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

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

“Perenelle!”

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

“You missed school yesterday,” Ava said.

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Phone!”

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

“You are interrupting–.”

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

“Ex-excuse–!”

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

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

“N-Nana–,” Nellie started.

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

“Uncle Winston,” Nellie fumed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Regere wanted her.

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

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

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

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

“What arguments did he have,” Nellie asked.

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

“I have another cousin,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bell rung as she entered the lunchroom.

“That solves that,” she murmured to herself.

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

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

What’s my uncle’s name?

She remembered Ira’s joke and quickly added:

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

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

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

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

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

“It was accurate,” Nellie said.

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

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

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

Brecken Agarwal. Cheers, Winston.

---

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you’re budgeting,” Nellie said.

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I,” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ira is really okay,” Nellie asked.

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

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

“Ira, please–.”

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

“Mr. York–.”

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

“Discharge procedure–.”

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

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

“Take me back,” he ordered.

“Of course,” Nathalie said, unflinching.

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

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

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

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

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

“Home,” Nellie asked. “To England?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lug wrench,” Ira asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Back in the car,” Ira ordered.

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

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

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

Nathalie rolled it down an inch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Order of Ferblanc.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“H-hello? Uncle–?”

‘Who is this?’

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

“Th-this isn’t mine,” she stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smells from the coffee shop were mouthwatering. Nellie was giddy as she led Ira to the same long table she sat at more than a week earlier, beaming at the cluster of elderly people she recognized. It took them a moment to notice her, and another to remember that they met her before. She fought to keep her smile warm and not show her disappointment.

Mr. Notte was not there to, but Mrs. Throneberry was. The elderly woman sipped her milky coffee and pursued a magazine, her focus more on chatting with her neighbor.

“Good morning, Mrs. Throneberry,” Nellie said cheerily.

Mrs. Thronebery regarded her with her watery brown eyes a moment. “Ah, good morning,” she responded happily. “Nice to see you again.”

“This is Ira,” Nellie said, waving at him. “I told him about that story you told me, and he wanted to hear it.”

“What story was that,” Mrs. Throneberry asked.

“The… the weird looking bird-lion animal in your yard,” Nellie said unsurely. “Black head. Big, white wings.”

Ira put his hand on Nellie’s shoulder, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze and gently pulling her back to step up. He put on an easy, dazzling smile and gave Mrs. Throneberry a polite nod.

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he said. “I’m collecting stories for my dissertation, and the creature you described sounds eerily like a gryphon. The widespread stories of gryphons across many cultures is central to my thesis, and this is the best account in North America that I’ve heard.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Throneberry said, tittering. “Thank you, young man.” She looked forlorn. “Gryphons aren't real though….”

“Quite right, of course, but it’s the collection of stories that fascinates me,” Ira said. “Why you saw may’ve been a deer, or perhaps a lion, heaven forbid, but your extraordinary imagination took over for a moment, and that is what I want to hear.” His smile widened. “Human imagination is a wonderful thing. We created myths and legends with mere thoughts. Please, describe what your imagination conjured and spare no details. The place is just as important to giving these stories flesh. As well as any followup sighting, naturally.”

Nellie stepped away as Ira took the seat opposite of Mrs. Throneberry and her friend. Both elderly women were more than happy to speak to him, about everything. He artfully kept turning the conversation back to Cecily and keeping his focus on Mrs. Throneberry while politely, carefully, shutting out her friend. He passed Nellie a twenty after going in circles for long enough that her legs started to ache, whispering to her to buy them drinks.

It was cold that morning, but the hot chocolate smelled too chocolatey from her distance at the counter, so she ordered a sweetened iced tea for herself and a hot, black tea blend for Ira. She sank into the free chair beside Ira, sliding him his tea. He had finally managed to get Mrs. Throneberry describing Cecily and she did not want to say or do anything to distract the progress. She silently sipped her tea, gagging at the pound of sugar she was met with.

“What’s wrong,” Mrs. Throneberry asked. “Is it not sweet enough? We’re always saying the sweet tea needs more sugar!”

“Just colder than I expected,” Nellie fibbed. “Please, Mrs. Throneberry, keep telling Ira all about your encounter.”

