Chapter 2

January 18th, 1876

Houndsditch Home, Whitechapel, England

3:20 P.M.

The air was crisp as they stepped out, sharp with the smell of old snow. Alice took a deep, grateful breath – and then promptly regretted it, as she got a lungful of all the various things that ended up in old snow. "You'd think after over a year here I'd know better," she muttered, coughing into her sleeve.

Victor patted her on the back. "At least it's not summer smog." He grimaced at the grayish gritty slush that had piled up near the front gate. "Though I don't think I'll be following Abigail's instructions if I can help it. That looks more like an ash heap than snow."

Alice shook her head as she cleared her throat. "Much too wet. Take it from an expert."

Victor winced. "Oh – sorry. T-that was thoughtless."

"Only a little," Alice assured him, patting his arm. "And to be fair, it probably is largely ash after falling through Whitechapel's share of the sky." She smirked. "But it's really the yellow snow you have to watch out for."

Victor snickered. "Or the brown snow," he agreed, opening the gate for her. "When you get down to it, London snow is barely snow at all."

"It's cold and wet," Alice said, prodding a half-melted drift with her foot. "I suppose that's the only real requirement. Give me Tundraful's ice cliffs any day, though."

"I know I'd prefer it if this smoky air was the result of the moon having a cigarette," Victor agreed, putting his arm around her. "Speaking of which, what did Dr. Wilson have to say about Wonderland? I thought we'd all just sort of agreed it was all right if you kept seeing bits of it everywhere so long as you weren't wandering around raving."

"Yes, but the ideal would still be me seeing it only when I want to see it, and not whenever my brain gets bored of the current scenery," Alice told him, frowning at a domino poking out of a snowbank and putting the truth to her words. "He thinks it's because I'm not quite over the fire."

Victor tilted his head. "After all you've been through? After – Bumby?"

"That's what I said, but he pointed out that I never did say a proper goodbye to my family. And right when I was getting over that, you came along telling everyone about the Land of the Dead, and. . . ." She sighed. "He said, and I think he's right, that I'm not going to be able to fully control Wonderland until – until I know everything is right between me and my parents and sister. Until I know for sure that they're happy Downstairs. . .and don't think any less of me for what happened."

Victor squeezed her shoulders. "They don't. I'm sure of that."

Alice squinched her lips to one side. "Well, I think Lizzie would be justified in being a bit miffed I didn't recognize her murderer right away."

"Even if she was, she'd forgive you," Victor insisted. "You were just a child, Alice. And after a decade in bedlam. . .we should all be grateful you remember as much as you do." He sighed. "I'd get you down there if I could."

"I know you would," Alice assured him. "And trust me, I am not blaming you for your lack of progress in figuring out magic. I don't know where to begin either. Do we just scare some ravens away from their nest and start breaking eggs?"

"I doubt it's that easy – Elder Gutknecht called it a Ukrainian haunting spell," Victor grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "Who knows if it works in reverse." He looked up at the gray sky. "You know, it's funny. When I was small, I loved to pretend I was a wizard in training. I collected sticks from the garden as wands, and made pointy paper hats with stars on them, and made up little verses that were supposed to keep Gordon Tannen and his cronies away from me. None of them ever worked, but. . .oh, I wanted so much for magic to be real. And then, finally, I find out it is – only I'm currently married to a corpse at the time and thus a little too distracted to be excited. And then, after Emily moved on, Victoria disappeared, and Pastor Galswells called me damned, and my parents threw psychiatrist after psychiatrist at me until sending me here. . .I never got a chance to even properly think about what I'd seen Elder Gutknecht do, much less try any of it myself. Not that I think lurking in the local bookshop trying to find spellbooks would have helped my situation at all back then." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "And now. . .on the one hand, I'm glad London is more mystical than Burtonsville and thus somewhat less likely to condemn me to Hell. On the other, every time I see a medium advertising their services. . . ." He closed a fist. "Why is them supposedly talking to the dead all right, but me saying I've seen what comes after up close and personal not?"

