It had been a full three months since James had brought me to the Modeling House, since we had moved out of home and into independence. I had been the victim of a brutal succession of unremarkable months, my first eighteen years being treated as the family punching bag, a joke they regularly chewed on. There had been no fond farewell, no sentimental ending, James and I seemingly slipping quietly out of their lives. It was obvious that our family had not spared a single curious thought for us; Mom still cooking away the fattening array of foodstuffs, father falling asleep to the hum of the television set, his snore drowning out any semblance of sound. How could they not wonder if their offspring were happy, staying out of trouble, even still alive or living in the same town for that matter. It was clear that we were now only a small series of staccato memories that they would easily erase in time.

I had arrived at the Wardrobe, Maggie a stranger, me not so much heartbroken as heart-beaten, but my heart still beating. I hadn't come here to start again, that would imply I'd messed up before. My family may not have stabbed me in the heart, but maybe they had caused a steady rot to set in. Why couldn't Neil understand that I couldn't suddenly blossom into self-acceptance, not after eighteen years of verbal disdain from my own flesh and blood. If unconditional love wasn't a family reality, how could I expect the world to ever love me that way. And Macyn, well Macyn was just a plastic trophy painted gold, a fake, an imposter, a constellation of paper stars. She had fooled everyone at the Modeling House, but James and I, not fooled, had her under steady surveillance.

James had left early for work, so I arrived alone, walking up the outside entrance stairs and through the front door of the Modeling House. I was blasted by the heat from the foyer thermostat, a rapid change in temperature from the chilly streets I'd just walked through. Maggie came running towards me. I wasn't used to being greeted on the ground level by her. In fact, I wasn't used to being greeted by her at all. Ever. She was out of breath, pale in the face.

"The police are here. We're in a lot of trouble." She burst into tears, as if she had been holding them back all her life. She was clearly in a panic. I put my hand on her shoulder.

"What's going on, Maggie?"

She was unable to speak. I led her to a chair at the wall and made her sit down, offering her a tissue. She took a deep, exhausted breath.

"The Hope Diamond Tiara, the one from Courtier... it's gone..."

"What do you mean it's gone?" I said.

"Stolen..." and she started up her crying again, more loudly this time.

"Maggie, you need to talk to me. You're freaking me out. How on earth can it be stolen? You and I are the only ones with the keys to the Wardrobe. And besides Lilian, only you and I know the code to the safe."

"That's why we're the only two suspects, Chris. We're in real big trouble. We're gonna lose our jobs." Then she added, rather dramatically, through her sobs, "How am I going to feed my cat if I lose my job?" There was no stopping that burst dam.

A man in uniform with a reptilian face approached us, handcuffs hanging from his belt, a gun holster attached to his right trouser pocket.

"Christelle Cyrus?"

"Yes."

"I am Detective Marcus Absinian. I have a few questions for you, if you'll kindly follow me."

I was suddenly consumed by the most troubling thoughts: jailed at eighteen, a china doll beribboned. Without argument, I followed him into the elevator, leaving Maggie in her tearful panic. We stood stiff, silence separating justice and innocence, my mind racing. What? How? Who? Why?

The doors opened onto the second floor, our office space. A sea of familiar faces were looking at me, judging, puzzled, surprised. The staff were gathered in the foyer lounge, a noisy din of gossip. James walked straight towards me, took my arm gently, his body shielding me from the unrelenting stares of my colleagues and acquaintances. He whispered, "I hope you didn't have a hand in any of this."

I was angry, shocked that it had even occurred to him as a possibility. "James, you'd better have my back." I sobered up quick to the situation. "I'm scared."

"Chris, I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry about a thing. I'm going to get this all straightened out."

"Where's Neil?"

"He hasn't come into work yet. You know he's always late."

"And Macyn?"

"Somewhere...but do you really want her around to rub in extra salt?"

Something sinister was afoot, a stirring of the wind. Maggie and I were being set up for a spectacular fall from grace.