Nellie was called to Silas’s office shortly after she and Morgan had spread out the dragon lore he’d been collecting. It was hard to hide her annoyance at this interruption as she stalked to his office; it had taken her almost an hour to politely ditch Ava who was eager to give swordpractice a try. Nellie had been begging her for weeks to partner up with her since they were both novices.

The office was crowded. Silas sat behind his polished desk. Lilac and Arch sat in the provided chairs before it. Fin and Arden stood behind them. Nellie squeezed herself between Fin and Arden, the three of them glancing at each other questioningly.

“I apologize for having you all here at once,” Silas said. “Busy day. Too busy for me to give each of you a separate fifteen.” He set his eyes on Arden and Fin first. “There’ll be a special guest at the stables for the next two nights. I’m having you both tend to her. Arden will take evenings. Serafin will take mornings. Here.” Silas stretched to hand them each a short list through Lilac and Arch. “Give those to Mrs. Adams, and she’ll set you up.”

“We have to study too,” Arden groaned.

“Britt did send you here to learn,” Silas teased. He nodded to the doors. “I’d get your reading material fast.”

She jostled side to side to give Arden and Fin each space to get to the door behind her. She moved closer so she was standing more between Arch and Lilac than up against the door.

“I’ll have Mrs. Adams announce it during morning lessons, but our guest is of the royal variety,” Silas said. “He’ll need–.”

“Ira,” Nellie interrupted hopefully, wiggling with excitement. “And the box stall is for Cecily, right?”

“Cecily,” Lilac questioned. “What a pretty name….”

“His highness did ask if you were still here,” Silas said with a smile. “As I started to say, his highness will need attendants. Archibald, I was hoping with you being one of the eldest here…?”

“Oh my goodness me, you want me to wait on the prince,” Arch asked, his eyes wide. “B-but, I’m just some mage!”

“The prince doesn’t have any grasp on magic outside of some training with the Order as a kid,” Silas said. “I think he’ll be interested to hear about it from someone that actually has it.”

Arch’s pale cheeks were tinted pink. He murmured inaudibly, nodding. He looked more like a small boy than a six-two teenager capable of creating golems.

“Right,” Silas said, gesturing to the door. “I’ll let you prepare. I need a word with the girls.”

Nellie took Arch’s chair as he left. She stole a glance at Lilac but found the older girl inspecting split-ends in her waistlength blonde hair, humming quietly.

“I would like to have you two tackle the medium greenhouse,” Silas said. He smirked. “Disappointed, Nellie?”

“Oh,” Nellie said, blushing. “N-no… Yes. A little.”

“I’m not great with conversation,” Lilas said.

“No, no, it’s got nothing to do with you,” Nellie panicked.

“We don’t have a huge focus on plants and what you can do with them, and I think Lilac here could fill in some of those gaps,” Silas said. He smiled warmly at Lilac. “She’s a skilled organic chemist. The Auctorita will benefit immensely once she’s old enough to build traveling arsenals fulltime.”

“But college first,” Lilac sighed.

“It’ll strengthen your natural talent,” Silas said. “You’re going in with a plan. No worries.”

She wanted to ask what a traveling arsenal was, but remembered how Penny had released smoke when facing the Cumberland dragon and how Lilac had let loose a smoke grenade when Fin and Morgan were fighting. Nellie hadn’t given either case much thought, but it made sense that someone had to make those.

Lilac stood, jolting Nellie from her thoughts, and left the office with a list in her hand.

“Anything you need to discuss,” Silas asked.

“Not really…,” Nellie trailed off, searching her brain. “Is Penny coming back? If Ira’s going to be here, is she?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Silas said. “She comes and goes without much notice.” He grabbed some papers. “It’s early, but I might as well tell you now that I’m setting up a field trip. I’m thinking you, Brody, Itzel, and perhaps Calix for this one.”

“What kind of field trip,” Nellie asked curiously.