"It's probably just a bit too much for most people," Alice said, wrapping her arm around his waist. "There's a point where hope runs up against fear, and you talking about there definitely being an afterlife probably worries people who were counting on not having to pay for their sins once they died. Not to mention the Land of the Dead is populated by actively rotting walking corpses, which you have to admit is a bit macabre."

Victor blushed. "Point. I remember better how friendly they were over how scary they looked." He chewed his lower lip. "Do – do you think it's worth visiting The Mystic Melvin, or Madame Tracy, or any of the others? I mean, I'm almost certain they're all con artists looking for a quick pound, but – maybe. . . ."

Alice shrugged. "I have a hard time believing anyone advertising in Whitechapel would be on the up-and-up. I'd like us to find our way Below from a more reputable source." She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Dr. Wilson suggested something that might help in the meantime."

"What's that?"

"A trip to Oxford. To visit the Liddell family vault."

Victor's steps slowed. "Do you want to?"

"I – I'm not sure," Alice confessed, frowning. "I couldn't work up the courage after leaving Rutledge, even with the Queen of Hearts reduced to a bloody pulp. Whenever I imagined stepping inside, seeing their names etched on the little plates below each coffin. . .it made my stomach turn. And of course there was no chance of me going during Bumby's reign. . . ." She reached up to fiddle with her necklace chain again. "Now. . .knowing their souls are Downstairs and – hopefully – in good spirits, going there and seeing them as nothing more than cold, unfeeling bone. . .it's still not a pleasant thought."

Victor nodded. "I understand. I don't like thinking about what Emily's corpse must actually look like under that old oak tree. I'd rather remember her as I knew her Below." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "What about – if we just went to Oxford? Avoided the vault and instead wandered around the city? I would like to see where you grew up."

"That would be rather hard, given the whole source of my trauma is my house going up in flames," Alice joked. "But I am curious about how things have changed over the past twelve years." She turned her gaze toward her feet. "It would be nice to see the university again. Take a stroll along the banks of the Isis. Remember more of the good times."

"Just say the word, Alice," Victor said, squeezing her lightly. "I'll hail a cab and have a note sent back to Dr. Wilson."

Alice giggled. "We'd be rather lacking in luggage, don't you think?"

"Spoken as if I couldn't buy you an entire new wardrobe if you'd let me."

Alice snuggled his shoulder. "I'm content with what I have for now. Besides, I can't let you just spoil me rotten. Think of the smell."

Victor chuckled. "Well, the offer still stands, if you'd ever like to take advantage." More seriously, he added, "And you know, if we're lucky, perhaps we'll run into someone there who'll be able to figure out how to get us Below. Oxford's supposed to be a great center of learning – surely that includes a few academics interested in the occult."

"I never encountered any among Papa's undergraduates. . .then again, I barely knew said undergraduates except as 'the boys who kept annoying Lizzie.' But I'm sure you're right – there must be someone out there who can help us. And we'll find them eventually." Alice favored Victor with a smile. "All this for someone who thought you were mental the first few months she knew you. You really are too good to me."

Victor's returning smile was bright – but was that a flicker of guilt in his eyes? Maybe she was imagining things. As per usual. "I could never be good enough to you."

Alice poked him. "Your standards for yourself are entirely too high."

Victor shrugged. "Blame Mother."

"Gladly. I like blaming your mother for things." She put her head back against his shoulder. "I am so relieved she's back in Burtonsville now."

"Me too," Victor said with feeling. "I appreciate that she and Father actually wanted to help with my memory problem, but if I'd heard one more comment about how 'unfortunate' it was that you'd spent ten years in bedlam instead of building up all the 'connections' your father had. . . ."

"Better than her saying I would never be good enough for you and trying to marry you sight-unseen to some other noble girl," Alice replied, the lampposts twisting themselves into spiky heart shapes as she recalled Nell's praise of Adelaide Kingsleigh. "Though sometimes I wonder by how much." She shook her head. "The funny thing is, I'm certain my parents wouldn't have gotten along with her at all. Papa never gave any preference to social class or family fortune in his teaching – he weathered quite a few nobles shouting at him over failing their sons. And he refused to do more than the absolute minimum of hobnobbing to keep the donations coming into Christ Church. And Mama was an early crusader for equal rights and helping the poor – anyone who disdained charity got an earful from her. They were both very firm believers that it wasn't a person's birth or wealth which made them – it was their actions."

