Nellie started to settle into a routine where the only abnormality was her dog poofing into smoke during their nightly walks. She avoided asking Ira about the claim that her mother was a dragon; he did not mention it whatsoever in the sparse messages he sent, and she was no longer confident she heard him correctly. She drummed up the courage and curiosity to comb through every word of Rhys’s letters to Nathalie, reading one or two every night before bed.

There was still an unaddressed tension between she and Nathalie. Nellie had sat with the knowledge of her true connection to Nathalie long enough to not be angry over the long, long deception, and Nathalie for her part would tell her at random that she was open to speak more, but Nellie had not taken her up on that. There was something to be said, but what it was she could not grasp.

The lunchroom was extra noisy. She sat happily among Ava and the others as she had been doing since returning to school regularly at the end of January. She raised her eyes at the prompting hisses from Olivia and Sophia, tracking a sandy-haired boy as he passed their table without a look.

“OMG,” Emma cried, burying her face in her hands. “Mason hates me!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Nellie said on autopilot, echoing the sentiments of the other girls.

“I should’ve just given him the same generic, cheap Valentine like everyone else,” Emma lamented. “Why’d I have to give him a real card!”

“Uh, because you like him,” Sophia said, rolling her eyes. “Like, how else was he supposed to know? You won’t just tell him.”

Nellie was confident there was no need for Emma to say anything. Even she had picked up on Emma’s crush after a complete week of school. She pulled back from the coddling to choke down the rest of her food, stealing looks at her phone to check the time and see if anyone tried messaging her.

“Just let him think about it all weekend. I’m sure he’ll say something to you Monday,” Ava said. “So, Perenelle, any plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” Nellie said, shrugging. “Webb’s February break is starting, so I’m supposed to go for a tour. Maybe an interview.” She slid her tray away. “I won’t be able to do my shadow day until December.”

“Looks like you’re stuck here longer than you expected,” Olivia said with the slightest hint of meanness.

Nellie forced a smile.

She skated through the rest of the day in her usual bored daze. She doddled a crude white screamer in art class as Ava attempted the lesson of shading the dodgeball set on a stool under a bright light. She turned her triangles into houses in geometry while Sophia kept pace with the lesson–half unfinished when the bell rung.

She took her time packing up her backpack and walking out to the car rider awning. She headed towards Olivia and Emma, but was blindsided by somebody and found herself on her butt.

“Sorry!” Mason grabbed her arm and yanked her up. “There you go. Hey, Will, I still got your gum!”

Mason waved a pack of gum and raced off among the crowd.

Nellie rubbed her backside and hobbled towards Emma and Olivia, slowing her pace further at the wounded expression on Emma’s face and the daggers Olivia shot her. Her stomach sunk. She took a quick step over, needing to explain herself, but was stopped by the monitor calling her name to inform her that the Crown Victoria had arrived.

“How was school today,” Nathalie asked as they left the grounds.

“If I do get into Webb, should I just start for highschool,” Nellie asked. “At the rate this is taking, I might get in for half of eighth grade, and I don’t know how worth it that’ll be.”

Nathalie pursed her lips, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Is this your way of saying school was not as terrible,” she asked.

“It’s always terrible,” Nellie said heatedly.

They fell into silence and soon were rolling down the long, paved driveway. The front yard right up to the front steps was also covered in black asphalt. A pick-up truck and a utility van were parked in this space, the truck being a roofer and the utility van being an electrician. The roofer–a rail thin man that was younger than he looked with a cigarette in his mouth–stood near his truck with a clipboard, tapping his foot impatiently.

“See to that animal, please,” Nathalie said. “He’s locked in your room with a package of jerky that I'm sure won’t keep him quiet much longer.”

Ash was still gnawing the last piece of jerky when she entered her room. Her bed was ripped apart with the comforter and pillows shredded.

“Ash,” Nellie cried, frustration welling up until tears poured from her eyes. She took deep breathes, not stopping the tears but stopping the want to scream. “It-it’s not your fault. You’re a wild boy.” She wiped her eyes, still not stopping the tears.

She half-crawled beneath her bed to retrieve her father’s letters. She rifled through them, not looking for any specific one. She paused as she found her list of cryptids from the diner. She extracted it, smirking and re-drying her eyes as they fell on ‘smoke wolf’ written in the middle.

“You’re very real,” Nellie said to Ash. She ran her finger across ‘griffin/gryphon’ at the bottom. “Cecily is very real. So was the white screamer.” She patted the space next to her to encourage Ash to lay near her instead of at the door, resting her arm across him as he complied. “I saw a wampus cat in Florida, so I’m better that’s real here too.” Her eyes lingered on the first creature on her list: Cumberland dragon.

Tennessee having a dragon story was likely the reason Ira was wandering about in the more rural parts of the state. She opened her phone to Ira’s messages, frowning as her last one–asking him to explain what he meant about her mother being a dragon–was still unread. She typed: Did you find anything on the Cumberland dragon? She stared at the messages for several minutes, both staying unread, and put her phone away with a deep sigh.

---

The weather warmed as February neared the end. It was still too cold for Nellie’s subtropic sensibilities, but she was able to ditch her thick, parka for a fleece-lined zip-up. The heathered gray with stitched flowers did not go with her Christmas dress whatsoever, but it was less bulky to place on her lap as she sat in the small, bright office with Nathalie, smiling with practice at the Enrollment Counselor.

Nathalie wore lipstick for the occasion. She kept subtly licking her teeth to be sure no smears of red were on her teeth before she spoke to the middle-aged woman on the other side of the desk. “Enrollment is a touch different from my time,” Nathalie said. She smiled without showing teeth. “Of course, I expect it to be different being over three decades later and not an international applicant.”

