Текст книги "Hookah"

Автор книги: Cameron Jace

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HOOKAH

(Insanity Book 4)

by Cameron Jace

www.CameronJace.com

Copyright

First Original Edition, September 2015

Copyright © 2015 Cameron Jace

Formatted by Author's HQ

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Other Books by Cameron Jace

The Grimm Diaries Prequels Series

The Grimm Diaries Prequels 1-6 (Free)

The Grimm Diaries Prequels 7-10

The Grimm Diaries Prequels 11-14

The Grimm Diaries Prequels 15-18

The Grimm Diaries Main Series

Snow White Sorrow (book 1)

Cinderella Dressed in Ashes (book 2)

Blood, Milk & Chocolate Part 1 (book3)

I Am Alive Series

I Am Alive (book 1)

Pentimento Series

Pentimento (book 1)

Books in the Insanity Series

Insanity

Figment

Circus

Hookah

How to read this book:

Begin at the beginning

and go until you come to the end;

then stop.

In the memory of Lewis Carroll.

We love you for the madman you were.

Contents

Prologue Part 1

Prologue Part 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Epilogue Part 1

Epilogue Part 2

Epilogue Part 3

Thank You

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About the Author

Prologue Part One

Tom Quad, Oxford University

The man in the priest’s outfit landed in the middle of Oxford University in an automobile strapped up in helium balloons.

Students craned their necks up, recognizing the aero-engined car, a British masterpiece powered by aircraft engines that some thought could fly back in the 1920’s.

But never had they seen it hinged on balloons like today.

Against normal laws of physics, the car descended to the ground, and people stared at it as if it was an alien spaceship.

After landing, the man in the priest’s outfit stepped out of the automobile, flashing a broad smile at the world. His hair was swept by a swirling breeze, and his lanky stature was considerably attractive. He looked familiar to the children attending this celebration. His image had been carved in the back of their heads since they first started reading.

There was no mistaking it. The man looked like an uncanny modern day incarnation of Lewis Carroll.

Not just that. The man had arrived with what every child in the world had been craving for a while—and it wasn’t candy.

“Where are the hookahs?” a child said. “You said you’d bring the Hookah of Hearts!”

Amidst the flashing cameras and the nosey reporters, the man flapped his hands sideways like a living scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz. He was about to show them his latest trick.

Behind him, the sky drizzled, not rain but gift-wrapped packages.

“It’s raining hookahs, hallelujah,” The man said in a soft voice.

The hookahs inside the packages, like his car, dangled from hundreds of brightly colored helium balloons.

The children hoorayed and ran toward them, tiptoeing, reaching, and competing for one of their own.

More flashes. TV Cameras. People with microphones broadcasting the frabjous event.

The Hookah of Hearts had been in the market for more than a year. Manufactured by Dodo, a mysterious toy company obsessed with everything Alice in Wonderland—the caterpillar and his hookah in particular.

The children began collecting their presents, ripping apart the wrappers and pulling out their hookahs.

They began smoking them.

Everyone applauded.

Of course they weren’t puffing real smoke like adults. Those were mini hookahs. The children sucked on some unique scent – the flavor of Tiger Lilies – which was harmless, and puffed out bubbles instead of smoke.

Pink bubbles. Blue bubbles. Green bubbles.

Occasionally there was this one bubble that wrote words like who are you? in the air.

The crowd applauded again. Enthusiastic. Feeling fantastic. Some of them even felt... frantastic.

More and more flashes.

The broadcasting cameras rotated back toward the Lewis Carroll look-a-like priest.

He looked incredibly uncomfortable with the cameras, shielding his eyes with his hand. But the cameramen didn’t care. This was even better than paparazzi’s photos.

The reporters wondered how much such an extensive marketing campaign cost the Dodo Corporation.

“Come on. The car and flying hookahs must have cost a fortune. They can’t be real, or…?”

The man wore his smile thinner, and said nothing. He looked like he had a toothache, his jaw twitching a little.

Another reporter asked him if it was true that over six million hookahs had been sold worldwide.

Still irritated by the flashes, he continued saying nothing.

However, he responded to the children who had questions about certain functions in the hookahs.

“May I compliment your outfit and make up, sir.” A young female reporter stuck her microphone—and nose—out of the squeezing crowd. “I mean, you really look like the legendary Lewis Carroll. How is that even possible?”

This time, the priest looked amused. It was the question he’d been waiting for. “Y-y-young la-lady,” he stuttered like Lewis Carroll did in real life. “What makes you think I’m not him?”

