Alice Assassin

by Angela N. Hunt

Alice poured tea for the White Rabbit.

“It’s been a while,” she said, pouring her own cup and stirring in a little sugar.

“You don’t take cream anymore?” asked the Rabbit.

“Not after that last tea party,” she said. And shuddered. And thought twice about the tea in her cup.

They said nothing. Silence between them like a cloud.

“So,” Alice said.

“So,” said the White Rabbit.

“Like that, is it?”

“Very. They mean to destroy the court. The entire realm!”

Alice nodded and sighed. Such drama, she thought, and shook her head.

“Well, nothing for it,” she said. Got up, went to her bedroom and packed up a little carpet bag covered in red roses. Came back out.

“I’m ready,” Alice announced.

The White Rabbit got up, checked her watch, the same ornate gold thing that had been fished out of the same black velveteen pocket for over a hundred years, and she nodded. Neither Alice nor the Rabbit had ever been or lived in Victorian times, but the White Rabbit had her affectations and her wardrobe. Alice suspected the Rabbit found it all very comforting somehow.

“It’s a good thing too,” the Rabbit said. “We’re very late.”

“Aren’t we always,” Alice said.

The White Rabbit worked very hard to ignore the irony.

“I must repeat the last of the Queen’s requests,” the Rabbit insisted.

“Yeah, yeah,” Alice said, picking up the long case by the front door with the Remington logo on the side. “Keep the collateral damage to a minimum.”

She stepped out the front door, followed by the White Rabbit for once.

“I have a last request for you,” Alice said.

“A... last request?” the Rabbit asked.

“Keep that damn cat away or the last bullet’s for him.”

* * *

Alice jogged up the grassy knoll, her breathing even, and misting in the chill morning air. Felt the comforting weight on her back of metal, and wood, as comforting as the sound of her healthy and even pulse in her ear. Fingertips were chilly, since fingerless gloves did not cover those bits, but she needed the sensitivity, even if her arthritis complained of the cool. Not enough complaint to keep her from the task at hand though.

She reached the spot.

Unrolled black, fleece-lined drop cloth. Unstrapped her burden. Lay prone, and began to take measurement for wind. Dialed in the requisite numbers on the glass bedded scope attached to the Remington she cradled so easily, and loverly in her arms.

Evened her breath even further, taking in the scene below through the scope. Listened only to her heartbeat.

And waited.

* * *

Alice took in her handiwork, standing in the blood-spattered court.

“Satisfied?”

“What a mess!” the Red Queen complained. Card courtiers lay in piles, precise bullet holes through heads. Or to be more exact, only the ones who had planned to overthrow the Red Queen’s rule and throw the court into war with the White Court.

Alice rolled her eyes. Shrugged the strap of the Remington over one shoulder. “Don’t ever call me again.”

“What about the damn cat?”

Alice paused. “Him I’ll do for free. But I doubt you’ll ever be able to get him in a place where I’ll be able to find him in my sights.”

And with that, Alice turned on her heel and left Wonderland for good.