I apologize for the unexpected delay in this update. I've been having some issues with my beloved, but somewhat old, laptop and a nasty little virus. I can't access any of my original files at the moment, so I sort of lost the original version of this chapter and bits of the one following it. So, of course, I had to do a rewrite because who knows when, if ever, I'll get to my old files. I extend my gratitude to all my readers and reviewers! Your support means a lot!

Chapter XVI: The Wonders of Fate

The plush velvet coat was still hanging where Alice had left it, a grim testimony to her impulsive idiocy. The dark purple material fluttered against the tree in the gentle cool breeze as the young Slayer came to retrieve it. She scrunched the fabric in her hands and brought it up to her face to breathe in the remnants of Hatter's scent. It was still there, caught up in the fabric amidst the scents of dirt and smoke. The essence of tea spices, cinnamon, leather, and a faint masculine muskiness teased through her olfactory senses. The scent triggered her hippocampus into reeling headfirst into those last few moments she had with Hatter before he left to go back to the city.

I should have gone with him, she thought to herself as she pulled the coat on. But she knew it was better that he had gone alone. She had seen for herself how well Hatter could take care of himself. He was a tough, capable, and resourceful young man and he probably knew the city like the back of his hand. She would have only slowed him down, especially taking into consideration her fear of heights. A shudder ran through her at the thought of having to contend with the daunting heights of the city and its narrow walkways and razor thin ledges. Alice had had more than she could possibly handle with endless, gaping abysses.

But, still, she feared for her friend. Mad March would be on the prowl. She could hope that their crash landing into the lake might throw the Suits and their queen off the search, but, somehow, she knew that would not happen. The ruler had proven herself to be far from stupid, much to Alice's chagrin. At least the queen's pet assassin would be sent looking for her, and not Hatter. So it was probable that Mad March and his posse would be taking their search to the woods. They would likely not be expecting her to return to the city.

Her stomach growled insistently, reminding her that she had not eaten since the previous night. With a doleful sigh, the girl turned and walked back over to fire pit in the center of the encampment.

Charlie had doffed his armor once more and sat humming to himself while he threw twigs and sticks into the pit. "Are you hungry, My Lady? I was thinking about cooking the rest of that borogove meat," he offered.

In spite of her physical hunger, Alice's appetite had flown the coop for the moment. Even the offer of delicious, succulent borogove could not entice it to return. "Um, maybe a little later, Charlie," she declined wearily.

Her gaze meandered past him to the barn where she was to have spent the previous night. The tattered quilt was still rumpled and trailing to the ground. Just like the coat, it was exactly as she had left it, only serving to remind her of her folly. Guilt and sorrow stabbed through her. Had she only stayed here, Hatter would not have to be literally risking his neck to try to get a message to this Caterpillar fellow. But, if she had not gone to the casino, she would never have learned the startling truth about her father, or Jack, for that matter.

"Ugh," Alice groaned, dropping her face into her palms.

The knight peered at her, his pale blue eyes darkened with concern. "Are you well, Lady Alice?" he inquired.

Alice lifted her head up and ran her hands through her tangled dark locks. "Oh, I just feel like my brain is going to explode," she admitted with a small, humorless chuckle.

Charlie's eyes grew wide and his face drained of all color. "Truly?" he gasped.

"Oh, no, not literally," Alice quickly amended, holding her hands up. "No, it's...ah...just a saying in my world." She picked up one of the sticks and twirled it around in her hand, her mind immediately running through all the ways such a small object could be turned into a weapon.

"Ah, I see," Charlie said uncertainly. He eyed her warily, seeming to expect a spray of blood, bone, and brain matter within a few seconds.

"It's just hard for me to wrap my head around it all," the girl clarified as she speared the stick into the soft ground. "He told me he was a day trader, you know. It's one of those fancy, business suit type jobs that brings in a lot of money. He told me lots of things." Her voice cracked with bitterness. "And I believed it all. That's what really pisses me off." She had replayed all those myriad instances with Jack in the past three months of their relationship. He had played her like a professional musician plays his instrument and she had eaten up every single word.

