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     Chapter 1                     Chapter 2

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            A country’s or a world’s struggle to exist is never pretty, and when you are only fourteen years old, and this country or world depends on you to save the day . . . well chances are that’s not pretty either. Especially if you aren’t aware you have these powers! Fourteen-year-old Chessie Bligh had no idea who she was or what she was about to get into. If she had, she might never have left the safety of her bedroom. Even though it was often a place where she was imprisoned by her controlling and unloving parents. It was also a place of refuge. A place where she kept her thoughtful garden of cherished books hidden under the bed. Books worth reading again and again. Books that fired her imagination and let her slip into one of the many characters and disappear to a far away place.

            What Chessie was about to get herself into was the world of Elves. And Elves are the keepers of secrets . . . long held secrets. Chessie knew nothing about Elves – or their secrets. Those who kept the secret of her Elf heritage. She knew nothing about being the first born direct descendent of Andel and Thora, rulers of the Elf Kingdom. She’d been hidden by her Elf protectors with a human family. Up until now she lived a secluded life in San Francisco, California with rich human parents, private schools, nannies, and her best friend Wuggbert, a ShihTzu puppy. All of that was about to change.

            This change was caused by the discovery of a long lost tomb in the Grand Canyon. The last place anyone expected to find an Elf tomb. Rumors of the find surfaced and could not be squelched. Nor could rumors of the prophecy . . . a prophesy and a danger pointed directly at the heir of Andelthor -- Chessie. Greed, a cancer soon turned the hearts of man and Elf into bloodthirsty pirates.

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            The story began . . . when two high powered Wizard Elves, although to look at them you’d never come to that conclusion; were able to translate pieces of the Scroll of Andelthor. Their names were Marge Grimsneed and Penelope Waxworth. The scroll was an important artifact recently discovered in a tomb in the Grand Canyon. It was written in an ancient Elf language few could decipher. But Penelope and Marge were the best translators the Elf Realm had ever known. And this is what set them apart as exceptional Elves.

            The two women had been friends for years and lived in an old southern plantation in Virginia. The plantation’s name, Winkleborne. At times, however their feisty chatter resounded off the old plaster walls.

            Neither woman was very attractive. Marge was a lover of chocolates and had a weight problem. Penelope on the other hand was skinny as a sapling. And she had homely oversized ears. She resembled a goat. But what they lacked in looks, they made up for in intelligence. And they worked tirelessly to decipher the scroll. In it they hoped to discover their past, and the window to their futures.

            After a long day of standing hunched over the scroll, Penelope and Marge took a much needed break. Evening was descending. Marge was content to relax on the sofa. While Penelope, who had a curious and nervous nature, tried to use the newly acquired bubble wand. It was one of the artifacts that had surfaced from the tomb.

            Penelope dug through the contents of the window seat like an obsessed paleontologist looking for rare dinosaur bones. She contorted her body into the bent shape of a folded up pocketknife, and all Marge could see was fanny and ankles.

            “Aha!” Penelope snapped upright. The wand grasped in her hand as she eyed it. “Found it! Hmmm….. What would you like me to do?”

            Marge gave a stern look. “So there’s the point isn’t it? Clean up the mess you just made digging around looking for that thing!” She brushed chocolate crumbs from her lap, and whisked them into her pocket.

            Penelope meanwhile cast her spell. “Fast-Idious Spic Span-Ious.” The end of the wand erupted in bubbles. Pink ones. Transparent ones. Blue . . .and the colored bubbles complied with her orders to clean. Unfortunately the wand interpreted this to mean scour and bleach. Not tidy up clutter. Popping all over the drawing room, the bubbles turned the carpet from blue to snowy white, bleached the drapes from its tweed pattern, and made the dark blue sofa look like bales of white cotton.

            Marge craned her neck to see where the bubbles would strike next. She tensed. The bubbles floated straight for her. They ignored her curly white hair and went straight for the powder and rouge. Her make-up was callously scoured off. It left her blue eyes peering from her pasty white face. Her pink sweater, cotton dress with its pattern of pink flowered bouquets, and pink socks were transformed into the color of a Halloween ghost.

            She shrieked. “Good heavens! Look what you’ve done!”

