It was so hot that the insects were protesting. Nellie wore the same tank top from yesterday and silently admonished herself whenever someone’s eyes lingered a moment too long, clearly recognizing it. She should have packed more of her Florida clothes, but with Silas’s compound north of Tennessee, and Tennessee being cooler than her normal, she hadn’t expected to need them.

She sat on the edge of a stream in the woods, not far enough to be concerned with the resident bigfoot. She absentmindedly watched the cold water rush over her bare feet. It was some relief from the summer sun above.

Calix sat in an old hunting post up a tree nearby making arrows. He generally used store bought ones, but part of his training was to be able to improvise should those run out. Or so he said. Nellie suspected he was just passing the time.

“Does your family ever visit,” Nellie called up to him.

“Special occasion,” Calix said. “Far flight. It become expensive to do too much.” He blew on the stick he was carefully sharpening. “We video call one times a month.”

A crackling and a fuuum distracted her. The trees ahead went up in a blaze, and Nellie swore she could feel the heat. The fire was just as quickly extinguished, the stream giving an odd pause before returning to its usual flow.

“You lot all right,” Arch’s voice came from where the trees had caught fire. “She didn’t get that far, did she?”

“All well,” Calix called back. He shook his head and tested the sharpness of his stick with his finger. “I tell Arch sending Itzel into the wood is too much. She needs practice away from tinder.”

“She seems to be doing just fine,” Nellie said, somewhat defensively.

Nellie felt an odd bond with Itzel having fought the Piasa Bird together, receiving stitches together. Calix did not appear to feel that bond with either of them, and continued treating them as he always had; kindly, but as novices.

Footsteps crunched through the dried undergrowth and soon Fin appeared. He was sweating through his shirt and the bits of shavings stuck to him indicated he’d been cleaning the stables. Nellie hoped that meant they’d be in use soon.

“Mrs. Adams wants you, Nell,” Fin said. His brown eyes fell to her feet in the stream. “There’s bloodsuckers in there.”

“What,” Nellie squeaked, curling her legs towards her chest.

“No, wait… crawdads,” Fin said, snapping his fingers. “I’m thinking crawdads. It’s too fast for bloodsuckers. But, anyway, you’re wanted at the mansion.”

She put her wet feet in her sandals, glad she had foresight enough to know she’d eventually get sick of wearing socks all the time so would brave bare feet and sandals, and squelched from the woods.

Luckily, she was dry and the dead grass and leaves that had stuck to her feet had fallen off by the time Nellie entered the house. The floors had been steam cleaned recently enough to still give off the faint smell of hot lemons. She gave into the overwhelming urge to tiptoe, to make her footprints as miniscule as possible, as she crossed into the glass corridor that connected the two wings of the house. 

She went flat foot immediately.

The cushions for the two patio chairs–the only furniture in the hall minus a tiny, circular table that sat between them–were laid across the middle of the hall into a makeshift bed, and on that bed stretched a woman.

This woman wore a bright pink bikini top and short jean shorts. Her dark hair fanned around her head, the blonde highlights looking like strategic stripes. Her skin was deeply tanned, but a shade that spoke to her laying about in the sun or in tanning beds a lot. The skin around her shut eyes was much paler. She looked too old to be wearing what she was wearing, but Nellie’s brain malfunctioned on pinpointing her age. She wore a jeweled eyebrow bar that kept glittering in the sun in time with the woman’s breathing, and Nellie could not think of anyone over twenty that would bother with such a thing.

“I feel you staring.” The woman’s brown eyes opened. She gave Nellie a quizzical look, and sat up. “You’re not Arden… Well, how awkward.” She held out her hand, jeweled bangles clicking on her wrist. “I’m Brittney, Arden’s mother.”

“Nellie…” She gingerly shook her hand, surprised at the firm grip that shook back.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Brittney said. “You don’t hear the tried and true names much these days.” She lay back down, stretching. “Of course, I’m part of the problem naming my son Arden and not something like Charles or Wilhelm, but there you have it.” She glanced over at Nellie, her thin eyebrows furrowing. “Nellie…? I don’t remember Arden mentioning a Nellie. That’s not short for Perenelle, is it?”

“It is,” Nellie said. “Arden mentioned me?”

“Just that you arrived,” Brittney said. She rolled her eyes. “The way that boy goes on and on about Fin and Brody, you’d think they were the only other kids here.”

It made sense for Arden to write the most about Fin and Brody since he was learning how to use swords. She wondered if he told his mother what the three of them did, mentioned the split lips and black eyes. Nellie had the distinct impression that Brittney wouldn’t have been fazed by such updates.

“It was nice meeting you,” Nellie said, inching around the cushions. “I better get to Mrs. Adams or she’ll be cross.”

She had no sooner exited the clear hallway before jerking to a halt to avoid colliding with Arden as he came racing around a corner. His shaggy, brown hair was extra messy. His eyes were angry and wild.

“Did you see an old lady pretending she’s not running around here,” he asked.

“Your mom,” Nellie asked carefully. She pointed over her shoulder. “I passed her in the window hall. She seems very ni—.”

Arden pushed by her and stormed off. Nellie continued onward, slowing her pace only a moment as she heard Arden yelling at his mother to put a shirt on. She giggled, and hurried on to Mrs. Adams.

Mrs. Adams only wanted to see her to go over the details for her video call with Nathalie later that day. It was arranged for 1PM, and it was up to Nellie if she wanted to have her lunch beforehand or eat in Mrs. Adams’s office. (The tone that was used told Nellie that she better not dare eat in Mrs. Adams’s office.) She was allotted an hour, since Mrs. Adams could not keep from her work any longer than that and would need her office back.

“The final point we must address, is if you want your hour to be for you alone or if you would rather share some of it,” Mrs. Adams said, looking at her bullet list in her gnarled hand. “When parents or guardians visit, they do get introduced to the other children, and Mr. Javernick wants you to have the opportunity to introduce your,” her mouth tightened on the next word, “friends. Should you wish, I can arrange for those indicated to join you in the first or last minutes so that you still have to majority of your time with just you and Ms. Herle.”

“Really,” Nellie said, her mind running over each of the others. “That’s awesome! It’s almost as good as if I was able to walk around with the phone to show her the grounds. Actually…?”

“Absolutely not,” Mrs.Adams said firmly. “Not only is there no service outside the house, the grounds are private.” She set her list down huffily. “We don’t need the NSA catching a glimpse of the bigfoot or your fellows performing magic.” She drew a clean pad of paper nearer and poised a fountain pen over it. “Which children?”

“All of them.” Nellie shrank at Mrs. Adams’s sharp look. “Well… I guess Ava, Lilac, and Arden all have company…. And Morgan doesn’t need to be introduced. Fin, Brody, Calix, Itzel, and Arch? But only if they want to.”