“I have pulled up your records, Ms. Herle,” the counselor said, scanning a paper before her. “You show great aptitude for economics and sociology, and seemed to enjoy meeting all the other international applicants.” She gave a friendly smile. “How did the internship at the Miami Consulate go? Did it lead to a wonderful job opportunity like you hoped?”

“For a time… but I discovered the fun world of metal art,” Nathalie said. “But I hope my good marks in economics and sociology will help highlight what an asset Perenelle will be. And, of course, any help with her enrollment is greatly appreciated. As stated, the process is a little more involved than when I completed it.”

Nellie drifted in and out of the boring, academic talk. She slumped in her chair, straightening as Nathalie tapped her leg with her foot. She glanced around to keep herself occupied, spying photos of outdoor trips with students, horse competitions, and some type of party. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at one of the hiking trips.

“Is that a bigfoot,” Nellie asked.

Nathalie’s already fair complexion paled, this being lost on the counselor who had turned to see what Nallie was looking at with amused confusion.

“A bigfoot,” she asked. “Where? Which one?”

“Perenelle,” Nathalie whispered sternly.

Nellie leapt up. She half skipped around the desk, a relieved and cheerful smile now replacing her practiced interview one. She had not been met with a dismissal or a jeer. She pointed to a hairy leg in the far background of the photograph, jutting out from behind a large tree.

“It looks almost like a stump, or part of this tree, but the marks don’t match up,” Nellie said. “The bark ends here,” she touched the picture, “and this is fur. It looks like a weird pattern; like it would look like bark if the bigfoot was very, very still.” Her heart pitterpattered. “Where is this? Is it on campus? I’ve never seen a bigfoot. I did smell a skunk bear… once.”

The office was still. Nellie stiffened, slowly turning to see the counselor’s polite amusement had given way to mild disturbance. Nathalie had her face in her hands, shaking her head.

Nellie laughed nervously. “Kidding! Obviously, I’m kidding,” she said. “I’m… embracing the local lore.”

“She has a proclivity towards fairy stories and how they shaped narratives of a place,” Nathalie jumped in. Then added, “A rather important part of the history of a place and its people are the stories they tell each other, do you not agree?”

The counselor reluctantly agreed but was still eyeing Nellie warily. She finished laying out what steps they would need to take without any further delay via smalltalk and friendliness. They quietly left, walking briskly off the campus and towards the tiny main street of Bell Buckle.

Bell Buckle was old. It felt old. It looked old, with the building being semi-old west designed and brick. Those roaming in and out of the storefronts were also old, moving slowly over the wide sidewalk.

“Sorry,” Nellie murmured.

“Are you,” Nathalie responded coolly.

“I thought she was interested,” Nellie said. “I thought maybe she….”

“She what? Believes,” Nathalie asked. She sighed in exasperation. “Of course she doesn’t. Why would she?”

“Why wouldn’t she,” Nellie retorted. “She had a picture–.”

“Perenelle, enough!” Nathalie pinched at her eyes. “Perhaps we salvaged the situation, but now we’ll always wonder should you not be accepted.”

Nellie stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as Nathalie moved to open the door for the combination bakery/antique store. A lump was forming in her throat as her eyes prickled. She flinched when Nathalie turned to her, her tears finally cutting down her cheeks at the aggravated look in Nathalie’s eyes. She sputtered–unable to grasp Nathalie’s expression shifting to concern–and raced to the car.

The ride back was uncomfortable with the silence weighing them both down. Nellie kept her face to the window, wiping her quiet tears. She bolted before the car was shifted to park, and shuttered herself in her room.

Nathalie did not and could not understand her. She did not have that weirdness, that sensitivity that Nellie did. She did not have her life uprooted and relocated in the middle of a school year. She did not have doubts about her family, and a lack of relationship with that family. And, all of that could go right back to her oddity.

Nellie pulled the album from under her bed and flipped to the image of Rhys at his graduation. Her lip shook.

“It’s your fault,” Nellie said quietly. She sucked in a sob. “Wh-why’d you have to make me weird?”

She slowly went backwards through the album, watching Rhys’s sullen expression in most of the photos. He stood in contrast to the happier expressions worn by his siblings. He was an outsider in his own family too. Nathalie had said he was driven by his oddness to excel, and used that to hightail it from his loving family.

The first letter Rhys wrote to Nathalie read:

Dear Nat,

I understand my departure was brisk, but I had an opportunity that I couldn’t allow to slip by. I’ve been recruited into the Order of Ferblanc; it’s ancient and real and full of strange guys like myself. My fellow recruits are earnest and steadfast, and I look forward to writing you next with our shenanigans.

Send my love to Mum, Dad, and even Winny. Oh, and of course Margaret. I only met her briefly, but she seems good for our dear brother. I hope to be allowed a visit at Christmas, but I’m still unsure of operations.

Fondly your brother,

Rhys

“Nerd,” Nellie muttered, snorting a giggle.

The next few letters did indeed talk about what Rhys and the other new recruits got up to. They toured Rome–seemingy the headquarters of the Order–daily, partaking in the ancient ruins and the modern nightlife, Rhys clearly making the distinction that the parties were tame compared to some they moseyed into. He wrote of prudence, virtue, and how their vows were akin to monks.

She searched the battered shoebox for Rhys’s last letter as a member of the Order of Ferblanc:

Nathalie,

I’ve resigned. I’m certain you find this to be no shock considering how frequently I write.

Nellie tilted her head, confused. She scanned through the previous letters full of global wandering and fondness for the Order and life in Rome. She returned to the letter:

Perhaps this is just what running the course is like. I do know my conscience won’t allow me to remain. I admit, I am at a loss for what to do next. A visit home could be just the thing. I’ll write you of my travel plans.