            Penelope blanched, raised her wand and commanded, “Suspendere Desperatus!” The bubbles stopped spewing out the end of the magic wand.

            Hysterical, Marge shouted, “Oh, I could just shoot you! You had to throw in that spell didn’t you? Waving the darn thing just wasn’t enough!” She shook her head, gazing down at her outfit.

            “I guess I need to read the owner’s manual more carefully,” Penelope admitted.

            “You’ve bleached everything white with that thing! Oh look at my new outfit. . . Ruined! Ruined! Ruined!” Marge scolded as she tried to smooth wrinkles from her sad-looking clothes.

            “White seems to be your color,” Penelope said with a shrug.

            Marge glowered at her and pointed an angry finger saying, “I told you that wand is a storm in the making! Find the directions for that stupid thing, before you go and use it again!”

            Penelope shot her a quick tight smile.

            It was common knowledge that Marge could be one of the crankiest Elves in the Realm. Something Penelope was aware of. She gave a wide eyed look and stuffed the wand into a pocket. With half the wand exposed . . . its magic not quite finished . . . it spewed one last bubble which erupted with a loud ‘pop!’

            This caused Marge to jump. Her eyes narrowed.

            It was common knowledge among the Elves that wearing matching colors was something Marge shared with her identical twin sister, Mabel. Both prided themselves on their fashion sense. Both shared a psychic bond. And both were plump, chocolate eating Elves. Mabel, a librarian lived near the north rim of the Grand Canyon. She worked at one of the greatest libraries ever created. It was hidden in the enchanted place known as Die Sterntaler  -- The Stargazer.

            Trying to smooth over the magic disaster Penelope chortled and remarked, “Oh look! There goes William. Bet he’s heading for home.”

            William Pertle was Winkleborne’s caretaker. He was finishing work for the day. An old-timer, whose only outfit seemed to be a red plaid flannel shirt and blue bib-overalls. He had silvery colored hair, wore a perpetual wan smile making his soft blue eyes twinkle. He lived in the snug little cottage near the plot of roses. For generations, the Pertle family had been the custodian for Winkleborne. The pre-Civil War Virginia homestead featured a white pillared mansion approached by a circular driveway. Surrounding the mansion were manicured lawns, trimmed shrubbery, and exotic flower gardens.

            Penelope waved and gave a vigorous nod.

            “Goodness it’s getting late,” Marge commented as she eyed Penelope. Then glancing at her watch said, “Almost time for supper. Soup sounds tasty to me, how about you?”

            “Soup will be just fine,” Penelope said. She closed the drapes as she looked out at the evening sky. Joining Marge they headed for the kitchen. When suddenly, there was a knock at the front door.

            “Who could that possibly be?” Penelope asked.

            “Probably William coming to ask if we need anything before he burrows in for the night.”

            They walked toward the front door. Penelope looked through the keyhole but could not see anyone. “Who’s there?” She cocked her head closer to the door.

            “Ga . . gadget lady!” The voice replied, like a man, trying to sound like a woman.

            All the Elves knew Penelope had too many gadgets. Her bubble wand was a perfect example.

            Marge whispered, “Penelope, that voice sounds suspicious. Go into the drawing room. Look through the window and see who it is.”

            After a hurried glimpse she spotted the stranger’s shopping bag brimming with gadgets. She scampered back to the foyer and eagerly said, “I’m sure she is selling exactly what I need!”

            The whiny voice on the other side of the door said, “Excuse me, miss, but the wind is ripping my bag. I would like to head for home. You are my last stop. I realize it’s getting late . . . would you care to look?”

            Penelope couldn’t contain her exuberance, and in an anxious whisper said, “Gadgets!”

            Marge cautioned, “Put the chain lock on before you open it.”

            “Right!” And with a flourish, Penelope did just that.

            Whether it was a combination of wind, brute force, or just magic . . . . some sort of lightning bolt snapped the sturdy chain like a frayed shoelace, and thrust the door wide open. Penelope and Marge barely had time to jump out of the way. A dark ghostly figure stepped inside. A banshee wind whipped the hooded figure’s cloak. It advanced toward them. Penelope and Marge stumbled backward . . . terrified.