Ava scoured every inch of the old house, which didn't take long. The attic was still as bare as ever, although the strange electric feeling in the air was even more distinct--as though it'd been charging. The living room was still dusty and littered with empty lanterns. The only real difference was the missing bottles. That, and the telephone, which had also disappeared.

She went out the back door, not sure what she was hoping to find. Any sign, perhaps, of the thief who'd taken their clues away.

The pile of flaming orange carnations spilling out of a pot directly beyond the back stoop answered her hope exactly.

It looked so intentional, it may as well have been a delivery of get-well flowers--from someone who knew the tussled blooms were her favorite. They even left a card tucked neatly on top.

She looked around, but there was no signs of anyone in the wide open field beyond.

She opened the card nervously. There was no message of good health or salutations written inside it; no name or greeting. Instead, there was only an address, scrawled in awkward, childish writing: 13 Rue le Norte, 75016, Paris, France.