Market day came twice a month in the town of Westfall as a way for sellers to showcase their wares and serve as a town-wide gathering along the main streets. The market spread within the box of streets that surrounded the town hall and drew almost every member of town into its lively gathering.

Despite the chill in the clouded air, brightness came in the form of cloth hangings that were strung between the buildings and trees of the square. Sellers moved outside their shop doors, and many who had shops and farms elsewhere would pitch tables alongside them. They were generally simple, practical items, such as food, medicine, and clothing, though a few of the craftsmen would showcase their latest wares while one of the farmers would bring along a goat or even a well-mannered cow.

“Ah, just what we were looking for,” William gestured to a table full of glasses, vases, and knick-knacks to their left. “Looks like Mrs. Russo has a lot of pieces for decorating with!”

Wildfire recognized the young, dark-haired woman from the mercantile. Evelyn Russo was the fourth generation of the Vaughn family to work at Westfall’s mercantile, and she remained in the trade even after marrying Victor; but, unlike Victor, she was a woman of very few words.

Wildfire scanned the various items: a set of tarnished gold candlesticks, a pair of carved stone book ends, a tall glass vase, and a hand-painted dish with its own wooden stand.

”These are pretty,” Wildfire offered politely as she gently lifted a set of porcelain salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of birds.

Evelyn nodded simply, a distracted smile on her face.

But then, her eyes then fell upon a white vase with thin blue lines creating a simple forest scene. She carefully spun it with her fingers and discovered a deer had been drawn on the other side. A smile broke on her face.

“That looks like a winner to me,” William eyed her with a chuckle. “Mrs. Evie, would you take a couple old books for it?” He turned back to the young woman.

“Oh, wait–”

William removed two books from a satchel over his shoulder despite Wildfire’s insistence.

“That is good,” Evelyn nodded again, taking the books and setting them out on the table beside the other items. ”Thank you.”

William then took the vase and handed it to Wildfire.

She scowled. ”I thought I was supposed to get something to decorate with.”

“I said you should pick something out,” he clarified with a smile. ”Decorative goods are more expected to be traded for, and I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“Then, you should have told me to bring something to trade with!”

“We’re all set, don’t worry,” he patted her back. “Now you have a vase to set out on your table. Just imagine it full of fresh flowers in the spring!”

Wildfire watched his hand imitate a growing flower out from the top of the vase, and she caved to his generosity with an askew smile. “Thanks, William.”

“You are very welcome.” He nodded to her cheekily.

As they rounded the first corner, Wildfire recognized Thaddeus Moore from previous market trips and strayed to his table.

“Good morning, folks! I’ve got a fresh batch of persimmons, lemons, and grapefruit today!” He spread his hands over the plentiful baskets that covered his table as Wildfire and William approached. His ruddy hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, and freckles covered whatever skin was visible among his heavy coat and scarf.

“No peaches?” Wildfire asked.

“Not this time of year; but try a persimmon!”

“Ah, the weather-forcasting fruit,” William accepted one from the farmer as Wildfire did the same. “What did they think was going to happen this winter?”

“Bitter cold.”

As if on cue, a strong wind picked up, fluttering through the cloth hangings overhead and causing a few hoots down the line as the townspeople bundled against it.

Thaddeus laughed. “I think Mrs. Frieda just enjoys havin’ somethin’ to talk about; but it does make me wonder sometimes.”

Wildfire hummed as she took a bite of the persimmon. ”It’s almost like honey,” she commented with a hum.

“Then, this is a good batch! Take you a few more!”

She produced a small bag from a pouch strapped to her belt and accepted a few of the fruit. She hesitated when Thaddeus sat back in his chair after the one-sided transaction was complete. ”Is there something that you would need?”

”Beg pardon?”

She nervously glanced at William, who didn’t appear to be paying attention, before stepping closer. ”I’d like to trade so I’m not just taking everything.”

“Oh,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about that. I don’t need a whole lot anyway. Though, I suppose the only thing I’m low on this season is firewood.”

“Firewood?”

“I didn’t have near as many trees die off this year–which is a good thing for growing, but with it being so cold this year, I’ve gone through a lot of my reserve.”

She nodded. “Okay; I’ll bring some next time.”

“You’ve got firewood?”

She leaned her other hip toward the table to reveal the modified blade strapped to her belt. “I have access to a lot of trees.”

Thaddeus grinned, stretching the freckles across his cheeks. “You may have somethin’ there, ma’am.”

She smiled lightly before turning away to find William knee-deep in a conversation with the Gandys. When he shot her a glance that silently informed her he would be there a while, Wildfire opted to continue down the line without him. She nervously attempted to duck past, not wanting to remind them of their burnt barn, but both Jack and Catherine managed to slip in jovial waves and hello’s before continuing their discussion with the preacher.

As the tall, red-bricked building that served as Westfall’s town hall loomed over her shoulder, she turned the vase over in her hands. She rubbed her finger across the deer drawn on its smooth surface before glancing up at the building beside her. Perhaps she could pay the Mayor of Westfall a visit while she was there.

She had barely crossed over to the town hall’s wide lawn when she noticed Hudson cutting across in the opposite direction. His usual lighthearted expression was uncharacteristically missing as both hands were crammed into his jacket pockets and his head was bent down. Immediately filled with concern, she redirected her path to catch him before he could slip out of sight.

“Hudson?” She called, slipping the vase into the bag of persimmons hung on her belt.

He popped out of his gloom at the sound of her voice. “Oh, hey, Ms. Wildfire!”

They immediately fell into their usual bout of awkward silence; both appearing to have something to say, and yet both waiting for the other to start. While they had grown to be friends over the last year and a half, they still maintained a polite, yet somewhat strained, distance.

This time, Wildfire found her footing first. “Getting some shopping done?” She attempted, noting the bag tucked under his arm.

He shifted in his olive-green coat and glanced down at the bag. “Yeah, um,” he pulled it out with his other hand, “it’s for you, actually.”

Her brows furrowed with apprehension. “Me?”

“Well,” he scuffed one of his boots on the grass. “I hadn’t seen you in a while, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t goin’ hungry.” He tried to smile, holding it out further. “It’s just some chicken, rice, and squash; if anything, now it saves you a trip around the line.” 

She didn’t move as she looked at the bag. “You got me food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She swallowed and took the bag from him. She could hear the echoes of William’s words about being missed, and before she realized it, she had started tearing up.

Hudson was mortified. “Oh no! What–what’s–”

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, shouldered the bag, and removed her glasses to wipe her eyes. “This was very kind–and I really appreciate it...” She stopped and huffed before returning her glasses to her nose. “I’ve been having a rough time lately," she managed to admit.

The tall man’s relief was marked with an empathetic smile, though it soon dulled when his dark eyes fell to the ground. “Yeah, me too.” He froze. “Uh,” he spouted quickly, “I mean, I’m real sorry to hear that.”

His nervous embarrassment caused Wildfire to don a soft smile. “I’m sorry to hear you are too.” She glanced away when he looked up, and she shifted the bag on her arm. “You’re sweet to think about me, despite it.”

He shrugged and pocketed his now-empty hands.

She glanced at the bag of food in her hands, and at once, her face sharpened with determination. She looped it around her elbow, opened her bag of persimmons, and pulled out the white vase. “Here.” She handed it to him.

Similar to Wildfire’s initial reaction, Hudson did not immediately take the item held before him. “Oh! That’s... for me?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “Maybe you can set it out on your table. In the spring, you could even put some fresh flowers in it.”

His wide, tan fingers accepted the white vase, and before he realized it, a wide grin had spread across his face. “Hey, it’s even got Whitacre on it,” he glanced up at her.