“Five introductions will eat more into your time, but as you wish, Miss Herle,” Mrs. Adams muttered, scribbling down the names.

Nellie was confident cycling through everyone’s name wouldn’t take more than a minute.

She wandered through the house with the vague sense to find Morgan. Mrs. Adams had suspended lessons for everyone for the day with the amount of visitors, so they’d have a couple of hours until lunch where they could finish up work on their globe. They missed each other at breakfast, and Nellie still hadn’t apologized for taking off on him last night. She was the older cousin. She was responsible for setting things right.

Morgan wasn’t in his room, but in the library at one of the two long tables. He was frowning at a book on the animal husbandry of unusual creatures.

“Interesting choice,” Nellie commented, sitting opposite of him.

“I wanted to find something on infant memories but, naturally, we do not have childcare books,” Morgan said. “Or hardly any with humans as the subject.” He leafed through a few pages. “Then, I thought I’d see if there was any on baby dragons, but I haven’t found any sign that dragons ever have babies outside the phrases ‘maternal instinct’ or ‘motherly savagery’ when people described their possessiveness over their clutches.”

“Like egg clutches?”

“No,” Morgan said, his dark eyebrows a straight line across his forehead. “Somtimes, people thought they were guardian eggs, but it always turned out false.” He sighed heavily. Allowing the pages to fan until the book closed on itself. “The stories are so far between it’s hard to take any of them as true accounts.”

“So, infant memories and baby dragons… Interesting combo.”

“Is it?” Morgan raised his eyebrows at her. “Did we not talk about you and Penny lacking memories of your now dragon mothers? Ugh, if only Silas had the foresight to subscribe to some sort of pediatric memory journal!”

Nellie beamed at him, giving his hand a pat. “You’re a good cousin, Morgan.”

“Of course I am,” he said, tinting red and looking bewildered. “What have I ever done to make you think otherwise?”

Nellie decided not to give it any thought, because she was sure she could’ve come up with half a dozen answers if she did.

She searched the shelves for anything that might help with Morgan’s theory, but was distracted by all the different subjects. She settled on the floor beneath one of the bookcases with a thin book on Appalachian folklore and cryptids. She grinned fondly at the entry on smoke wolves and shuttered at the notes on a cryptid called a not-deer. They somehow sounded worse than white screamers.

They headed to lunch with nothing to show for their efforts.

Lunch was sandwiches that varied on degree of fanciness. There was plain ham and cheese all the way to foie gras and watercress. Each sandwich was cut into quarters so no one could eat a whole of the same kind without searching among the platters.

The table was cramped with extra chairs squished in spaces. Even with the leaf in the table, they had more people than usual. Nellie found herself wedged between Morgan and Fin in the middle of the table, across from Itzel and Arden. Brittney sat pressed against him now wearing a loose, striped shirt over her bikini top.

“He’s late,” Mrs. Adams said disapprovingly, glaring into an empty seat next to Silas.

“He is coming from the airport, Mrs. Adams; show him a little grace,” Silas said. He caught Nellie’s eye and winked. “You’re in for a surprise.”

Nellie was about to ask—.

“Mr. Faust,” Mrs. Adams said sharply. “Put that sandwich down until we’ve started.”

Arden dropped his sandwich quarter with a deep sigh.

“You don’t need to discipline my son with me sitting here,” Brittney said. She whacked Arden’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “Don’t get caught next time.”

“What is this stuff,” Fin asked, sniffing a shot glass in front of his plate filled with light yellow liquid. “It smells like wine.”

“It is wine,” Mrs. Adams said. “Your guardians have given permission for those fifteen and older to have occasional tastings. As we are hosting so many, I find it the right moment for you to practice your best behavior despite the casualness of the menu.”

Arch and Calix exchanged a glance and sniggered quietly. With both being seventeen and foreign, Nellie would bet anything they’d already had the occasional drink during family holidays.

“Why fifteen,” Brittney asked loudly. “I’m right here. Give Arden a cup.”

Arden muttered something under his breath that darkened his mother’s expression and caused her not to push–jokingly or otherwise–for him to have any wine. Lilac was quietly clinking glasses with her parents at the far end of the table, looking young and bashful as she held the wine. Brody was eyeballing his like it might be a trick.

“I say we start,” Silas said. “The sandwiches will get gross if we leave them too long.” He spread his hands before him. “Please, friends, dig it.”

Mrs. Adams looked sour at this, but held her tongue and sipped from her glass.

Fin gave a shutter next to Nellie, setting his wine aside and taking a large bite of a turkey club. “Think I ain’t going to be much of a wine drinker.”

“Your palette isn’t sophisticated enough,” Morgan said airily. “I suppose developing your palette fell completely on your mother with your father not around.”

“Morgan,” Nellie hissed.

“Oh yeah,” Fin said, grimacing. “And you’re a regular drinker at the ripe old age of eleven? That sounds more like neglect than sophistication.”

She picked at her roast beef as Fin and Morgan continued leaning around her to snipe at each other. Arden looked just as miserable with his face propped on his fist, watching his mother yell stories down the table at Silas (who yelled back much to Mrs. Adams’s disapproval). She smiled weakly at Itzel as she glanced up from some sort of fish sandwich.

“Is it tasty,” Nellie asked dully. Itzel leaned over and dropped a quarter of the same onto her plate, and flashed her a thumbs up. “Why not?” Nellie took a bite, eyes widening. “It’s good! What is it?”

“Sapateira,” Itzel said. Her brow furrowed at Nellie’s blank look. “Not same…. Um… lagosta? No?” She smacked the table, getting more than just Morgan’s attention. “Sapateira? Lagosta?”

“Lobster,” Morgan said.

“Oh, lobster rolls! Excellent,” Brittney said, taking one with great delight. “Have one, honey. You love them.”

“Pass,” Arden sulked.

Brittney frowned at him and turned her attention to Silas. She held up her lobster roll in triumph. “Silas! Do you remember that time up in Maine?”

Silas gave a hoot of laughter, slapping the table. He was nodding vigorously as Brittney started refreshing his memory further, unable to speak or else risk spraying the sandwich in his mouth all over them.

Mrs. Adams slammed her cane down on the floor. “I do hate to interrupt, Mr. Javernick, but I’ll need to excuse Miss Herle and myself from the table.” She looked at him sternly. “She has an appointment to keep, and lunch is running longer than normal.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Mrs. Adams, of course,” Silas said, dismissively waving Mrs. Adams’s off. He smiled at Nellie. “Give Nathalie my regards.”

“Misters Cabrera, Dimopoulos, Will—” Mrs. Adams said, struggling to her feet.