"Whereas Mother is convinced that our being wealthy means she should be able to boss around anyone she likes and dash the consequences," Victor sighed. "No, I don't think your parents would have been able to stand her for long. Father – well, perhaps they would have appreciated that he's a self-made man, and treats his employees well, but the moment your mother discovered his views on helping the poor consist of 'if I can make it, anyone can. . . .'"

"Oh, is running a fish cannery that easy?"

"Not from what I've seen. And the Van Dorts were never truly impoverished in the first place. Father's canned fish just bumped us from lower to upper middle class. Mother I believe grew up poor, but – well." He shrugged a shoulder. "You've met her."

"I have," Alice nodded, grimacing. "Sometimes I think it must be exhausting being such an enthusiastic social climber."

"Oh, she thrives on it," Victor said, rolling his eyes to the sky. "And Father – he may not have as much drive as her, but he approves all her ambitions." He chuckled suddenly. "You know, I've heard people accuse her of riding his coattails to success, but I think it's more a case of him hanging onto the back of her dress as she claws her way to the top."

The image of William Van Dort clinging to his wife's gown as she scaled a giant ladder, using her ubiquitous fur stole as a rope, made Alice snort. "That sounds about right. And then there's you, who practically gives away money and who can name roughly three noble couples, including your ex-fiancee's parents. How on earth did you manage to grow up ignoring the peerage?"

"Six governesses and not being invited to any important parties until I was sixteen," Victor told her with a smile. "All those names Mother threw around at tea were little more than noise to me. She tried to at least drill me on the hierarchy, but I still get confused. I know the royal family is at the top, of course, and then earls come just below them. . . ."

"No, earls are in the middle," Alice corrected him. "It goes kings and queens, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, marquesses and marchionesses, earls and countesses, viscounts and viscountesses, and barons and baronesses. With baronets at the very bottom – I forget if they have a special name for the ladies."

Victor stared. "What – I – was Mother giving you lessons when I wasn't looking?"

"No – I looked them all up when I was six, curious about why we had kings, queens, and knaves in cards, instead of princes," Alice explained with a little grin. "The list just stuck with me. The Queen of Hearts is actually also the Marchioness of Mock Turtles – Rabbit told me once. I've never heard her use that particular title, though."

"The Mock Turtle must be relieved – he seems to have enough trouble with the Duchess," Victor commented. "So, er, what is a knave then?"

"A male servant – in this case of the royal family. I don't think I found a matching name for a female one. Which is probably just as well, given people tend to throw 'knave' at anyone they don't like these days."

"Mmm." Victor glanced at her. "I know you restored the King of Hearts – is the Knave back then, too? Or any of the others?"

Alice shook her head. "The only other cards left are the Card Guards and that bloody Executioner. I think Queensland is just too much of a wreck these days to support the other three monarchs and their entourages. And while the Queen of Hearts was always the worst, the way Diamonds, Clubs, and Spades squabbled during croquet. . .I don't think I could deal with all of them at once these days. Better to let the Queen of Hearts have her little patch with her husband, and then the only monarchs the rest of Wonderland has to deal with are the White and Red Kings and Queens, who are generally a bit more even-tempered."

"So you've said." Victor sighed deeply. "There's another reason for us to find out how magic works sooner rather than later. Every time you tell me something about Wonderland – even something scary – the more I want to see it with my own eyes."

"I wish I could show you up close and in person," Alice agreed. "I know you'd love the Vale of Tears, and Tundraful, and Cardbridge. . . ." She patted his arm. "We'll figure it out."

Oh, there was that soft, loving look that always reduced her heart to a puddle of warm mush. Victor favored her with it for a good few seconds. . .and then, for some reason, it faded away, yielding to a more nervous gaze. "Um – you d-do think Wonderland will be o-okay with me visiting, right?"