“Yeah,” she smiled back; some was from his ability to recall the deer’s name, but most of it was from witnessing the joy the gift had filled him with.

“Thank you, Ms. Wildfire,” he rubbed the side of his face almost sheepishly once the giddiness had worn off. “This is mighty kind of you.”

She tilted her head as she watched his hand. “Hey, are you growing a beard?”

“Nah, just the sides,” his fingers adjusted to rake through his dark, yet still-prickly sideburns.

“Well, it looks good,” she offered, cracking a smile. “Very distinguished.

Hudson’s smile could have rivaled the sun. “Well, thanks!” He huffed a bashful laugh. “I noticed you’re keepin’ your hair longer, too. It’s real pretty like that.”

“Thanks,” her fingers instinctively curled around a few brown strands that fell beyond her shoulder.

The two parted with lightness in their steps and grins warming their faces–completely oblivious to William Bauer standing at a nearby table with a smile wide enough to rival their own.

Wildfire stepped up to the wide veranda that surrounded Westfall’s town hall. She noted Thomas’ brown and white horse tied to one of the posts, signalling he would be found inside, and she paused as she approached the door.

She and Thomas were on much better terms than when she had first arrived. The two worked well in tandem to defend the town from any beasts that attempted to invade the streets or fields, but there was still a heaviness upon the young mayor’s mood whenever she interacted with him outside of the line of duty.

She took a deep breath and blew it out to calm any residual nerves, and then she stepped inside before she could talk herself out of it.

She found herself in a large room with high ceilings and green floral-patterened wallpaper lining the walls. A wide mahogany table stretched horizontally before her, but all of the chairs had been pushed against the walls around the room. Two closed doors sat on either side of a stone fireplace directly across from her. The room was lit by the tall windows on either side of the door, as the two large oil lamps that hung overhead were cold and empty. As a result, the dark room was not much brighter in the clouded light.

Thomas peeked in from a doorway to her right. “Wildfire,” he seemed surprised to find her inside. “How can I help yeh?” He asked, quickly adjusting the bolo tie at his neck. The beginnings of a moustache were forming on his lip, and the scars that once ran from his nose to his ear had almost faded completely.

“I,” she paused, rapidly realizing how absurd her appeal was going to sound now that she stood in Thomas’ presence. “I have a request.”

“Sure, come on in.” He gestured to the office behind him, and Wildfire bobbed her head and followed.

The mayor’s office was also lit by a series of tall windows, supplemented with a short oil lamp on his wide, yet tidy desk. An ink well sat beside a thick, yellowing book laid open in the center of the desk, and the pen was still in the young man’s hand. 

Thomas gestured to the chair across from his desk, and when she slipped around it to sit, he sat down across from her. “Well, what’ve yeh got?” 

She set down her bag of food from Hudson and clasped her hands tight in her lap. “Well, I have a deer.”

“A deer?” Thomas repeated, only moving his eyebrows.

“Yes,” her fingers wrung together. “He lives out behind the shop. I’ve been feeding him for the last year or so,” she bit her lip and added, “and I would like for him to not get shot.”

The mayor blinked as her words were spoken, albeit slowly. “Yer asking me to protect a wild deer?” His words were uttered almost as slowly, as if he was considering each word in the phrase.

She smiled hesitantly. “Please?”

“Ma’am,” Thomas pinched at the corner of his thin moustache. “Deer are a source of food, which we’ll always need ’round here. I can’t go askin’ hunters to quit huntin’ just ’cause you befriended one of the prey.”

“Not all deer,” she clarified with a single finger raised, “just one of them.”

“Frankly, I don’t see how that’s possible,” his voice had been firm, yet kind, but she could sense the dismissal rapidly growing in his tone.

Wildfire chewed on her lip before setting her hands on her chair’s arm rests. “What if I branded the deer?”

Thomas’ jaw went slack as his head cocked to one side. “Branded... the deer?”

“Yep. Just like a cattle–a cow.” She corrected herself.

“You’ve branded it??”

“Not yet,” she frowned at his insistence.

Thomas appeared both shocked and amused. “If you can actually brand a deer, then you’ve got it.”

She perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He grinned on the verge of a laugh, “If you manage that, I will let folks know not to shoot the branded deer.”

Wildfire could sense his sarcasm, but she only perceived it as a challenge. “All right, I’ll work on that and let you know.”

The amusement won out as Thomas broke into a short laugh. “By golly; here I thought this may’a had somethin’ to do with the beasts.” His laugh soon simmered as the young woman’s eyes fell to the book set between them. 

“What are you writing?” She asked without moving her eyes.

Thomas reached for the book hesitantly, only to touch the bottom of the page with his fingers. ”Westfall’s hist’ry. I’ve been neglectin’ to write it, but with you and the Thatchers keepin’ watch, I can actually get it started again.”

She looked up at him. “What’s written in the history?”

He shrugged. “The main events that happen in town. Usually pretty mundane: when harvest takes place, how much rainfall we got... But bigger events get mentioned too.”

Her lips tugged. “Am I in it?”

“Yer about to be,” he smirked lightly. “You crashin’ here was a fairly big event.”

She matched his expression as she tilted her head and looked over the open page. The top was written in neat, simple cursive lettering, but a second hand’s print had begun halfway down the page. The first line in the new handwriting was simple:

Thomas E. Hiller rose to the office of mayor on March 31, 229 following the death of Samuel E. Hiller.

She bit her bottom lip and returned her eyes to Thomas, only to find the young man had diverted his attention to the window at their side.

“What happened to your dad?” She asked carefully.

The young man didn’t move. “He was defendin’ the town from the beasts, and they got ’im.”

She took in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

He turned his head and met her eyes. “He gave his life to protect Westfall. Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about.”

“But, you still lost your dad,” she frowned. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

Thomas shrugged as one corner of his lips tugged askew.

“And after all that, you still run out and fight the beasts, too.”

“My duty is the same as his,” his eyes dropped to the book. “I do what I can to protect our people. ’Sides,” he glanced back up to her with the smallest of smiles, “you ran out and fought ’em off when yeh barely had a stake here.”

She found a smile of her own. “Like I said then: I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“Well,” his smirk softened along with his tone, “I may not be doin’ a good job lettin’ yeh know... but I appreciate what yer doin’.”

She glanced aside, almost embarrassed. “Thanks.”

Thomas smiled with his hands on the desk, only for his attention to return to the book with eyebrows raised. “Say, while I’ve got yeh here,” he slid the book aside to reveal a closed book underneath the first, “I need to fill out the ledger for yeh.”

“What’s the ledger?” She leaned forward with her hands on the edge of the desk.

“This keeps track of everyone who lives in Westfall. Every birth and death is recorded, and, in yer case, when new folks come in.”

The woman watched the mayor of Westfall place the new book on top of the first. He flipped through the wide pages to fall on one half-filled with names and dates. She leaned forward with interest and found Ella Pearson’s name listed with her birthdate. The smallest of pangs knotted her stomach when she noticed her death date six years later. Below her, ’Wildfire’ had been written in, along with ’Arrived August 12, 229.’

“I’m not askin’ for yer name,” Thomas spoke lightly to regain her attention, “but I looked back on how we wrote in the folks who came in from Eastland, and we had written in their birthplace and birthdate along with when they arrived here.” He glanced up at her as his pen hovered over her line in the book. “Is that all right?”

“Oh, of course,” she straightened in her chair. “I was born in Elara, Aravast, and my birthday is December third. I’m not sure what the year would be here, but–”

“Hold up.”

Wildfire’s brows lowered as Thomas interrupted her and immediately flipped back a page in the book. His finger skimmed the line of names until it landed on Hudson Rowlett. “By golly,” he offered a chuckle. “You ’n Hudson nearly have the same birthday.”