“Patience, Nellie, patience,” Silas said, winking.

Morgan was less than thrilled when Nellie told him about Ira visiting. He grumbled and sulked as Nellie searched the table for an intriguing dragon story to take his mind off his self-imposed rival.

“If Ira’s here, and Penny was just here, then we should focus on a North American dragon story,” Nellie said. She looked hopelessly at the scatters of notes and printed out artist renditions. “Do you have these in any sort of order?”

“That’s what we’re supposed to be doing now,” Morgan said, “but you’re all on about his highness.”

“All I said was that he’s visiting,” Nellie said icily. “And really, that’s good for us. We can ask him which dragon stories he and Penny already investigated.”

“True,” Morgan said grudgingly.

He bent under the table to retrieve a plastic filing case with a cheap, black clasp. He dumped it out, spilling a small,thin marker and little colored slips of paper.

“I found this in one of those airport stores that’s all office supplies,” Morgan said. “There are seven colors. We can work out a system. Continents. Number of legs. Whatever makes sense.”

“You bought it on your way here,” Nellie asked, grinning. “You knew exactly what you wanted to do when you came back to the States.”

“It was the most memorable part of my last visit,” Morgan joked.

The first thing they had to do was match images with notes. Morgan had copied articles and folklore tidbits off the internet and out of books. He later printed pictures off at random after arriving at the compound. It was a puzzle to piece them together, and not all notes had images, and not all images had a caption for what dragon it was supposed to be.

A picture of a red-eyed creature with metallic feathers and scales, and a long, sharp beak caught her attention. Nellie saw Morgan had scrawled ‘snallygaster’ in the corner.

“Why d’you have a snallygaster in here?”

“Dragon adjacent,” Morgan said. He plucked the image from her, pairing it with notes. “We don’t know the exact definition for what is a dragon. I put that famous Scottish pond creature in here too.”

“Nessie? Wait, Nessie’s real?”

“How can you still be surprised by such things,” Morgan asked, rolling his hazel eyes.

“That needs to be our first division,” Nellie said. “Straight up, common-ish dragons versus dragon adjacent.”

They slowly began forming four piles. They marked the more traditional dragons with red slips, water based creatures like Nessie with blue, and creatures like the snallygaster–typically bird-esque–with yellow. Investigated stories they agreed to mark with white. The Cumberland dragon was the only one with Nellie debating on the snallygaster.

“It’s just weird thinking of it as a dragon,” Nellie said.

“Adjact.”

“Your dad heard about the trouble, interfered just on a whim to use me as bait–.”

“Was it a whim,” Morgan asked. “From my perspective, there was a creature the Order of Ferblanc couldn’t handle–weird enough–so he decided to dangle you out to see if it reacted.”

She marked the snallygaster with a white tab and set it on top of the Cumberland dragon notes. It was hard to think of the creature in the same way she thought of the Cumberland dragon, but Morgan’s assessment of the Regere’s thoughts could not be ignored either.

She had been told finding dragons was unusual, right up there with her having Ash in her life. She was two for two, still firmly the weird kid.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she remembered Ira was also the weird kid by those metrics.

---

Mrs. Adams had them dress in their formal wear that afternoon. It had spread among them that Prince Ira would be visiting, and they fidgeted and buzzed at each other while they waited in the sweltering heat outside the grand front doors.

A black luxury car crept up the drive, coming to a halt with the front turned back down the drive. The driver hurried to the door, paused to straighten himself, and then opened.

Nellie raised her hand enthusiastically, but her enthusiasm dipped with her hand just as Lilac’s and Ava’s joy went up a notch, captured by short squeals.

Ira’s golden hair was a shade darker with the amount of mousse in it to keep it perfectly in place. His shirt was pressed with the sleeves carefully rolled and stitched into three-quarters. His dress pants had a subtle checkered pattern that matched the lapels of the dark blazer he carried over his shoulder. He carried a leather case in his other hand, and Nellie couldn’t help noticing that it matched his absurdly polished shoes.