Rhys

She wondered how at a loss Nathalie was reading this for the first time, cracking a smile. Rhys was of few words, and seemed reliant on his bond with his sister to do most of the heavy lifting. Nellie had inherited his oddness–sensitivity–but she was glad to possess more warmth.

She hastily covered the letter with both hands as her door opened. Only Nathalie’s arm was visible, she not poking her head in to see what Nellie was up to. Ash bolted in, cozying up to Nellie.

Nellie draped her arm over Ash’s thick, dark fur, swallowing the emotion in her throat. She returned to the photo album, to Rhys’s graduation picture, to that small smile he wore. It went beyond pride in completing school; he was leaving everything he ever knew behind in the search, the hope, of finding understanding and use.

------------------------

The most popular boy names in TN in 2012 were Mason and William (Liam). They'll probably never show up again, lol. I think I messed up dates. This might be closer to March for the amount of time I want to have passed, but I based when Nellie started school off when school returned from Christmas break up north on the 1990s/2000s, and it's so much sooner than here in TN. But, either way, it's after Valentine's day. I did look up how to apply to Webb, which I should've done first chapter, because the timeline is all weird now. If I put this through a rewrite at some point, I'll use the application timeline to raise the stakes and stuff.

Nellie clutched her backpack to her chest, her heart pounding as if it was the first day of school all over again. She shuffled through the crowd of kids to her locker, pausing after each number on her lock to remember the next one. There was a small relief when the lock opened.

Nathalie insisted that Ira stay the night with them, but he was too tired and busy setting up his arrangements home to talk much. Nellie fell asleep before she learned what the plans were, and he was still asleep when she left for school that morning. She hoped they would get a few minutes.

“Perenelle!”

Ava, Olivia, Sophia, and Emma boxed her in on all sides. They wore various expressions of disgruntled, annoyed, and minor concern.

“You missed school yesterday,” Ava said.

“OMG, we didn’t know what to think,” the possible Emma said. “We had this plan to all meet at the car rider lane after, and you just never even showed up to homeroom.”

“Please, please, please tell me that college guy is picking you up,” the suspected Sophia whined.

“I don’t know,” Nellie said glumly. “He’s supposed to leave today, but I don’t know when.”

The bell to get to homeroom sounded. Two of the girls she was not certain the names of headed to Miss Campbell’s room with her. She took her seat near the back while they sat side-by-side up front. She listened attentively to Miss Campbell calling attendance, learning that homeroom was shared with blonde Emma and  pig-tailed Sophia. That left curly-haired Olivia as the one who wandered off with bespectacled Ava

“Perenelle Herle,” Miss Campbell said, both bored and angry.

“Here.”

“Really,” Miss Campbell said, squinting at her through her thick frames. “How surprising. Should I just go ahead and mark you absent tomorrow?”

Nellie felt her face burn as she murmured and shrunk into her seat. She kept her head down for the rest of homeroom but found her following teachers just as disgruntled with her attendance, voicing it for all the kids to hear and inciting snickers and stares.

Her phone loudly sounded out a few cheerful boops, interrupting the math class. The teacher angrily stormed down the aisle at her as she hastily extracted her phone.

“Phone,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

“S-sorry, I forgot to–,” Nellie said shakily.

“Phone!”

She hesitantly held out her booping phone, flinching as the teacher snatched it away. She slid down in her seat as the teacher answered the video call.

“You are interrupting–.”

‘How dare you answer my niece’s phone, you insolent, little man,’ Uncle Winston’s voice came angrily. ‘Her gran has died. Put her on immediately!’

“Ex-excuse–!”

‘I shall be calling the school board over this,’ Uncle Winston said. ‘Put Perenelle on!’

Nellie stood, grabbed the phone and her stuff, and bolted into the hall. Tears were running down her lightly freckled cheeks, she was sniffing heartily to stop any snot from joining in.

“N-Nana–,” Nellie started.

‘Nana is fit as a fiddle, sweatpea,’ Uncle Winston said hastily. ‘I fibbed to get your phone back. So sorry for the call. I thought it was your lunch hour.’

“Uncle Winston,” Nellie fumed.

‘Sincerest apologies, lovey, truly,’ Uncle Winston stressed. ‘I’m heading home and I thought we’d squeeze in our chat. Margo isn’t here to distract us away.’

It took a moment for her to remember that she had asked Uncle Winston yesterday morning if her mother’s family wanted her. Finding Cecily and Ira being injured by the white screamer had driven it into the back of her mind.

Nellie paled as her conversation with Ira immediately prior to finding Cecily flitted into her mind.

‘Perhaps we should try tomorrow,’ Uncle Winston said, frowning at her reaction. ‘I’ll send word to your school to mitigate the trouble I've caused.’

“No, no, it’s fine,” Nellie said quickly. “Lunch starts in ten minutes. I can talk.”

She wiped her eyes as she wandered about to find a quiet area where the video did not stutter. She slid down the slick, whitewashed cinderblock wall to the cold floor. The winter sun poured through the window over her head, creating a warm haze.

“Did my mother’s family want me,” Nellie asked.

‘Your uncle did,’ Uncle Winston said. ‘Your mother’s younger brother. I became aware that there is an older brother. And older sister.’

“I have another aunt and uncle,” Nellie said.

‘You do,’ Uncle Winston said. ‘I don’t know how well their relationship with your mother was. They’re from your maternal grandfather’s first marriage, and much older. Teenagers when your mother came about from my guess.’

“And… this aunt and this uncle didn’t want me,” Nellie asked.

‘No,’ Uncle Winston said plainly. ‘They were most difficult to contact. They showed little interest in the fact you existed and that some tragedy befell your mother. Claimed they were too busy with their families and careers.’

