"T he ritual is simple," the Piper says. "When the clock ticks four, the Cheshire will appear and suck the girl's soul, wearing the one and only Carrollian mask that holds his power."
"Meow!" The Pillar finally breaks loose, shouting from the top of his lungs. Crazily enough, all the other activists follow him. He doesn't look at me, and I can't interpret his face.
"There will be one last thing needed to complete the ritual," the Piper says. "In order for the Cheshire to regain his power, he will need our help."
Everyone says they'd do anything for him. The Cheshire has a following.
"I know you'd do anything for the Cheshire, but it will be of great satisfaction to you as well," the Piper says. "Because today you get to avenge your ancestors! Now open your boxes, please."
The pro-cats begin opening their boxes and pulling out the cats, which aren't really cats. They are small tigers. Not the cute ones you see on TV, but vicious ones, ready to sink their fangs into anything that moves. Somehow, they are obedient to the pro-cats. They are held in small cages that the pro-cats ready to throw out of the window overlooking the parade. The Pillar and I have no choice but to pretend we'll be doing the same, and then we stare back at the Piper.
But the Piper is gone.
Instead, there is an old woman holding Constance in her grip. I know she is an old woman from the look of her body and the white hair flapping behind the mask. She raises her arms and shows her claws then holds them to Constance's neck.
"It's the Cheshire," the whole room snaps. They snap out of happiness, not fear.
"I wonder if Jesus Christ got that kind of attention," the Pillar mumbles next to me.
The Cheshire's presence is even scarier than the Pillar's. Scarier than the scariest thing I have ever seen, even that scruffy bunny in the mirror. It's as if I'm looking at death and can do nothing about it. He is so confident, even if he is hiding in the body of an old woman. He doesn't need to speak. He doesn't even need to show us his face. I think the unbearable fear I see on Constance's face is mirroring mine. The poor girl doesn't recognize me because of the mask I am wearing. I am torn between just running and crashing into the Cheshire, or waiting until I see a window of opportunity to do something more effective. It puzzles me why the Pillar is stranded when it comes to the Cheshire.
The heck with it. I take a deep breath before I run recklessly toward Constance to save her. God only knows what the consequences may be.