She leaned further over the desk to get a better look. “Wait, really?”

Sure enough, next to his name, the birthdate of December 6, 202 was listed. “That’s cool,” she grinned.

“Right, well,” Thomas turned back to the right page and neatly wrote ’Born: Elara, Aravast on December 3’ before glancing back up. “I can figure the date if I may ask how old yeh are.”

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought. “I think I’m… twenty-eight?” She posed more as a question than a statement.

Thomas paused again. “Hold up.” 

Wildfire watched Thomas flip back again and point at Hudson’s line, count through on his fingers, and blurt another laugh. 

“Yer kiddin’ me–you two’re nearly the same age!” He held out his hands.

“What??” She was on her feet and curving around the side of the desk to read the line the right way up. 

“Yer older than ’im, too!” Thomas’ fingers were around his lips as he laughed through them.

“Yeah, by three days,” she laughed, stepping back with one hand on the desk and the other on her hip. 

Thomas flipped back to her entry and added the year ’202’ with another chuckle. “That’s great. Yer gonna have to tell ’im.”

“I will.” She grinned and took a few paces backward. “I think his dad would get a kick out of it since he thought I was younger than him, too,” she added snidely.

“Well, thank yeh for that,” Thomas nodded and set the book aside to allow the ink to dry. He then lifted his blue eyes back to her. “Did yeh need anything else?”

“No, sir; that should be all. Thanks for your time.”

“Yer welcome, ma’am.” 

She bent down to retrieve her bag of food from the floor, only to pause with her eyes on the bag still tied to her waist. ”Would you like a persimmon?”

He blinked once. ”Oh, no, thanks. Carla’s out shoppin’ fer us; I know she’ll pick some up.”

”Well, in case you need a snack before you leave,” she concluded her sentence by fishing one out and setting it on the desk beside the history book. “They’re really good today.”

His blue eyes followed her as she stepped through the doorway and out of sight. He listened for the front door to open and close, then turned to glance out the window. He saw the young woman step down from the veranda and up to William, who had been waiting just outside.

A smile found his lips, and he reached across the desk to take the small, orange fruit into his hand. He hummed as he took a bite, and he carefully held it away from the book as his other hand picked up the pen to continue writing Westfall’s history.

On August 12, 229, ”Wildfire” arrived in Westfall from the planet Aravast by way of a space ship. Due to the ship’s heavy damage upon arrival and inability to be repaired, she has taken up residence in town. She has proven to be an asset in fighting the beasts, especially due to her ability to summon fire.

He paused to dip his pen and finish off the persimmon. With the smile still warming his expression, he concluded the paragraph.

Westfall is pleased to call her one of our own.

-----

I'm reading through Westfall and thought this particuar scene was adorable considering it's just barely starting to hint at the relationships between these folks. Gemini has been there about a year and a half now, and while she still struggles and often isolates herself, she still has William to help drag her out and keep her motivated.

Hudson had just had a fight with his dad, which happens often at this point, and Gemini unfortunately caught the Gandy's barn on fire while fighting a beast. She still has the inhibitor on her chest, so she can only make fire through her blade, but she can't control it once it's out there.

But she's got an awkward friendship forming with Hudson and a business relationship with Thomas, and we know where both of those are going :D

Oh yea and the persimmon thing is one of those old farmer tales where if you split the seed of a persimmon, you could see a knife, fork, or spoon inside ... and depending on what you see is what the winter will be like. Earlier in the story Frieda explains this and swears on it, and I thought it was a fun little annedote to include in this story.

Nellie was woken by Nathalie’s frustrated cries to Uncle Winston at 1AM. She did not go listen at the door. She did not get out of bed at all. She lay still, staring into the darkness hiding her ceiling, trying to tune out the fragmented conversation. She drifted in and out, falling into an uneasy sleep only to be startled awake by her phone alarm four hours later.

She quickly silenced it and did not dare move, ears straining for sounds of it waking Nathalie. All was quiet. She dressed in jeans and pulled a zip-up sweatshirt over her shirt, and crept outside.

Ash stuck his head out of the dog-door on his house. He bolted for her, skidding to a halt as she held up her hands and shushed him frantically.

“Want extra breakfast,” Nellie asked, roughing his face.

She filled his bowl and scattered more around the cozy shed to give him something to search for. She turned his heater on and hovered near it, shivering in the dark, listening to Ash crunching the kibbles. Her phone buzzed some minutes later. She opened Morgan’s message:

Out front.

“See you later, Ash,” Nellie murmured.

A shiny, black Lexus idled beyond the trees at the end of the driveway. It was like every government kidnapping seen on TV. She crept over, exhaling the breath she did not know she was holding when the back window slid down and Morgan stuck out his head.

“Nellie, hurry,” Morgan whispered loudly.

She was settled in the back with her cousin a second later with the car heading northwest.

“Cumberland City and Cumberland Furnace are near enough to each other that we can hit both,” Morgan said, moving around the map on his phone. “I estimate three hours to hit both locations, an hour about at each, and likely three back. You should be home near two.”

“It won’t matter,” Nellie said. “I’ll be in trouble the moment she wakes up and sees I’m gone.” She snuggled against the door, shooting the silent driver a look. “Ferblanc?”

“Uber Black,” Morgan said. He yawned hugely. “I’ll try to sleep. You should too.”

The suggestion was noted and unneeded. Nellie’s eyes were already heavy. The humming of the engine was more comforting than in the Crown Victoria, probably due to the car being new. The heater had done its job, and she was now too comfortable to fight against the need for sleep.

They were woken by their driver just over two hours later; him being sure they were in Cumberland Furnace but not sure where specifically they wanted to be dropped off. There were no options that either of them saw on the slow crawl through the only street in town.

Town was too large a word to describe the rural community. There was not really anything for a downtown. There was a two-story white building that said it was a community center that stood near some houses. There was a post office not anywhere near the community center that stood alone with only fields around, but this was across–at an angle–from another old building that had once been a train station, although Nellie could not find any trace of tracks anywhere. All the other properties looked to be homes with yards at the least and multiple acres at most.

“I don’t think this is right,” Morgan said slowly. He was eyeing a farmer driving his tractor down the opposite side of the street warily.

“Rural would make the most sense… but, I think you’ve got a point,” Nellie said, frowning at the nothingness of the place. “I thought Lynchburg was rural….”

“Driver,” Morgan commanded, “onto Cumberland City, if you would.”

“Please,” Nellie added.

The driver grumbled and recalculated his GPS.

Nellie yawned and adjusted her seating now that she was awake. She flinched as her phone started buzzing in her pocket.

“Your aunt,” Morgan asked.

“Most likely.”

“Silence it. I’ve mine off since we hit the highway,” Morgan said. “Actually….” He extracted his phone, holding down the button until the screen lit. “Just curious.”

She had never fully understood the term ‘phone blowing up’ until that moment. The notification chimes came so quickly they blurred together. It made her anxious, but Morgan looked bored. She hastily silenced her phone as he again turned his off.

“Was that all Amias,” she asked.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Morgan said, resting his head against the window. “Driver, how long until we arrive? I’m getting hungry.”

“Thirty minutes,” the driver said, his tone tired and unamused.

The scenery did not get significantly more populated as they continued. It remained mostly fields and some woods. If anything, the number of houses dropped and businesses all disappeared. It was surprising that when they passed an old, large barn they turned onto Main Street. They sat up, taking more note of their surroundings, but the view stayed fields with the number of houses beginning to increase. They slowed near the post office and police station–both undescript, small, old buildings–and stopped at the stop sign at the end of the street.

