What happens when you ask a dumb fatso and Miss I-have-it-all prom queen to save the world from collapsing?
The only thing this story misses is zombies. You heard it right, we have it all - UFOs, aliens, time-travel. This is the one-stop Sci-Fi book...
The flowers arrived on Thursday, exactly two days before she met them, and embarked upon the journey of a lifetime to execute a plan she knew nothing about until she was right in the middle of it.
That is not how Charlotte Parker saw her weekend going. With the flowers was an unsigned note written on a carelessly torn piece of parchment. It read,
"A bouquet of baby's breath and black roses to remind you to never let go of your innocence, to always love yourself and to be open to new things and accept them as and when they come your way"
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Charlotte put them in the blue vase by her bedroom window and hastily began preparing for work. It was already 8:40, which left her with exactly twenty minutes to finish her breakfast, get ready, and open up for business. She headed down to the living-room-turned-cafe part of the house from where Charlotte operated her bakery, Kimberly's. It was something she began as a side business from her basement four years ago, but things had really picked up pace since then. She even planned to buy her own bakeshop in Welfordshire, right by River Thames, soon.
Apart from the fact that she got to do what she loved every day, her favourite part of the job was meeting all these different types of people that came to her — the couple who always shared their dessert; the kids begging their moms for another piece of cake; the jogger who dropped by for coffee every evening; and the old lady who reminded her of grandma.
"Hello dear, how are you today? Looking fresh as usual!" Every day at noon, this nice woman came by her shop to get scones for her grandsons.
"Hello Laura, you're too nice. Two scones to go, right?"
"Perfect, thank you very much. And Charlotte dear, I think you're bleeding; you really should take a look at that."
Charlotte handed her the order, greeted her goodbye and inspected her hand. The inside of her right thumb was bleeding indeed, just a prick from the rose thorn she presumed, but something was off. The blood, it seemed, was very unlike blood. She hurried towards the bathroom to clean the wound as it trickled down fast. But the colour of it was the least of her concerns now, for wherever a drop of it fell, beautiful black roses bloomed. But that was just the first of the many anomalies to come.