“Your highness,” Mrs Adams said solemnly, bending her knee with great effort. She motioned at Arch. “Mr. Archibald Willoughby will see to your needs while you’re with us.”

“Thank you,” Ira said crisply. “Has the stable been prepared?”

“Yes, highness,” Mrs. Adams said, gesturing for Arden and Fin to step from line. “These will be the attendants.”

“No need for that,” Ira said. “My room?”

Mrs. Adams shooed them to the side to usher Ira in out of the heat. They hovered, peering through into the foyer.

“I should…,” Arch trailed off. He slid through them, into the house, and disappeared up the staircase.

“Awesome,” Arden said, breaking the silence. “I was told not to do chores by royalty. Mrs. Adams can’t say anything.”

“Do you think it’s safe to change,” Brody asked, tugging his collared shirt. “I’m boiling.”

“I change clothes if you do,” Calix said, slipping from his suit jacket.

“Same,” Fin said.

The three of them headed off to change with Arden a step behind, still bragging that he was let out of chores.

“I’m not staying dressed up for him,” Morgan grumbled. He said something to Itzel, presumably asking if she wanted to change, and they both headed indoors.

Lilac swayed in her billowy peach and pink dress. She spread the long layers of skirt and did half a twirl.

“I’m going to the garden,” she announced. “The larkspur is still in bloom.”

“We should change too,” Ava said. “It’s still at least four hours until supper, and you know that’ll be formal.” She sighed dreamily. “He’s much more handsome than you said. Straight out of a fairytale!”

Nellie didn’t comment beyond a forced smile as she strode across the entryway towards the stairs. The perfect, polished prince was not the Ira she knew. He was much colder, more detached. He had not so much as glanced at her when he arrived.

She was slipping her feet into her sneakers when a firm knock sounded on her door. She grabbed her other shoe. “It’s unlocked,” she called out.

“You stopped texting.” Ira laughed awkwardly. “Well, didn’t give you much reason to keep it up, did I?”

He still wore the dress pants, but had changed his buttoned shirt for a loose fitting, plain t-shirt. His hair was still terribly stiff and unnatural.

“Are you supposed to be talking to me,” Nellie asked.

“Are you cross because I ignored you outside,” Ira asked, smirking. She reddened but he was looking at his nails, or pretending to. “Truth be told, I’m not sure how all right it is for us to be chummy. It very well could ruin the social life you’re building here.”

Nellie scoffed, “How?”

Ira gestured down himself incredulously. “I don’t know if you’ve caught on, Nellie, but I’m a prince.”

It had been a shock learning the guy who crashed on her couch a few times was royalty. She could clearly see Ira with his disheveled hair and old AC/DC shirt, politely trying to drink old, soggy, bagged tea.

She shrugged. “So?”

“Cheers,” Ira said, smiling weakly. “But, others may not feel that way about my status.”

“I’m already the odd one with Morgan being my cousin,” Nellie pointed out.

Ira conceded with a nod. He crossed his arms and braced himself against the wall next to the door.

“I was going to head over to the stables shortly to wait for Cecily. Would you care to follow?”

Nellie was about to answer when her door was thrown open, causing her to fall off the edge of her bed. 

“Morgan,” Nellie hissed, massaging her back as she stood. “What if I was changing?”

“Then, I'd hope you’d have your door locked,” Morgan said. He glared at Ira out of the corner of his eye. “You should lock it to stop people wandering in.”

“Good to see you again, Master Morgan,” Ira said in monotone.

“Highness,” Morgan said, nodding. He sauntered over to Nellie and plopped the plastic filing case on her bed. “We need but a moment, sir, then you’re free to go wander off and ignore us little folk.”

“Not now, Morgan,” Nellie said. “Ira just got here. He’s probably jetlegged.”

