“You know, not to be offensive or anything,” he began, “but I imagined the chosen one to live in someplace bigger and…you know…in an actual home.”

“The chosen one?” Dahlia sputtered. She grabbed the sheet of paper that had been in the box. “You mean ‘the chosen one branded with the likeness of a map to guide them to the place that the Tree of Life now inhabits’? That chosen one?”

The young man nodded. “Yeah, that’s you.”

“No, not me,” she shook her head fervently. “I’m not branded with anything. Up until five seconds ago I thought what was written here was some poor sap’s attempt at being poetic and fantastical. Not that it was actually possible! But here you are just friggin’ bibbity-bobbity-boo-ing out of a card and telling me that this,” she waved the paper vigorously, “is all real?!”

“You mean you had no idea of your destiny as the chosen one?” The young man looked at her with a gentle expression of concern, “Wow, I can understand why you’re getting so worked up; this is a lot to take in.”

Dahlia groaned. “I told you - I’m not the chosen one! I don’t have any kind of brand on me; no tattoos, no birthmark - I don’t even have a bunch of freckles close together that could even be mistaken for a ‘brand’. You’ve got the wrong person!”

“But you’re wearing the necklace that bears the mark of the Tree!” He protested.

“I just got this today,” she argued fervently. “My dad gave it to me for my birthday.”

“But you released me from the card!”

“I’m a psychometrist! I can get images and thoughts from people and things! Whatever I do must react to whatever put you in that card!” She shouted. “Which brings me to my question: why were you in a fraggin’ card?!”

“We were trapped there by the Red Force to prevent us from reaching the Tree of Life,” he explained, thought his voice was still anxious. “The Tree led the members of the organization that was formed to help us to the cards, and they’ve been holding on to us until the chosen one was found.”

“And how long were you in those cards?” She wondered cautiously.

“Relax,” he rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s been as long as you think – we were put in there in 2012.”

“Oh, that’s not that bad.”

The boy sighed and gathered up the cards on the bed, sitting in the spot where they once were.

“Okay, first things first – you need to get the rest out of their cards so we can figure out how to get to the real chosen one.” He remarked holding the deck out in front of her.

“Oh no,” she shook her head. “One of you is bad enough; I’m not having twelve of you traipsing around.”

“You can’t expect me to be okay with leaving my brothers trapped,” he protested, his voice rising.

“And when they’re free, what do you expect all of you to do?” She argued. “Where do you all expect to sleep?”

“In one of these things,” he waved his pointer finger around her trailer.

“Ah, yes – let me just magically pull one out of my ,” she muttered sarcastically.

“You don’t have to be so rude, you know.” He mumbled.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, rubbing the tension out of her temples. “This is just really weird for me.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath and turned to the boy. “Okay, one day; just one more day that your friends have to stay in the cards so I can sort out the sleeping arrangements.”

The boy nodded in agreement. “Okay; that sounds fair, but…what are we going to do about that tonight?”

Dahlia winced. She hadn’t thought of that. “I guess you can stay here and I can go crash in Manfred’s trailer.”

“Manfred?” He repeated, “Who’s that?”

“He does motorcycle tricks and the Globe of Death,” she replied simply. Noticing the boy’s blank stare, she quickly realized that he was confused and continued explaining. “Oh, yeah…I’m with Le Carnaval des Perdus. I work as a psychic; Manfred’s my friend, he performs some of the thrill acts.”

“No,” he shook his head.