“No, that’s fine,” Nellie cut in, scurrying up. “They’re still eating.”

“Very well. To my office then.”

“What’s up,” Fin whispered.

“Nothing,” Nellie said, her cheeks reddening. “I better follow her.”

It seemed childish and even spoiled to ask everyone to stop eating to go say hello to Nathalie. She avoided eye contact with Morgan who was half-glaring with his hazel eyes darting from her to Fin, apparently suspicious if his name would have been included in Mrs. Adams’s list.

She settled in Mrs. Adams’s seat once the computer was set up. She was told it was connected and she would just have to wait for Nathalie to join, and then left alone.

Nathalie’s face–slightly grainy–popped up on the screen. The lines around her blue eyes deepened as she smiled broadly. Her face had pink patches from being outside in the sun. Her blonde hair looked less golden and paler.

‘Nellie! Oh, how I’ve missed you!’

“Missed you too,” Nellie said, her face stretching into a huge smile. “Where’s Ash?”

‘Of course.’ Nathalie shook her head, smirking. ‘Hold on.’

Nellie stared at Nathalie’s chin as she stood with her laptop in her hands. The surroundings bobbed and jostled as she went to the door, titled sideways as she freed up a hand to open it, and righted.

‘I don’t see him at present… Usually, he’s snooping around the flowers. Did I mention I put in flowers in the last letter? Just violets, mind you. My thumb isn’t so green.’

“Which ones are violets again,” Nellie asked. “Pansies?”

‘I think so. Oh, where has that dog got to?’ Nathalie stopped craning to look down into the screen. ‘I’ll keep an eye out. Tell me everything. Are you having fun? Are you learning anything?’

A knock on the door distracted her from answering. Nellie looked at the time in the corner of the screen, frowning. Barely ten minutes had gone by. It was much too early for Mrs. Adams to need her office back.

The door clicked as it opened. Fin stuck his head in, glanced around, and opened it wider. Morgan, Itzel, and Arden were with him.

“Sorry, Nell,” Fin said. “We don’t want to interrupt, but Morgan said you were having a video call and wanted to say hi. We just—.”

“Crash the party,” Morgan said. He sauntered over to the desk, circling around to face the screen. With an all-knowing tone he said, “Hello, Nathalie.”

‘Good to see you well, Morgan,’ Nathalie said, sounding amused. ‘Is there someone else there?’

Nellie stepped aside to allow Fin, Itzel, and Arden to squish in behind the desk too. She introduced each of them, mentioning small things like Fin’s father being part of the same Order that Rhys was once part of, and Itzel being a mage like Amias. She started to mention Arden’s mother was visiting, but he cut her off and said he needed a break from her and not to worry about him sneaking away.

Nellie did not mention her and Fin sometimes sneaking into the woods to spy on the resident bigfoot. Or, how she and Itzel survived a Piasa Bird. Or, how Arden not currently sporting a black eye or cut lip was unusual.

‘Oh, Nellie, before I forget again; did Amias arrive all right? Was his flight dreadful?’

“Amias?” She thought back to the empty place setting at lunch. Silas told her he had a surprise for her. She beamed. “Amias is coming?”

‘Well, there goes the surprise,’ Nathalie muttered. ‘And that makes it more likely that his flight was dreadful. Poor man.’ She looked up over the laptop. ‘Is that him? Dog!’

“Ash,” Nellie said.

‘Come here. Nellie’s on the screen. Beast!’

“Ash,” Nellie corrected again.

‘Do you want dinner? That usually gets—Oh, he’s gone.’ Nathalie sighed. ‘Sorry, Nellie love, he’s too busy doing his own—.’

Nathalie shrieked and the laptop fell. The screen went black with a jagged white line that vibrated as it tried keeping picture. Nellie could hear Nathalie yelling at Ash about poofing in front of her, but the sound was mangled and watery. It sounded a bit as if Nathalie said goodbye before the connection was cut off.

“You mama nice,” Itzel said.

Nellie grinned, quietly shutting Mrs. Adams’s laptop as Morgan whispered the correction to Itzel.

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

I currently am not supposed to eat lunch meat, so they had a sandwich feast. My kid keeps calling me. Guess that's it for the comment, lol.

How are we supposed to recognize our moms?

Ira had viewed the message shortly after she sent it, but it had gone unanswered. Nellie assumed he was just busy with all his princely meetings, but the week came and went with nothing. The same message was sent to Penny, and that was so far unread. She expected as much.

Nellie returned her phone to Mrs. Adams for it to be locked away again. She headed out to the medium greenhouse to start her work helping Lilac with the keeping. She found a middle-aged couple that looked like they belonged behind the pharmacy desk at the corner store. She inched closer, looking for Lilac, but saw no sight of her.

“Hi,” Nellie greeted, awkwardly lifting her hand in a half-wave. The pair tensed with the man putting his arm around his wife’s shoulder. Nellie could see Lilac’s pixie nose in the woman’s face and the man had the same shade of blond hair. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Maebry… Lilac’s parents. I forgot you were coming this week.”

“So has Lilac,” Mr. Maebry said sniffily. His wife shushed him. “She must’ve! She brings us in here, and hasn’t returned.” He stared suspiciously at a shrub nearby. “She just said there are dangerous things in here….”

“I think only if she plays with them,” Nellie mused. She winced at the Maebrys expressions. “That’s a vanilla bush next to you. See, let me show you.”

She knelt next to the bush, searching among the leaves for a pod. She dragged her wrist over her forehead to stop the sweat from dripping into her eyes. It was sweltering outside and the greenhouse made it much worse.

“Oh, what happened to your arm,” Mrs. Maebry asked, peeking down at her. Her already fair skin paled. “Nothing in here… right?”

Nellie glanced at the stitches on her bare shoulder, briefly wondering if she would’ve worn a tank top if she remembered Lilac’s parents were coming that day. With the heat, probably.

“It was an animal,” Nellie said. And hastily added, “But not here. I was in Michigan. And I'm better. These are supposed to be out already, but Mrs. Adams didn’t have time yesterday or this morning. Ah, here’s one! See? This’ll turn dark and die, and then you harvest the beans out to make vanilla.”

The Maebrys did not look impressed. They were still anxiously looking around for signs of Lilac. She soon appeared from behind a flowering tree dragging Ava by the arm and beamed ecstatically.

“Mom! Dad! Look!” She pulled Ava along. “This is the little witch I told you about! A real witch!” Lilac glanced at Nellie. “Oh, good morning, Nellie. Cute tanktop.” She yanked on Ava’s arm. “Tell them about being a witch. Please!”

“Umm… I’m just learning…” Ava looked at Nellie for help, but Nellie shrugged, completely unsure what she was supposed to do.

