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.

The fluorescent light directly above Nellie’s table flickered. It kept up a continuous, high pitched hum that none of the faculty appeared to hear. The students were aware, leaving that lunch table vacant except for her.

Sitting alone was nothing usual since returning to school after her disastrous first day. The newness of her had worn off, now she was simply the weird girl, but not in the way she had been in Sunrise. No one believed her stories of cryptids there either, but people generally found the tales amusing enough to sit with her at lunch.

She glared at the light as it flickered again. The school would have to replace it if it broke. She bet she could break it sneakily if she had magic.

“Hey, Perenelle,” a girl’s accusatory voice said, breaking Nellie from her thoughts. 

Four girls stood in front of her with their trays holding the sad remains of lunch. She had multiple classes with each one of them, and homeroom with at least two. She was sure they were called Emma, Ava, Sophia, and Olivia, but she could not say which was which.

“Yes,” Nellie asked innocently.

“Who was that college guy that picked you up yesterday,” the one she thought was Olivia asked.

“You mean Ira,” Nellie said. “He’s not a college student. He’s… visiting.”

“OMG, you know him,” the possible Emma gushed. “He’s got me so weak!”

“Wait, visiting,” the maybe Olivia asked. “From Florida or…?” She gasped. “Does he have a British accent? Is he British?”

“OMG, I can’t,” the possible Emma swooned.

“Please tell me he’s picking you up today,” the suspected Sophia said. “I’m a car rider today just to get a look.”

“He might be,” Nellie said, unsure. “Said something about going into Lynchburg, but he may’ve done that already.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” the possible Emma said, bouncing with delight, her milk carton toppling. “We’ll meet you at the car rider awning after school!”

“See you in art class,” the presumed Ava said as the four of them headed off to buss their trays.

She gave a small, awkward wave at their retreating forms. All it took to break the strained silence between her and her classmates was an attractive, older boy popping into her life.

The rest of her school day was as uneventful as all the others, with the only thing of note being Ava (the art teacher being neurotic about role call had one benefit) sitting next to her. Nellie made a mental note that Ava wore glasses to help separate her out from the other three. She made her way to her locker to don her coat after the final bell, and shuffled with the rest of the car riders. The three girls that were positively not Ava sidled up to her, rocking up on their toes.

“Poor Ava,” the suspected Sophia sighed. “Both her parents work so late.”

“We should do this tomorrow too,” the possible Emma said. “I can have my mom pick her up. It’s not fair she doesn’t get a look.”

Nellie forced her mouth to stay straight, to suppress the laugh trying to get out. She hoped it was Ira picking her up. She could not wait to see the look on his face when he spotted the gaggle of pre-teens. There was a chance he did not notice. He probably got such attention all the time and was oblivious to it. She hoped not.

She exhaled when she spotted Nathalie’s car and made out enough through the distance and tint to know it was not Nathalie driving. Her face grew hot at the embarrassment squirming in her stomach. Somehow, somewhere, the amusement had crossed into her needing Ira to show up, him needing to arrive to make the three excited girls beam at her as if she had personally fulfilled some wish. She hurried towards the car.

“Bye, Perenelle,” one of them called. “See you tomorrow!”

She gave a quick wave and threw herself into the front seat, tossing her bag into the bag. She gave a strained smile and waved as the car moved forward.

“Friends of yours,” Ira asked, politely giving a small wave of acknowledgement.

“I don’t think so,” Nellie mumbled. She watched the trees zip by. “Can people like us make friends?”

“Of course,” Ira said. “Even villains can make friends. Why shouldn’t you?” He glanced at her. “You know, Nellie, they could be shy too. Not outwardly, but inside. You are new to this area, and you stand out with the vast differences you have from others via Nathalie, me, your academic performance–I suspect given what Nathalie has told me of the school she hopes to send you to–these girls could very much want to be friends with you, but have been unsure how to approach. Just be open to it.”

“Are you speaking from experience,” Nellie asked.

“No,” Ira said. He smiled wryly. “Guys are different.” He turned into the long, wooded driveway. “Plus, I was privately schooled. Cecily was my only friend for the longest time.”