"And then..." She sighed heavily before saying, "my father..." Her voice cracked again, only this time it was an attempt to beat back the sob which tried to escape. As much as she liked Charlie, she did not feel comfortable surrendering control of herself in front of him. She swallowed and rubbed at her eyes.

"You were ten when your father disappeared, yes?" Charlie asked softly. His eyes glittered with tender sympathy.

Alice nodded.

"Must have been quite a shock," the old knight remarked, snapping a stick in half and tossing it into the pile in the fire pit.

Swallowing again, the girl shrugged almost nonchalantly. "Well, you know how kids are. They end up blaming themselves for that sort of thing." Alice had blamed herself for a long time. She had thought perhaps her occasional lapses in behavior or her mediocre performance in school had chased her beloved father away. It had taken her mother quite a while to convince her otherwise.

Charlie grew still, his hand hovering over the next stick he had been about to add to the pile of kindling. Alice frowned with concern. "Charlie?" she probed.

The knight looked up, but his blue eyes were trained on something far beyond Alice's ken. "I was ten once," he stated in a tone suggesting he was fully aware such a notion was hard to envision. To be fair, Alice did have trouble picturing the indomitable old knight as a young child. "I was ten when the armies came."

That statement caused the girl's mouth to drop open in a silent "O". She figured Charlie had been around when the Red King and his army had fallen to the Queen of Hearts, but she had not considered the possibility that he had been so young when it had happened. That must have been a horrible ordeal. She had no idea what to say in response. All words sounded so vapid and...inadequate.

No response was needed, it seemed, for Charlie continued to speak in his soft, level tone. "I was one of three squires to the real White Knight." She raised an eyebrow at Charlie's use of the word real, but did not comment. It was probably hard enough for him to speak of such a tragedy.

Charlie's gaze met her own then, and his eyes were alight with fierce pride. "My job was to carry the great lance," he recalled fondly, a small smile forming on his face. The pride guttered out, though, like the light of a fire whisked out by the wind. Sorrow and shame crept into the old knight's voice as he said, "But when it mattered...when I was needed most...I lost my nerve and ran."

Charlie resumed breaking up sticks and throwing it onto the pile of kindling. "I hid for three days," he told her as he worked. "When I came out...everyone was dead. Even my magnificent Red King there on his throne." He nodded towards the grisly monument as if Alice had forgotten it was there and then his gaze turned to the ground. "At first I wished I'd died with them." He paused for a moment, lost in his reverie. "But then," he continued after a beat, "a deeper feeling took over."

Again, Alice was stricken mute. Such a tale had never been told and, suddenly, here it was, offered up plainly and unadorned. She felt a solemn sense of honor at being the first, and, perhaps, the only one, to hear Charlie's tragic story.

"I wanted a second chance," the knight said. "I wanted to avenge them. So, I stole My Lord's armor...his name...his courage. And I waited for the right time." He drew his eyes back up to her, his lips curling up into a smile. His luminous light blue eyes began to gleam with the faintest shimmer of hope. "When you showed up, I knew the right time had finally come."

Oh crap. Alice was not certain she could handle the concept of being Charlie's ticket to redemption. As far as she was concerned, he had no need of redemption. How could anyone expect a ten-year-old boy to face an invading army? One thing was certain, however. Charlie's childhood trauma trumped hers by far. She may have lost a father, but at least she had still had her mother, her friends, and her neighborhood. By all accounts, the girl should not be complaining.

"Charlie," Alice said, shaking her head in wonderment. "You were ten. There is no shame in what you did. In that situation, I would have run, too." She reached out to lightly squeeze the knight's knobby left knee.

The old man responded with a stubborn shake of his head. "Bah! I dishonored not only myself with such a display of cowardice, I also dishonored My Lord."

Though a part of her knew she was against a deeply ingrained sense of honor far different than her own, Alice still felt compelled to change his opinion of himself. She could not be what he wanted her to be. She could not be his chance for vengeance and redemption. All the girl could foresee in such a thing was more failure and disappointment and she could not handle letting this man down.