“All the more reason to knock this out quickly,” Morgan said stubbornly.

There was a twitch in Ira’s jaw that was either from annoyance or trying not to laugh. He kept his face neutral and eyes trained on Morgan’s small, skinny frame.

“What’ve you got,” Ira said after a long pause.

Morgan’s face lit up, but he covered it with a sneer so quickly that Nellie wasn’t sure Ira caught it. He unclasped the case and held it open to Ira with a superior air.

Ira peered in curiously.

“I started gathering notes on all the dragon lore I could find,” Morgan said. “As Nellie’s blood, I’m honorbound to help her find her mother.”

“Is that a fact,” Ira said, slightly bored, glancing from the case to Morgan. “May I?”

They crowded around Nellie’s bed. Nellie explained the labeling system as Ira picked through the pictures and notes. Morgan explained his dragon adjunct picks with his chest puffed out.

Ira froze with a picture of the Welsh flag in his hand. His clear, blue eyes were fixed on the image with intensity to burn through it.

“Ira?” Nellie touched his arm, causing him to jump.

“So sorry,” he said. He pinched his eyes. “I suppose I am more jetlagged than I thought.” He backed away from the bed. “Shall we try again tomorrow? I planned on taking a day for Cecily and me to rest before setting back out.”

“You can’t just tell us which dragons you’ve already faced and leave us alone,” Morgan asked.

“Morgan,” Nellie hissed, elbowing him.

Ira smiled wryly. He excused himself again, and left the room. Nellie assumed he was heading for the stables.

They were repacking the filing case when a knock sounded on her door.

“See,” she said to Morgan, “it’s normal to knock first. It’s open!”

Arch stood there looking bewildered. “Umm… I think I’ve lost his highness… Any chance you heard him walk by?”

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

Getting some setup. I named Arden's mom Brittany, because I thought it would be funny to have a very sterotypical 80s/90s name floating around.

I was going to have Morgan answer Arch with a 'no didn't see him, omg you disappointment' and Nellie directing him to the stables, but it wasn't really needed.

Things started to settle at the compound after Uncle Winston’s visit. Nellie had been forced to promise not to do anything rash regarding the possibility that the Regere knew where Rhys was. She was unsure what that encompassed and made a note to ask the Regere about her father when the opportunity arose.

It was creeping to mid-June with no word or visit from the Regere. Not even Morgan received calls or letters from his father, although his mother wrote often. He lazily read through that week’s letter, his chin propped on his fist.

“She sends her love,” Morgan said blandly, folding the short letter away.

The group of them sat around the den with notes from home. Each letter was at least a page front and back for everyone else, some of the contents not being well wishes or lamentations judging by some of the expressions Nellie saw around her.

“I told her to keep the dog out of my room,” Brody grumbled from his beanbag.

“Was it your models,” Arch asked, his eyes locked on his own letter.

“He ate Notre Dame and St. Peter’s!”

Nellie smiled sympathetically as her mind flashed back to when Ash was ripping her pillows and bedding daily. She scanned her letter for the parts about Ash as a pang of loneliness struck her.

“Oh,” Lilac said. “Looks like my parents want to visit.” She hummed, sucking on her pinky nail. “Two weeks might be too short notice to put in a room request….”

“Our families are allowed to visit,” Ava asked.

“Yeah, of course they are,” Fin said, frowning. “This ain’t a prison or anything.”

“Mrs. Adams likes a month of notice to get everything perfect,” Brody said. “Mr. Javernick doesn’t care as much, and it is his house. Ask him, Lilac, and let him get Mrs. Adams’s wrath.”

“Oh, Brody, you can be so wicked,” Lilac giggled. Brody’s dark complexion deepened on his cheeks. She skipped off with her letter to her chest.

The mentions of Ash were few and far. Nellie noted to press for more regarding her smoke wolf. She hoped Nathalie was not ignoring him too badly.