Uncle Winston was not mincing words. It stung, but not much nor for more than a second. Nellie did not know these people. It sounded like they cared nothing for their younger sister. It was good they did not want her. They sounded worse than dealing with the teachers at this school.

The Regere wanted her.

‘Still with me, sweatpea,’ Uncle Winston asked.

“My other uncle, the younger brother, he did want me,” Nellie said. “Why didn’t he get me? Why wasn’t there some sort of contact, or joint custody thing, or however that works?”

‘Rhys was adamant that he have no contact, and so we built the case for Nathalie to have soul guardianship. His arguments for retaining you were too weak. The win was easy enough, even with your maternal grandparents arguing on his behalf.’ Uncle Winston chuckled. ‘He called them in. They were so wary of him that it likely hurt him more than helped.’

Ira mentioned the Regere was powerful but could not claim he was a dangerous man. His parents treating him with caution went back to the idea that he was someone dangerous.

“What arguments did he have,” Nellie asked.

‘Playmate for his son,’ Uncle Winston said. ‘As stated, quite weak. Buy the boy a puppy.’

“I have another cousin,” Nellie asked.

‘Several,’ Uncle Winston said. ‘But this boy is the only your age.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘So sorry Lillian and Geoffrey are so much older. Holidays must’ve been so dull. Oh, speaking of Lillian, her beau finally got the greenlight to meet with me to ask for her hand. He called the office to schedule a lunch meeting with me next week. Isn’t that quaint?’

“He’s meeting you to ask to marry her when she told him to meet with you and ask,” Nellie asked unsurely. “Doesn’t that mean she already knows he’s going to ask?”

‘Yes, but he’s wanted to marry her for the last year, but she was waiting for her promotion to go through first,’ Uncle Winston said. ‘You’ll meet him properly at Christmas. Nat is sure to drag you across the pond with this news.’ The phone jostled as he disconnected it from its mount. ‘I’m home now, Nellie dearie. Is there anything else you wish to talk about?’

“I think… I’m good,” Nellie said. “I’ll text if I think of anything else. Thanks, Uncle Winston.”

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sure to straighten things out with that dreadful school. Don’t worry your pretty head over that. Cheers.’

The screen blacked out. She exhaled as a weight lifted, tucking her phone back into her pocket after silencing it. She had not heard the bell to end class, but that could have been due to her paying attention and processing what Uncle Winston was saying. She decided if the bell had not yet rung, it was still close enough to go off to the lunchroom.

The bell rung as she entered the lunchroom.

“That solves that,” she murmured to herself.

Nellie collected her disappointing lunch and searched for a seat. There was one open at a packed table of kids a grade older. They would likely let her sit there so long as they were free to ignore her. She took a few steps that way, pausing when she spotted a table with five open seats. She teetered, and switched directions to occupy one of the empty five.

A thought sprung into her mind as she started on her food. She pulled out her phone and opened her messages to Uncle Winston.

What’s my uncle’s name?

She remembered Ira’s joke and quickly added:

The one that wanted me as a playmate for his son.

She looked up as Olivia, Ava, Sophia, and Emma sank into the empty seats around her. She gave them a weak smile as her heart beat rapidly.

“OMG, Perenelle, I’m so sorry about your granny,” Emma said. “And that was totally uncalled for answering your phone like that!”

“My grandmother isn’t dead,” Nellie muttered. “Apparently, my uncle thought that was the best way to get my phone back.”

“Oh… that’s kind of messed up,” Ava said. “Sorry, that was mean.”

“It was accurate,” Nellie said.

“What’s messed up is teachers freaking out and stealing our phones,” Olivia said, tossing her curls off her shoulder. “That’s a total invasion of privacy.”

They sat around seething about the unfairness of the teachers, administrators, and the school while they picked over their lunches. Nellie found her smile growing more genuine as her posture relaxed. She even laughed along as the subject switched to swooning over Ira and lamenting his going.

Nellie trudged through the rest of the school day feeling a bit better knowing she was not overreacting to how the teachers were treating her. She headed out to the car rider awning, tentatively approaching Emma and Olivia to wait. She pulled out her phone to check the time, and perhaps call Ira to see if he would be gracing them with his presence, but was immediately distracted by a response from Uncle Winston.

Brecken Agarwal. Cheers, Winston.

---

Ira had gone to the airport shortly before school let out, leaving Nathalie to send his deepest regrets on not saying a proper goodbye. He had left her the phone number for the local Order of Ferblanc should she need it in the future.

Nellie sat on her bedroom floor with the box of her father’s letters at her side and the family photo album on her bed next to her head. Ash lay at her feet, ripping his toy to bits.

The letters were careful to avoid using Brecken’s name, always calling him Regere and always phrased in a way that spoke to admiration peppered with frustrations. The most recent letters had a more worried tone, but there was no specific direction for it named.

“I didn’t imagine Ira saying my mother was a dragon, did I,” Nellie asked Ash. “It was a stressful situation…. Well, I guess the stress started after he said it, so it wouldn’t’ve been some stress induced…. I don’t even know.” She pet Ash. “I suppose writing your sister to say your wife is a dragon is a bit out there when you’re so careful to not even mention your boss’s first name. Wait… are my parents even married?” She buried her face in her hands. “This is all too much!”

She pulled the album onto her lap, turning it to the photo of Rhys at his graduation. She felt her wavy auburn hair and traced his blond waves with her finger. She shared his blue eyes too. She carried the album out of the room with her to avoid any mishaps with Ash taking too much interest in it. She sank down on the worn couch next to Nathalie, peeking at the laptop screen.

“Oh, you’re budgeting,” Nellie said.

“Unfortunately,” Nathalie said. She bit her thumbnail. “The drive will need to be widened and paved. Perhaps the front of the house as well.”

“There’s no grass out front anyway,” Nellie said encouragingly.