Prologue Part Two

Some of TV crew rolled their eyes at the man’s reply. Others laughed at the unmatched confidence and acting.

But something about him was so original. The way he said the words.

An uncomfortable silence swept over the university. A silence that spread to every TV set in every home all over the world.

Who was this man, really?

“M-my name is Lewis Ca-car-roll.” The man bowed in front of the camera. “A-and I’ve come to bestow my b-b-beautiful madness u-u-upon this world.”

The silence stretched for a few more seconds.

It was like staring at a clown. No one was really sure what to expect. Should they have panicked and ran away, or just laughed and said, ‘Haha, of course you are!’

Too many so-called Wonderland Monsters had been to London lately: the creepy Cheshire, the Muffin Man, and the Mad Hatter with his rabbit bomb last week. It had become impossible to dismiss someone claiming he was one of them.

A few kids managed to break the silence, coughing bubbles and flowers from sucking on the hookahs.

Those bubbles weren’t pink. They weren’t blue. They weren’t green.

“Why are the children coughing... red bubbles?” the young reporter asked.

“Silly me. I forgot,” the priest said, stepping back into his flying car and pulling a lever that pumped air into more balloons. “Our Hookah of Hearts, which has already sold more than six million pieces all over the world, well, it’s not just a hookah.” The balloons began to take off again. “This hookah holds a deadly disease like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

Faces began to redden, confused by the man’s continued speech of madness.

Was he joking? Why would the Dodo Corporation send a loon like him to represent them?

“And I repeat”—his smile broadened, too wide to be benevolent—“a deadly virus like nothing you’ve seen before. It should start working in a few hours. Within three days”—the automobile hovered above the ground—“this world as you know it will end.”

What once was silence escalated to ascending grunts of panic. More children kept coughing. Parents worried, watching him escape into the sky. More people in the world couldn’t believe what they were watching on the news.

“Who are you?” a reporter screamed at the floating priest.

“I told you. My name is Lewis Carroll,” he said from high above, looking like someone sweet and colorful in the middle of a never-ending nightmare. “And I am a Wonderland Monster.”

Chapter 1

St Peter’s Basilica, the Vatican

I am waiting in line to enter the confession room so I can talk to Fabiola.

Tens of men and women entered the booth before me, most of them slouched by the weight of whatever truth, or sins, they were about to confess.

But knowing Fabiola—from the few times we’ve met—I’m aware of her positive influence on people.

Until it’s my turn, I fiddle with the key Lewis Carroll gave me three weeks ago when I first met him through the Tom Tower.

I pulled it out of my cell’s wall this morning, fearing it wasn’t safe in there anymore. Not after I stupidly lost another key to the Mad Hatter last week. I messed up. Who knows what this Hatter would do with it.

But this golden key in my hand—Lewis instructed me not to lose it under any circumstances. I plan not to disappoint him.

I’m looking forward to knowing why it’s so important, along with the date scribbled on the walls of my cell in the asylum: January the 14th.

I wonder what happened on that day. If I could only remember why I wrote it on the wall—and if it was me who did it.

An old lady pats me on my shoulder, informing me that it’s my turn.

I stand up, take a deep breath and enter the booth, waiting for Fabiola to slide open the window in between.

In the dark and silence of the booth, I’m reminded of Jack. Silly Jack who would never give up on me.

Silly Jack who may be only a figment of my imagination. A figment so nice I can’t risk finding out he’s not real.

“Are you here for a confession, Alice?” Fabiola asks behind the closed window. I wonder if the White Queen can see through walls.

“No,” I say. “How can I confess what I don’t remember?”

“Trust me.” I hear her fingernails on the wooden frame. “It’s a lot easier than trying to confess what you actually remember.”

I lower my gaze and fiddle with the key, assuming Fabiola’s heard humanity’s darkest secrets between these walls.

“The Pillar lent you his plane to come and see me?” she says.

“Yes. But he doesn’t know what I want to see you about.”

“And what do you want to see me about?”

“Did you hear about me entering a delirious version of Wonderland through the Garden of Cosmic Speculation last week?”

“I did,” Fabiola says. “I too had a vision that I met you inside and showed you the Impossible Six.”

“Lewis, you, the March Hare, Jack, me, and a little girl.”

“If you’re here to ask me about the little girl, I have no answer for you... at least not now.”

“I admit I am curious, but it’s not what I’m here for.”