“Oh, Ava,” Nellie said, it coming to her. She scrambled to her feet. “Is your mom here?”

“Not until tonight,” Ava said. She removed her glasses as they fogged up. “Oh! Would you guys like to eat with us? My mom is a fully fledged witch. She can talk about it way better than I can.”

Lilac looked ready to float away at the idea of getting a talking from an adult witch. Her parents looked slightly disturbed and shellshocked, but they were trying to give Lilac pleased smiles.

Nellie and Ava–against her will–helped Lilac tend to the greenhouse. Ava stuck by Nellie, constantly needing to remove her glasses due to the humidity. Nellie snuck glances at the Maebrys, smirking as Lilac’s parents grew more and more at ease as Lilac rattled on and on about different plants, what she used them for, and other facts. They’d tense from time to time, and Nellie imagined Lilac was dreamily speaking of poisons or corrosives.

She and Ava were able to sneak out during a mini-lecture on plants that crossed the regular and magical boundary, Lilac summing it up to the potioneer themself being regular or magical.

“You really should have those removed,” Ava said, pointing to Nellie’s stitches. “Itzel got hers out two days ago.”

“Actually, yeah, now that you’ve reminded me, I'm going to go see Mrs. Adams right now,” Nellie said. They set off for the mansion. “What time’s your mom coming in?”

“Five-ish? Do you want to eat dinner with us too?”

“Can’t,” Nellie said. “Morgan insists we spend time together tonight. I think he’s feeling left out. I’ve gone on both field trips, and he hasn’t gone on any.”

“Neither have I,” Ava said, eyeing Nellie’s shoulder, “but that’s fine by me.”

They were nearly at Mrs. Adams’s office when the door was thrown open. The ancient, stout woman hobbled into the hall on her cane. Her sharp eyes fell upon them.

“Ah, Miss Herle, what timing,” Mrs. Adams said, not sounding at all pleased. “Inside, if you would. Excuse us, Miss Wagner.”

Nellie looked at Ava, bewildered, as Mrs. Adams ushered her into the office. Ava gave a small wave, looking apprehensive. The door shut.

“Sit, Miss Herle,” Mrs. Adams ordered. She immediately sat as Mrs. Adams lowered herself into her own chair. “I was told you need to check your phone messages.”

“Huh?”

“Your phone, Miss Herle,” she said impatiently. She placed Nellie’s cell phone on her desk, and slid it forward. “You’re to check your phone.”

There was no sense of anxiety or sadness on Mrs. Adams’s face. She looked irritated. Whatever message Nellie was supposed to be checking was not an emergency. Nathalie, Ash, and all the rest of her extended family had nothing terrible befall them. As stern as Mrs. Adams was, she would’ve shown some humanity.

Nellie curiously took up her phone. She could feel Mrs. Adams’s eyes on her head as she looked at the screen. There was a single text message, but it wasn’t from Ira.

“Penny? Really?”

She opened it:

Your guess is as good as any. Don’t worry if Ira ignores this question. He doesn’t know either. He thinks he’ll just know Elsie when he sees her. It’s cute. Really stupid. But cute.

Nellie glanced up at Mrs. Adams. She cleared her throat. “Is it all right if I write back? I know the weekly—.”

“Just answer it, Miss Herle,” Mrs. Adams said stiffly. “I don’t need another barrage of phone calls from that girl.”

She hastily wrote:

What if he’s right? I don’t remember Brue. What if I can’t find her because of that?

“Mrs. Adams,” Nellie asked timidly. “Do you think you could take my stitches out while I wait for Penny’s reply?”

Mrs. Adams gave a deep sigh. She searched through a drawer on her desk, coming up with a small, flat leather case. Inside were two different sizes of nail clippers, tiny scissors, tweezers, a metal file, and some sort of stick with one pointed end and one curved end.

“Lean forward, Miss Herle,” Mrs. Adams instructed. “I’m not about to hobble around the desk for something so simple.”

“Is that some kind of manicure set?”

“A nail grooming set, correct. Lean a bit father. There you are; don’t move. These scissors are very sharp.”

She fought the urge to watch with her peripherals, fearing that watching would make her flinch. She watched her open message instead, her heart pumping at the appearance of three dots pulsating under her massage. Penny was already writing back, and the answer was going to be a paragraph going by how long the dots were pulsating away.

“There you go,” Mrs. Adams said, packing away her nail kit. “If that is all–.”

“Wait,” Nellie said hastily. “Penny’s writing back. Just another minute.”

Mrs. Adams narrowed her eyes. “When you reply to her this time, remind her that you’ll be without your phone until next week,” she said coolly. “I don’t need that child badgering me over her messages not being replied to quick enough.”

Nellie opened her mouth to agree, but lost her words as Penny’s response came through:

I never met my mother. So Ira’s wrong.

There wasn’t anything Nellie could say to that. She wanted to ask what Penny was talking about. Silas told her that Penny’s mother–Keena Fox–was a friend of his and her father’s; said Penny trained at his compound, and she saw Hodge boarded there herself.

“Miss Herle,” Mrs. Adams said in a tone that told Nellie she had already tried to get her attention. “I do have a lot of work to do.”

“Sorry,” Nellie murmured. She quickly typed that her phone time for the week was up and she’d check in next week before handing her phone back. “She shouldn’t bother you.”

“I appreciate that,” Mrs. Adams said. She gestured towards the door. “If you would.”

---

The dragon notes were sprawled across Morgan’s bed. He added a large globe to the pictures and notes, and was busy sticking pins in it while Nellie read aloud different locations. She held up the image of the Welsh flag, frowning.

“Wales, clearly,” Morgan said. “Next.”

“Do you think Ira already knows his mother,” Nellie asked. “When he was staring at this, I thought he was just jetlagged, but what if it’s because it means something personal?”

“You think his highness knows which dragon is his mother and hasn’t told you,” Morgan asked. “That doesn’t sound like him, as much as I hate admitting that.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right,” Nellie muttered. She continued to look at the Welsh flag. “It must mean something though, right?”

Morgan set down a small, red pin he’d poised ready to mark the next location. He sighed in irritation.

“It could be as simple as his ancestor hiding in Wales after his rebellion against the Tudors failed,” Morgan said. He rolled his eyes at her blank expression. “Honestly? And you’re supposed to be English.”

“You know I'm not,” Nellie said. “I’m half at best.”

“After the Tudors invaded and killed King Richard, there were two rebellions with a lost prince–King Richard’s nephews the Tudors tried claiming her murdered–leading the charge. Both failed, of course, but it showed the princes had reached adulthood. The younger even had a wife and a son when he surrendered himself for execution. And that wife was Welsh.” Morgan grabbed a stack of notes and forced them into Nellie’s hands. “They’ve been doing genetic testing on the families in that area for years, and found some lines of female descendants. Nothing too straight and true. But, a couple of years ago, his highness was on their radar. Here you had a boy called York with a mother that was a Plantagenet. They assumed he’d be related through his mother’s side; another of the female lineage.”