“It may be the first thing to be done,” Nathalie said. “I can’t image work trucks having an easy time coming and going to get the out buildings proper without firm ground for them to drive on.”

“So… you’re using the laptop for a while…,” Nellie said.

“Do you require it for schoolwork,” Nathalie asked.

“No.”

“Then, yes, I’ll be using it for a bit longer,” Nathalie said. She narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Asphalt is not as cheap as I hoped….” She grabbed her cellphone, pulling up the calculator.

Nellie did the same, opening the web browser on her phone instead of the calculator. She typed in: Brecken Agarwal.

There were no results for Brecken Agarwal directly. Brecken was common enough of a name to get a scattering, half the time it being a surname. Agarwal brought up the Bania Vaishya caste of northern India.

“I’m Indian,” Nellie said, half unsure and half shocked.

“Indian,” Nathalie questioned. She looked at Nellie’s screen. “Truly?” She frowned. “I thought Rhys said her name was…? Oh, what was it? Something decidedly not Indian.”

“Brunhilde,” Nellie said. She ran her hand over the slightly tanned skin of her arm. “I always assumed you’d hooked up with some South American….”

“Perenelle! Don’t say such things,” Nathalie said, aghast.

“Brecken isn’t Indian either,” Nellie mused. “Maybe I’m just a quarter?”

She added Brunhilde and Brue to the Brecken Agarwal search. An Instagram account for a Lila Agarwal was the top result with the remaining being short articles from online fashion blogs Nellie had never heard of. She ignored Instagram–Nathalie would not let her have an account so she would not be able to view it properly–and went to the first blog.

Lila Agarwal was a beautiful woman in her early thirties with long, thick, dark hair and deep, dark, doe-eyes. Her warm, brown skin had a glow that could have been a filter or excellent make-up on top of nutrition and skincare routines. She was a self-made model with a huge wellness following online, and the youngest of five children. Her older sisters, Meena and Chandra, were her fashion designers and her older brother, Krishna, was her manager. Her eldest brother Vihaan worked a more traditional job in her grandfather’s company.

Nellie began a new search with Vihaan Agarwal and was instantly rewarded with his LinkedIn profile. She was unable to view it without the site prompting her to switch to the app and asking her to login, but she saw enough to get the company name.

Anahata BioTech was founded by Sachin Agarwal sixty years ago, but never made much stride or impact until the late-1980s when biotechnology the world over started making huge leaps. He was now retired and his daughter Dr. Priya Khan was the CEO.

A search of Sachin Agarwal brought up a Wikipedia biography. Nellie scanned the personal life section, skipping the childhood and his first marriage, and even most of his second marriage to an American named Eileen, going to the sentences that stated:

Agarwal has four children, two from his marriage to Deva (Priya and Vikrum) and two from his marriage to Eileen (Brunhilde and Brecken). His daughter Priya is the CEO of the biotechnology company Anahata BioTech and his son Vikrum is a celebrated mandala artist. Vikrum’s youngest daughter is the wellness influencer and model Lila Agarwal.

There was no link attached to Brunhilde’s name, nor to Brecken’s. The fact that Lila Agarwal’s Instagram popped up when Brue/Brunhilde was added to the search led Nellie to assume there was a throwback picture of the model with her aunt. Or some mention of her.

“Are you logged into your Insta,” Nellie asked Nathalie.

“I assume so,” Nathalie said, still focused on her figures. “Oh, that’s an excellent idea, Nellie love! I should repost which pieces I want to sell so they’re in peoples’ feeds again. Do I have any I haven’t posted?”

Nathalie became absorbed with checking her phone gallery and comparing it to her Instagram page.

Nellie played with split ends in her hair. “Do you believe in dragons?”

Nathalie stopped scrolling. She glanced at Ash–now following his nose out of Nellie’s room–and then at Nellie. Her eyebrows knitted.

“Should I,” she asked.

“Maybe,” Nellie said, shrugging. “Ira said his mother was a dragon. And, um….”

She could not finish her thought. It still felt strange talking to Nathalie about her biological mother. It felt like betrayal, but on her part or Nathalie’s it was blurred. Her chest felt tight as he thought of Ira. He was likely still in the air, unable to be reached.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say Ira told you his mother is a dragon?”

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The phone ban in schools started in 2025 in TN and not all counties do it, I think. Since this is January 2024, phones are still allowed but they're supposed to be silenced and not looked at during class. Nellie is just on the wrong side of all her teachers after her lawyer uncle showed up to yell at the school. I almost had Ira picking her up again, since they didn't get into their big conversation, but he was planning on hightailing it once Cecily was found, so he did that instead.

I spent a stupidly long time naming Nellie's cousins (99% sure they never interact with her) and her grandfather's company. If her uncle Vikram or aunt Priya ever do show up, it'd just be to reinforce what Uncle Winston said about them not caring much for their younger sister and Nellie by extension. (Unsaid part is that they don't care for Brue's mother Eileen either, and that Eileen was maybe only 5 years older than Priya so they had this whole other layer of "ew dad she's so young" going on. As Winston said when he came to visit, if Nellie thinks Rhys's side is complicated, it has nothing on Brue's, lol.) Nellie has always been part Indian since coming up with the idea in 2014. Originally she was going to be half, but since half or a quarter made little difference, I did a quarter since I wanted her blue eyes more genetically believable. Nellie having reddish hair, light colored eyes, and freckles is based on my older niece since we used to go "monster hunting" around the house when she was tiny. Mostly looking for cockatrice. Nellie's looks are also inspired by what I think my Dragon Age: Inquisition character and her love interest would produce for a kid, because I had some weird fever induced cut scene that didn't exist when I played it through the first time while sick that my character told her love interest that she was pregnant right before the big battle at the end, and I just remember going 'that would make the stakes for them both surviving so much higher if that really happened' but it didn't happen (and the game overall was this weird empty letdown feeling that I still can't completely put my finger on even after replaying my two characters twice and starting seven others).