“What is amazing is your description follows the description people brought back from India hundreds of years ago,” Ira said. “Your imagination is extraordinary, Mrs. Throneberry!” He gestured to her, picking up his tea as she blushed and twittered. “Please, continue.”

Nellie grinned into her iced tea as Ira fought to keep his face neutral once he tasted his tea. She was the only one at the table to notice the subtle change, and how he carefully set the tea just out of reach to avoid accidentally drinking more.

Mrs. Throneberry began to describe a second visit–Nellie leaning forward, her skin prickling with excitement–when Ira’s phone went off. She abruptly stopped her story to allow Ira to excuse himself from the table.

“I was hoping Mr. Notte was here today,” Nellie said. “Ira would’ve enjoyed his story of the white screamer.”

“Mr. Notte passed,” Mrs. Throneberry said. “He lived such a long, full life, bless him.”

“Twelve grandchildren, wasn’t it,” Mrs. Throneberry’s friend chimed in.

Nellie drifted to give Mrs. Throneberry and her friend room to reminisce about one of their fellows. Mr. Notte was elderly compared to all the other old folks, so him dying was not shocking but it still caused a heavy feeling on her chest. He had been friendly and eager during their one interaction. She twisted to catch Ira in her sights, frowning.

His constructed composure was crumbling. There was an edge to his posture, his well-groomed hair was becoming messed as he repeatedly raked his hand over his head, growling into his phone.

She muttered an excuse to leave the table and headed towards Ira.

“I can’t,” Ira said in a low tone. “I swore to my father–. Well, promises to my father mean something to me, Penny, as hard as that is for you to accept.” His eyes snapped to Nellie. “We’ll talk later.” He dropped his gaze, his edges softening. “Thanks. Hopefully this lead is promising. Bye.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Nellie said. “Do you want to finish grilling Mrs. Throneberry? You might need to tread carefully getting her back on Cecily.” She pulled at a lock of her wavy, auburn hair. “Mr. Notte died. They’re swapping stories.”

Ira’s face softened further. He put his hand on Nellie’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll say our goodbyes. You can go to the car.”

There was no telling how tied up Ira would be with saying goodbyes to the elderly women, so Nellie was sure to get the keys from him. She warmed her hands against the heater before pulling out her phone. She opened her messages to Uncle Winston.

Does my mother’s family know about me?

She closed her messages and opened her world clock. It was after lunch in London, but too early for Uncle Winston to be winding down to go home. She set her phone down only to snatch it up immediately.

Of course. They send you Christmas money every year. Cheers, Winston.

She slumped into her seat with his fingers poised to type. She jumped as a new message arrived.

Jokes don’t translate well. Yes. They know. I had to contact them to iron out Nathalie’s guardianship and confirm your nationality. Cheers, Winston.

Didn’t they want me?

Her heart pounded as the phone pulsed three dots, indicating Uncle Winston was typing. She gulped when the dots stopped, but no message appeared. She startled, fumbling her phone to answer the video call.

“H-hello,” Nellie said.

Uncle Winston’s face was a garbled, stuttering mess. His voice came out in choppy syllables before the call failed. Another text came through.

Why in the blazes is there no reception in a developed country! Call me when you have Wi-Fi. My ringer is on. Cheers, Winston.

The answer was serious.

Ira climbed into the driver’s seat. He pressed his hands to the heater a moment before setting them on the wheel. He tilted his head inquisitively.

“Is everything fine,” Ira asked. “You appear distracted.”

Nellie opened the photos on her phone. The recent pictures were of some of the letters Rhys had written to Nathalie. She opened the letter where Rhys told Nathalie he left the Order of Ferblanc. She scanned over his annoyance regarding Brunhilde and her nepotism, going to the bottom.

“Is my uncle named Regere,” Nellie asked.

“Ree-jer-ree,” Ira sounded out. “And, no, that’s his title.” He laser focused on the road ahead, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You heard Natahlie ask if I knew him last night, didn’t you?” He sighed. “Suppose that explains why you were unsurprised when she said you could skive off today.”

Nellie scanned the other letters she snapped pictures of, zeroing in on Regere and nothing else. There were disappointingly few mentions, and more than half the letter spoke of work with the Order of Ferblanc. It was her own fault for grabbing them at random and not looking them over first.