“Why are you here then, Alice?” Fabiola sounds impatient. I get the feeling she is afraid that talking to me for longer periods will force her to confess too much to me.

The irony.

“I think what I saw was some kind of epiphany, a sign for me to do something,” I say. “I want to gather the Impossible Six and create an opposing force against Black Chess.”

Fabiola slides open the window.

Chapter 2

“You want to stand up to the Queen of Hearts and Black Chess?” Fabiola’s eyes show concern.

“I don’t want to wait for the monster of the week anymore,” I say. “I know about the Circus. How it all started. Black Chess has to be stopped.”

“You know nothing at all, believe me. But it’s admirable that, although you’re not sure if you’re the Real Alice, you want to play the hero’s part.”

“I don’t care if I’m her or not. All I know is that I can stop bad things from happening in this world.”

“Did you think about the price you will have to pay?”

“Other than living in a mad world where I can’t tell what’s real from what’s not? Yes, I know I want to do this.”

“It’s not that easy. Black Chess is darkness itself. Stare into it too long and it will stain you with a black veil of unforgettable pain.”

I shrug, tightening my grip on the key. “I believe the world can be a better place, only if the truth, in this case Black Chess, is exposed and defeated.”

“The truth,” Fabiola considers. “I’m not sure we all want to know about it. What do you have in mind?”

“Like I said, gather the good guys. Jack is with me in the asylum. I will find a way to get the March Hare out of the Hole. I’m not sure where Lewis stands in all of this. I mean, is he alive or dead? But I’m not worried about him, not as much as the little girl.”

“The time hasn’t come to talk about her yet,” Fabiola says. “So I’d postpone looking for her, same goes for Lewis. He has a war of his own, so he’ll show up when it’s his time.”

My eyes meet hers. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you in? If so, my impression is that you’d be the leader.”

“Normally I would be. But I am not wearing my white outfit to entice wars. I wear it to wipe off the old days of Wonderland, when I had blood all over my hands.”

I am oblivious to whatever she is talking about.

“My time and strength are devoted to the people who seek peace in this world,” she follows. “I may give advice, be resourceful, but I’m not going to be part of the Wonderland War when it begins. My real war is to avoid war.”

I am disappointed. I was hoping she’d help, instead of me having to deal with the Pillar’s devious ways—he isn’t one of the good guys. I am not sure whose side he is on.

“At least bless us with a name instead of the Impossible Six.” I let out an uncomfortable chuckle.

“It’s already been picked,” she says. “The Inklings.”

“Already been picked?”

“There was a prophecy in Wonderland: that Alice will return and put an end to Black Chess. Of course, we’re not going to argue whether you’re her or not again.”

“A prophecy.” I wonder if that’s why the Pillar found me. “Inklings?”

“It’s named after a meeting place. A bar known as the Bird, previously known as the Eagle and Child. It’s near Oxford University. It’s a special place. Great people who stood in the face of evil before you attended it regularly.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Of course.” She finally smiles. “J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis, who wrote the Lord of the Rings and the Chronicles of Narnia.”

I tilt my head.

Fabiola senses my confusion. “The Inklings was the name of an elite writers group who met at the bar. Lewis Carroll spent most of his time there, almost a century before Tolkien and C. S. Lewis came, when it wasn’t a bar yet. It’s said they found some of his diaries in there. It was why they attended regularly in the first place.”

“Pardon me, but the connection escapes me, Fabiola. Those writers knew about...?”

“The Wonderland Wars,” Fabiola says. “What did you think those epic fantasies, the Lord of the Rings and Narnia, were about?”

No words come out of my mouth. I’m starting to realize how Wonderland is connected to everything.

“They were meant to inspire generations and educate them about the idea of good and evil in this world.” Fabiola stops to make sure I am following. “They were discreetly using literature to prepare generations for the Wonderland Wars.”

Chapter 3

The Eagle and Bird Bar, Oxford

The chauffeur watched the Pillar knock his cane on the floor for the hundredth time.

His employer had been sitting alone in this old bar for some time, staring at a golden key in his hand. Rarely had the chauffeur seen the Pillar so gloomy, not the flamboyant and out-of-this-world man he usually was.

The Pillar had just bought this old bar. For over half a million pounds.

The chauffeur wondered if he’d spent that money to tap a cane and stare at a key. Why this bar? There were dozens of old historical bars in Oxford, many of them truly profitable.

The chauffeur wondered if the Pillar had heard of the new Wonderland Monster calling himself Lewis Carroll yet.

Would he be just sitting here if he had?

