Page 1 of Queen of Madness

“‘And who are these?’ the Queen of Hearts asked. When she looked at the gardeners and her unfinished roses, her face became red and angry. ‘Off with their heads!’” my mother whisper-shouts her best impression of the queen, pointing at the angry puff of a woman on the pages.

The character’s mouth is nearly the size of her head, open big and wide, and I vaguely wonder if a bird could fly right in and stoop on her bottom lip.

My mother jabs a playful finger into my side and a surprised squeal mixed with a horrible squawk erupts from my mouth. The pterodactyl sound sends both of us into a fit of laughter, our bodies shaking my white iron bed frame.

As our giggles finally wane, I sigh and look at the toughie woman. “Why is she so angry, Mama? Why not just ask them to fix their mistake.”

Her beautiful wide smile fades and I instantly regret making it disappear, letting darkness take over her light. My mama’s brows pinch together, and I fight the urge to rub away the deep line running through the middle.

I didn’t mean to upset her. But before I can tell her I’m sorry, she shakes her head.

“Sometimes mistakes cannot be rectified, my sweet girl.” Her thick patois accent is stronger now as she leaves her bedtime story voice behind. “Sometimes people must pay for them with their lives. That’s why we must be diligent in even the smallest of our choices. We must take into account all the ways in which our decisions affect other people and weigh them with care.”

I nod, my small mind soaking in her every word. But as I ponder over her explanation, I find myself with more questions as to why the queen was so cruel. “But they only planted the wrong flower.”

My mother thinks this over, her soft brown skin glowing under the dim light of my bedside table. “Perhaps she overreacted. But what if those bushes were planted from mere seeds? What if she had to wait years and pay money for them to be tended to and fertilized. Then, finally, as spring comes and the flowers she’s waited on for years begin to blossom, they aren’t what she wanted. You must agree, she is due some type of penance.”

“But to pay with their heads?”

“To each their own. I would assume the gardeners knew the type of woman they chose to work for. They should have known what to expect should they make such a grave mistake.”

“Like the people that work for Daddy?”

My mother nods, a small grin curving her lips. “Yes, sweet girl.”

I chew into my own little lip, thinking over everything as best I can. For a seven—almost eight—year old, I know more than I have room for. I already speak four languages, one of which is American Sign Language. I’m well versed in what death is and take weekly classes on how to avoid it. At least, that’s what it feels like. Mom calls it Krav Maga and brags about my orange belt to her friends during their tea parties. But even with all those things, I can’t understand the anger of grown-ups. There are too many things to be happy about.

Fresh chocolate chip cookies.

Coloring with a fresh box of crayons.

Eating cereal with Daddy while watchingScooby-Doo.

Or having dance parties with Mama in the middle of the day.

There are so many to choose from to bring the smiles out, yet adults nearly always wear angry scowls and raise their voices when they don’t get what they want. Perhaps they all just need a nap. That’s what Mama makes me do when I’m upset. It always works.

Lost in thought, I only barely hear the snap of the book in time to see my mother jump, wriggling her fingers into my side with full force. My laughter erupts in the air, the sound bouncing around the walls and wrapping us in a cocoon of happiness, the Queen of Hearts long forgotten.

“Jada.” My father’s voice cuts through our giggles, soothing them to placid smiles. “Don’t keep her up so late tonight; her tutor says she nearly fell asleep during math.”

“It’s not Mother’s fault he’s boring.” I let my eyebrows scrunch up as he moves from my door and into my room.

He’s still dressed in a suit, the dark fabric sticking close to his body as if made just for him. I once heard him say it means it’s tailored, but whatever that means, he looks like the prince out of my fairy tales. He even has the dark inky hair and near-black eyes to match.

Oh, maybe I meant the villain.

But when he smiles, the one he saves for only me and Mama, his face goes through a magical transformation. Those same eyes twinkle as the corners crease, and his body shakes like Santa Claus.

“Math is not boring, baby love. It’s fundamental. You must learn it if you plan to take over my money one day.”

My heart swells with pride at the unspoken promise. I’d lost a tutor this past winter when she told me I shouldn’t work for my father. She’d said he was a bad man and I was too smart to fall into his evil grasp. She said I would end up dead.

I never saw her again.

But I can’t say I ever wanted to after hearing her say such a mean thing. I love my father no matter what the rest of the world thinks of him. I love himdespiteit. I see what they don’t, and really, I think he’s the best there is, even if he does kill a few people. They’re bad people anyway.

In fact, I want to be just like him.

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