"But if you hadn't run, you wouldn't have survived," Alice countered. "You lived to carry on their memory and you...endured on your own for so long. That takes a completely different kind of courage, Charlie. Do you have any idea how many people would have succumbed to despair? Would have just given up?"

The knight stared at her, a puzzling look on his face. She could see he was mulling over her words even if he did not completely believe them.

"You know, where I'm from, and...well, the stuff I do, we have a number one rule to follow above all the others," Alice told him, standing up and patting the dirt off of her dress.

"What's that?" Charlie asked.

"Don't die," she replied. "I don't know if you heard me and Hatter talking last night, but, I'm not exactly a normal girl where I come from." She picked up the stick she had speared into the ground and threw it onto the pile of firewood.

"Ah, yes, I may have...ehm...overheard," Charlie admitted apologetically.

"It's okay," Alice assured him. "Saves me from telling the same story twice, really. Anyway, my point is, heroics and bravery are all nice and important. But survival is also important. You're only human, Charlie." She was not quite certain on that account. Her senses did identifiy him as a human, but the man was well over a century old. People from her world did not live that long, but that did not necessarily rule out him being a part of the human species. "There is a time for leaping into battle and going out in a blaze of glory, trust me. But there's also a time to know when you're on the losing end of a fight. A dead Slayer doesn't help anyone and neither does a dead White Knight. If you survive, you're alive to fight another day."

The knight's eyes drifted over to the suit of armor standing upright not more than ten feet away from them. A sigh escaped his lips, and with it came a release of a great burden. When Charlie looked back at her, she saw that his ancient gaze seemed lighter. A great weight had eased off his shoulders. With a soft smile and a raised eyebrow, Charlie cocked his head in agreement. His voice was roughened with emotion as he murmured, "Perhaps you are right...Justalice."

It felt good to hold a weapon in her hands. Alice reveled in the feel of the cool, smooth metal sliding against her sensitive fingertips as she caressed the blade. It was very simple, the only adornment being the white paint glossing over the hilt and pommel. Its simplicity could not conceal the expert craftsmanship, however. It was well-balanced and light, not that the weight of the blade mattered so much for one as strong as she. The edges and tip were sharp, even after so many years of lying idle in an armory. Charlie had salvaged all his brethren's weapons in what the girl could only assume was an enormous and grievous task. Though she had to admit she was glad to find the White Knights did not appear to submit to that ridiculous belief that warriors needed to be buried with their weapons.

She had wandered up this steep hill, feeling restlessness propel her towards solitude even though exhaustion was wound through every bone and sinew. Charlie had retired for a nap in his hammock, and Alice had been tempted to follow suit and crawl underneath the shabby quilt in that ramshackle barn, but just as her appetite had been chased away by all the thoughts mucking about in her head, so had her ability to sleep. She could not sleep while Hatter was still out there in very real danger. She tilted her head up towards the sky, her brow knitting together into a worried frown when she saw how little daylight there was still left. Judging by the sun's dark golden cast and position, there could not be more than an hour, perhaps two, before it sank beneath the horizon altogether.

And then where would she be? Hatter had told her she could do things her way if he had not returned by nightfall. Her way, she gathered, was to return to the casino on her own and tackle the daunting task of getting her father out of there. She found her heart torn once again between two very strong and opposing forces. One force was tugging her towards her father, holding up the memories of her frozen childhood like a grim, nostalgic beacon. The other was anchoring her here in these woods, her stomach and heart fluttering in tandem at the way Hatter's hand had brushed her wet hair back from her face and how his deep, chocolate eyes had bore into her so intensely. She had to acknowledge that there was something between them, a spark of some sort that she had never felt with anyone else. It scared her as much as it tantalized her.

With a frustrated cry, the young Slayer struck out with the sword, slicing at empty air. The strike was followed by a more controlled swipe and, before long, the girl pitched herself into a one-sided battle. She danced with the blade while striking, jabbing, parrying. She ran through all the forms and techniques, their execution coming as naturally to her as breathing. Her heart rate sped up and her mind eased as she gave herself over to her primal side just for a little while. It was a glorious catharsis.