The Pillar didn’t look like he wanted to talk to anyone.

“So should I employ someone to run this place?” the chauffeur hissed.

“No need,” the Pillar answered, eyes still on the key. “Alice will run the place herself soon. I’m anxious to see if she’d serve good tea like the Hatter back in Wonderland.”

“Alice?”

“Well, let’s say she’s about to finally pick up her team and oppose Black Chess.” The Pillar tucked the key next to his watch inside his breast pocket. He tapped his pocket gently with his white-gloved hand. “The first real step into the War.”

“So it’s really happening?”

“Wars are inevitable, my lousy driver.” The Pillar stood up and elegantly flipped his cane. “Victories aren’t.”

“Wars like these?” The chauffeur turned on the TV. The six o’clock news was covering the incident with the creepy Lewis Carroll look-a-like claiming he’d spread an incurable plague to the world.

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” the Pillar said. “I hope you didn’t smoke any of those toy hookahs yourself.”

“Not at all, Professor. I’m not into puffing bubbles,” the chauffeur prided himself. “But if I may ask: is the plague real?”

“Looks too real, in fact.”

The chauffeur wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Get my plane ready,” the Pillar said, slowly easing into a better mood.

“That plane is in the Vatican. You just let Alice use it this morning.”

“Not that plane.” The Pillar knocked his cane against the floor.

The chauffeur swallowed hard. “You mean the War Plane?”

The Pillar nodded, momentarily closing his eyes. “In fact, I want all my planes ready and handy. The choppers, too. Don’t forget the guns.”

They hadn’t used the planes since the Pillar went on a rampage, killing twelve people some time ago. “Where are we going, Professor?”

“We’re going to pay a visit to darkness itself,” the Pillar said, diverting his focus on the broadcasting news. “Welcome home Lewis Carroll. It’s been some time.”

Chapter 4

The Eagle and Bird Bar, Oxford

An hour after the Pillar left

I received the Pillar’s call a few hours ago while I was still in the Vatican. He’d given me the address to the Inklings bar with the location of its key in a Tiger Lily pot beside the door.

I picked up the key and entered the place. On the table, there was a contract in my name. The Pillar bought me the headquarters of my Inklings gathering place.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to look at the historical signatures of the likes of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis on the walls. I was stopped, and shocked, by the news about the Lewis Carroll man on TV

Now I am standing, staring at the TV in awkward awe.

Is this for real?

The man in the news looks just like the Lewis Carroll I saw through the Tom Tower and Einstein’s Blackboard.

Lewis Carroll is a Wonderland Monster?

“This can’t be,” I say to emptiness.

“I thought so, too.” The Pillar’s chauffeur appears out of nowhere. “But whoever he is, you need to look at this.”

He points at the BBC’s world coverage of what looks like people coughing red bubbles all over the world.

The BBC says that doctors haven’t found a medical explanation for it. Nothing in the hookahs shows a hostile infection of any sort. Still, it’s spreading fast, and they’re worried it’ll lead to a disaster in a few hours.

“The Pillar assured me this is the beginning of an unimaginable plague,” the chauffeur says.

“People coughing red bubbles. What kind of plague is that?”

“The Pillar said you’d say that, so he recorded this little video for you.” He shows me a YouTube video on his phone.

“Think about it, Alice. Have you ever seen anyone cough bubbles, let alone red? Do as my chauffeur tells you.” The Pillar drags from his hookah. “Ah, and don’t forget to sign the contract. Congrats, you own a bar now. At least you have a job, in case you lose your career as a magnificent lunatic patient in the asylum.”

The video ends.

I look at the contract, not sure if I should accept a half a million pound gift. I tell myself Fabiola would accept it; the Inklings is part of the prophecy.

I sign both the Pillar’s and my copy, not reading through.

As I hand it back to the chauffeur, I glimpse a condition in the contract written at the bottom of the page:

The two parties who share the Inklings Bar are bound by the agreement in this contract for an unknown time. The contract is automatically cancelled once Alice saves the world from every last Wonderland Monster.

“Would you kindly seal the envelope?” the chauffeur suggests. “The Pillar demanded you seal his copy yourself so I don’t peek into it.”

“Trust issues?” I roll my eyes, both at the request and the lines in the contract, then lick the envelope to seal it.

But it’s a short roll of eyes, and a shorter lick, only half way through. I find myself swirling down to the floor like a dying flower.

The envelope’s tip contains some kind of sedative. The Pillar’s drugged me again.