Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

- Epilogue -

Two years later...

The ever grey, always quiet city of Ean was struggling to come to terms with its latest residents— a pair of troublemakers who'd set up a flower shop on the edge of the industrious western slopes. Because of this duo, the city's usual tempered, calm mornings had been chucked into chaos. Citizens were awakened well before dawn by the sound of sobs, screams, and the occasional crash of thrown crockery.

Like a rusty nail tossed into a well-oiled piece of machinery the great, mechanical city of Ean had come to a grinding halt. All thanks to a fifteen-year-old girl and her good-for-nothing cousin.

Abby sighed and poked a nearby Mirthea leaf whose usual gold foliage had turned a murky brown and which continued to seep rancid, black ooze down its stem. For the life of her, Abby couldn't figure out what ailed the poor plant—fungual, bacterial, or otherwise—and no amount of homemade tonics or potions seemed to affect it.

Abby patted the poor, weeping plant— which caused one of its buds to burp up a noxious cloud of black gas—set it back on a tray with other sick Mirthea, and coughing, made her way to the kitchen.

A teapot of instant brownbark filled the small back room with a relaxing, woodsy odor. Steam poured out of the cracked teapot's spout as a small fire lapped at the pot's bottom. It whistled. Smiling, Abby reached up and snatched two teacups off a nearby shelf.

The bell over the front door went off like a thunderclap. Abby, almost dropping the teacups, whirled around only to find her front door wide-open and a hurricane of pale skin and blond curls blowing by. The creature threw itself onto the parlor's hideous striped sofa and began to wail. Abby sighed, exchanged the good teacups for the chipped ones, grabbed the teapot and readied herself to entertain yet another one of Lucy's broken-hearted girls.

Her bunny slippers bobbed their wide, smiling heads as Abby shuffled toward the parlor. Noticing the Wizard Kellog clock to her left, she realized this girl was an hour ahead of when the others had shown up  and began reciting their sob stories. She yawned, set her tray of tea and sugar cubes in front of the girl, and offered her a cup.

"Here you go," she said, planting herself in the brown chair beside the girl. A rogue spring reared up and bit Abby in the butt. She yelped and smacked the worn cushion, disturbing its thin layer of dust. Both Abby and the girl started coughing as the dust snaked its way into their eyes and down their throats.

"Sorry about that," Abby croaked. "Haven't had the time to buy a new chair and this one's so..."

"Old?" the girl said.

Abby shook her head. "Defensive."

Once the dust settled, and Abby'd decided there was far too much in her house that tried to choke her, she offered the tea to her unwanted guest.

The girl took it with trembling fingers.

"So," Abby said, staring at the heap of Lucy's dirty clothes that sat in the fireplace. Flies encircled the pile of yellowed tunics and mud-stained trousers. Abby grimaced. She really needed to get it fixed so Lucy'd stop using it as a personal hamper. And if he left his dirty laundry there when it was fixed? Well, she'd delightedly turn those overly fancy rags into ash.

Abby grinned, forgetting the girl beside her. It wasn't until wet hiccups worked their way into Abby's ears, that she remembered she wasn't alone. Abby turned. "Got a name?"

"Reodan," the girl replied, eyes glued to her hands. She wore gloves, like a proper lady, her dress a smooth knee-length red knit, off the shoulder, showcasing Reodan's slender frame. Green eyes. Blond ringlets that trailed down her back.