Oh yeah, that player character was named Brue. Why not use the name since I was using the design, lol?

The lights were far too bright. The antiseptic smell was too strong. The waiting room was crowded with the majority of people looking completely healthy, just bored. Nellie stole glances at these others just to avoid her eyes crossing from the exhaustion gripping her.

The cheerful booping of her phone receiving a video call startled her from her adrenaline clash. She hastily answered to minimize the number of heads that sneakily turned her way.

The slightly garbled faces of Uncle Winston and Aunt Margaret popped onto the screen. Aunt Margaret was looked down through her thick-framed glasses as she hovered near Uncle Winston’s shoulder.

‘Hello, Nellie, love,’ Aunt Margaret said cheerily.

‘Where are you,’ Uncle Winston asked. ‘Is that a hospital? Oh god, is Nat all right? Has she scalded herself?’

‘Oh dear, I hope it’s not too bad,’ Aunt Margaret said. ‘She isn’t hurt badly, is she?’

Nellie’s eyes welled up. She shook her head, trying to voice what was going on, but only succeeded in huffing out sobs. Her hands shook as she tried to keep the phone in frame, failing to do that much and it soon pointed into the blinding fluorescents overhead.

She jumped as Nathalie put a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling the phone from her hands.

“Winston? Margo? No, I’m perfectly fine,” Nathalie said, turning her back to Nellie. “Mr. York met with an accident. Some creature took a swipe at him.” She smiled at Nellie. “He’s all right.” She looked back at the phone. “Nellie can tell you all about it once we’re home. Shouldn’t be much longer. Cheers.”

She leaned into Nathalie’s side as she sat and draped her arm around her shoulders.She sniffled and dried her eyes with the edge of her coat.

“Ira is really okay,” Nellie asked.

“He is,” Nathalie assured. “He somehow wasn’t hurt as badly as it first seemed. They were feeding him biscuits and juice when I left him.” She gave Nellie a squeeze. “Are you hungry? There’s a Red Robin on the corner.”

They–and most of the waiting room and staff–jumped to attention as the swinging emergency room doors banged open in time with disgruntled and frantic yells. Ira strode through with his bloody coat in one hand, the sleeve of his shirt cut off and arm wrapped in thick, white bandages. Two nurses and a doctor were attempting to stop him with all the other nurses they passed hesitating as they questioned joining the effort.

“Ira, please–.”

“Mr. York,” Ira corrected coldly. “The casual manner your country holds hasn’t blurred my sight on this being a transactional relationship.”

“Mr. York–.”

“You’ve seen to my injury,” Ira said, keeping the bite in his voice. “I’ve given you my contact information. Send me an itemized bill, and we’ll settle payment from there. There is no need for me to linger here and incur more, likely pointless, fees.”

“Discharge procedure–.”

“I’m discharged,” Ira stated. “Now, unless this is a prison and I have, in fact, been charged with some crime, I’m now leaving. I cannot afford to sit idle for your paperwork.”

Nellie and Nathalie, still holding each other, stood as Ira marched over to them after a moment of surveying the area. His color had returned and his blue eyes blazed.

“Take me back,” he ordered.

“Of course,” Nathalie said, unflinching.

She followed the adults outside at a jog, Ira in the lead until they fully exited the building when Nathalie took over–at a slower, more acceptable stride–to lead them to the car. She sat behind Nathalie, watching Ira anxiously, expecting his eyes to flicker and roll as before. Expecting to see blood blooming through his bandage. Her eyes fell on the bloody coat in his lap, swallowing a lump in her throat.

“I’m all right,” Ira said, breaking the tense silence filling the Crown Vic. He looked over his shoulder at Nellie. “Not a single stitch even.” He ran his hand over his bandaged arm. “That cryptid… it must have some type of stunning toxin in its claws.” He turned back to the road. “Cecily is in danger. And so is any poor, unlucky soul that crosses its path.”

The Crown Victoria gave the slightest lurch, picking up speed.

“What exactly is the plan,” Nathalie asked as they waited at the red light for Rucker Road. “I can’t very well drop you off, and I doubt shoving this Cecily into the backseat with Nellie is an option.”

“There’s no guarantee she’ll still be there,” Ira said. “If she is, I can tell her to fly back home.”

“Home,” Nellie asked. “To England?”

“Of course,” Ira said. “It takes her a fortnight. The sooner she sets off the better. Then I can handle this screamer without worrying after her.”

“How are you going to handle it,” Nellie asked. “You… you aren’t going to kill it, are you?”

“Possibly,” Ira said. He straightened. “Wait, there’s Cecily! Pull over here, please!”

Nathalie barely had the car stopped before Ira leapt out. He unfurled his coat, throwing it on.

Cecily was circling the white screamer as it circled her back, both with all the deadly grace of a large cat. Cecily flapped her wings as Ira yelled to her, the glow of her feathers going from a twenty-foot span to triple the size. The car shook with the gust of wind she created as she took off into the sky.

Ira knocked on the window to get Nathalie to roll it down, back to the car to keep the screamer in sight. “Right, he said, “I’ll borrow your gun now.”

“Gun,” Nathalie said, confused. “What gun? Are you under the assumption everyone in this country carries a gun?”

“Then… there is no gun,” Ira said carefully.

The white screamer noticed them now that Cecily was long out of sight. It lowered its slinky, feline body and slowly crept nearer.

“Lug wrench,” Ira asked.

“N-no,” Nathalie said. “It’s coming! Get back in the car!”