The smell of smoke caught Nellie’s attention. Itzel’s letter was starting to smoulder at the corners. Her dark eyes shined with tears.

“Itzel,” Arch warned, grabbing her wrist. He easily looked over her shoulder, scowling. “Blast, I can’t make sense of it.”

Morgan went over, spoke something to Itzel in a quiet voice, and nodded as she answered.

“Release her, Willoughby,” Morgan commanded. “She’s just homesick. Her Conservatory has a new litter of iemisch that she’d been looking forward to.”

Arch let go. “English is difficult, but you’ll need it if you plan to join the Auctorita,” he said. “A common tongue is important. Isn’t that so, Calix?”

“I can help,” Calix offered. “I know how to learn it.”

“Why is it English,” Nellie asked. “The Regere lives in Portugal.”

“Portugese isn’t an international language,” Morgan said before Calix or Arch could answer. “We live in Lisbon, but that isn’t the center of the Auctorita. That’s just where my mother’s family is.”

“Makes it easy for us,” Arden said from the seat he was sideways on. He stuffed his letter in his pocket and swung himself upright. “Training dummies?”

“Sounds good,” Brody said.

Calix left a minute after Arden and Brody, presumably to go shoot targets. Fin settled to write his responses to his letters. Arch excused himself to the library to finish up a history assignment.

Ava suggested they go to the greenhouse before their required lesson. Nellie eagerly agreed and they set off, without Morgan much to Nellie’s chagrin.

There were three greenhouses on the property, the largest looking as if it was converted from a boat house. This greenhouse held a small pond with a waterwheel and several stone and wooden benches scattered about.

Lilac was kneeling in the wet muck by the pond. She was carefully searching the water with her fair hands, smiling dreamily when she pulled up a wad of sopping, dark leaves.

“Are your parents coming,” Nellie asked, sitting on the nearby stone bench.

“They are,” she said. She plucked apart the mess in her hand. “I hope the fern flowers bloom while they’re here.”

“Are you… checking them,” Nellie asked unsurely.

Lilac’s smile widened uncomfortably. “This is muthkwey.”

“For healing,” Ava whispered to her.

“If only I was a witch,” Lilac lamented. “Some of these are beyond me.” She tossed her clump of leaves back in the pond. “Off to the belladonna.”

“Poisonous,” Ava whispered as Lilac sauntered by.

She knew that much—belladonna was a popular poison across fiction—but let Ava have it. She hunched over the arm of the bench to smell a cluster of white flowers, glad to find them pleasantly fragrant and not pungent.

Ava had gingerly taken Lilac’s spot by the water, eyeing the plants below wistfully.

“I’m surprised Lilac’s parents are coming,” Nellie said offhandedly.

“It’s great, right? They must be forgiving each other.” She tapped the surface of the pond to create a ripple. “Or it’s just that absence makes you want to see them thing. I miss my parents.”

“You guys like each other though,” Nellie pointed out.

Nellie had made more of an effort to get to know the others since Uncle Winston allowed her to stay. She had been reluctant to ask about their lives outside of the compound, particularly their families, fearing it would open her to questions about her own. The image she created of everyone else having a loving set of parents was not true for all of them.

Silas had found Lilac in a shelter. She had run away from home a week prior after years of misunderstanding between she and her parents. They had screened her for autism, sent her to counselors and doctors, all because she could sense something they could not, and that she had no name for. They kept trying to find out what was wrong with her, when–as Silas surely explained to them–nothing was.

“I think I'm going to go ask Mr. Javernick if I can invite my parents,” Ava said. “If they can come the same week as Lilac's, that'd be awesome.” She frowned. “Well, it’ll be tricky for Dad on such short notice, but Mom should be okay.”

There was not much reason for Nellie to stay in the stuffy greenhouse after Ava left–except that it reminded her a little of the Everglades–so she departed for the stables. She hurriedly entered the stone building, the smile falling from her freckled cheeks.

Hodge was gone.