“Driver,” Morgan said warily, “are we arriving soon?”

“We just drove through,” he said.

“I didn’t see even a diner,” Nellie said, wrapping her arms around her growling stomach.

“This is absurd,” Morgan growled. “How is this a city? There’s nothing here!”

“We wouldn’t find it in a city,” Nellie pointed out. She leaned towards the front. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but is there any other Cumberland in Tennessee?”

“There’s a Cumberland County,” the driver said. “Think one of the state parks over there has Cumberland in the name.”

Morgan’s phone was pinging like crazy again. He stared at the screen–ignoring the noise–with his jaw clenched as an internet search loaded at a glacial pace.

“That would be a better fit,” Morgan said. “Cumberland City has only been called such since 1814. It’s too new for what we want.” He groaned and turned his phone off again. “You’ll have to handle searches. The adults in my life are too irritating for words!”

“I mean… you did kind of vanish on them,” Nellie said. “It’s a pretty normal reaction.” She smiled sympathetically at the driver. “Sorry, but can you get us to Cumberland County?”

“You want to go to a county? A whole county?” He twisted in his seat, setting a disbelieving stare on them. “Do you understand how broad that is? Are you going to ask me to zigzag all over it?”

“I am paying you,” Morgan said coolly. “Imagine what you’ll make with this fare.”

The driver narrowed his eyes, and turned back to the road. “I ain’t about to go to jail for driving runaways around. Am I dropping you kids off at that townhouse or the farm house?”

Morgan argued that he had money, that they were not runaways, and whatever other points popped into his head without budging the driver’s decision. The driver eventually popped in some earbuds and turned his radio on, leaving them to sit as hostages for the long drive back.

Nellie dared to go into her messages. There were two missed calls from Uncle Winston and five from Nathalie. Uncle Winston left a single text asking where she went. Amias sent three asking where she was, if Morgan was with her, and begging her to get in touch. Nathalie did not leave as many as she had thought, only five, and all short:

Where are you!?

You lost your summer holiday as well!

I’m calling the police.

I won’t call the police.

I’m worried. Please respond.

She clicked to respond but her fingers did not move.

“Something the matter,” Morgan asked.

“Maybe we should’ve said something,” Nellie said. “Going off to find the Cumberland dragon seemed like a great idea last night, but–.”

“But now you see the consequences so are getting cold feet,” Morgan said. “You think anyone would’ve let us?”

“Amias might’ve if we asked him to come with us,” Nellie said. She then mumbled, “Probably would’ve been a good idea to bring a mage….”

She eyed the clock, estimating they were halfway through the return journey. She rubbed her hollow stomach, giggling at the growl from Morgan’s. Their driver would not be interested in stopping with how Morgan spoke down to him, and with the idea in his head that they were trying to run. She stared into her darkened phone screen, wetting her lips before waking it.

“What are you doing,” Morgan asked suspiciously.

She typed to Nathalie:

I’m sorry. We’ll be back in about an hour. We’re starving.

“You’re naive,” Morgan scoffed.

She visibly bristled, and glared daggers at her cousin. “I’m naive,” she spat. “You think you can just run around all willy-nilly, waving cash at people to get them to jump through your hoops! Nevermind you’re a small, skinny boy who still has baby teeth!”

Morgan clamped his mouth shut, curling his lips in to hide his teeth more–one of his canines missing, recently falling out. His mouth turned down exaggeratedly as his hazel eyes narrowed.

“I’ll have all my adult teeth someday,” Morgan said coolly, “but you’ll still embarrass yourself being a naive girl that uses terms like ‘willy-nilly’.”

Her hands balled up and she found herself taking deep breaths to avoid knocking out her cousin’s other baby teeth.

They sat quietly, stewing, as the fields zipped by. They looked at their phones; Nellie seeing her text was read but unanswered, Morgan’s chiming madly until he shut it off again.

“So… what’s Lisbon like,” Nellie asked.

“Vibrant, busy, but relaxed.”

“That’s a contradiction,” Nellie pointed out. She sighed at Morgan’s shrug “What’s your mom like?”

Morgan held up his phone, giving it a shake. “Worried.”

“It’s like pulling teeth to get anything out of you, you know that,” Nellie said. She laughed at his glare.

His shoulders relaxed a degree as he fought a smirk. He leaned up against his door, twisting to keep her in sight. His eyes dropped to the off phone in his hands before he tucked it into the pocket of his designer jeans.

“I’m an only child,” Morgan said. “You can tell I’ve no siblings by how she dotes and fusses. She has a few things she’s firm on, and upholds those strictly.”

“What kind of things,” Nellie asked.

“Boring things,” Morgan said, shrugging. He paused, and saw she was waiting for clarification. “Study marks. How I present in public. You know, boring things.”

“My… aunt, I guess, is obsessed with my grades right now,” Nellie said. “She’s trying to get me into the boarding school near our house. As a day student. That was the whole reason we moved here.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t think either of us thought about what happens if I don’t get accepted….”

“Do you even want to go,” Morgan asked. “You seem withdrawn over the mention of it.”

Cold, creeping dread overcame her. Her mouth went dry, and her throat tightened. She had wanted to go to the Webb School, just like her mom had, but things were not the same anymore. It was no longer she and her mom scheming about study tactics in their small, Sunrise apartment; it was she and her aunt with an unspoken rift trying to pretend all the new changes either were not happening or they could simply talk through.

“I wish we never moved here,” Nellie said.

“It does leave much to be desired,” Morgan agreed.

“The ruralness is fine; it’s not that,” Nellie said. “My life imploded. Forget the bad school, lousy teachers, and meanspirited kids; I found out my mom was really my aunt, and everything just spiraled from there.” She hugged herself. “The worst part is… I don’t think she ever would’ve said anything to me if I didn’t stumble upon it myself.”

She woke up her phone screen and smiled. Ash was facing away from the camera to hide the fact his eyes were red, staring down the snowy driveway. He stood tall, but not quiet enough to hide his youthful lankiness. His blackness was starkly contrasted with the background, and he appeared soft and warm against the cold.

“Well… maybe I don’t totally regret it,” Nellie muttered.

“We were able to meet,” Morgan said. He glanced over. “Oh, you mean because of your…. What is it?”

“Smoke wolf,” Nellie said. “His name is Ash.” She grinned. “But, yeah, I did get to meet the only cousin my age I’ve got.”

They exchanged small smiles before turning to stare out their windows.

“I can’t see Amias allowing me to stay any longer after this,” Morgan said. “This was our one chance to search for the Cumberland dragon, and we bungled it.”

The Lexus turned down the driveway. Both of them leaned towards the middle of the car to stare out the windshield. The trees around the small house had gotten leaves, casting soft, billowy shadows on the asphalt. Ash appeared from one of the shadows that stretched over the Crown Victoria, causing their driver to hit his brakes and laugh nervously about not seeing the dog laying there earlier.

Nellie and Morgan exchanged a knowing look, their impish smirks being wiped from their faces before fully forming as Ash let loose a long, bone-chilling howl.

“Wuh-what kind of dog is that,” the driver asked weakly.

“Shepherd mix.”

They lingered in the backseat. Their failed quest would truly be over once they stepped outside. They would be separated; Nellie expected to be grounded until she started at Webb, Morgan’s fate was more of a mystery, but if his mother was strict about things like grades and manners, then he would not get off lightly either.

Nathalie stepped out of the house. She wore her fuzzy, once-white robe and crossed her arms tightly.

Nellie slunk out of the car. She braced as Ash ran to greet her, jabbing her with his nose roughly before streaking off into the forest. She gingerly approached Nathalie, finding she could not look into her furious face. She shuffled by her into the house and was shocked still.