Ira’s stature shrank at the mention of his gryphon. Nellie gave his shoulder a pat.

“We’ll find her,” Nellie said resolutely. “Did you go down to the coffee shop and ask the old people?”

“Unfortunately, I offered to run errands for Ms. Herle so she could further her progress on her statue,” Ira said.

The larger of the two outbuildings, the one that may have been a small barn at one point, had flashes of bright, white and yellow light flashing from between the decrypted boards. The sharp sounds of sparks meeting metal could be heard even from inside the car. Nathalie had been hard at work since her equipment arrived, despite the studio being nowhere ready. Several long extension cords ran from the outlets on the outside of the house with another snaking through a cracked window.

“Don't let her bully you into errands tomorrow,” Nellie said. “You need to go ask around before the shop closes.” She smiled impishly. “You know… they do already know me there….”

“No, Nellie, you aren't skiving,” Ira said flatly.

Nellie eased from the car and went directly to Ash’s outbuilding. It must have been awful for Ira to not know where Cecily was, especially since they had been separated by something dangerous. She suspected what the creature was, but needed to pry more stories out of the old folks to be certain. Ira would have to let her skip tomorrow.

She strained her ears and frowned at the lack of sounds coming from Ash’s house. She found the door slightly ajar. Her stomach plummeted.

“Ash,” Nellie called. “Ash, here boy!”

There were no sounds from the woods, nothing that indicated Ash was near. She ran to the workshop, throwing herself inside.

Nathalie pulled her hood up. “What’s wrong,” she asked. “You look–.”

“Ash is gone,” Nelle blurted out. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Th-the door was open, and he’s not there, and he isn’t coming when I call him.”

“He’s fine,” Nathalie said with a grimace. “I let him in the house.” She nodded her hood back over her face. “He seemed chilly. I’ll have to get electricity put in that building too so that we can buy him a heater.”

Nellie rushed over and hugged Nathalie tightly, cringing at the welding smells clinging to her. She pulled back and ran to the house.

Ash was lying between the couch and coffee table with mounds of a dissected pillow tossed all about. He was pinning down the outer remains of the pillow–an ugly, holiday themed one that had been a gift from before Nellie’s time, no loss–and pulling the threads with a satisfying rip. The pillow dangled from his jaws as he set his red eyes upon Nellie. He slowly, gracefully rose, spit the pillow out with a lash of his tongue, and sauntered over to nose her outstretched hands.

“Oh, Ash,” Nellie said, sucking in a sob. She fought the urge to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze him, settling for petting his head. “You want some dinner? That pillow couldn’t have been satisfying.”

She shut Ash back in the house, jumping the shallow front steps. The trees already darkened the clearing to make it look like night, highlighting the lack of sparks from Nathalie’s workshop and the fact that the Crown Victoria was off. She could hear murmuring with inaudible words echoing off the trees as Ira and Nathalie talked. She fetched Ash’s bowl and food from a heavily sealed container in his shed.

Nathalie and Ira were still muttering as she made her way back to the house. She watched Ash attack his food, peering through the blinds as the minutes dragged on without movement from the workshop. It was too dark for Nathalie to continue working safely, too cold to linger outdoors.

She re-bundled in her coat. “Be right back, Ash,” she said in a half-whisper.

The voices grew clearer the nearer she crept to the outbuilding.

“--admission into Webb,” Nathalie hissed angrily. “She can’t miss school whenever it takes her fancy.”

“With respect, ma’am, you speak of her being a normal girl, but are trying to enroll her in a boarding school of some note,” Ira said stiffly.

“Giving her whatever help I can on her road to adulthood is part of raising her,” Nathalie said. “A proper school will be a positive.”

“Ms. Herle, I cannot stay in this area forever,” Ira said. “I plan on leaving as soon as I find Cecily, and I believe Nellie can help me find her more quickly.”

“By skipping school tomorrow,” Nathalie said coolly. “And if tomorrow yields nothing, perhaps the next day? The next week? Is this not just the foot in the door to asking to take her away when her questions grow?”