His stall door was open with half the shaving mucked into a wheelbarrow. She timidly peeked in as the scratch-scratch of the mucker reached her ears; her shoulders relaxed when she saw it was Fin. Disappointment seeped into her chest.

Fin jumped a mile. “Ay Dios mio! Don’t sneak up on me like that, Nell!” He clutched his chest. “You knocked the Spanish outta me.”

“Sorry… Hodge isn’t here?”

“Guess Penny grabbed him at dawn and took off,” Fin said, returning to his mucking. He wrinkled his nose as he deposited a lump of greenish poop in the wheelbarrow. “This is the closest I could get to him.”

“Suppose she was in a hurry,” Nellie said dully.

She crossed to the equipment room to grab the spare mucker. It was not like she and Penny were friends. They met the one time and there was about a decade between them. She just jumped to the assumption they had a bond seeing how they fought a dragon together.

“Penny never says bye,” Fin said, watching her. “I’ve been here a year, and I think I've only spoken to her twice. Same with Cal, and he’s been here for four years.”

She hummed recognition to what Fin said, but kept quiet otherwise. 

Silas told her back when he spoke to her and Nathalie about her coming to the compound that he urged Penny to join the Auctorita, and she refused. He told her she was the daughter of his friend, and that friend–Keena Fox–was friends with Rhys. Nellie confirmed as much with ‘Fox’ popping up in passing several times in Rhys’s letters to Nathalie. This was all information that sat too close to things she was supposed to keep quiet.

“Your dad’s a Knight with the Order of Ferblanc, isn’t he,” Nellie asked.

“In the Southwest USA chapter,” Fin said, puffing out his chest. He deflated and eyed her dubiously. “Why?”

“There’s no way he knew mine then?”

Fin smiled softly, shaking his head. “Sorry, Nell. I know he went to Rome as a cadet, but that would’ve been way after your dad’s time.” His hands tightened on the mucker as he stared at the cobbled floor. “He was young when he… transgressed.”

Nellie nudged him. “And mine was old.”

“Yours left the Order first,” Fin said pointedly, clearly looking happier. “But, I’ll take you as a member of the My-Father-Broke-Vows club any day.”

They had just finished sweeping the last remains of the shaving when Arden skidded into view, sweating and dirty from his swordplay.

“Oh good… you’re still here,” he said, panting. “Mrs. Adams said to prep the extra large box in the back.”

“You mean she told you to do it,” Fin said.

“But seeing that you’re already….” Aden turned and bolted. “IOU!”

Nellie left Fin with Arden’s chores. She had just reached the patio when Mrs. Adams appeared with her large cowbell. Nellie only just covered her ears when Mrs. Adams waved it over her head to signal to the kids roaming the grounds it was time for lessons.

The Montauk monster was not interesting by itself—hairless, chubby, with a pointed almost beak-like jaw with its teeth exposed that ate decay, garbage, and rotting roots—but the reaction to one washing up on a public beach in the 2000s made learning about it more tangible than old stories of manticore or cockatrice from hundreds of years ago. Prior to the one that washed ashore, people had referred to them simply as gremlins.

“It took six years of small interviews, national interviews, and the occasional article to get the fallout under control,” Mrs. Adams said, stumping back and forth with her cane. “It is now generally accepted that the gremlin was a diseased racoon that somehow got out in the ocean, died, halfway decayed, and had all the fur stripped off in the process. Then, there is the school of thought that it was a hoax all along, which was a most acceptable narrative.” She whacked her cane against the giant projected image of the dead Montauk monster. “These incidents were one reason why there was little resistance when the Auctorita was formed. Keepers and the Order of Ferblanc had too much else to worry about. Yes, Miss Herle?”

Nellie lowered her hand. “Why is there all this effort to keep the Realm secret?”

“Partly so people like me don’t burn at the stake,” Arch said.

