"An intact muffin is a useful clue," he explains. "Whatever we're supposed to learn from it would have been lost through the victim's saliva otherwise. The Cheshire is saving the muffin for us."

"Got it." I manage to pull it out. "Should I open it?"

"If only people wouldn't waste time asking questions. Thirteen minutes."

I open the bag, using the metallic instrument to pull the muffin out. It smells sweet. Very sweet and fresh. My mouth runs for it. Such tempting baking.

"Don't tell me you feel the urge to take a bite." the Pillar guesses.

"Momentarily, I was." I blink, to shake myself awake from the muffin's magic. "How is that possible?"

"How is what possible?"

"How can my mouth run for a muffin in such a horrendous situation? I feel like I'm a bad person." It's true. I feel an uncontrollable urge to eat the muffin. NOW!

"You think you will grow taller if you eat it?" he teases.

"Now, you're silly."

"Shorter?" He munches softly. "Does it say 'eat me'?"

"Stop the nonsense."

"Maybe you need it to get shorter to escape the morgue."

"I don't need to eat it anymore, Pillar. I'm over it," I stress. His comments get on my nerves. "But really, how is that possible? How can a muffin do this to me, even temporarily?"

"That's how the food industry lulls kids—and adults—with their products all the time." He sips some fizzy drink again. Will he ever stop eating today? Where is his hookah? "I'm the best example at the moment. Whatever they put in this food I am gorging, I can't stop eating it. Tell me this food isn't addictive with all its crap, sugar, and saturated fat. Anyways, tell me about the muffin in the boy's mouth. Look closer."

"It's just a muffin."

"There must be something about it. Or the Cheshire wouldn't tuck it in."

I work with the muffin from all angles. A surge of electricity stings my spine. The muffin has the Cheshire's grin drawn on one side.

I tell the Pillar about it. "Is that some narcissistic thing, the Cheshire having his face on the muffin like the Cheshire Cheese before?"

"The Cheshire Cheese has a cat's grin until this day on its package, believe or not. So does the muffin you're holding, by the way."

"You know this brand of muffins?"

"They call it a Meow Muffin. Someone put it on market a week ago, after the Cheshire's killing. You were in the asylum, so you probably didn't know about it."

"Are you serious?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I always am." The Pillar finally puffs his hookah.

"Why would a manufacturer draw a killer's grin on food mostly appreciated by children?"

"To make money. Lots of money."

"Are you saying the Meow Muffin sells?"

"Irresistibly. It's an instant bestseller in Britain. Of course, the Americans are discussing Americanizing the product now."

"I can't grasp how you can sell a muffin inspired by a ruthless killer."

"The same way you can almost sell anything with Darth Vader, Michael Myers, and Dracula on it," the Pillar says. "Villains make great business. Kids love it! Bad is the new cool. Parents pay double the price to buy their kids a Meow Muffin these days—four pounds each, and never sold in a pack, by the way—so the kids buzz off and stop annoying them. So tell me, do all the kids have Meow Muffins in their mouths?"

"They do." I wasn't waiting for him to ask. It already crossed my mind, and I checked.

"Hmm..." The Pillar ceases all munching and drinking. "Other than the fact that you only have seven minutes left, I think we have our first real clue. The question is—"

I cut in, thinking aloud: "Why a muffin?"

Chapter 15

Iain West Forensic Suite, an extension to the Westminster Public Mortuary, London. Seven minutes to go...

"So he stuffs Meow Muffins in the children's throats." I am thinking aloud. "What kind of clue is that?"

"Honestly, as much I'm satisfied we found it, I have no clue about the clue." The Pillar sounds honest. I think I have spotted a pattern, which I can't explain. It's more of an intuition when he has no idea about what's going on. Particularly when it's about the Cheshire. I wonder how those two dealt with each back in Wonderland.

"So that's it?" I haven't gone through all of this to end up empty-handed.

"I'm afraid so, Alice." The Pillar sighs. "The Cheshire's clue makes no sense. It only points at his involvement in the crimes."

"Think harder, Pillar," I demand. "I'm supposed to do the hard stuff, like entering the morgue as a corpse. You're supposed to have explanations. You're the one with memories of the Cheshire and Wonderland. This muffin has to mean something."

"Did you ever read about muffins in Lewis Carroll's books? I haven't for sure," the Pillar says. "The first killing in the stadium had one purpose only: to attract our attention to the case. Now this muffin should lead somewhere, but it escapes me."

"Then we have to think together."

"Six minutes, Alice," the Pillar warns me. "If I were you, I'd be zip myself back. We could think about it together when you're back."

"I'm not leaving without a lead to catching the Cheshire," I insist. Sometimes, I feel I want to be the Real Alice. Sometimes I don't. This is one of the times that I want to be Alice so badly it scares me. I will bring the Cheshire to justice.

"Then you might never leave this morgue."

"Let's just think again. The Cheshire chops their heads off and then stuffs them in watermelons. Doesn't that ring a bell?"

"Don't be fooled," the Pillar says. "The watermelons mean nothing. It's just a scare factor to imply nonsensical chaos. The British police are supposed to look in the watermelons matter. The muffin is for us. The Cheshire is clever. Five minutes and counting."

"Can't be five minutes yet."

"Okay, I lied." He chews on the words. "Five and a half minutes. I want you out. There is no point of blowing your cover. The world isn't ready to know about the Wonderland Wars or who you are yet. Trust me."

"The Cheshire planted the muffin so we'd get the message." I am surprised I am so adamant about solving this, but I like it. I am surprised by my lack of consideration about what happens to me.

Because you have no life, Alice. I hate the nagging voice in my head. You're insane, probably a murderer, and no one cares about you, not even your mother and sisters. Why would it matter what happens to you? Convict or mad girl, it's all the same. That's why you're the perfect Alice for this insane job. A lonely Alice.

But I do have someone I care for, I confess in silence. Remembering him curves a weak smile on my face. It's a smile nonetheless.

"Four minutes," the Pillar counts. "Do you have any suggestions to where you want me to bury you if you die in there?"

"Anywhere but a cat cemetery." I take a few steps back and stare at the five kids. There must be more than a muffin for a clue. "Why those kids in particular?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"Last time, the Cheshire chose the girls for specific reasons: they were all descendants of women who had been photographed by Lewis Carroll. Why these kids this time?"