Uncle Winston was sitting on the couch with Amias pacing the cramped kitchen. They were pointedly ignoring that the other man was there.

“Perenelle,” they cried in unison. They shot a look at each other, quietly acknowledging they would not be able to pretend the other was not there now that she arrived.

Uncle Winston hurried to her, grabbing her shoulders roughly and giving her a shake. “What in the blazes were you thinking, girl!”

“I-I-I– How are you–?”

“I was on a plane the moment Nathalie called saying you disappeared from your lunch yesterday,” Uncle Winston said. He gave her a hard look. “Do not wriggle out of this, Perenelle. Do you have any idea how worried everyone was?”

“Master Morgan,” Amias cried. 

He rushed from around the eat-in bar, stopping short of reaching Morgan. It did not seem to be Nathalie standing by with her pale face and cold eyes that stopped him, but more of it being some barrier between Morgan and Amias, with the boy now adopting a more rigid posture than what Nellie had seen all day.

“Amias,” Morgan said curtly. His hazel eyes looked the man over. “You’re a mess.”

“He’s fine,” Nathalie said coolly, glaring down at Morgan. She gestured to the counter. “Please, sit, Mr. Baig. Another coffee?”

“Thank you, dear lady,” Amias said, tears prickling in his dark eyes.

He took his fresh cup with trembling hands. His nerves were more frazzled than during lunch yesterday. His hair was a complete mess, even his thin moustache looked unkempt. He was sallow and his clothes looked like something he pulled from his dirty pile, far too wrinkled and sloppily put on.

Uncle Winston forced her to sit next to him on the couch. He patted her knee with a grim clench in his jaw.

“Sit down, Morgan,” Nathalie said.

“Morgan,” the boy hissed. “What gives you the familiarity?”

Nathalie put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “This is America, kid. You’re lucky enough I went with your name and not an unsavory term.” She pointed to a barstool next to Amias. “Sit.”

Morgan sat.

Nathalie rummaged in the freezer. She popped frozen waffles into the toaster, grabbed plates, forks, butter knives, and syrup. The house stayed in tense silence except for the noise of her making plates for Nellie and Morgan. She set one plate before Morgan, and the other on the coffee table before Nellie.

Nellie ate her toaster-defrosted waffles hungrily and speedily, as if afraid Nathalie would whisk them away as part of her coming punishment.

“What were you thinking,” Uncle Winston said, cutting the silence. “First, you vanish from lunch. Then, you vanish from your room. You’re beyond lucky we hadn’t called the police.” His blue eyes shot to Amias.

“It had to stay quiet,” Amias murmured into his cup. “The Regere….”

“My father,” Morgan scoffed. “Like he’d notice.”

“Of course he would notice,” Amias snapped, causing all the house to jump. “And if not immediately, then you know your mother would bring his attention!” He shut his eyes, breathing deeply with his hand over his heart. “Oh, poor Evora.”

“...My aunt’s name is Evora,” Nellie asked.

“Not now, Perenelle,” Nathalie hissed.

“Then when, Aunt Nathalie,” Nellie spat.

The air was sucked out of the room. Nellie immediately felt tears prickle her eyes at Nathalie’s stunned expression, watching it slip into hurt. Her insides squirmed and she stared at her lap with her lip trembling.

Uncle Winston rubbed her back before standing to go to his sister. He said something to her in a low tone the others could not hear.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” Nellie said, the tears coming. “I didn’t mean–.” She choked off in a heartily sniff.

“Nellie,” Nathalie said calmly. “It’s all right.” She tried to smile but it did not work well. “I am your aunt. You said nothing wrong.”

“I’m not so intimate with this part of the family drama,” Morgan said, turning from the last bits of soggy waffle to face the others. “What happened now? With me and Nellie? Am I to go back to my mother and pretend I never went adventuring with my cousin?”

“That’s what you call disappearing in the night,” Uncle Winston said coldly. “Young man, clearly you’ve not been given proper boundaries.”

“We were looking for Ira,” Nellie defended. She shrugged. “Sort of. He must’ve been here looking for the Cumberland dragon before Cecily was spooked by that white screamer. Morgan thought it was possible he was here again since he didn’t get to finish that quest.”

“Amina koyayim,” Amias breathed, “you two were trying to find a dragon!”

Uncle Winston looked at Nathalie and Amais with a disbelieving scowl. “Pardon?”

“I’m sure Mr. Baig will fill us in on the details later,” Nathalie said. She collected herself and took the vacant seat next to Nellie. She took her hand. “We did have a bit of a chat while we waited to see if you children were alive.” (Nellie shifted uncomfortably.) “You have a few days left of your break. If Morgan’s mother permits it, then he may keep you company during your house arrest.”

“What about the dragon,” Nellie asked carefully. “We ruled out Cumberland City and Cumberland Furnace.”

“Now is not the time,” Uncle Winston said. “Why don’t you children go to your room, or see to that dog of yours. Give us time to discuss things further. Perhaps even contact this Evora woman.”

Morgan moved first. He jumped off the stool. “Show me your room, Nellie.” He stared hard at Amias. “Fetch me should you need help with my mom.”

Nellie peeked at Nathalie as she ushered Morgan to her room. Her stomach was a pit despite the waffles.

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

Wish I had time to put in a proper comment, but there is a screaming kid. Quick note: Evora is a region in Portugal and also the title of a Stromae song dedicated to a singer with that surname. The swear Amias says has an absolutely horrible direct translation, but I guess it's commonly used how it was used here. I spent waaaaay too long looking up how Uber Black worked, and if these areas here had it, and so long I killed my momentum naming Evora. I'm not totally satisfied with it.

Mimi’s Cafe was one of the nicer restaurants in the Avenue’s area. It was loudly crowded for lunch with the red booths bursting and several dark tables moved together. The warm lighting and cream walls added extra cheer and comfort, allowing the crowds to be better tolerated on an otherwise wet, dreary day.

Nellie had donned a pleated skirt over some gray leggings. She wore an oversized checked sweater, and had half of her long, auburn waves tied up with a golden bow. She chewed her lip, twisting her hands nervously in the bottom of her sweater. She glanced over her shoulder to where Nathalie sat on the stuffed bench in the foyer meant for those waiting for a table.

“Still doing all right, hon,” the waitress asked, pausing. “Want anything else to drink?”

“No, water is fine, thank you,” Nellie said. She played with her lemon wedge. “There isn’t another part of the restaurant, is there? Like, another dining room in the back?”

“Sorry, hon,” the waitress said, smiling sympathetically. “I’m sure they’re just caught on the light at Honeylocust. Takes an age to turn.”

She nodded, trying to return the waitress’s smile but failing. She kept her focus on her lemon wedge, taking small sips of water for something to do. Her ears caught angry hisses, recognizing them. She twisted to look over her shoulder.

Nathalie was quietly berating Amias. She gestured angrily towards Nellie, causing Nellie to quickly spin back to the table or else be caught watching.

“Terribly sorry,” Amias said, rushing to fill the seat opposite. “The traffic is so much worse than expected for such a crumble of a town. Ah.” He tapped a passing server’s arm. “That blackboard says something about mimosas? Is that an all-day affair or–Never mind, just bring a pitcher.”

“Uh… sure,” the waiter said, looking around for anyone else to intervene. “What kind?”

“Beg pardon,” Amias asked.

“What kind of mimosa? The peach is–.”

“Dear boy, a mimosa is not so complex,” Amias said coolly. “And if you dare serve me a Bellini and say it’s a mimosa, I will take offence.”

“So… plain,” the server asked. He recoiled at Amias’s look. “I’ll go put that in for you.”

