“She acted,” said one.
The fall this time was short and soft. She landed on her neighbor’s rug, the borrowed book still clutched in her hand. Outside, rain tapped the window. Everything was ordinary.
“Let her keep the stone,” whispered the third. “Every Alice needs an extra eye in the dark.”
And when she held it to her ear, she heard three old women laughing—not cruelly, but with something like relief.
Alice stepped forward, her patent-leather shoes crunching on pumice. “I beg your pardon. I’m looking for a way back to my own world. Are you… goddesses?”