“Go block the road,” Ira commanded. “I can at least lead it further into the field.”

Nathalie did not drive away. She continued to urge Ira to get back into the car, her politeness waning each attempt. Ira largely ignored her, holding his ground.

“The bat,” Nellie exclaimed. “Pop the trunk!”

She threw open the door as soon as she heard the trunk open. She ran to the trunk, shoved the hatch up, and grabbed the aluminum bat, shutting out Nathalie’s frantic screams to get back in the car.

“Ira!” Nellie held the bat over her head, swaying about. “Ira!”

He stole a glance at her. His eyes lit up. He backed nearer to the car, keeping himself squared to the white screamer and keeping most of his attention on it. He bumped into the car, and spun to face Nellie with his hand stretched over the roof.

The screamer charged. Its footfalls were silent. It crossed the ground with great speed, crouched, and launched.

Ira snatched the bat from Nellie, swinging around and striking the screamer across the jaw.

“Back in the car,” Ira ordered.

Nellie did not argue. She clamoured back into the backseat, slamming the door shut. She took deep, gulping breaths. Nathalie’s admonishings and frightened sobs was nothing but a dull buzz to her ears. She climbed across the backseat to watch through the window.

The screamer had recovered enough to start pacing back and forth, blood dripping from its panting mouth. Several of its pointed teeth were broken; its jaw appeared loose. It tried to shriek, but the sound was dampened by its wounds. Its hackles wiggled, and it lunged again.

Ira held still, swinging at the last moment to smash it in its shoulders. He stepped forward to swing again as the screamer tried to recover, smashing across the shoulders again. He held the bat one-handed, pointing it towards the white screamer as he shuffled to the passenger’s side window.

Nathalie rolled it down an inch.

“Do you have a binding agent of some sort,” Ira asked. “Rope? Industrial strength tape?”

“I-I-I don’t–. Possibly jumper cables,” Nathalie said, her voice quaking. “Why?”

“One of you please toss me the cables,” Ira said.

There was a mild argument between the three of them as Nellie once more left the car. She found the jumper cables and a roll of unopened duct tape meant to make hasty repairs to the car if it ever needed them, not that Nathalie would ever have driven around with duct tape on her car.

Ira shoved the bat into the white screamer's mouth to stop it from snapping at him. He guided Nellie–and Nathalie who jumped out either to force Nellie in the car or help–to watch for the legs, give him warning when it started thrashing, and help him pin the dislocated front legs so he could focus on binding the kicking back ones. He bound them with the cables, and pressed layers of tap on all four sets of claws.

“No telling how effective this will be,” Ira said. He glared at his cell phone. “Bollocks.” He handed his phone to Nellie. “Do me a favor? Go to a service area and call the number I’ve pulled up. I’ll wait here to make sure this creature doesn’t get loose and wreak havoc on the neighborhoods nearby. My passcode is 2259 should the screen darken.”

There was reluctance to leave Ira stranded with the screamer, but with no other option, Nathalie ushered Nellie into the Crown Vic and drove off. They traveled back down the road to the nearest RaceTrac and sat in silence for a minute with the car parked facing the convenience store.

“I think I’ll get some crisps,” Nathalie said weakly.

Nellie typed the passcode onto Ira’s phone as Nathalie left the car. The number that popped onto the screen was longer than usual, but she recognized the start was the country code for the United States. She pressed the dial button, snapping straight as it was immediately answered.

‘Order of Ferblanc.’

“R-really,” Nellie stammered out. “I didn’t realize I could just call–. Nevermind. Ira York gave me this number….”

‘Did you say Ira York? Ira York! What in the world is he doing in… Murfreesboro, Tennessee? Know what, not my business. What’s the issue? What can we assist with?’

“He’s got a white screamer tied down on Rucker Road not far from the Mars Hill Church of Christ,” Nellie said, adding urgency to her voice. “It’s a very dangerous cryptid, and we don’t know if it’s really contained. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask you to send help, or what he wanted me to do.”

She heard the clacking of a keyboard on the other side of the call. It was fast and continuous.

‘I’ll dispatch a pair of knights. Are you able to get nearer to him so I can track the location more accurately?’

“I-I don’t– I can’t drive,” Nellie said lamely.

‘Don’t worry. I’m giving the directions you said to them too. What is your name?’

“Nellie. Or, Perenelle, I guess,” Nellie said. “Perenelle Herle.”

The typing abruptly stopped. It started up very slowly, as if the person was typing one key at a time. It then stopped again.

‘I have all the information, Miss Herle. The knights are en route and should be arriving in under thirty. Is there anything else, Miss Herle?’

“No, thank you,” Nellie said, almost breathless with the relief she felt. “I guess… goodbye?”

‘Goodbye, Miss Herle, happy to be of assistance.’

The call ended just as Nathalie returned. Nellie stared at the screen until it blackened, tucking the phone into her coat pocket as she smiled at Nathalie. She took the bag of salt and vinegar chips passed to her, Nathalie opening a large bag of sour cream ones.

“Ira has help coming,” Nellie said. “It’s the Order of Ferblanc. The same group my father belonged to.”

“That’s great news,” Nathalie said with a long exhale. She crunched her chips as she tucked the bag off to the side, buckling in. “We should head back. He’ll need a ride.”

Nellie munched chips as they pulled out of the RaceTrac and headed back towards Mars Hill. Ira’s phone weighed in her pocket. He had given her his passcode. It was near enough to permission to look through it. There was no telling what other numbers he had stored in his phone. Or what pictures she may find.

She startled at a sudden, vaguely familiar voice that filled the car. Her eyes flashed to Nathalie’s phone, she muttering an apology for the volume as she hastily corrected it.

“Thought a little background noise was the thing,” Nathalie said. “I don’t believe this episode will get too graphic. The crime happened too long ago for the body to be describable.”