Amias had dark circles beneath his warm brown eyes that had not been there the previous day. His short black hair that somehow looked expensive was not as meticulous, and there was more shadow on his face than just his neat, thin moustache. He picked apart a roll from the basket recently placed, half eating it and completely destroying it.

Nellie quickly propped up a menu as his eyes shifted toward her. “I had the baked brie before,” she said. “I might get that again.”

“An appetizer as a meal,” Amias said, taking a glance at the menu. “How… frugal.” He peered at her plastic cup of water. “I’m treating you, my lamb. Order yourself a drink full of sweetness and caffeine to go with whatever meal you desire.” He perked up. “Ah, alcohol!” He took the pitcher of mimosa from the waitress. “A glass like my goddaughter’s would be preferred. Less fill ups.”

Sure,” the waitress said, sounding anything but. She took the flute, eyeing Amias warily before smiling at Nellie. “Know what you want, hon?”

“Um, a lemonade and I’ll try the bacon and seafood pasta,” Nellie said timidly.

“Bacon with shrimp,” Amias said, wrinkling his nose. He offered no further comment. “What is this jambalaya pasta? That sounds adventurous. I’ll give that a go. Oh,” he flipped to the back, “and the bread pudding, lava cake, and toffee butter cake for after.” He looked at Nellie. “Does your aunt like salmon?”

“Yes,” Nellie said.

“Place an order for the salmon citrus salad for takeaway, if you would,” Amias said. “That woman glaring daggers at me from your foyer will need to eat.”

The waitress kept her customer service smile frozen, her eyes on her notepad as she jotted down the massive order. She scurried off. It was a waiter that dropped off Amias’s large, plastic cup without a word or any interaction.

Nellie watched him gulp at his mimosa, frowning. He was not as put together as yesterday, and yesterday included an encounter with an unhappy Ash.

“Are you staying in Murfreesboro,” Nellie asked.

“Yes, in fact,” Amias said, refilling his cup. “I’m renting a townhouse. Charming unit. I wasn’t expecting to find such a comfort.”

“So… you slept okay then,” Nellie asked awkwardly, allowing Amias to see she was scanning him up and down.

Amias smirked wryly. He took a short sip of his mimosa, redirecting his attention to the server bringing the food. He directed the placement with friendly relish, and took his time placing his napkin on his lap and deciding between his fork and spoon.

Nellie was relieved the combination of bacon, shrimp, and crab turned out as tasty as she suspected.

“Are you staying for a while,” Nellie asked.

“No,” Amias said. “I’ll leave tonight, tomorrow at the latest.”

“And you rented a whole townhouse,” Nellie asked.

“I’m a spoiled creature.” He gave her hand a pat. “We’ll walk around this shopping district a tad. I will answer your questions.”

“Do you know what happened to Ira,” Nellie asked without missing a moment. “He’s not even looking at my messages.”

Amias still wore his smile, but there was an edge to it. He had a similar reaction yesterday; he was dismissive of Ira and his father. He took his time picking through his jambalaya, and took another long sip of his drink.

“I cannot speak much to what he’s up to or where he is,” Amias said.

“He said he was searching for his mother, and that she was a dragon, and so was mine,” Nellie said bluntly.

“Ah, yes, that,” Amias said. “This meal is spicer than expected. I may need another drink….” He flagged down the nearest waiter, ordering a single mimosa and a glass of water. He nursed the cup before him while he waited, and clearly to keep himself occupied.

Nellie drummed her fingers on the table, narrowing her blue eyes at him.

“Ah, that looks more like the Commander,” Amias said. His smile wavered when Nellie did not take the bait. “My meager understanding of it is that he is indeed searching for his mother.” His eyes fell. “Elspeth Plantagenet was… a figure of great renown. Her disappearance has been troubling.”

“Disappearence, or dragoning,” Nellie asked.

“To that I cannot attest,” Amias said.

“Dragons are real then,”Nellie breathed.

Amias laughed lightly, his eyes following the waiter returning with the requested drinks while the waitress brought the desserts. “Of course not,” Amias dismissed. “Creatures of fantasy! Unless you count those monstrous lizards at the local zoo.” He continued to laugh in a polite manner, abruptly stopping and leaning over the table as the servers walked off. “They are real. So very, very real.”

Her face lit with a beaming grin. She gave a small squeal, wiggling in her seat. Ira was far too serious to just lie about dragons, or use them to describe something abstract.

“Then… my mother–?”

“Yes,” Amias said, holding up his head to stop her from speaking it out loud in a crowded restaurant. “In fact, what happened to Brue was the missing piece to what happened regarding–.” He flipped his hand about as if unwilling to once more speak the name Elspeth Plantagenet. “How exactly this–” he paused, eyes rolling up as he searched for the proper term– “situation befell your mother is still unknown. Magic of some like, I suspect. But, the knowledge that it happened to her did solve the question of what happened to… the other woman. Or what we suspect happened to her.”

“Why are you being weird about saying her name,” Nellie asked.

“She is of some note,” Amias said. “I do not wish to invite people to eavesdrop.”

“Um… this is the middle of Tennessee in the US. People don’t know or care about Europeans.”

His lip curled. “Quite.” He slid the lava cake towards her. “Cut into that, my dear, and make sure it’s proper.”

She happily obliged, though she would have eaten it even if it did not pour forth liquid ganache. She tested the taste, smiling at the dark chocolate goodness not being sickeningly sweet.

“What other questions have you for me,” Amias asked, helping himself to a forkful of bread pudding. “Your mother’s condition is correct. How she came by it I do not know. I believe those were the looming ones.”

“And if you knew what was up with Ira,” Nellie added.

“Which I don’t,” Amias said. “I assume he is off doing this mother searching as you believe. I also assume he’s unharmed. Heaven help those who strive to harm the little prince.” Amias rolled his eyes. “Though his mother had more snarl, his father is nothing to look lightly upon.”

“You don’t like Ira, do you,” Nellie asked. She held the lava cake up. “Taste this.”

“Like,” Amias chuckled, bemused. “What a notion! I merely have opinions on his family and he’s a key part of that family.”

There was nothing about Clayborne York that struck Nellie as something a person would form an opinion on. He owned two bed and breakfast locations that had excellent reviews, and a hotel that only had thirty rooms. It was enough for a decent income, Nellie knew the hotel at least was in a desirable area just outside of London so would see the rooms full nearly year round, but it was not anywhere close to being an empire with influence and opinions.

The hostility–opinions–may have come from Clayborne York training with the Order of Ferblanc, but that was too petty. Ira said his father only trained with them and never joined whereas Rhys joined, and climbed the ranks enough to be tapped as a commander in his new job. Amias did not seem to dislike her father, but that could have been fondness for her mother.

He was odd about Ira’s mother. Nellie had not looked into her, only finding spare moments to glimpse Clayborne’s information. His profiles were few and far with only the sparse information about his little properties, though it was mentioned he was married with one child when a personal life section was included.

“Ah,” Amias said, staring beyond Nellie. “Your aunt has retreated to eat her meal. Excellent! And the toffee butter cake is still untouched. Very good.” He abruptly stood, and downed the rest of his single mimosa. “I’ll return shortly.”

“O-okay,” Nellie stammered.

She slumped as Amias headed towards the bathrooms, understandable with the amount of liquid he had consumed. She twisted to see that Nathalie indeed was not sitting on the bench in the foyer any longer. She craned her neck, rising slightly from her seat to see if she could find her to no avail. She poked at the bread pudding with a frown. This meal was much more than she had on her. Hopefully Amias was not trying to ditch out.

A boy dropped into Amias’s seat. He grabbed the toffee butter cake, stabbed it, and hungrily ate a bite.