Alice pivoted, slashing upwards with the blade, and felt a jolt run through her when she saw the silver metal strike through a floating mass of purple with bright blue stripes. The entity peeled apart like paper mist, chuckling in amusement at having caught the young warrior so completely unawares. The nebulous vapor formed itself into the familiar shape of the Cheshire, sporting its wide, toothy grin. Its huge bushy tail rocked from side to side like a pendulum as it floated towards Alice.

"Hello, Alice," the Cheshire greeted in its sexless, silken voice.

A stream of invectives flew through the girl's mind at the appearance of this powerful, but most annoying, of deities. She bit down on her tongue even though she knew the thing was fully capable of diving into her thoughts like they were an open pool. She had not sensed its presence at all, and it disconcerted her beyond belief. There was also the fact that the blade had slid through the thing like butter and it had just pulled itself back together again. That had been an unnerving sight to behold.

"How long have you been there?" Alice demanded.

The cat-god-thing shrugged, or, rather, gave the closest approximation of a shrug its current anatomy would allow. "Not as long as when you were bathing," it snickered.

Her cheeks flamed with heat and her grip instinctively tightened on the hilt of the sword. It took a few moments before she realized the creature was baiting her, and was quite enjoying it. She relaxed her stance and rolled her eyes. "You just crack me up," she muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, don't be insulted. You are attractive, I suppose, for a human, but beings such as my illustrious self do not care for mortal desires of the flesh," it informed her in a decidedly prim tone. It held up its paw as if to inspect its claws, a languid expression on its feline face. "So, what did you think of the Queen of Hearts?"

Alice scowled at the mention of the woman. "Well, simply put, I think she's a psychotic bitch, but she's also a psychotic bitch with a brain."

"Ah, yes," the Cheshire agreed, nodding its furry, round head. "Really clever move giving such strength to the assassin Mad March."

The Slayer did not reply to the comment, but instead brought up another subject. "You knew, didn't you? You knew everything...Jack...my father?"

The being sighed in a way which sounded almost remorseful. Alice did not think for a second the creature felt guilty for withholding information. "I told you things in Wonderland were seldom as they seemed," it reminded her.

"Oh, yes, and I'm suddenly supposed to make the intuitive leap that Jack is actually the queen's son and my father has actually been in Wonderland for the past eleven years of my life from that statement," Alice griped.

The creature's eyes flashed. "I know you may find it hard to believe, but even beings such as myself have rules to follow. Your Powers That Be cannot simply tell you everything back in your world. We are bound to keep our interference to a minimum for the sake of balance."

Alice cocked an eyebrow. "But yet you led me straight to Mad March and his posse?" she pointed out.

The Cheshire grinned. "Oh, well, I may have cheated a little," it admitted.

She was quiet for a while, contemplating how to word her questions since it did not seem likely she could glean actual information from this creature. "Earlier today you told me I was not here by coincidence," Alice recalled, speaking slowly. "And you told me my work was far from finished."

Amazingly, the Cheshire did not engage in its usual round of absurd jokes and comments. Its bright blue eyes suddenly grew very serious. "Yes, I did."

She reached into her pocket then and pulled out her father's watch. Without looking up at the Cheshire, she simply stated, "I need to know the truth. Is my father here? Please, tell me. Am I here to rescue him?"

There was no reply for an agonizingly long time and Alice began to fear she had reached the extent of her exchange with the Cheshire. "Child, you know why you are here. You have been struggling against this knowledge for a long time, but, deep down, you know why, in the twisted schemes of fate, you were brought here," it intoned gravely.