“And they found a direct, male line through his father…” She straightened the papers. “What exactly does that mean?”

“His majesty has all legal right to challenge the current monarch to the throne,” Morgan said. “Of course, with modern times as they are, that’d never happen. But you know the old scholars are eyeing those ancient laws and gossiping to each other.” He picked up a pin. “It’s better for the Realm if the King has nothing to do with modern, commonplace politics anyway. Next.”

Nellie read off a few more locations. Morgan was probably right that Ira had fixated on the Welsh flag for some strange family ties, but she also thought that could be a connection to his mother. The two reasons did not have to be separate, and maybe Ira was not yet certain that his mother was that specific dragon, so decided to keep quiet until he was sure.

“Penny never met her mother,” Nellie said offhandedly.

“Uh… okay? And?”

“And she seems confident that she’ll still find her,” Nellie said. She shrugged. “It was just reassuring to know.”

“We’ll find your mother,” Morgan said adamantly. “We’ll track down your father, find your mother, turn her back, and then the three of you can live down the road. We can see each other every day if we wanted. And take weekend family trips.”

“Wait. Move?” Nellie set down her paper sporting a whippy green dragon.

“Of course,” Morgan said, as if it was obvious. “Once your parents are back, there’s no reason for you to stay in the middle of nowhere Tennessee with your aunt. Lisbon is wonderful. You’ll love it.”

“But….”

“What,” Morgan asked suspiciously. “It’s not like you like it there.” He scoffed. “Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t belong there.”

“I doubt I belong in Lisbon,” Nellie said heatedly. She shoved the papers off her lap, and slid off the bed. “I’m going for a walk. I can’t keep staring at all this print.”

It had never crossed her mind what would change if she found Brue; if she found Rhys. She was curious about them, wanted to know them, and felt as if she was supposed to find them being their only child. 

It was certainly true she had fantasized about her father returning into her life, taking her out to Disney or Universal just the two of them, but at the end of each fantasy he returned her home to Nathalie, and usually vanished again without a trace until the next time she felt down about having no father.

“Fighting with Morgan?”

Nellie startled. She’d been walking in an absentminded huff and it took her a second to realize she was stomping by the cozy library. It took her another moment to realize that Arden was leaning against the wall on the other side of a large vase, clearly trying to ambush people coming from the library.

“Maybe it’s not Morgan,” Nellie said.

“Of course it’s Morgan,” Arden said. “Want to vent? I’m stuck here anyhow.”

“No, thanks though,” Nellie said. She watched Arden curiously as he inched lower on the wall, his shaggy head pressed against it so he could peek between it and the vase. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for Fin,” Arden said, lowering his voice.

“To…?”

“Tackle him. He told me no way I could sneak up on him with his dad being in the Order of Ferblanc. Told him that made no sense, so I'm going to prove it.” He shot Nellie a look from under his hair. “Can you go away or hide? You’ll give me away.”

She scurried around to hide next to Arden. She was curious how this would go. Arden was right in his thinking that Fin’s father’s training had nothing to do with him, but Fin was no joke on his own.

“My mom’s supposed to come tomorrow,” Arden said after a pause.

“Really? You hadn’t mentioned it,” Nellie said.

“Didn’t know until thirty minutes ago,” Arden said. “Guess she said something this morning.”

Nellie suspected that was why Mrs. Adams seemed to have a shorter fuse today. She decided not to share that.

“What’s up with you and Morgan?”

“It’s… complicated,” Nellie muttered, tinting red.

“I hear ya,” Arden said, nodded solemnly. “We all got family complications. We’d be with our families otherwise. Only difference with you is that you brought your family along.”

Arden’s statement was nice, but it wasn’t completely true. Calix, Ava, and Brody at the very least had normal family lives as far as she could tell. She suspected the same of Arch, although he never mentioned his family or much about his personal life outside of the compound. Fin came from a broken home, but his parents got along well and he had a great relationship with them both. Itzel was a mystery, mostly because of the language barrier, but she was always glad when she received letters.

“Ssh, Fin’s coming,” Arden hissed.

It turned out to be a good idea that she stayed to watch, because Arden charged through the vase–now looking very rare and expensive–in order to accomplish his mission. Nellie lunged forward in time to catch it as Arden tried getting Fin in a headlock.

Nellie waited until Fin and Arden had moved down the hall—Arden still failing to pin the much stronger, stockier, and older boy—before putting the vase back on its pedestal. She briskly left in case the boys backtracked and did knock the vase over. She did not want to be around if that happened. Mrs. Adams would skin them.

She found herself passing Silas’s office after wandering for a few minutes. She gave a hesitant knock, and stuck her head in when told to enter.

Silas set his reading glasses aside as she slunk in. He smiled warmly and gestured for her to sit.

“Didn’t take Ava’s dinner invite, I see,” Silas said. “Don’t like Italian?”

“Indifferent to it, actually, but that wasn’t why,” Nellie said. “I was hanging out with Morgan.”

“You’ve been doing an excellent job of keeping him out of trouble,” Silas said. “I was sure we’d have complaints at least once a day. Though, some credit goes to Itzel too. It’s nice for her to have someone around that can understand her, and she does seem keener to learn English at long last.” He laughed lightly. “I’m rambling. What is it you need, Nellie?”

She did not know how to explain the anger and panic that boiled up in her chest when Morgan talked about the future. She should want to find her parents, live with them, and she should definitely want to do that as far away from Lynchburg as possible.

“I spoke with Nathalie today,” Silas said. Nellie inched to the edge of her seat. “I offered to fly her up, but she wasn’t sure how to make that work between adjuncting and… What do you call your wild friend again?”

“Ash….”

“She was worried about leaving Ash,” Silas said. His eyes twinkled as he smirked. “Never said it, refused to call him by his name, but you got the sense. I think she’s much more attached to him than she’ll ever admit.”

Nellie’s chest ached. She could feel a sob building up, and gulped to force it down. She bit her lip as it started to shake.

“Perenelle,” Silas said softly, tapping the desk to gain her attention. “We decided tomorrow afternoon that you two can have a video chat here in my office. I know you must be getting extra homesick with everyone getting visitors, and since Nathalie couldn’t come, we figured this was the next best thing.” He leaned back in his chair with a wide, Santa Claus smile. “You can see Ash this way too. I bet he’d love it.”

She wiped her blue eyes as they finally spilt over. She grinned. “Thanks, Silas. That sounds awesome.”