Nellie blinked in surprise, as if trying to make sure there really was a pre-teen boy that appeared and was eating her dessert. She looked around the dining room for anyone that might be missing a kid, but no one so much as looked in their direction.

“Excuse me,” Nellie said. “You’re at the wrong–.”

“I’m Morgan,” he said, swallowing his next large bite roughly. 

The way he spoke his name indicated English was not his first language, but he was still a native speaker. It was too slight to be firmly labeled an accent, and Nellie would not have noticed it if she was not familiar with accents generally.

Morgan chewed, closing his hazel eyes in pleasure. He had a warm complexion a few shades darker than her lightly tanned. His hair looked black inside Mimi’s, but she suspected it was just very dark brown, though she could not say why. He wore it longer to cover his ears, but not long enough to touch his shoulders. It was cut jagged but somehow came across as expensive, styled, and cool which went with his shirt that was European in style and name.

Morgan’s fork clattered on the empty plate. He dabbed his mouth daintily. “I was famished! Hope you weren’t wanting any.” He leapt to his feet. “Let’s go before your aunt returns to her post.”

“Go? What? The bill–,” Nellie said lamely, standing.

“Amias is taking care of it,” Morgan said.

“But–?”

“We won’t go far,” Morgan said. “Just over to the shopping district. Come on, hurry up!”

She followed Morgan, shooting her waitress a bashful smile as she slipped by her for the door. She stole a look back but did not see Amias reappearing to pay the bill. Her insides twisted with guilt, but she kept pace with Morgan out the doors and into the full parking lot.

The dark clouds hung low and ominous over them, cooling the low 70s temperature. She crossed her arms tightly and looked around the parking lot, spotting the Crown Victoria just around the corner. She could not see through the windshield from that angle, but assumed Nathalie was inside finishing up the lunch Amias bought.

“Why’re you just standing there,” Morgan asked, trotting for the busy road that separated Mimi’s Cafe from the big parking lots for the Avenues shopping center. “There’s a break in traffic. Hurry!”

Nellie sprinted after him, crossing the street into the parking lot. Fat, cold rain drops started to fall, the frequency picking up until it was thick and steady. She hugged her wet sweater to herself as she found herself on the sidewalk under the awning in front of the import store.

Morgan put his hands into his hair, shaking the rain from it. He slicked it back off his forehead, and Nellie was struck by the difference. He looked more mature, more noble, and a bit cold. There was something else that had her staring hard, but she could not figure it out. Something to do with his smile or his eyes.

“You’re staring,” Morgan said.

“I am,” Nellie said unflinchingly. She stared more obviously, ducking slightly to look directly at his face. “There’s something off about you.”

“OMG, Perenelle?”

She flinched, straightening, and putting on a happy face for Emma, Sophia, and Olivia. They were all semi-dressed up just as she was. Emma had her shiny blonde hair in a carefully crafted messy bun, wearing tan UGG boots and tight, black leggings. Sophia wore her darker shade of blonde in a high ponytail with a claw-clip meant to look like a piece of sushi. Olivia’s curly hair was in a chunky braid that curled over the shoulder of her cropped sweatshirt.

“Hey, guys,” Nellie said. “Where’s Ava?”

“She just headed for the bookstore a minute ago,” Sophia said, her eyes scanning Morgan with great interest.

“I thought you said you didn’t feel good,” Olivia said with a hint of accusation. “We invited you. Did you have something better to do?”

“Clearly,” Morgan said. He smirked impishly. “I’m her cousin. Flew in last night.”

Nellie whipped around so fast she gave himself whiplash.

Amias told her that she inherited Brue’s smile. Brue and her brother probably had the same smile, and he passed it to Morgan. It was the similarity that caused her pause; the smile and the shape of their eyes were the same.

“Amias brought you,” Nellie breathed.

“Not exactly,” Morgan said. “I heard he was coming to visit and followed.” He looked at the three girls pointedly. “I’m stealing her away for the day. It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” Sophia said hastily, ushering the other two towards the edge of the awning. “Text us tonight, Perenelle!”

“We’ve got to hang out before break is over,” Emma added.

The three of them psyched themselves up and darted into the rain.

“You’re my cousin,” Nellie hissed.

“Who else would I be?” He shook his hair again so that it hung in its lazy mop. “Come on, let’s waste some time before Amias and your aunt find us.”

She followed Morgan into World Market, shaking her sweater sleeves vainly against the damp that seeped into them. They wound their way through the nonsensical shelving in the middle of the store–displaying whatever was seasonal–to the snacks and food stuffs in the back.

Morgan picked up a chocolate hazelnut spread from Spain, turning the glass jar over with boredom. “Do you go by Nellie or Perenelle,” he asked.

“I guess both,” she said. “Or… Nellie, but I never told anyone it was okay to call me that since moving here.”

“I’ll call you Nellie then.” He put the chocolate hazelnut spread back, picking up lemon curd. “I’m just Morgan.”

“Not Regere jr,” Nellie asked.

Morgan snickered but did not seem amused. He put the lemon curd back, turning completely to browse the shelves of cookies crammed at their back. “He would send regards if he knew I was here.”

Nellie picked up a package of Jammie Dodgers. She frowned at the price, waivered, and took a more possessive grip. She would need something comforting after ditching Nathalie, and she could bribe her into a better mood with a few.

“Where do you live,” Nellie asked. She flushed at Morgan’s incredulous look. “What am I supposed to ask you then? There’s too much!”

“Lisbon,” Morgan said. He gave a shrug. “Well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Six to nine months out of the year,” he said.

She gave it a few seconds, but Morgan did not seem interested in elaborating. “How come? Divorced parents?” 

“Hardly,” he said. He waved flippantly. “Work travels. It’s tedious. Give me your phone a minute. Unlocked, please.”

“Why,” she asked suspiciously, taking her phone out of her skirt pocket and holding it close.

“So I can add myself to your contact list.”

“Why don’t you give me your unlocked phone,” Nellie said.

“It’s at the townhouse,” Morgan said. “I make it a habit to never have it while I'm out.” He smirked. “Harder to track that way. May I?”

She reluctantly unlocked her phone and handed it over. She hovered next to Morgan, popping up on her toes to gain another inch on him.

“Pretty dog,” Morgan murmured, navigating away from the homepage screen.

“Smoke wolf,” Nellie corrected.

“Canidae,” Morgan retorted, handing back her phone.

They stood in awkwardness, silence between them deafening them to the rain pounding on the metal roof and the noise of the store filled with people perusing the wares. Nellie had been truthful when she said she was not sure what to ask him, and Morgan for his part was not very forthcoming.

“Oh,” Nellie exclaimed, causing her cousin to jump. “The clearance snacks are back here. It’s good for trying some really random stuff.”

“Clearence… as in expired,” Morgan asked, raising his dark eyebrows.

“It’s not rotten or anything,” Nellie dismissed.

She circled to the back of the shelves with Morgan on her heels. She crouched, tip-toed, and bobbed around the assorted snacks while Morgan turned his back to browse the tea selection against the wall.

“There isn’t such a grand selection,” Morgan commented. “Suppose having any loose leaf in this country is progress.”

“Another tea snob in the family,” Nellie joked. Then she clarified, “My uncle is very English about his tea.”

“So is our shared grandfather from the little I remember of him,” Morgan said.

Nellie fumbled her Jammie Dodgers. “He’s dead!”

“What, no,” Morgan said, scowling. “What a leap! No, he just doesn’t like me. Doesn’t visit any. I was probably seven the last time I saw him.”

“How old are you now,” Nellie asked. She fumed at Morgan’s sly expression and exasperated head shake. “You aren't giving me a lot to work with, cous!”

