What if Narnia's wardrobe was in a psych unit?
Agatha Stone is not the chosen one--she's the last one. She's thirteen, mentally ill, and whiny, but she's all that's left.
She's not what they were expecting, but she's all they have. Maybe with the...
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There's no furniture except for a naked table and chairs standing alone in the family room. I remember the table being a lot bigger, so I must have been about five the last time I saw it. We have a fireplace? A sad sigh escapes my lips. It would've been so nice to sit by a fire on cold nights.
I numbly inspect the apartment and try to fathom how this happened. It's impossible to remove everything from this place in the few hours I've been gone. Even with a crew of twenty and heavy equipment, it should've taken at least a week.
Auntie steps out of the kitchen and greets me with a ridiculously wide grin. "Oh, there you are, dear."
The dear at the end of Auntie's statement must mean she wants to impress the tall man standing next to her. Just looking at the guy, it's obvious he's important. His perfectly tailored wool suit is an expensive shade of charcoal, and his black shoes are very shiny. Lawyer, obviously.
Auntie's treasures are the most important things in the world to her. They're gone, and she's delighted. She should be bawling her eyes out or, more accurately, screaming her head off. She's definitely enthralled with the stranger beside her. Maybe she's just happy she was able to keep her cats, which are sitting in a row against the wall, staring at her. I've never seen cats line up like that: twenty cats, each sitting an equal distance apart.
I'm still dreaming. I bet I never woke up. This is part of my nightmare. At least, I hope it is.
"Well, say hello!" Auntie demands.
I drop my gaze to the floor. "Hello."
Auntie's visitor nods as he walks past me, closes the door, and ushers me in to sit at the table. His long braid falls over his shoulder when he sits in the other chair. He gives me a self-conscious smile when he flings it back over his shoulder.
I shiver when he slides Auntie's beautiful carved chest with the crystal ball in it over to me. Maybe it is valuable if a lawyer is involved. "Do you know who I am, Agatha?"
"No, sir," I whisper.
"This is Grand Wiz—" Auntie begins, but he silences her with a wave.
"My name is Duradin. I'm a friend of your foster mother, and I knew your parents."
This information is supposed to give us a connection, but I don't want to talk about my parents. I want to know why he's here. He's expecting a reaction, but I just sit there and wait for him to tell me whatever it is he wants me to know. We stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time until he gives up and nudges the chest. "Do you know what this is?"
"It's Auntie's box."
Duradin smiles. "No. It's your box. More precisely, it's your Orb."
By the way he says it, he's trying to impress me, but it's just the crystal ball that Auntie always makes me look at. This man is crazy. Auntie is crazy, and it's becoming quite clear that I'm crazy, too.
