chocolate mud spa and fizzing seltzer pool. You'll love it—it even has a bubbling waterfall."

"You're joking!" Her head swiveled like an owl's as she tried to absorb every detail. To keep her from stumbling in her wonderstruck state, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, covering it with his own. His stride remained measured, allowing her to drink in the sights as he guided her to an intimate table set for two. After settling her into her chair, he took his own seat.

With a musical poof of rose-colored smoke, their feast materialized. Steam spiraled from golden-brown mushrooms while their steaks sizzled beneath slowly melting pools of blue cheese butter. A basket of bread waited in the center, its contents covered with crisp linen, flanked by delicate plates of jewel-toned salad. Under a crystalline dome, a carefully arranged platter of cheese and fresh fruits beckoned.

Rabbit smiled at her astonishment as he poured the wine. He opened his mouth to speak, then his gaze dropped to the floor. "What are you doing here?" he demanded sharply.

Puzzled, Ali glanced down at the large white Persian cat who sauntered up to their table. It sat down, curled its luxurious tail neatly around its paws and blinked large blue eyes.

She frowned at Rabbit. He didn't like cats? Feeling sorry for it, she reached out to pet it.

"Don't touch him!" Rabbit shouted, startling her.

"Why not?" she demanded, but withdrew her hand. "Is there something wrong with it?" She glanced back at the kitty and blinked as a very human smile tilted his lips. Suddenly she was glad she hadn't touched it.

The cat transformed into a white curl of smoke that coalesced into a man. Tall and ruthlessly handsome, his silky white hair was pulled back with a silver clip and fell to the middle of his back. Catlike, his blue eyes studied Rabbit arrogantly, and her with smoky interest.

Cat in heat, she thought with an inner gasp. How could a man dressed in silver silk look so lethally charming? His tunic seemed to have both Crusader and oriental influence, yet looked amazing on him. Those eyes ... a woman could drown in those eyes.

A sudden splash of cold hit her, and she gasped, staring at the water all over her front. "What—?" she sputtered. That water was cold!

Rabbit set down his water glass and looked coldly at the former cat. "Leave her alone."

The stranger looked amused. "Nice aim. It stirs the imagination, doesn't it?"

Rabbit's eyes turned arctic. "What do you want?"

The stranger conjured a marble column to lean against, unhurriedly tearing off a chunk of bread. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

Rabbit's gaze flicked to Ali, taking in her drenched top and the worry mixing with irritation in her eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Ali, the Cheshire Cat. Now spill it—what do you want?"

The Cat chewed thoughtfully, studying Ali with eyes that no longer tried to ensnare her. "The queen was curious about your whereabouts. Sent me to investigate. Ironic, isn't it?" His expression narrowed with calculated malice. "She'll find your activities... interesting, don't you think?"

"I'm not her pet anymore," Rabbit snapped, eyes hard as steel. "That's your role now, isn't it?"

The Cat turned to Ali, who felt reality tilting sideways. This was that cat? Which meant she was... her thoughts scattered like startled birds.

He grinned. "Hard to believe the familial love, isn't it? It's quite something when your younger brother deposes you."

"Half-brother," Rabbit corrected grimly. He rose, drawing Ali gently from her chair. "We're leaving."

The Cat arranged his features into practiced innocence. "So soon? We'll meet again in the city... in the Queen's hall." His eyes glittered as they fixed on Ali. "She'll be so pleased to meet you."

Ali's skin crawled with premonition.

"Goodbye, Cat." Rabbit's warning glare could have frozen flame as he guided Ali toward the door.

It wasn't until they'd been racing down the road for several minutes that Ali remembered their abandoned meal. Her stomach twisted with both hunger and tension as Rabbit drove at a breakneck pace. She flexed her fingers against his middle, trying to get his attention. When that failed, she shouted over the wind's roar, "Rabbit!"

"What?"

"What happened back there?"

"Not now," he shouted back, his tone brooking no argument. He let her stew for several miles before taking a narrow side road. Here the trees grew tall and close, golden sunlight filtering through branches to illuminate emerald moss coating their trunks. Rabbit maintained his breakneck pace.

The trees eventually thinned, revealing a rocky beach. He stopped just short of the surf, waiting until she dismounted before walking to the water's edge.

She followed more slowly, crossing her arms as she stood beside him watching the troubled waters.

Finally, he spoke flatly. "I was the queen's lover. Cat replaced me."

She turned to him, wide-eyed.

His smile held bitter edges. "Ours is a possessive family. I foolishly developed feelings for her... wasn't prepared to be replaced." His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "To be fair, Cat had little choice. The queen's cunning, and powerful. I was too angry to support him, and our family branded us both as 'Queen's whores.' They turned their backs before he'd even shared her bed. Their cowardice probably drove him to her as much as anything."

"Were you close before? You and your brother?"

He sighed. "Yes."

Though uncomfortable, she pressed on. "If it's over, why does she care what you do?"

His look turned ironic. "She's a jealous woman."

"So she harassed that waitress too?" she asked skeptically.

He gave her a chiding glance, climbing one of the massive boulders. "You're not a servant."

"Actually, I am in my world. Java Joint, serving coffee and stuff."

His sideways glance spoke volumes. "You're a threat. The waitress wasn't."

