Andy thinks he's lost forever when his aunt's chimney transports him and his dog, Chip, into the magical world of Emerraine. To get home, he must save the Hearthstone Village with Elsie, a young witch, and her Familiar against a dark plot that has b...
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DAYS PASSED since the night Andy and Chip came back into the strange empty room in Aunt Carol's house through the chimney. If his memories served him right, minutes after ten in the evening of the 21st of July, he had accidentally transported himself to Emerraine while finding Chip.
But on the night of his return, as he scrambled up the stairs in a hurry not to be caught by Aunt Carol, the grandfather clock told him it was only half-past one in the morning. The untouched calendar tacked on the wall beside the stair indicated that it was already the 22nd of the same month, which meant that the three-and-a-half days spent in Emerraine were only three-and-a-half hours in his world. And what could be more surprising and utterly suspicious than not finding even a sliver of a shadow of Aunt Carol or any of her cats?
If only Andy had overlooked that picture frame at the abandoned house of the Crows—and there was a high chance it belonged to his family—he would bet anything just so his aunt wouldn't discover him out of bed. But given the circumstances, he would gladly get himself caught so he could confront her just the same.
But even as the sun rose and more hours passed, none of those questions managed to spill from his mouth. The truth was that Andy was afraid to find out he was fooled and that the reality his family made him believe was a lie. How naive he was when all the strangeness surrounding his aunt could be explained by her being a witch. And what about his dad? Did his mother know? How much more had they been keeping from him?
Now, it was two days after the eventful first night of his summer vacation, and Andy was to be seen in his Aunt Carol's back garden, sprinkling water over her precious marigolds and pansies.
The back garden was twice the size of the house but was extremely neat; the emerald-green grass was pristine and short. A large tree grew near the tidily-trimmed flower hedges, and on certain summer days, the leaves would blow gently across the ground. Roses grew in small plots on either side of the back door, and a small potted plant hung from a lantern by said entry.
A small wooden shed stood near the tree, right against the hedge, and was home to gardening supplies and large spiders. His aunt also owned a butterfly conservatory and a greenhouse at the back of the garden. And then beside it was a small lounging area—perfect for a morning breakfast—consisting of a circular glass table over a soft carpet of chamomile which, when stepped on, filled the air with fragrance. Sitting over there was Aunt Carol with her magazine and favorite black tea.
"Eyes on your work, dear nephew," Carol said without taking her eyes off the magazine. "Plants can drown too."
Andy peeled his eyes off his aunt and found the marigold's soil overflowing with excess water. He quickly shifted to the plant next to it and tilted the watering can begrudgingly. Even for a Sunday, the neighborhood seemed very quiet, allowing Andy to drown in his thoughts and throw his frustrations over his aunt. Not to mention that it became harder to pretend not to hear anything each day that passed.
