Down the Rabbit Hole

“Stay out of this blue stuff, Peabody.”

She caught a movement, saw through the blue curtain the tall, thin man in a purple top hat. Eyes wild, and yes, she supposed, mad with it.

She pivoted toward him as the world went as mad as his eyes.

Lights flashed, bright, multicolored lightning, while crazed laughter boomed. The floor seemed to tip right, then left, as she struggled to keep her balance. Images bloomed in the fog—a grinning cat, the caterpillar that puffed out more smoke, a fat white rabbit with a glinting pocket watch.

And the man in the top hat, who chortled gleefully while he poured tea into cups.

A pretty blue bottle sat on a table, a white light beaming on it. A large label dangled from it.

It said: Drink Me.

And it was tempting.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peabody step forward, start to reach out. And snapping back, Eve grabbed her arm, yanked.

“Don’t.”

“But it says!”

She saw now they’d stepped too close, that the fog twined around them. Feeling light-headed, she shoved Peabody clear, stumbled back.

She thought she heard voices echoing, and running feet pounding. More coming to the party.

She barely swallowed down the giggle that rose to her throat and aimed her stunner at what she hoped was the man in the hat and not some illusion.

“Turn this shit off, now, or I’ll put you down.”

“No need,” Roarke said, and the flashing lights fell with a resounding crash—or so it seemed to Eve. The mist crawled back on tiny blue feet to be swallowed up by a gaping mouth in the floor.

“Shit. Shit. I inhaled.”

“You’ll be all right.” Roarke hauled the man in the hat away from some sort of computer. The computer became a fat cat that yawned and stretched, then curled up to sleep.

“Mind taking him?” Roarke passed the Mad Hatter to Callendar.

“No prob. Hey, asshole.”

“You’re not the White Queen.”

“No. I’m an e-bitch goddess. Illegals coming in, McNabber. I’m bringing in the wagon for this group.”

“Yeah, good.” He was on the floor, cuddling Peabody, who patted his cheek and smiled dreamily.

“Hi, sweetie! Want to have lots and lots of sex?”

“Yeah, that’d be frosty. How about we get you some air first? What the hell’s in that stuff?” he asked Roarke.

“A wild trip, I’d say, but hardly fatal, as the three of these had their share. Best call in the MTs.”

“Aw, man, don’t call them.” Eve waved the idea away with her stunner; Roarke gently took it from her. “I’m fine, we’re all fine. Got the bad guys. Somebody oughta do something with the lady over there. She is out of it.”

“The MTs will see to her.” But his wife was Roarke’s priority.

“Okay, good. She prolly thinks she’s talking to a dead relative.”

Roarke put a supporting arm around her waist and led her out.

“I gotta secure the scene and investigate.”

“The Illegals detectives can handle that part now.” He thought about telling her to mind the stairs, then just solved it by picking her up.

“You’re so pretty. The mouse kicked me in the shin.” Giggling, she kicked her feet. “I fell down the rabbit hole.”

“So it would seem.”

“I didn’t like it. I like being here with you better.”

She was placid enough sitting on his lap while an MT examined her. And perfectly cooperative when he bundled her into the car. As he drove, he could see her start to come back by the way her body lost that pliancy and her eyes started to clear.

“And there you are. Take this.”

“What. Jesus.” She shoved at her hair, and the raging headache under her skull, knocking off the snowflake hat she knew she hadn’t put on for the trip to Bright’s.

“It’s for the headache the medicals promised you’d have when you started coming down. And drink this.” He passed her a bottle of water as he continued to drive downtown. “Just water. You’ll be dehydrated a bit.”

Her throat felt as though she’d swallowed sand. She took the stupid pill, guzzled the water. “Bright.”

“In custody. All three of them. You dealt with it, Lieutenant, impaired or not. That’s the cop in you.”

“What impaired me?”

“It’s quite a cocktail, according to the lab—as it’s the same, assuredly, as what Darlene Fitzwilliams inhaled. Fortunately, you and Peabody didn’t have more than a whiff or two.”

“Peabody.”

“She’s right here.”

Eve turned around at McNab’s voice, saw her partner curled up with her head on his lap, sleeping. “She’s okay?”

“They said she’d just sleep it off, and a single exposure like the two of you had wouldn’t have any lasting effects.” He stroked Peabody’s hair as he spoke. “But . . .”

“I contacted Louise—as you’d want her to know what happened,” Roarke continued. “She’s on her way into Central, as we are, and she’ll have a look at both of you.”

“I’m fine. I’m starving. I want . . .”

Roarke activated the AutoChef, which produced a large bag of soy chips.

“Oh yeah. Fucker drugged me,” she said with her mouth full of chips. “I hate that. He’s going to . . . Oh, Jesus Christ, there was a woman. In the chair.”