“What is my uncle’s name,” Nellie asked.

“Winston.”

She blinked. “Now you’re making jokes?” She folded her arms and slouched. “I guess I could ask who Penny is…,” she said offhandedly. She smirked. “Girlfriend?”

“I don’t know his name,” Ira said, frustrated. “Which is highly embarrassing seeing as I’ve known him half my life. Regere is what he’s always called. Sometimes Regere Agarwal, if it is a first introduction.”

“Agarwal,” Nellie said, crinkling her nose. “What a mouthful.”

“Much easier to understand why Brue rathered her nickname,” Ira said. The teasing nature slipped from his face. “I cannot tell you if he’s dangerous, Nellie, to cut to what you truly want to ask. He is a powerful man, in every definition of that word, but Commander Herle was wrought with grief. I don’t know if he really and truly blamed the Regere for what happened to your mother, or needed someone to blame.”

It was good of Ira to pick up on, and answer, the question Nellie wanted to ask about her maternal uncle. She had expected to dance around him even knowing him another hour or so; it may even have dragged on until the very moment Ira left to avoid followup questions.

She wanted to know if there was a fight over her, but she doubted Ira would know those answers being he was a preteen when all this happened. That would need to wait until she was locked in her room and able to call Uncle Winston.

Ira was leaving soon (hopefully with Cecily) and she did not want to waste the chance to get answers from someone willing to give them. Her mind buzzed with fragments too loose to string together.

Nellie looked out the windshield, and then out her window. “Where are we going,” she asked. And then mentally kicked herself.

“Mrs. Throneberry claims Cecily was outside her church Sunday,” Ira said.

“I sincerely hope you asked for an address,” Nellie said. “Each town, street, and corner has at least three.”

“Yes, I asked for the exact name and the street,” Ira said. “Mars Hill Church of Christ. Apparently, Mrs. Throneberry drives all the way to Christiana–I take it that is not around the corner–for services every Sunday.”

“Not around the corner is right,” Nellie said. “That’s about an hour away. It’s practically Murfreesboro.”

“If you say so,” Ira said.

“No wonder you had no luck finding Cecily,” Nellie said. “But this is great! Sunday was only two days ago. She could still be over there. And, if she got all the way over there, then she probably isn’t hurt.”

The reception was better in Murfreesboro. Christiana was hopefully near enough to make use of that. Nellie did not want to leave off her call to Uncle Winston too long. His ringer would be on, but he was still going to fall asleep at some point and he would have every reason to turn off his phone for the night.

Ira did not look at ease over this news about Cecily’s whereabouts. Nellie thought he would be as giddy as he was when she told him she had a flight feather. He was distant, staring out beyond the road in front of them.

“Do you and your dad get along,” Nellie asked.

“Er, yes, quite well,” Ira said.

“Then Penny and your dad don’t get along,” Nellie stated.

Ira chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. “You and your eavesdropping,” Ira said. “Yes, I’m aware you spied outside the workshop as well.” Nellie went pink. “I did the same at your age, no need to be shy about it.” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “You must have loads of questions, curiously, you’re avoiding the larger ones.”

“...Am I supposed to ask if Penny is your girlfriend again?”

“When we met outside your school, you asked why someone like me was doing a survey on gryphons in the middle of nowhere,” Ira said.

“I think I mentioned your posh accent in that,” Nellie said. She shrugged. “You were looking for Cecily. Maybe you guessed a kid would jump to ‘omg gryphon’ quicker than an adult, but knew creeping around minors would get you deported.”

“That’s… absolutely the reason,” Ira said, stunned. “You certainly inherited the Commander’s strategic reasoning.” 

Nellie felt a swell of warmth in her chest. She was forced to stare at her knees as her blush deepened. It was the first direct comparison to her father that someone made. She knew she inherited his oddity, but that did not seem as positive as what Ira had just said.

“Being outside your school was to find Cecily,” Ira reaffirmed. He shifted, straightening his posture. “Being here in general is a separate matter.”

Cecily appearing in the woods, Ira appearing outside her school, Ira’s connection with her parents; all that had overshadowed the bigger question of what someone like him was doing in a middle of nowhere Tennessee town, and the one other question regarding her living situation that she felt sure was connected. Nellie could not explain why those connected in her mind other than Ira seemed like the proverbial tip of an iceberg.