Nellie jumped, kicking the wall as Ash let loose a long, annoyed howl. There was not time for her to run back to the house, or retreat in any manner. Nathalie and Ira stepped outside.

“I was… just coming to get you,” Nellie said. “What’s for dinner? It’s creeping past four.” She squinted at them in the dark. “Seems later with all these trees and winter, doesn’t it?”

Nathalie turned to Ira. “Are you staying for dinner, or shall I drop you at the school so you can call a rideshare?”

“Why doesn’t he just stay over tonight,” Nellie suggested. “He can take me to school tomorrow morning so you can get to work early.”

“You can’t miss school,” Ira said dully. “We can search for Cecily on the weekend if I find no leads beforehand.”

“No,” Nellie said. “No, it’s been too long already! The cryptid you ran into was dangerous. Cecily could be hurt! Or….” She bit her lip.

“Stay for dinner, sir,” Nathalie said, her tone exhausted. “I’ll drive you to your hotel after Nellie is asleep. We can continue our conversation in private that way.”

They shuffled back to the house. Ash immediately knocked them over as he burst through the door upon its opening. They picked themselves up with groans–Nathalie with muttered swears–and piled into the warmth of the house. Nellie went off to the room to do her homework.

She wrenched open her window, shivering at the gust of wind that cut through the screen. Ash was near enough his snuffling and feet crunching the gravel was audible. She wrapped an orange polka-dotted blanket around herself, and settled down with her pile of homework. She quickly lost interest in the math formals she had learned a year earlier and finding mistakes in a page of text she would have been handed in fifth grade, and pulled out her notes from the coffee shop.

The cryptid Ira and Cecily ran into had to be a white screamer. Elderly Mr. Notte told her it was a common story in White Bluff, and that he had heard it as a young boy. He said the most prevalent belief was that the screamer had died seventy years ago, around the time Mr. Notte heard it.

She perked up as Ash howled. Smoke wolves were supposed to only be found in the Appalachian area according to the stories, east of where they were by hundreds of miles.

“Migration,” Nellie murmured. She scrambled for her homework as a knock came on her door. “Y-yes?”

Ira stuck his head in. “Dinner.” His blue eyes went from her messy pile of homework to the single notepad page she inadvertently tried to cover up. “Is that your list from the coffee shop?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure you ran into a white screamer,” Nellie said, handing the list to Ira. “There aren't any stories in this area that I saw though. All of them are from west of here. Mr. Notte, who told me about it, lived in White Bluff when he was small. He said it was a common enough thing to hear and tell stories about over there, but he thinks it died since people stopped hearing it.”

“The one he heard likely did die,” Ira said, “but rarely do creatures exist as a singular.”

“Do cryptids migrate,” Nellie asked.

“Yes, and with more frequency the more human civilization advances,” Ira said. “Exactly how other animals move out of a field when it’s turned into housing.” He handed the list back. “That’s enough for tonight however. Dinner will get cold if we continue.” He smiled softly. “And I suspect we would quickly lose track of time on this subject.”

They crowded around the kitchen counter–the table still piled with clutter from half-unpacked boxes–to a dinner composed of cut up chicken breasts in a from-a-box mushroom sauce, perfectly steamed spinach, and from-a-can candied yams. The silence between them was interrupted by Nellie fetching Ash from outside, him threatening to scratch a hole in the door if she was not fast enough.

Nathalie frowned as Ash started tearing another decorative pillow. “I believe I’ll make some St. Valentine’s decorations tomorrow. The sooner we get that beast’s house set up the better.”

“What about your studio,” Nellie asked. She held up an extension cord.

“I do need electricity out there,” Nathalie mused. She sighed heavily. “There is so much work to be done on this property. I’ll have to take stock of what I have in storage; see what I can list for sale.” She smiled. “But enough of that. Was school more tolerable today?”

“She had a crowd of girls with her today,” Ira said before Nellie could answer dismissively.

“Really,” Nathalie said, smiling widely. “That’s great! Do you share many classes?”