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

I've been dying to have my own vanilla bush (and cinnamon tree) for a couple of years now, so Nellie gets to take care of one for me. I removed Rumi's stitches with scissors from an old nail grooming set that has since lost everything else. We never use/d them, so they're still extremely sharp and nicely small and pointy to get into the loops.

I was going to do a Penny Spoilers to go with the Ira Spoilers (the docu was titled Ira/Penny originally) but haven't gotten to it yet. The big spoiler was going to be that she doesn't know her mom, but unlike Ira's big spoiler, hers popped up in Nellie's story sooner.

The Lost Princes Project technically is still ongoing because they haven't found a male line, but there's so much intersting stuff with the two princes, the rebellions, the possibility of the older living to be an old man after his rebellion failed, and even theories that the younger wasn't really publically executed (I'm leaning more that he was, but the theories are still very interesting). Richard III was the last English/British monarch though. Everyone else was a foreigner with some type of distant relation so they coul claim blood rights. It just brings up interesting questions if there was a true, English heir out there. (It'd mean zilch, honestly, but still intersting.)

Morgan's motives are revealed! Lol, he wants his cousin to live nearby. It occured to me that I hadn't had Nellie spend any time with Arden yet, so why not have her run into him before meeting up with Silas. I was going to have Silas and her talk longer, but I think after somewhat crying in front of him the talk would've been more of the small variety to try to get rid of any awkwardness, so just ended it there. I was going to try having her ask about the Penny's mom thing (he wouldn't say anything) or mention Arden's mom's visit (circle back to the homesickness) but it wasn't playing out.

A little boy of around seven whacked a stick against a tree with bravado. He twisted to whack it with a backhanded strike, but the stick snapped. He vigorously waved his broken stick around until the end fell off. He walked up the slope of a fallen log with his arms out like an airplane. He slipped, fell, and found his pristine clothes splattered with mud.

“Oops.”

He wiped his muddy hands on his shirt as he wandered off. He smeared it across his fair forehead as he brushed up his blond hair. He splashed in a babbling brook, washing his hands and drenching himself further. His mother was not going to be thrilled with any of this.

High-pitched chittering like an insect crossed with a mechanical-like whistle pierced his ears and drew his attention to a darting creature the size of a thumb. It zigged and zagged through the air, dipping to touch the water, and flew off with a faint glow trailing behind.

“Pixie!”

He gave chase, coming nowhere near the pixie and soon losing it among the forest. The discomfort from his damp clothes and soggy shoes was starting to bother him anyway. He started the trudge back, slowing even more once he returned to the brook.

There was an odd, little animal trying to drink at the edge. The back and hidelegs were like a lion cub’s, complete with a tail that whipped around wildly as it knelt on its dark, scaly front legs that went up into a dark gray, downy body. There were numbs branching out of its shoulders that were just beginning to sprout feathers.

“Are you a gryphon?”

The little gryphon splashed about in a clumsy attempt to spin around. It opened its steel-colored beak and let loose a chirpy hiss.

A smile spread over his face.

“Ira! Ira, where’ve you gone?”

“That’s my mum,” Ira whispered to the gryphon. “I’ll come back with something to eat.”

---

Dinner was quiet. Ira was allowed to wear his pajama pants from last night in lieu of his wet, muddy pants. The reasoning being it was far too late in the day to change into something nice when dinner was just the three of them. His father had joined him in the pajama bottoms attire while his mother feigned disapproval in her sweats and a t-shirt too stained to ever see the light of day.

Despite the lightheartedness of preparing for dinner, choosing relaxed wear, deciding to eat in the kitchen instead of the formal dining room, dinner was quiet. There was a tense air between his parents that Ira didn’t know what to do with. It wasn’t a situation that happened enough for him to recall the last time a meal with just the three felt so uncomfortable.

Ira inspected the bit of steak on the end of his fork, narrowing his blue eyes as if trying to see through it.

“Wot has that cow done to offend you,” Clayborne asked cheerily.

“What do gryphons eat,” Ira asked.

Clayborne and Elsie shot a look to each other, silently deciding which of them would take what role in this. Elsie sighed and set her fork down.

“What brought on this sudden interest in gryphons, sweetie.” Elsie asked.

Ira looked at his plate but could feel his mother’s light hazel eyes on him. “I found one in the wood….”

“I reckoned our pride moved on,” Clayborne said with a frown. “Was it only the one?”

“Yes, a little one,” Ira said eagerly, turning to his father. “It was all fuzzy with nubs.”

Clayborne and Elsie exchanged alarmed looks. Clayborne set his fork down and stood quickly. Elsie hastily rose too.

“No, m’dear, I’ll return shortly,” Clayborne said. “Finish supper.” He cast his gaze to Ira, smiling warmly. “Where did you see it?”

“N-near the stream…,” Ira said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” Elsie said soothingly. “Take my coat along too. I fear a towel won’t be strong enough.”

The rest of his dinner was unenjoyable. Ira kept stealing looks at the door, or straining his ears for sounds of his father. He was scolded a few times for not paying attention to his meal, or to whatever smalltalk his mother was trying to make to get his mind off things.

He was tucked into his bed and his father still had not returned. He watched his mother tuck a stray strand of her long, toffee colored hair behind her ear as she recited from a thick, leather book. He was in no mood for a fairy story.

Ira sat up suddenly as a door downstairs slammed shut, like it was kicked closed. Elsie gently pushed him back down, snapped the book shut, and kissed his forehead.

“But–,” Ira started.

“Bed now, sweetie,” Elsie said firmly. “We’ll talk in the morning.” She smiled softly. “You were right to tell us about the little gryphon, Ira. We shall have a lesson on them tomorrow.” She hesitated on her way to the door. “Ira?”

“Yes, Mummy?”

“Are you terribly lonely?”

He inched up in an attempt to see his mother’s face better, but with the only light now coming from his nightlight it was impossible. She was turned halfway out the door, teetering on leaving. 

He felt his insides squirm with embarrassment as her question lingered in the room. He shook his head but could not force the words out.

“Elsie,” Clayborne hissed. His steps were light in the hall. “Elsie!”

She vanished, the door clicked closed behind her. “Shush, I’m here. Did you find it?”

“Is he asleep?”

“Likely not, but he’s tucked in.”

“Downstairs then,” Clayborne said, dropping his voice.

Ira crept from his bed as the creaking in the hall receded away. He tensed as the door latch clicked. He eased open the door.

“--finally found her,” Clayborne’s voice drifted from downstairs. “Malnourished, but not dangerously so.”

“Such a relief,” Elsie’s voice came. “I feared getting his hopes up when he mentioned how young–she, was it?--how young she was. Tea?”

“Please; I’m starved.”