“Does it have something to do with the Order of Ferblanc,” Nellie asked carefully.

“What? No,” Ira said, blinking in surprise. “How do you know about–? Ah, the Commander must’ve wrote of them. Clearly not explaining anything.”

“Who are they,” Nellie asked.

“In the most simple of terms, witch finders,” Ira said. He glanced her way as they changed lanes to pass an old pickup. “Do you want me to go into details about the organization your father used to be a part of, or tell you why I’m snooping around Tennessee?”

“Why not both?”

“Cheek,” Ira said. “Which first?”

Nellie played with the ends of her hair. She did not look in Ira’s direction, simply shrugged and sat in her own twisting stomach. There was so much she did not know, that Ira could help shed some insight to, and what to start with was as daunting as what she could find out.

“Your life changed so quickly,” Ira stated. “I understand the hesitation.”

“Do you,” Nellie asked coolly. “You also grew up with a radically different view on who your parents were, and how you fit into your family, and how you didn’t fit in with anyone else?”

“No,” Ira said plainly. “No, I was always aware, extremely aware, who I was and what that would mean for my future.” His brows knitted. “And the lack of mine that it was.” He gave a wry smile. “Family is complex, Nellie, but be it a curse or a boon is how you view it.”

“How do you view it?”

“My, you are a master of misdirection, aren't you,” Ira said. His knuckles blanched on the wheel. “I’m here trying to find my mother.”

All the air left her lungs. She wrung her hands in her lap and embarrassment crept over her. She was behaving like a brat, complaining about her own mother–or aunt–all while Ira was questing for his. Nathalie may just be her aunt, but she never, ever would abandon her.

Ira slowed to turn off onto Rucker Road. He pursed his lips as his blue eyes narrowed in frustrated contemplation.

“I’m not sure how to be tactful about this…,” he said. “There is so much you don’t know about…. I can’t even plainly explain that much without it sounding like I’m calling you ignorant in the worst sense. That’s not my intention. My mother did not up and abandon me, just to be clear. …I don’t think so.”

They pulled into a wide, vacant lot in front of a small, unassuming building made mostly of dark brick. There was a wooden farm-style fence that separated the church and little playground from the vast, bare crop fields behind it.

Ira shifted the car to park, but did not turn the engine off. He stared out at the building and fields beyond.

“My mother disappeared when I was ten,” Ira murmured.

Nellie’s blue eyes darted from Ira to the emptiness around them “And… you think she came here,” Nellie asked.

“I’m doing a poor job of it,” he muttered. He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Well, here goes nothing…. My mother is a dragon. As is yours.”

“Uh… what?”

“Cecily,” Ira exclaimed.

He leapt from the car without bothering to turn it off. 

Nellie clamoured over to the driver’s side to cut the engine, pocket the key, and scurry out the door after him. Her breath caught as she righted herself, fighting her long, auburn hair from her face.

Cecily was touching down in the field behind the church. Her wings were five times the size Nellie assumed based on the feather, oddly translucent with the sunlight and scenery beyond pouring through them. They rapidly shrank down to a manageable size as Cecily’s front eagle feet joined her paws on the semi-frozen ground. She folded them against her dark spotted, tawny feline body, giving a shake to settle fur and feathers, and trotted nearer. She lowered her black eagle-like head as Ira vaulted the fence, wrapping his arms around her feathered neck.

Nellie approached slower, half in awe of Cecily and half wanting to give Ira his moment with her. She could hear him heartily sniffing, murmuring into her feathers. Cecily in return was making throaty sounds like a cross between purring and chirping.

“She’s so… wow,” Nellie breathed, halfway over the fence. She screamed, yelped, and fell off the fence onto her back as Cecily lunged at her with a screechy roar.

“Hush, Cecily, it’s all right,” Ira cooed. “Nellie is a friend. She helped–. Cecily? What’s the matter?”

The gryphon was stamping. She tossed her head, clicking her beak. Deep growls rumble from her dark red chest as she puffed up. She flapped her enormous wings in agitation. She shook off Ira’s hand as he went to calm her, bluffing a charge towards Nellie.