With a flash, Alice was catapulted back to her memories of the day before when Hatter brought her to the Great Library. She knew this manipulation of the mind was the Cheshire's doing, and she instinctively rebelled against it. But there was no thwarting the will of a god. The young Slayer had no choice but to relive these moments. Once more she was staring down from the catwalk above the ground floor of the magnificent library, watching the multitude of innocent refugees suffering from illness and hunger. The desolate sight had stirred up a mixture of anger, sorrow, and pity. The scene changed then, the solemn grandeur of the Great Library transforming into the garish brightness of the casino game room. In it she saw the blank faces of those hundreds of people from her world...her people. Only, this time, she saw something different. There was a strange glow emanating from some of the people, and it traveled from their faces down through their bodies. She followed the glow's path, noting how it seemed to just absorb into the square tiles.

This was something she had missed when she had been herded through the game room those past two times. This was how they harvested the emotions from her people. Suddenly the absence of footwear on all of the oysters made a lot more sense. They were being drained. Like a vampire would drain his victim of all the blood, this cruel room sucked the emotions right out its victims until there was nothing left but empty husks to throw away. She had no idea how it was done or what sort of technology could do such things, but that did not matter. What mattered was that her people, whom she had sworn to protect, were being systematically erased and then destroyed.

But self-doubt had her in its iron-grip. "No," she cried weakly, shaking her head. "I can't do this. It's not possible."

"What makes you think that? You are a Vampire Slayer!" the Cheshire declared.

Alice threw her hands into the air. "But how am I to save them all? That would mean I would pretty much have to overthrow the Queen of Hearts!" Now that was a fanciful idea.

The Cheshire did not say anything. Its iridescent blue-green gaze merely continued to pierce through her. She felt ageless power and knowledge wash over her through those gleaming cat's eyes.

Alice shook her head, a mixture of incredulity and dread on her features. "That's it, isn't it? You want me to overthrow an established regime which has been in power for almost two-hundred years and managed to destroy all of this beautiful kingdom and its people," she said while motioning towards the ruins of the Kingdom of the Knights dotting the landscape before her. "Even when the crazy bitch has an even crazier and sadistic pet rabbit-man who, oh yeah, just happens to possess the ability to hand my ass to me." She massaged the bridge of her nose and released a hissing breath.

"This is not the first time a Slayer has ever squared off against an opponent who boasted far more strength than her. Did not your own commander fight and defeat a hellgod?" the Cheshire pointed out.

The girl let out an ironic snort. "Firstly, I'm not Buffy Summers. Secondly, you do know how that fight ended, right? She died." She did not bother mentioning that Buffy also had been resurrected some three months afterward by her friends. The Cheshire, no doubt, was aware of that.

"You do not fear death, Alice Hamilton," the Cheshire declared sternly.

"What?" Alice replied, her brow furrowing. "Says who? Of course I fear death."

The being shook its head and disappeared in a wisp of smoke only to materialize right upon Alice's slender shoulders. Its tail loped around her neck like a great, furry necklace and its forepaws extended down her upper arms. In spite of all that, the thing felt weightless, almost as if it were not there at all.

"Not as much as you fear failure," it whispered. "But to admit defeat before the battle has even begun, to not even try, is that not what you mortals also call failure? Do not make me recite a list of platitudes, young lady, I beg you."

Alice closed her eyes. As much as she loathed admitting it, the annoying cat-god-thing had struck a chord within her. She was afraid of failure. She was scared beyond belief of letting down those who had come to depend on her. This idea of overthrowing the Queen of Hearts just seemed so vast, so beyond her scope, that her all-too-logical mind could not see how it could be accomplished. She had convinced herself narrowing her task down to rescuing just one man was feasible. But saving all of those people in one fell swoop did not sound possible. It sounded like that was not all she was expected to do either. She was apparently expected to topple the government, too. How could she do all of that by herself?

"Silly Slayer," the Cheshire admonished in a surprisingly affectionate tone, whisking off her shoulders to circle around her head. "What made you think you were being forced to do this alone?"

It evaporated in a wisp of purple smoke. Almost immediately after, someone began frantically calling out Alice's name. All thoughts of deposing monarchies flew from the girl's mind and a relieved smile broke out on her face when she realized who was calling for her.

Hatter had come back safe.

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