“Eleven; yes, you’re older,” Morgan said. “Not by much. Don’t swell your head over it.”

It made a bit more sense why he was grating her nerves the more time they spent together with this knowledge. The only disappointment was that it was more likely he was only shorter because of his younger age, although that was not such a big deal. It just highlighted she was older and more mature no matter his jetsetting lifestyle in Europe.

Nellie abandoned the clearance shelves. There was nothing interesting. She meandered towards the drinks wall with Morgan hovering behind her. She pursed her lips to fight against a smile; her little cousin was in unfamiliar territory and was sticking close.

“Want me to buy you a soda,” Nellie asked.

“I’d love a strong tea after that sweet cake, actually, but all they have for pre-brewed are those Asian milk teas you find in the vending machines,” Morgan said.

“They might have the bottled green tea in stock,” Nellie said optimistically. “That cuts the sweet well. It’d be over here with the fancy waters and soda.”

“That sounds promising,” Morgan said. “Thanks… unless they don’t have any. Then–.” He shrugged.

The way the drinks were shelved did not make much sense to her, so she set about bobbing and weaving to search for the bottled green tea. The jasmine was in stock–also quite bitter and strong–but the flowery aftertaste was not at all what Morgan had in mind.

“I should ask; do you know what happened to Ira? I can’t get a hold of him,” Nellie said. “Amias assumes he’s off looking for his mom, but he was here looking for her and still used his phone. He’s not even reading my messages.”

“Maybe you’re irritating him,” Morgan said. He picked up a pineapple ramune soda with interest. “I don’t really speak to him, nor he to me.”

“Why,” Nellie asked. “Seems good to keep close to others who know about magic, and dragons, and cryptids.”

Morgan grinned. “The world is large, dear cousin. So much larger than a handful of people.” He looked between the pineapple ramune in his right hand and the melon one in his left. “Have you tried any of these? They look fun.”

“I’ve had the melon,” Nellie said.

“Then the pineapple,” Morgan decided, placing the melon back. “You can try a sip since you're paying for it.”

“That won’t cut any sweetness leftover from that cake.”

“So I shall suffer, but it’s of my choosing.” He handed her the soda. “Amias is probably right. I’m sure he’s fine. I would not be terribly surprised if he was being kept busy by his father. He does have a lot on his plate, as the saying is.”

Nellie chose a lychee ramune with the thought of allowing Morgan a sip. They headed towards the check-out, hugging the wall where all the dishes, glassware, and utensils were displayed. They got sidetracked by the crazy array of coffee mugs, snickering snidely at the on-the-nose feminist ones shaped like chubby torsos with words like ‘beautiful’ or ‘powerful’ painted on the front.

“Oh, I got another question,” Nellie said. “Do you know Penny?”

“Penny,” Morgan said, scrunching his face. “Can’t say that’s familiar. Why?”

“Ira talked to her a lot,” Nellie said. She laughed. “Me and my… we thought maybe she was his girlfriend but he always pretended not to hear us when we asked.”

“She probably is then.” He grinned wickedly. “That’s too good!”

The line was long and the registers slow. They eyed the extra stuff near the register, all various forms of useless but enticing in their novelties. Nellie had to remind Morgan a few times they were only getting the sodas and Jammie Dodgers as he pawed over the items. She carefully typed Nathalie’s number into the card reader, trying to keep the numbers straight.

“Amias said you guys were leaving tonight,” Nellie murmured.

“He was rather frantic when I showed up last night,” Morgan said offhandedly. “Suppose he would cut his visit short to get me back.” He spun to her so quickly that the cashier startled. “Let’s skeeve tomorrow!”

“Ditch what,” Nellie asked, handing a ten to the cashier. “I’m on break. I can do what I want. …Within reason.”

“You must be as curious about his highness looking for his mother here, of all places, as I am,” Morgan said. “Why don’t we do a bit of sleuthing? Maybe it’ll answer where he is? Or maybe he’s even here again but not wanting to get sidetracked away from his quest like the last time.” His eyes were sparkling. “Do you have any idea–?”

“Perenelle Herle!”

This time Nellie and Morgan joined the cashier in jumping out of their skins. Nathalie stood tall with the automatic doors open to her back, rainwater streaming off her. Her blue eyes blazed. Her hands were clenched into shaking fists at her sides.

Amias flitted in behind her as she stormed up to the counter. He held his arms out, allowing them to drip, looking much like a half drowned cat–exhausted and wild.

“How dare you run off like that,” Nathalie fumed. “I was completely sick with worry!” Morgan gulped as Nathalie rounded on him. Her face softened only slight enough for Nellie to notice. “Mr. Baig will see to you.”

Nellie took her change and receipt from the cashier, not meeting her stare or answering her mutter to have a nice day, as she stuffed them in her shopping bag.. Her face burned with embarrassment now that the shock of Nathalie’s intervention wore off. She dashed after Nathalie without a word.

Nathalie had pulled the pearlescent Crown Vic up to the store. It had both front doors open, windshield wipers going, and hazards blinking. She had clearly some idea as to where Nellie would wander off to. Amias must have done what he could to delay her. It surely added to her fury.

“Get in,” Nathalie ordered, dropping into the driver’s seat and slamming the door.

Nellie could see the rest of her Spring Break evaporating right before her eyes.

“Nellie,” Morgan called, rushing into the rain.

“Master Morgan,” Amias pleaded, staying beneath the awning.

Nellie paused with her foot on the car. The seat was soaked already, a few minutes more would not matter. She found bitter tears falling from her eyes, grateful for the rain hiding this from her young cousin.

“Perenelle,” Nathalie said sharply.

“Master Morgan, please, come away,” Amias begged. “She’s gotten in enough trouble.”

Morgan pointedly ignored Amias. He gave Nathalie a cool glance down to where she sat, and wrapped his arms around Nellie in a hug that felt completely calculated and not at all affectionate. In her ear, he whispered, “Text me later, and we’ll work out tomorrow’s plans.” Then, he pulled away and returned to Amias, declaring, “I'm soaked though, Amias; how dare you let me get so!”

Nellie slumped in her wet seat. She pulled out the Jammie Dodgers, peeking at Nathalie from the sides of her eyes. She cleared her throat, flinching at the glare Nathalie shot her.

“Want a Jammie Dodger?”

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

I like Mimi's. They had one in FL not far from one of the houses we lived at, and was happy to see one in Murfreesboro. It's French/Louisiana-French food mostly. I've had the baked brie 2 or 3 times. So tasty. (We had brie in the house with some regularity since I was small, and in Australia I used to do brie and crackers for the cabin/camp. Haven't done a baked brie yet.) And, yes, the Honeylocust light takes forever! When I'd get caught at it going to the groomer, I knew I'd be a minute+ late.

Elspeth goes by Elsie. Amias either doesn't know or feels weird calling her that. I had 'Elsie Plantaneget' written down before I looked to see what Elsie was short for: Elizabeth or the Scottish version Elspeth/Elsbeth. I thought the 'p' was weirder, so went with that one.

I've always really, really liked the name Morgan and at one point thought I'd name my kid that, but as I got older I started liking it less for a girl and more for a boy. I did have it on my list for middle names if I had a boy. I'm not sure if it'll still be there after all this is done, lol.

World Market is the import store I'm always going to. Somtimes they do have really cringe things like those feminist mugs. When they get stuff like that, they put them front and center for a few weeks, and you later find a bunch in clearence months later. This is a store where someone started talking to Minnie, asked how old to me, and since she was exactly number of months because it was the 21st I said X months today, and the lady goes omg a leo, and that was not considered odd for that place. That type of store. Fun people watching.

This is the longest chapter so far. And why it was finished now and not on Saturday like I was thinking it would be.