Alice arched an eyebrow. "Given most of the inhabitants were referring to you as 'my' Victor even before I figured it out myself, I would say so."

"Yes, but. . . ." Victor rubbed the back of his head before looking at his feet. "I'm still an – outsider. And after – after Bumby. . . ."

Oh dear. Alice was not going to let that rat bastard ruin another one of their conversations. She tugged him to a stop beside a lamppost, taking his chin and raising his face toward hers. "It's not the same thing at all," she informed him firmly. "You know that."

Victor didn't look quite convinced. "I just – I worry that–"

"You don't need to worry about anything," Alice insisted. "Wonderland, from the Origami Ants to the Chess People, will adore you. Because I adore you. You belong there just as much as any of them." And then, just to make sure he got the message, she hooked her arm around his neck and pressed her lips against his.

For one terrible split-second, he stiffened, and she thought he was going to pull away. Then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around her as he began to respond with his old enthusiasm. Alice's insides went all soft and buttery. Oh, she'd missed this – the heat of his breath ghosting across her face, mingling with hers. . .the tender softness of his lips and cheeks, and his fingers stroking along her back. . .the rich heady smell of his hair oil, flowing up her nose. They just fit so perfectly together, even with the height difference. . .how had she stood not having his mouth against hers for an entire fortnight? Clearly she had to make up for lost time. . .she pulled him a bit closer, her tongue just grazing his lower lip –

And just like that, the kiss was over, Victor pulling away with a heavy blush. "We, ah, a-are in public," he reminded her in a whisper.

Alice glanced around. Sure enough, a couple of matrons stood nearby, aiming their best disapproving frowns at the couple. "Sod off," Alice said, shooting her own right back.

The matrons gasped, but did as asked, clucking to each other all the way. "You never seemed to care what others might think back during Christmas-time," Alice continued, looking back up at Victor. "I could barely get you to stop kissing me then."

"Er – well – it's d-different then, isn't it?" Victor replied, giving the knot of his tie a little tug. "With the mistletoe e-everywhere, and the general a-atmosphere. . .people were more accepting. I don't. . .w-we can't risk anyone g-getting us in trouble."

"Over a kiss?" Alice stepped back, hands on hips. "People know we're courting. Most of them don't give us a second glance." She jerked her head in the direction the matrons had gone. "Even they'll just gossip about us a couple of times with their friends and then forget all about it."

"I simply don't want people thinking I'm taking advantage of you," Victor mumbled into his shirt collar.

"Taking – I kissed you!" Alice huffed. What was going on here? Why was he so intent on making what she'd considered a fun activity into a reason to fret?

"Dr. Wilson provided a lovely hypothesis," Hatter said from over her shoulder, pouring himself a cup of tea from his hat. "Why not test it? Advance your understanding of the world!"

Dear me, I think you've actually managed to dole out some good advice for once. "Victor – are you afraid that kissing me too much will force us to the altar?"

The blush fled, leaving Victor whiter than the snow around them (which, all things considered, was actually not that much of a feat, but still). His hand locked around his tie like a drowning man grabbing a rope. "I – ah – er – I mean–"

Well, that seemed a point in Dr. Wilson's favor. Alice sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. "Victor – I understand, I do. I'm quite done with all those dropped hints from friends and relations that we need to get married already. And I know that we can't afford for anyone outside of Houndsditch to find out about our living arrangements. But first off–" She leaned in and dropped her voice. "There's little point in refusing to kiss me when you still share my bed at night."

Victor went pink again, turning away. "And second. . . ." She reached up, pulling his hand away from his tie. "I miss this. I miss you. Being less affectionate isn't stopping anyone from saying we ought to find a priest or registrar. It just – makes me sad."

Victor winced, pulling his chin back into his collar. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't. . .I just. . . ." He stopped, shook his head, then looked her dead in the face. "I love you, Alice. I want to marry you. The idea of a life without you. . .but I can't. N-not just yet. I have to – I need to make sure I can give you everything that's best." He bit his lip. "A me that's best."