He tiptoed out to the landing as his parents moved towards the kitchen. He sank to his knees and squished his face in the bars of the bannister, straining his ears.

“My worry now is how long she’ll need to stay,” Clayborne said.

“That is a worry for when it comes,” Elsie said. “Ira will enjoy caring for her.”

“Ira?”

“Our son is lonely,” Elsie said with a bite in her voice. “Clayborne, look at me. He’s desperately lonely and has been, and we’ve ignored that too long. Remember your childhood?”

He couldn’t hear what his father said. He had a weird, mixed up feeling inside, like a cross between shame and relief. His mother clearly hadn't believed him when he tried saying he wasn’t lonely, but his father also appeared to have had a lonely childhood and he was loved and respected.

“Folant wrote,” Elsie said solemnly.

“You mentioned.”

“I won’t drop this, Clayborne! Not with our son–.”

“Don’t bring Ira into this,” Clayborne said. Then added, dropping his voice, “Ssh, we’ll wake him… He was not even born when we came to this… arrangement with Folant.”

“And he would have never been born without her help,” Elsie stated. There was a long pause. “I wished I could have given him a sibling; you another son or a daughter.”

There was another long pause, but this one had an oddly stifled choking sound. Ira turned his head to listen harder. His stomach sank when it clicked that the noise must’ve been his mother crying. She, or his father, was trying to stop it.

Ira stood and staggered, bumping hard into the rail. He froze as the sounds downstairs abruptly stopped, and awkwardly stumbled back to his room on his sleep-prinkling legs, diving into bed and yanking the sheet over his head.

Footsteps creaked on the landing outside his door. He shut his eyes.

“Fair play, but you forgot to shut your door,” Clayborne’s voice whispered from the hall. “Goodnight, Ira.”

---

Gryphons were dangerous according to the thick, old book Ira was trying to read. His eyes kept glazing over, and with it written at least a hundred years ago, he often had to pester his mother for help.

Elsie sat in an armchair by the cold fireplace. Her toffee colored hair was loosely tied off to the side, and her ivory, silken dressing gown had fallen off her shoulders as she stared unseeingly into the opposite wall. Ira spotted the edges of a rash peeking from the stretched-out collar of her oversized shirt as it too slipped from her shoulder.

“Mummy,” Ira questioned. “What’s that?”

Elsie startled, looked at him, his pointing, and readjusted her dressing gown to cover her neck and shoulders. She gave him a papery smile.

“Are you stuck on something, sweetie?”

Clayborne strode into the study before Ira could answer, or re-ask his original question. He was dressed in heavy leather pants and his coat had a metallic sheen when the light caught it just right. He promptly kissed Elsie on top of the head with a faint “morn, m’dear” and beamed down at Ira.

“I chopped the livers up,” he announced. “You want to take a crack at feeding her?”

“Clayborne,” Elsie warned, “it’s too soon. Let him observe longer.”

“I’d say three days is long enough,” Clayborne said. He smiled at her softly. “You’re fretting too much. Ira can handle this.” He winked at his son. “Can’t you?”

Ira looked between his parents; his mother’s tired worry and his father’s joyous excitement. He jumped to his feet, allowing his father’s excitement to spark his own that he’d kept smouldering ever since finding the gryphon.

“I’ll get my boots!”

He raced to the foyer to don a set of calf-high, thick leather boots. He could hear his parents murmuring at each other, but he was too busy squatting down to tie the laces to care about his mother worrying and his father reassuring. He propped up on his toes, waving his hand about to snag his coat from its hook. It was just a denim jacket, not as protective as his father’s coat, but his mother would surely appreciate his efforts and realize he was serious about helping care for the little gryphon.

He proudly, and calmly, walked back towards the office, slowing at the tense tones in his parents’ voices.

“--exhauted as of late,” Clayborne said. “More reason not to have Folant come, if you ask me.”

“They’re coming, Clayborne,” Elsie said firmly. “I’ve already bought everything for supper.”

“Looks like I really am spending some quality time with your dear brother then.”

Elsie gave an exasperated sigh from the other side of the wall. Ira could picture her pinching at her eyes. He picked that moment to re-enter the office.

“Ready,” he announced.

It was gross and enjoyable dropping chopped livers into the baby gryphon’s mouth. She started out wary, but was soon making a wheezing purring sound and soft chirps between clumps of food. Ira’s ecstatic face was reflected back to himself in her enormous yellow eyes.

“Her coat is quite mottled,” Ira commented. “Do you think she’ll have rosettes? I read some gryphons have them on the cat part of them.”

“Fair thought,” Clayborne murmured. His head was resting on the shed window, his blue eyes staring up at the house.

“Dad? Are you okay?” He quickly looked to the gryphon to avoid eye contact. “You and Mummy… seem odd.”

He didn’t want Clayborne to know how much he’d been eavesdropping lately. It would make his parents too careful and he’d never be able to overhear another thing, trivial or otherwise. He wanted to ask about Folant; who she was, what arrangements they had with her.

Clayborne was staring into his hands. His face was tense with concentration as if trying to see through them.

“You understand that we aren’t a normal family, right?”

“We’re not?” Ira dropped another bit of liver down the gryphon’s throat. “How so? Is this because Uncle Lachlan is a duke?”

Clayborne smiled in bemusement. “You’re feeding a gryphon right now.”

“Oh. Right.” Ira blushed. “What of it?”

Ira did not know life without creatures and magic; them being as common as snow in the winter and his mother scolding him whenever she found snacks hidden in his room.

Clayborne toyed with a button on his coat. “Speaking of your uncle, I plan on staying the night. Perhaps tomorrow as well.”

“Just you? Without me or Mummy?” Ira eyed him. “Don’t you have any friends that’ll take you in when you and Mummy are disagreeing?”

“Alas, no,” Clayborne said in false pain. He smirked. “Part of my upbringing, I’m afraid.” A sudden, horrified look of realization overcame his face to the point that Ira drew back when his father reached out to clap his shoulder. “You have been lonely, haven’t you?”

Ira half-shrugged, squishing the bit of liver in his fingers. There didn’t seem to be a right answer to this question his parents kept throwing at him. He wasn’t sure exactly what it meant to be lonely; he had never had anyone to play with or talk to or simply laze about with that was anywhere near his age to compare it to. If he had to put a word to the most nagging feeling he had though, lonely would be it.

“Ira, watch your–.”

“Ow!”

The end of his finger dripped scarlet on top of the gryphon’s downy head. She tossed and snapped her beak at the travesty of it.

“Lemme see it,” Clayborne said, sighing. “All there. No stitches. Your mother won’t be happy, mind, but this is part of learning. Come on, I’ll get you patched up at the house. I’ll finish her feeding.”