Ignoring the warm flutter his words caused, she leaned against another boulder. "How many waitresses were there? More than one, I'd bet. Why's she bothered now? She doesn't even know me." Said aloud, his concern seemed paranoid.

He studied her through dark lashes. "There were many at first. I was... angry. I think it amused her. There haven't been many lately; I've outgrown trying to make her jealous. That's why you interest her."

She shook off the implications. "You still owe me breakfast."

He jumped down, his eyes warming as they fixed on her lips. Muttering something under his breath, he pulled her close and kissed her.

The kiss started gentle then deepened, Ali melting into his embrace as her arms found his shoulders. His warmth enveloped her, creating a bubble of safety and tenderness. The crashing waves merged with her thundering heartbeat.

Just as the kiss intensified, Ali felt herself becoming insubstantial...

She stumbled, disoriented by the sudden shift. What happened? She hadn't fallen asleep. One moment in his arms, then... Her cheeks burned at the memory. Legs shaky, she sank onto her bed, staring at the threadbare carpet.

This couldn't be healthy—obsessing over a man who existed only in a mirror. Worse, these world-shifts were becoming more frequent, more jarring. She had to stop. It wasn't as if... She cut off the thought, grabbing a sheet from her unfolded laundry and throwing it over the mirror.

There. She didn't have time for this.

Or for examining the hollow ache in her chest.

The next morning, she launched her investigation in the kitchen. Though tempted to stew rabbit, she settled for baking cookies—the perfect excuse to visit Mrs. Heart and discover her mysterious grandson's identity.

Mrs. Heart welcomed her with a warm smile. "Why, Ali, dear! How lovely to see you. Come in." She ushered Ali into her cozy parlor. "Let me fetch the tea things."

Ali settled into an overstuffed floral chair, content to observe. These rituals gave her time to study the room with new eyes.

Though she'd visited before, she now regarded the cheerful French Country décor with fresh interest. The pale blues, whites and yellows were pretty enough, but why hadn't she noticed the absence of family photos before? Didn't all elderly people collect photographs? Her own grandmother had a million of them.

Mrs. Heart bustled in with a tea tray. "And what is this?" she asked as she set the tray on the coffee table next Ali's plate of cookies.

"A thank you gift for your grandson and his friends. I thought you could tell me where he lives and I could drop it off," Ali said with a smile. "He really helped me out yesterday."

"Tut-tut! No need for you to go out of your way. He can come here to get it," Mrs. Heart smiled as she poured the tea. "Tell me, how are you getting on? I hope the sale caught you up on your grandmother's bills. I can't abide the idea of the house being auctioned off."

Ali's smile lost some wattage. "Er, not quite. I'm afraid I still owe a lot of money. I thought I'd take my mind off the problem by visiting. You don't have a picture of your grandson around, do you? I never got a chance to meet him."

Mrs. Heart shook her head. "You really must concentrate, dear. The house is much more important just now."

Ali blinked, chastened. How could she argue with such touching concern?

Mrs. Heart nodded decisively. "You'll have to sell off the book collection, then. It should bring in quite a bit of revenue. Such a shame to part with all those old classics, though."

Never much of a classics reader, Ali was puzzled. Besides, her grandma’s taste had run toward boring reader’s digest and inspirational collections. "You mean all those old books in the library? I was thinking of giving them to charity." The room was more of a den with a few bookshelves, but her grandmother had preferred the grander name. The only time Ali had been in there was to vacuum.

"Not when you're about to lose the house, child. I know an antique book dealer. He'll be at your house at two this afternoon. Best go home and dust—these fellows are quite particular about book care." Mrs. Heart whisked away the tea service with practiced efficiency.

Ali reluctantly abandoned her cookies, promising herself she'd return for answers. Still, the possibility of valuable books proved an effective distraction. Could those worn old volumes actually be worth something?

***

The white cat waited until Ali's footsteps faded from the porch before emerging from behind the couch. He leaped onto its back with feline grace.

Mrs. Heart—his godmother—smiled warmly. "Ah, Cat. There you are. You've done wonderfully helping that young lady. Are you certain I can't make proper introductions?"

With a whisper of smoke, Cat shifted to his human form. If he felt any guilt about betraying the only family member who still acknowledged him, he buried it deep. He couldn't reveal the queen's schemes to the one person she held over him. Cat had countless tricks but precious few allies. He couldn't protect Mary Heart every moment, especially in this world. The queen was far too cunning.

He deflected her question with his own. "Why stay in this world? I know it amuses you, but wouldn't you prefer spending your golden years in the Mirror Lands?" Where I could keep you safe, he added silently.

Mary snorted. "With my horrid cousin the queen? I think not. I'm quite content here, thank you." She poured him tea. "How is your brother?"

Cat sipped carefully, weighing each word. "He's in good health." He selected a sugar cookie, a safer option than conversation.

Mary, well-versed in the whole saga, smiled. "Still not speaking? Such a shame. Perhaps I should introduce him to Ali."

Cat choked on his cookie. Trust Mary to cut straight to the heart of the intrigue.

She passed him a napkin, making sympathetic noises that did nothing to hide the mischief dancing in her aged eyes. "There now. You should be more careful what you try to chew; you may find the mouthful too big for you."

"Mary, be careful. I can't go against the queen," he warned, hoping to head off any interference she might be plotting.

"I know you think you can't," she said with serene confidence. "Here, have another cookie."