"That would be easier if you'd talk to Dr. Wilson more. He mentioned you were clamming up in sessions," she continued as Victor's eyebrows shot up.

Victor fidgeted. "It's. . .hard to talk about," he muttered.

"I know. . .and to be fair, I didn't ask him how he was going about questioning you. I know the man means well, but–" "It's been years now, Alice – time to put away childish things!" "I know first-hand he can come out with some very silly and hurtful comments." She frowned. "He hasn't offered you that latest drink of his either, has he?"

"No," Victor assured her, waving a hand. "And if he did, I'd refuse it – I remember all too well your stories of his previous efforts."

"Mmmm – I suppose I should count myself lucky that whatever he gave me in Rutledge wasn't poisonous, just foul-tasting," Alice said, rocking on her heels. "Wouldn't let him try it again, though. And this is the one psychiatrist I can be said to trust, mind. Which says a lot about the others in his profession."

"It does," Victor nodded. "But no, he hasn't been particularly rude or anything. I simply. . .I want to take care of it in my own head. I want to be strong and – and handle things like you do."

"Wandering the streets in a psychotic daze, accusing people of being rabbits and dormice and carpenters?"

"You know what I mean. My problems are my problems, and – I just – I need a bit of space. A bit of time to – figure things out on my own."

Oh, he could be infuriating sometimes. "Then why didn't you just say that, silly?" Alice replied, poking him in the chest. "Instead of worrying us all so? I'm sure Dr. Wilson would be willing to let you off for a little while if you said you thought it would help. And, as you so aptly pointed out, I'm well-versed in needing some time to work through a problem on my own. Not that I think you should ape my methods too closely. . . ."

"I won't go wandering off into the fog," Victor said, smiling slightly as he raised a hand. "Or lie catatonic in my bed, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'd prefer the latter to the former, but yes, try to avoid either." She reached up to brush his cheek. "And if it makes you feel better, while I like you as you are, I'm more than willing to wait for that 'best' you. I fully understand needing to get your head in order first." Hoping to get a proper grin out of him, she added, "Besides, if you think I'm wearing a fancy white dress in this weather, think again."

It did the trick. "I don't think this snow would be kind to it, no." He sighed, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "I didn't mean to upset you. I wasn't thinking about. . . ." He paused, fiddling with his fingers. "I d-didn't get overbearing at Christmas? Too – forward?"

Alice took his tie and gently tugged him down, so their lips met. "Not at all," she said, breaking the kiss after a second. "You were just fine. If anyone read anything more into it, that's their issue." She wrapped her arms around his middle. "Dr. Wilson's promised to have a talk with June, and to watch his own remarks. And your parents are far away, the children really don't care that much, and Nanny – well, she's not that bad, is she?"

Victor chuckled. "No, I guess not. And she's rather busy with getting the Mermaid back up and running, so she can't pester us too much about it anyway."

"True." Alice nuzzled his chin. "Don't let the world bully you into thinking you can't kiss your own girlfriend, Victor. You're the Swell Who Walks Whitechapel, and the Smasher of the Great Wall. You can handle a little societal disapproval."

Victor squeezed her back. "Thanks. I – I needed that."

"Only too glad to help." What do you think, Cheshire? she added in her head. Sufficient balancing?

"For now," Cheshire replied, winding his way through their legs. He gave her a stern stare. "But don't take your eyes off him just yet. He's still on the edge – and purrhaps not taking up enough space."

And then he vanished, before Alice could even consider asking him what on earth that meant. She sighed quietly. Bloody Wonderland and its riddles. . .well, at least he considered it acceptable enough for the moment. We'll see what happens once Victor's had a few days to get his thoughts together.

Right now, though – well, her front was warm enough, but her back was starting to get rather cold with all this standing around. And people were giving them dirty looks for blocking the sidewalk. Alice reluctantly stepped away, slipping her hand back into Victor's as they continued on. "The easiest way to get you out of your sessions for a bit would be that Oxford expedition we were discussing," she said, trying to move onto happier topics. "Dr. Wilson couldn't even object, as he was the one who suggested it."

