'The Queen of Hearts, she had a crown,
She snagged it from the King one day;
She spilled his blood upon the ground,
So, Hatter stole her band away!'
"Get down from there, you imbecile!"
"No!"
She flings a spell at him, but it goes awry when he squeezes the heart in his hand. The Queen gasps around the pressure in her chest.
"Ah-ah! No magic," he reminds her, wagging a finger at her.
The Queen seethes, but there's not much else she can do, not while he has her heart. If he were a proper magician, rather than some half-wit sensitive, he'd have taken control by now; but the worst he's done is give her a bit of heartburn with some careful, teasing pinches. But it's this that brought them to their standstill.
He holds her life-force, her essence, in his palm: she wants it back. She called her cards, but he stroked her beating heart with a gentle finger and she called them off. One good squeeze and she would be dead as dust.
She can't kill him, he couldn't control her. Stalemate.
But not really. She's the Queen of Hearts. No one bests her.
"What do you want?" she asks him, eyes narrowing as she stares up at him.
He grins down at her, swinging his legs where they hang over the rafter, seeming for all the worlds like a child on a wagon on the way to market. A child with a stolen purse in his hand.
"What do I want?" he repeats. "You know what I want."
The Queen keeps her eyes on him, decades of practice helping her not to spoil the surprise, as her not-so-little pet sneaks up behind him.
"Do enlighten me," she says.
Behind him, it stalks up on half-invisible feet, steps as light as air, its dark fur blending into the shadows and its eyes the only thing truly clear as they glow in the dark of the roof.
"I want to go home," he says, "I want you dead."
The Queen scoffs. "If you had it in you to kill, dear, you would have done it by now. Come down, and I might let them sew your head back on. Eventually."
The Cat looms over him now, twice as large as a man taller than the heart-thief, saliva gathering in its extensive mouth as it prepares to pounce. It only eats when she lets it, after all, and she hasn't felt very generous in a long time. Personally, she thinks the boy would be too stringy, but the Cat can't afford to be picky. Not while she has its heart.
"Devour him," she murmurs.
Blue lips stretch back as its jaw opens wide, and the Queen grins at her victory. But the slavering Cat tips her hand – a dollop of drool lands on the thief's padded shoulder, and he twists, gaping at the enormous teeth so close to his head. The Cat's jaw snaps closed, but the thief has pushed off his perch. The Queen's eyes widen with surprised rage.
Her monster's teeth lock around leather coat tails, suspend the thief in midair for a moment, before he shrugs out of his jacket and plummets to the bed – her bed, with the rich red covers and thick mattress. He lands hard enough to leave dusty boot prints, then gets sprung off and hits the tile floor awkwardly enough to fall on his face.
The Queen would have laughed, or at least used this disadvantage to incinerate him. But he's landed on his arm, on her heart, and she doubles over, gasping for air, with heartbeats throbbing in her ears.
The Cat follows nimbly after him, slinking off the network of wooden beams with admirable grace and tiptoeing closer to its prey.
The thief recovers quickly, rolling off his arm and onto his back and holding the heart up for the Queen to see. He bends his head back to look upside down at her even as the Cat steps one paw onto his chest, pinning him down.
"Tick-tock, it's 3 o'clock."
And he squeezes his hand. Purple light gushes out between his fingers; the heart tries desperately to beat around the vise as the Queen struggles to breath around the same. But the glow grows dimmer, fading, as the Cat splays its fangs again, and the thief bares his teeth right back. The Queen collapses to the floor, refusing to make a sound; and the thief's hand spasms, the heart crumbles, and all he's left holding is dust.
The Queen is dead, her face twisted with the agony she'd inflicted on so many others, her eyes wide with disbelief.
The Cat stops, inches from the thief's throat. She's dead; it's not in her control anymore, but it's still starving. It fades as he watches, and then he's alone in the room with a hollow body and a handful of ashes.
He smiles, victorious. Then he rolls over, wincing at the paw print aching on his ribcage and the twisting fall stinging in his legs, and looks at the dead woman sprawled on the cold tile of her bedroom in the palace that she stole.
He feels only relief as he crawls over to her and rips off her veil with his free hand. He feels something else entirely as he struggles to his feet, veil and ashes in his grip, and hears the pounding of racing guards come too late to the rescue. It isn't worry. It's glee.
His grin is achingly wide as they burst through the door, spears and war axes at the ready, blocky helmets swiveling as they try to locate the trouble –and freeze, as they see the Queen lying dead.
The cards hesitate. The thief shakes thin, red fabric off the crown, and lifts the ashes. He tips his head back and trickles the glittering dust into his mouth, shivers as lingering magic floods his bones.
"Move!"
A shout, accompanied by the jangle of armour. It's the stranger, he sees, when his hand is empty and he lets his head down, pushing his way past the stunned guards. The man stares at the Queen for a moment, before he turns raised eyebrows on her killer and says, "I'm impressed."
The thief flashes him his teeth, daintily sets the stolen crown on his head.
"Long live the King," he answers, giddiness bleeding through and shaking his voice with laughter.
"Indeed," Hook says, taking one step outside the wall of guards and into so-far neutral territory. "Happy coronation day. But you just stole one quarter of Wonderland. What do you plan to do now?"
The smile falls. "Now I go home."
"Home?" Hook chuckles. "You have a castle, mate, what home could possibly-?"
"No!" He flings a hand out, and Hook is encased in blue magic, new magic, stolen magic. "I couldn't get it to work, I got this to work. I am going home!" the Hatter cries.
He sucks in air that's too thin, tries not to hyperventilate when there are a hundred cards with spears waiting for an opportunity to strike. He lets Hook go, and glares at the guards.
"Move," he demands. And they fold down the middle, stepping to attention to let him pass.
Hook trails slowly after him, and he permits it, until they get to the castle courtyard and the pirate speaks.
"You know, I came to this world to get the Queen's heart. But it seems you've taken care of that for me. The portal I came through...it requires two people to get through."
Jefferson's feet stutter to a halt. "What world did you come from?"
"The Enchanted Forest," Hook drawls. "I was commissioned by-"
"Regina..." he breathes. "She has my hat."
And now he has her mother's magic; and he uses it to grab Hook up and drag him along the road as he runs, faster and faster still.
He can't wait to see the Queen again.