“Can I,” Ira asked timidly. He thrust his bleeding hand behind his back. “I’ll use my other hand. And be extra careful. Please, Dad?”

Clayborne’s eyes sparkled as he smirked and held in a laugh. “If your mother asks, I brought you up straight away.” He nodded to the half full bucket. “Go on, then.”

---

Clayborne had left for Uncle Lachlan’s as soon as lunch was finished. There were no words between him and Elsie on the subject, just tense pecks on the cheek and murmured goodbyes. Ira flattened his hair after his father ruffled it on his exit, watching him drive off before he was shooed upstairs for an early bath.

He wasn’t allowed outside for the afternoon. Elsie had set out his Sunday clothes and those were absolutely not allowed out on the grounds. He was sequestered to her study to continue his studies on gryphons. He suspected his bandaged finger played a part in that.

“I best get supper on,” Elsie said, glancing at the large, ticking clock against the wall.

“I’ll help.”

“Thank you, but no,” Elsie said, easing out of her chair. “I’d hate for you to stain your good clothes. Do what you wish, as long as you keep clean.”

There was not much for him to do in the study other than read, and his mother had been forcing that upon him lately. She forbade him–in so many words–to go out to see the gryphon again. He opted to follow her into the kitchen to watch her cook.

Elsie was seasoning a long tray of diced potatoes that sat out next to a large leg of lamb.

“Dad’s favorite,” Ira said, climbing onto one of the counter seats. Elsie gave him an impish smirk and started seasoning the lamb. “He could be having lamb tonight with Uncle Lachlan.”

“Your uncle couldn’t roast a lamb to save his life,” Elsie said.

“Are you two fighting,” Ira asked anxiously. “Is it… about me?”

His loneliness was at the center of all the arguments he’d overheard. His parents normally got on really well, and were the right mix of teasing and loving so that neither was strong enough to give him worry or make him gag. It was only recently, and always with mentions of his loneliness, that thing had grown tense.

“That makes it sound like you’re at fault, and you’re not,” Elsie said, sliding the lamb in the oven. “Your father and I disagree on how to help you, or if we even should.” She smiled affectionately. “You are not to blame, Ira. Arguments are normal. Don’t fret.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the countertop. “Do you feel a salad or some cooked sort of greenery?”

Elsie nearly dropped the tray of potatoes as the front bell clanged. She shot a wide-eyed look at the clock, and murmured something that suspiciously sounded like a string of curse words.

“They’re early,” Elsie said, setting down the potatoes and fumbling them about to re-even them out. “Come, sweetie, to the door.”

“Couldn’t I just answer it if you’re busy,” Ira asked.

Elsie hesitated. “No… I think it best we go together. Come along.”

He trailed his mother out to the foyer. She checked her face for smears of lamb blood and bared her teeth to guard against any greens stuck in them. There was a nervousness he wasn’t used to seeing coming from her. It reminded him almost of Christmas mornings.

“Smile,” Elsie whispered to him, wrenching open the heavy, wooden door.

A petite woman with long, black hair and gleaming silver eyes was revealed. She wore a coy smile, and her clothes looked expensive even to Ira’s young, inexperienced, boy eyes. There was something about how she stood, carried herself, that gave him a foreboding feeling. His skin prickled as his danger senses rose.

The woman’s eyes darted to him so quickly he could have imagined it before softening on Elsie. She made a quick curtsy with a bend of her knee.

“Elspeth.”

“Folant.” Elsie and Folant bumped cheeks. “It’s been ages! Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, my dear friend,” Folant said. Her eyes flashed beyond Elsie. “Clayborne…?”

“Not here,” Elsie said, her jaw set. Ira blinked, shocked, as she rolled her eyes.

“Just as well. We did have our arrangement.”

“Oh, do come in, Folant,” Elsie said, rushing aside. “My manners, I swear.” She yanked Ira out of the way and in front of her. “This is Ira.”

Folant looked at him with an odd fondness. His body was still yelling that he was in danger, so he shrunk against Elsie and fought the urge to bury his face.

Folant gave a deeper curtsy. “Your highness.” She looked up to Elsie. “He senses me.”

“Oh, of course; how stupid of me,” Elsie said, crouching down to look Ira in the face. She smiled reassuringly. “Folant is a witch, sweetie. She’ll feel a tad different than the mages you’ve encountered.” She brushed his blond hair with her long fingers. “She’s a friend.”

“Hello,” Ira said quietly. “Pleased to have met you.”

“Entirely mine, highness,” Folant said, her coy smirk softening to something more motherly. She flinched. “And this—blast, where did she get to?”

Elsie’s grip tightened on his shoulders as she tiptoed in place, peering out the door into the dark as Folant stepped out. He was starting to feel nauseous between his mother’s bizarre behavior and this Folant woman’s hair-raising pressure.

Ira stepped out from Elsie’s grip as she softly gasped in time with Folant re-entering the house with her hand firmly on a girl’s shoulder. She had the same long, black hair as Folant, but was a shade or two lighter in complexion, more like his own. Her eyes were a definitive amber. She couldn’t have been more than ten, and she had the same pressure as her mother. Perhaps even wilder.

“This is Enid.”

Elsie firmly pulled him into her side. She was trembling. “She is your sister.”

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

Originally, Ira was going to have an older brother (likely named Folant since it's considered masculin) but I kept liking the idea of an older sister more and more. This was partly to get down the names Folant and Enid so I don't lose them. I've always kept Enid in the back of my mind, so if I end up liking it too much it could be a middle name if I have another girl. But, for now, the name belongs to Ira's estranged, half-sister.

This is also a reminder that Elsie and Clayborne were Keepers, specifically stalkers. They live in a large-ish house in the country where a lot of critters reside or migrate through. Other than a pair of maids that come three times a week, they don't have servants unless it's for some type of event and they have fewer and fewer of those as they get older. I don't know if I'll get into what's up with Keepers (and the Order of Ferblanc) while writing Nellie's stuff or not. Maybe the Order. The gist of it is that Keepers have to undergo a sort of transformation thing in order to be protected against a lot of the creatures, and that transformation comes with some nasty side effects, the big one being reproducing. Folant being a witch (like Ava but x1000) was able to help out so Clayborne and Elsie could concieve Ira, but it took a trememndous toll on Elsie so they could only attempt it the one time. So, Elsie had a whole other thing going on separate from her dragoning.

The whole arrangement with Clayborne, Folant, and Elsie will definitely come in during Ira's story(s). I wasn't sure if I'd get to introduce Enid in Nellie's, orignally that was supposed to be the first time I introduced her to readers, but that's really far away if it happens at all. I want Ira and Penny only to pop up enough to get Nellie on her feet, not the run the show for her, so who knows how often they show up.