"It would be nice to just get out of London for a while," Victor nodded. "I know I haven't even spent a year here, but I'm thoroughly sick of it."

"So am I. We'll have to pick a date. Perhaps nearer the end of this month?"

"I'm fine with that. . .oh, but Alice–" Victor stopped again, frowning. "What are we going to do about a chaperone?"

"What? Oh drat, we are going to need one, aren't we? Whitechapel may not care about us walking out together, but Oxford probably will. . . ." Alice tapped her foot. "Well, we could always ask June. She's probably old enough to qualify, and I'm sure she'd be happy to go."

"Rather leaves Dr. Wilson in the lurch though, doesn't it?" Victor pursed his lips. "It's a shame Victoria and Christopher are back in Sandford – I wouldn't mind either of them."

"Neither would I, but we can't ask them to come back on such short notice." Alice frowned. "And I don't know anyone else except Dr. Wilson himself – which defeats the point of you getting that bit of time – Pris Witless – who I haven't seen since her last outburst at Houndsditch's door and good riddance – and Nanny." She smirked. "Which, well, she'd be a very liberal chaperone–"

"Oi! Can Dort!"

Alice and Victor both froze. Oh no. . .damn it, I was hoping that we were going to be spared ever hearing that voice again, Alice thought, gritting her teeth. "Splatter," she hissed, grabbing Victor's hand and pulling him toward a nearby alley. "Come on, maybe if we go down a side street–"

"I'm talkin' to you, Can Dort!"

"It's too late!" Victor replied, tugging her back. "Besides, I don't want to be caught with him down a dark alley again. Out here, there's less chance of him getting that cleaver out." He took a deep breath, then turned and stood up straight, squaring his shoulders. Despite her nerves, Alice couldn't help feeling a touch of pride at how bold he looked. "You rarely just want to talk, Splatter. And Can Dort? Really? I haven't been called that since I was ten."

"Well, I certainly ain't calling you the Swell." Jack Splatter swaggered up to them, shoving his way through the crowd. One brave person shot him a look, only to scurry away when Splatter glared back at him. "Still walkin' around like you own the place, huh? On my streets?"

"I gladly cede ownership to you," Victor said, crossing his arms. "Alice and I are just trying to get a little fresh air. I don't want to start anything."

Splatter leaned in, yellow teeth gleaming in a shark's smile. "Maybe I do."

Victor's jaw clenched, then relaxed. "I don't want to finish anything either."

"Look around you, Splatter – there's at least a dozen people watching," Alice added. "You start a brawl, and you'll be back down in the cells before you can blink."

Splatter glanced right and left at the curious masses watching the scene. "Maybe, but your boyfriend here would be right there with me," he pointed out. "And with so many hurt feelings, wouldn't be a surprise to anyone if he ended up having a little 'accident.'"

"I think you've forgotten I'm friends with two of the officers at Bow Street," Victor reminded him.

"Hightopp and Tarrant? Can't watch your back forever." Splatter moved in a little closer, nose practically touching Victor's. "You've been livin' on borrowed time, Can Dort. Ever since the docks. I'll get my due." He jerked his head toward Alice. "Whole reason you're with her, ain't it? Getting your share while you still can?"

Victor's face darkened. "My love for Alice has nothing to do with your sordid business," he growled, dropping his arms.

"Sure it don't. We all want one thing outta our ladybirds, don't we?" He nudged Victor's side, play-friendly. "Like a girl who calls you Hatter when you're in Bedfordshire? She scream about mock turtles when you drive Nebuchadnezzar up Cock Alley?"

Victor's eye twitched. "I wouldn't know. I don't lower myself to the sort of things you do."

Splatter burst out laughing. "Sure you don't! This from Bumby's favorite mandrake!" He spread his arms wide, grinning at the crowd. "Ain't like we don't all know what you two were doin' up in his office! Gaying instrument right up the windward passage! Ain't just a corpse-lover, you lot – he's of Sodom too!"

