Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia
Chapter One: Journey Across
I shut the over-sized fairy tale book with a satisfying thump and placed it in my lap. I look to my right and see my little darling sister asleep in her seat, nestled between blankets and hugging a stuffed fairy tightly to her chest. She can only fall asleep quickly when told a fairy tale. Her favorites always involve the princesses and handsome knights that come to their aid.
The gently whirring of the plane engines fill the empty darkness of the plane. I shove the leather-bound book inside my backpack and tuck it beneath my seat. I switch off the overhead light and kiss the top of Becky's head. I fall asleep with stone turrets and flags in my head while the gentle hum of the plane lulls me to sleep.
I resurface from the darkness and breathe in the light like I would never see it again. I step from the shadows and into a path that leads to a stone archway with heavy wood doors. I push them forward and step into the candle lit corridor. It is empty.
A clear, deep voice echoes and my feet instantly start towards the noise. There is a second voice; high and much like a child's. Another couple of turns and I stumble upon a young man and a girl. He looks about sixteen years old, and she maybe eleven. Both are strikingly handsome, otherworldly, almost.
They are walking quickly, almost jogging and pass right by me as if I am nothing but a piece of furniture. I catch bits of their hurried conversation. "Susan" "sick" "potion" "firefly" "blood". They quickly turn around the corner. I want to follow them. I want to know who Susan is and what is happening.
When I turn the corner too, I come face to point with the gleam of a sword. In a flash, the sword moves to my neck in an arc. I try to scream but the floor swallows me up into darkness again. But right before, I catch the glimpse of a boy with golden hair and pale blue eyes.
I am woken by the repeated shakings of Becky as she annunciates the syllables of my name. "Lottie," she says annoyed. "Plane is landing." Her cute four year old voice chimes. I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up. My back aches from sleeping in a sitting position. I fasten my seatbelt, then fasten Becky's. She looks up at me with her big, light brown eyes. "Will we see daddy soon?" She asks sweetly. I smile and tap her nose. "You bet, sweetie." She giggles and clutches her stuffed toy tighter.
Two months ago my father remarried a woman who is from the United Kingdom. She was in New York City—my home town, birthplace, my kingdom—on business for a fashion company. They dated for a year but decided to jump the gun and get married. My father, a writer, didn't have many roots in the city, so he is taking our family across an entire ocean to start fresh.
Cindy is my new step-mom. She is a complete sweetheart and entirely nice to everybody she comes across. Her husband died in a car accident three years ago. My mom, well, I don't like to talk about it much. She's gone though, and that is enough. The age difference between my father and Cindy is what throws me off. Ten years is a lot of time. My dad is forty four and Cindy is thirty four. But who am I to go and destroy a perfectly happy couple?
The too-happy flight attendant's voice rings over the intercom to announce that we have landed. Becky squeals in delight and bounces impatiently in her seat. She is more excited about the move than I am. My dad and Cindy flew to London a few days before Becky and I to make sure the house is ready for all of us to move in. Becky was complaining three hours after they left about how much she missed dad.
I flip open the overhead compartment and grab the carry on I packed. I clean up our seats a little bit, making sure we have everything. I grab Becky's tiny hand in mine and we flow with the crowd and spill into the airport where our father is waiting for us. We see him, with flowers in hand. Becky squeals and slips from my hold and flings herself on him. They embrace.
She finally releases her hold on him long enough to let me in for a hug too. He takes the suitcase from me and replaces it for the flowers. The tiny pink buds are just blooming. I smile sadly at them. It reminds me of the dinky garden box hanging from the kitchen window. The one my mom built. Cindy bustles up, already lugging our suitcases behind her. She smiles at me. Her usually charming accent rings. "Welcome to London,"