“They wanted to get a better look at Ira,” Nellie said blandly. She pushed her yams around with a sly smile. “They’d think you a prince if they heard how posh your accent is. Actually… you do have royal blood, don’t you? Isn’t that why Uncle Winston was so gaga?” She set her fork down. “Wait…,” she looked at Nathalie, “even you called him ‘sir’.... Do you have a title? No way you do… right?”

Ira’s cheeks tinted pink as he daintily stuck a piece of chicken with his fork. His bearing was graceful and strong despite his uncombed hair and acid washed, AC/DC shirt.

“Did you finish your schoolwork before Ira called you to dinner,” Nathalie asked.

Nellie mumbled under her breath about starting it and allowed the conversation to die off. The rest of dinner stayed quiet, and Nellie excused herself to her room as soon as she finished. She forced herself to work on her schoolwork, the dullness of it combined with her full stomach caused her eyelids to droop.

Her body grew cold. She shivered, raising her head and wiping the dribble of drool off her mouth. She slid her window shut, yawning, and looked at her phone. It was nearing 11PM.

“Are you certain my sleeping here is all right,” came Ira’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Don’t shun hospitality,” Nathalie said. The linen closet outside Nellie’s bedroom shut. “She’ll be thrilled to skip tomorrow.”

“I greatly appreciate it, Ms. Herle,” Ira said. “I’m trying to not show how worried I am for Cecily, but… I don’t know what I’d do if she was killed.”

Nellie crept to her door as their voices moved to the living room. She timed cracking her door with the creaking floorboards near the couch, pressing her ear to it.

“She is much more likely to open up to you,” Nathalie said. “There is still strain between us on top of my inability to understand this whole– How did you describe it? Sensitivity?”

It had been more difficult to talk to Nathalie since the move to Tennessee. The exhaustion of the move, the trying to settle into the new, all was compounded with the discovery of their true relationship. There had been no time to settle or reflect on any of it, all quiet moments co-opted by the school’s overreaction to her questions, Uncle Winston’s visit, and Ira appearing.

“Her uncle,” Nathalie said, re-catching Nellie’s attention, “are you familiar with him at all?”

“I am,” Ira said.

“Rhys told me he was dangerous,” Nathalie said, her voice dropping. “Nellie is with me because he was adamant that he not get his hands on her.”

“And you ask me to clarify this claim,” Ira asked.

Ash chose that moment to howl; the sound of Ira and Nathalie jumping from their skins–coving Nellie doing the same–and Nathalie cursing out the wolf ending the conversation. Nellie leapt into her bed, yanking the covers around herself as Nathalie pushed open her door to let Ash in, hissing at him to keep quiet. Nathalie’s bedroom door shut seconds later.

“Ash,” Nellie whispered, annoyed. “You need to work on your timing.”

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

This one is slightly shorter since the day ended and I figured I'd just start the next with the new day. The four girls' names are the four most popular girl baby names in Tennessee in 2012.

A white screamer (screamer, comes from White Bluff, TN I just added part of the town name to it since Nellie isn't from the area) is a horrific story where people in White Bluff, specifically a family, kept hearing this scream that sounded like a mountain lion from the description. They heard it all the time until they were half crazy, so the father ran out with his gun one night to kill it. He heard the screams coming from his house, and ran back, and found his wife and seven kids slaughtered. People stopped hearing the screamer around the 1940s. I stretched it to the 1950s-1960s because I think people could still hear it but think it's a mountian lion (or it was always a mountian lion, who really knows). Which, brings me back to the wonder how dark some parts of this serise will get....

The imporant part of Ira's family is that both parents had this weird sensitivity. The tidbits people are getting caught up on may never be mentioned in Nellie's story or will be brushed over since it isn't important. On his dad's side he's connected to the Yorkish kings like I meantioned, but his maternal uncle is titled. I went and looked up extinct titles, and so Ira's uncle is Duke of Kendal and I might have that side of the family also tied to the Plantagenet line like the York line, just because I like the surname and want to use it. (Ira's parents would be separated by about 500 years so no "royal inbreeding" here, lol.)