Victor's face was going purple, and Alice swore she could hear his teeth grinding against each other. She snagged his arm. "He's trying to get a rise out of you, Victor," she warned him. "Make it so you throw the first punch and he can claim self-defense. Come on, let's go before he finds a fresh way to make an idiot of himself."

"Only idiot 'round here is you, Liddell! Could have had a decent salary under me – and a better fuck besides!" Splatter winked at her. "Your old Nan never had any complaints, anyway."

"I'm not Nanny," Alice said, her stomach turning. "And she threw you out the moment you started asking for more dosh, didn't she? You couldn't have been that good."

"Better than the old indorser you've taken up with!" Splatter declared, slapping Victor on the shoulder. "Bumby's little lapdog, always waiting for a treat from Master! You may be sitting pretty back home, Mr. Canned Fish, but here, it's different! Don't pretend you're any better than us, you filthy cocksucker!"

It all happened in a mere blink. One moment, Victor was standing at her side, a rigid statue of fury – the next, he was on top of Splatter, fingers locked around the pimp's throat. The crowd gasped and pushed in closer. "GO ON!" Victor roared, veins pulsing in his neck. "GO ON! CALL ME A COCKSUCKER AGAIN, SPLATTER! I DARE YOU!"

Splatter, however, was in no condition to call anyone anything. He clawed desperately at Victor's hands as his face began to turn a rather sallow-looking blue. "Oooo – I think he's got him down for good this time!" one of the watchers cried.

"You show 'im, Swell!" a lady cheered.

"'Bout time someone put him in his place!"

"Harder! Harder! Choke him good!"

Oh my God – he is, too, Alice realized as Jack's struggles weakened. If he doesn't let go soon – She raced to Victor's side and yanked hard on his arm. "Victor! Victor, stop!"

Victor ignored her, his gaze locked on the dimming light in Splatter's eyes as his grip tightened all the more. "Oh, let him finish the job," the Queen of Hearts whispered from some dark corner of Alice's brain. "Will anyone actually mourn the loss of another man who profits from women's misfortune?"

I doubt it, but I can't just let him bloody his hands like this! Not in front of a dozen witnesses, at least! "VICTOR! I think he's had enough!"

Victor's head jerked toward her, flames flickering in the depths of his brown eyes. Then they faltered and cooled as he blinked. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Alice? I. . . ." He blinked again, then looked down at his hands.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. He released Splatter, throwing himself backwards to get away from the pimp. Splatter sucked in a loud, wheezing breath, flopping onto his side and coughing. The crowd moaned in disappointment. "Aw, what'd ya have to go and stop him for?"

"We weren't gonna tell no bobby!"

"I owe the bastard money! Come on, Swell, get back to work!"

Victor didn't respond, too busy gaping at the massive purple bruises forming on Splatter's neck. Splatter coughed again, then managed to force himself up on an elbow. He looked back at Victor as he rubbed his neck. The anger in his gaze was expected – the terror mixed in with it, not so much. Then again, Victor nearly sent him tumbling toward whatever the Elephant's Elbow is called Downstairs, Alice thought, looking between the two men. Would be stranger if he wasn't even a little scared. . .does this mean he's finally going to leave us alone?

Victor seemed to be asking himself the same question as he stared back at Splatter – and, judging by his expression, he believed the answer to be a solid "no." Before the pimp could even choke out a word, he scrambled back to his feet, stumbling and weaving around the startled pedestrians before disappearing down the alley. "Victor!" Alice rounded on Splatter. "Have you finally gotten the hint, or do I have to show you what I learned about handling a knife in Wonderland?"

Splatter flapped a hand at her. "Toff. . .not. . .worth it," he gasped, voice croaky. "Just. . .just go."

That was good enough for her. "You'll regret it if I catch you at Houndsditch's gate with that bloody cleaver," she threatened, just for good measure, then shot after Victor, hoping he hadn't gotten too much of a head start. And here I was hoping a walk would settle our brains. . . .