Reviews for Dakota Chase

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Morning dawned in Wonderland much the same as it did everywhere else—during an obscenely early hour of the day and heralded by the rising of a giant ball of flaming gas in the east.

Hatter wasn’t overly fond of mornings. He didn’t actively hate them, per se, not like he hated anchovy-and-pickled dodo-egg omelets, for example, but he didn’t like them nearly as much as he did cherry tartlets. He positively loved a good cherry tartlet. Just the thought of one, hot and bubbly, the crust golden brown, fresh from the oven, made his stomach growl with hunger. He wondered briefly if the baker might have any today, but then remembered it was Tuesday, the day the baker stubbornly and incomprehensibly insisted on making pumpkin pies instead of tartlets, cherry, or otherwise. Feeling disheartened and not just a wee bit cranky, Hatter was tempted to pull the covers up to his chin and drift off to sleep again, except he couldn’t because it was morning, and that inconsiderate, irritatingly bright, giant ball of flaming gas was shining directly through his window.

Which was exactly the trouble with mornings, Hatter mused. They came far too early in the day. If they arrived at a decent hour, perhaps afternoon, or better still, after four o’clock tea time, he might like mornings much better, but since they insisted on inevitably arriving while decent folk were still sleeping, stealing into the world like a thief, and rudely waking people from their perfectly fine cherry-tartlet dreams, he found it practically impossible to like them at all. Not for the first time, he thought they oughtn’t to be allowed.

Henry, on the other hand, and rather foolishly in Hatter’s opinion, didn’t share Hatter’s views on the subject of mornings. Henry liked mornings, a fact that Hatter, should he live to be eleventy-thousand years old, would never understand. It was a character flaw on Henry’s part, Hatter reasoned. Perhaps a brain disorder of some kind.

Without fail, every morning, with as much precision as one of Rabbit’s clocks, Henry bounced out of bed, altogether far too bright and chipper than was decent.

“Good morning, Hatter!” Henry poked his head into Hatter’s room and grinned a horrifically sunny smile. “Rise and shine!”

There was an expression Hatter found thoroughly unlikeable. It was impolite enough to order someone to rise, but to command them to shine as well as simply discourteous, and quite presumptive, in his opinion. He simply refused to do it. He would drag himself from his warm comfortable bed, wash behind his ears, brush his teeth, dress, and make his way to the breakfast table, but he flatly refused to shine while doing so. Not so much as a glimmer of a glow, not even a twinkle, not even for Henry, of whom Hatter was even more fond than cherry tartlets.

Mad About the Hatter Books Series

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