“Cecily,” Ira snapped. “Get a hold of yourself! I’m sor–Nellie!”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood seconds after an earsplitting scream sounded over her shoulder. Her legs shook but she could not move, not even twist to spy the creature racing towards her. She flinched with each thump of its rapidly approaching steps.

She slammed into the hard ground. Her fingers dug into the plush fur of Ira’s coat liner, gasping to catch the breath knocked from her. She curled, burying her face into his chase as another scream ripped through the air. Cecily’s screeching roar mingled in, and Ira eased up.

“Get back to the car,” he ordered.

Nellie rolled over as Ira jumped up.

The creature was large, slinky, and covered in white fur that flowed from its whiplike tail and powerful legs. Its long, pointed muzzle was curled with snarls showing a mouthful of gleaming white razorblade-like teeth. It crouched low, head swiveling to watch Cecily as she slowly moved to circle it.

Ira moved the opposite direction, clutching a golfball sized stone. He chucked it hard at the screamer’s haunches when it turned towards Cecily, effectively causing it to whirl towards him with another skincrawling scream.

“Nellie, run,” Ira commanded.

She scrambled on her hands and knees a few feet before she found her footing, racing the short distance to the car. She fumbled the key fob with her frozen, shaking hands, panting as panic swelling in her chest. Panicked tears prickled in her eyes, pouring out when the car beeped as she finally hit the unlock button.

Nellie took a minute to catch her breath before starting the engine. She rolled down her window.

“Ira,” she called, her voice high. “Get in!”

She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the involuntary scream that came out as the creature smacked Ira. She heard him cry out, saw the scarlet ribbons of his blood fling through the air on the trails of the screamers claws.

Cecily roared and clawed at the screamer with her talons, whipping her wings to confuse and unbalance it.

Ira stumbled to the car, cradling his arm. 

Nellie threw open the door before climbing into the passenger’s seat. Her eyes were saucers as they locked in on Ira’s bloody arm. Her breathing quickened.

“I’m all right,” Ira said, hissing through his teeth. He slammed the door and stuck his head out the window. “Cecily, be careful!” He reversed the car.

“Wait, we’re leaving her,” Nellie panicked out. She twisted around to watch the gryphon swiping at the screamer. “We can’t–.”

She swallowed her words, her eyes once again on Ira’s arm. She felt sick.

“I’m all right,” Ira repeated. “I will be all right.”

“Are you sure,” Nellie asked, her lip trembling. “It’s a lot of blood.” She swallowed the sick building up. “Y-you look pretty pale.”

“Must’ve been hunting her…,” Ira murmured. “Never saw anything like her….”

“Ira,” Nellie said warily. “Are you really okay?”

Ira nodded, his jaw clenched. His eyes rolled before he vigorously shook his head to straighten his sights. He hit the hazards and swerved the car into an abrupt stop off the road. He sucked in a breath.

Nellie pulled out her phone, dropped it, frantically felt around for it, and dialed Nathalie. The call failed as soon as the other line picked up. Nellie sobbed as she stared at the single, short bar of reception.

“Nellie,” Ira murmured, his eyes half closed. “It’s all right.” His body tensed, his hand going to his bleeding arm. “It-it’s all right…. I need but a moment….”

She jumped as her phone rang. She answered, blubbering nonsensically. The call failed. She pressed the phone to her forehead, crying in gulping sobs.

“Ssh, it’s all right…,” Ira said. “It’s not that bad….” He failed to raise his wounded arm, grinding his teeth at the effort.

She jumped as her phone chimed. She wiped her eyes as she opened her text from Nathalie.

Where are you?

Nellie gulped at the heated air, her stomach churning over the heavy smell of iron that permeated the car. She hammered out where they had gone, and begged for help.

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

Southern sweet tea is so sweet! Sweeter than soda, I swear. It's definitely an aquired taste.

The Mars Hill Church or Christ is off the main road that takes me to my sisters. The sign is on the road, and it looks old and slightly spooky. I mapped the church itself to get the description since I never had time to turn down Rucker to go look at it.

Probably other stuff to say, but I just realized I let my kid sleep an hour too long, so I need to wake her up asap, lol.