Nellie rolled her bag of chips up and set them by her feet. She wiped the grease on her jeans, sliding her hand into her pocket to remove Ira’s phone. She stared at the blank screen.

“Did Rhys ever talk about the Order of Ferblanc,” Nellie asked.

“A little,” Nathalie said. “He mentioned joining them and then leaving them. I’m not exactly sure what they do, but he wrote fondly of them.” Her lip curled. “Well, as fondly as he would admit. They gave him a sense of purpose and he had much pride in that.”

“They made use of his weirdness,” Nellie said.

“I rather like how Mr. York refers to it as a sensitivity,” Nathalie said.

They turned onto Rucker and soon were stopped by a sedan blocking the road. The cars in front of them turned off into the side street leading to houses. Nathalie rolled the Crown Victoria towards the middle-aged man standing by the parked car.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he greeted in a slight drawl. “Tractor fell off the road up ahead.”

This man had all the rugged grace of a seasoned cowboy out of the movies, but there was something about his neatly cropped hair and lack of cowboy hat that seemed off. His worn, winter jacket appeared to be soft, brown leather with some type of fur lining. There was a subtle metallic shimmer as he crossed his arms, and Nellie spied an embossment on his sleeve cuff that looked like a fancy number four: ♃.

Nellie leaned across Nathalie. “I’m Perenelle. I called.”

“Give me a mo’ to move the car,” he said. He tipped the hat that was not there, and went to his vehicle.

Nathalie gave a small, awkward wave as they crawled by. They were met with a second vehicle–a transport van–after the extreme curve in the road. The other knight was loading the white screamer–now with firmer restraints–into the back while Ira talked to him, Nathalie’s bat still in his hand and his injured arm pressed up against his chest.

Nellie jumped from the car as it rolled to a stop. She hesitated to get nearer as Ira glanced her way but continued his conversation. She crossed her arms to conserve heat.

The knight straighted and saluted with a fist to his forehead, the back of his hand to his skin. Nellie knew from the other knight that the ♃ was on that sleeve, likely that was being shown to Ira who dismissed the salute with a curt nod, stepping away.

Nellie eyed Ira as he approached. “What was that about?”

“Politeness,” Ira said. He handed her the bat. “A baseball fan?”

“Casually,” Nathalie answered, striding over. “It was more of a deterrent should someone attempt to rob my car.” She took the bat from Nellie, giving it a shake. “When you’re a woman, if you act mad in some instances, then whoever is on the other end think twice. Shall we go?”

She allowed Ira to sit up front with Nathalie, taking the seat behind him. Her head turned to keep the knight blocking the road in sight; he was saluting Ira as they drove by in the same manner. She leaned around the seat, gulping at the bloodstains on his torn sleeve. She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny when she realized the silvery threads in his coat were still connected, making the rips look as if someone had sloppily and poorly tried mending them together and not bothered to pull the threads tight.

“What’s up with your coat,” Nellie asked, pointing to the rips.

“Oh, my coat,” Ira said, raising his arm to study the tears. “There are tinplate threads woven into the fabric. It’s standard issue for the Order of the Ferblanc. And, no, before you ask, I’m not a member. My father trained with them, found it beneficial, and so had me train with them.”

“Then… your father was,” Nellie asked. Her heart skipped. “Did he train with mine?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, but my father didn’t go on to join the Order,” Ira said. “He and my mother were what we call keepers, specifically stalkers.”

“As in gamekeeps and stalkers,” Nathalie interjected dubiously.

“It is where the terms come from,” Ira said, “except the lands they keep are more broad than some aristocrat’s estate and the game they stalk are far more exciting than deer.” He turned to give Nellie a grin. “Those knights are acting as a go between. They’ll escort that cryptid to the nearest Keeper Conservatory.”

“Are they going to kill it,” Nellie asked.

“Only should it prove to be far too dangerous to re-release,” Ira said. “Having been on the other side of its claws, I have reason to believe that it should be able to be placed somewhere out in the woods, far from humans, and do just fine should there be ample prey.”

Nellie jumped as a phone thrilled in her pocket. She scrambled to answer.

“H-hello? Uncle–?”

‘Who is this?’

Nellie did not recognize the woman on the other end. She pulled back the phone, her face burning when she realized it was not hers. She thrust it into the front, waving it towards Ira.

“Th-this isn’t mine,” she stammered.

He looked at the screen before holding the phone to his ear. “I found her, Penny. She’s flying–. Nellie. She was holding my phone for me.” He paused. “I had an incident. I’m fine. The reception is spotty through here. I’ll call later. Cheers.”

A hush fell through the car as Ira hung up. Nellie looked from Ira to Nathalie, noticing a curl on Nathalie’s lips. She cleared her throat.

“So… is Penny your girlfriend,” Nathalie asked.

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Okay, so right now we have the Order of Ferblanc which Rhys Herle left home to join. Members are referred to as Knights. Then there are also Keepers, and inside the Keepers you have Stalkers (I probably need to capitalize those actually). Just in case I can't fit it in (for some time, hopefully I can later) Knights are sensitive to magic but are not magic, so they're focus is magical type humans/humanoids. Keepers have magic/otherness sensitivity too, but they focus more on the non-homaniods/cryptids. Stalkers are specifically Keepers that seek out and combat dangerous cryptids. So, a standard Keeper is a passive role while a Stalker is an active role.

Ira's passcode spells out Cecily - ccly. The fancy number four is the alchemical symbol of Jupiter which represents tin. I don't know if it'll show up in the document. Tin/tinplate is historically used to negate magic. It's also supposed to be pretty strong when it's not straight up tinfoil, but still really flexible, so it made sense to me to have it in the clothing.