“Your input is unneeded, Mr. Willoughby; I am in charge of lessons,” Mrs. Adams said stuffily. “But, he does make a point. People in great numbers don’t act rationally, and dislike anything different. Mages are different. The separation keeps them safe. As for the creatures, some are quite dangerous and that could cause panic, but others have a… mysticism to them, which could cause greed, or other negatives. Take unicorns, as the example. Who can tell me about unicorns? Mr. Jones, yes?”

“Unicorns are hostile and can be dangerous to anyone except a virgin maiden,” Brody said. “People would get hurt trying to get near them. And, alicorn is a powerful healing material, so people would hunt them for it.”

“The creatures could very well be at a higher risk if the Realm was common knowledge,” Mrs. Adams said, nodding her approval at Brody’s explanation. “A mage could defend themselves, with or without magic. They’re human, and thus have reason. Trying to change the hearts and minds of people who discover a creature is dangerous, or has something valuable to them, that is impossible. Our single lives are just not long enough to do it. The rhinoceros is still hunted, yet we know their horns do nothing, and billions of dollars have been spent over the decades to stop it.” She turned off the projector and used a small remote to brighten the lights. “That’s enough of that for the day. Fifteen minutes, and then to algebra. Mr. Faust, see to that box stall. You can’t unload chores onto Mr. Cabrera. Miss Maebry, Miss Wagner, a moment.”

Nellie left with Morgan. She had wanted to get him alone for days, but thought asking Ava to go away was rude and suspicious, and she did not see asking Itzel to clear off going well. The young mage often hovered around Morgan with him being the only fluent Portuguese speaker at the compound.

“So… nothing at all from your dad,” Nellie asked.

“You know it’s only my mother writing me,” Morgan said, eyeballing her. “I suspect he went to headquarters.”

“Where is headquarters,” Nellie asked curiously.

Morgan furrowed his brows. He looked equally annoyed that Nellie was asking and irritated that he could not answer the question quickly or simply. He shrugged.

“It’s complicated,” he said flippantly.

“You’re just in the dark for everything, aren’t you,” she muttered. She sighed, turning away from his smouldering fury. “He told me that he knows where my father is. I was just wondering if you heard anything.”

He lost a bit of his edge, and dragged his feet as they moseyed towards the outdoors.

Morgan would be no help on information about Rhys. The Regere had a high, thick wall between his son and his position. Silas would have been a good source, but Nellie was not confident that he would divulge anything. He was more fervent about keeping her safe after Uncle Winston’s impromptu visit.

“Perhaps you should write my mother,” Morgan said offhandedly. “I highly doubt she’d know anything useful, but who knows.”

“That wouldn’t be too weird?”

“Have you met yourself,” Morgan scoffed. “Writing a letter is the least of your weirdness.” He rolled his eyes blatantly as she frowned at him. “You are using this camp to gain some skill so that you can hunt dragons, are you not? Or are you just playing pretend? Ready to go back to Tennessee and pass a test for some school? It’s abnormal no matter the choice.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Nellie said wryly.

“I’m submitting my letter to Mrs. Adams before curfew tonight,” Morgan said. “It makes no difference to me if you write her or not. I know where my father is.”

“Do you?”

“A better idea than you do,” Morgan seethed.

They glared at each other, hackles raised, and then stormed off in opposite directions.

---

The box of Rhys’s letters had been a tight fit. Packing an extra pair of shoes would have been more practical given how she often needed to dry her sneakers out, but sitting on the end of her bed scanned the letter where Rhys first complained about Brue felt better than dry shoes.

Nellie stole the photo of Rhys at his graduation from the photo album before Uncle Winston brought it back to Nana and Granddad. She traced the blond wave on top of Rhys’s head and absentmindedly felt the ends of her wavy, auburn hair.

She tore a large corner from her spiral notebook–full of notes from classes, mostly creature related–and wrote: Do you know where Rhys is? –Nellie

She scurried into the dark hall in her bare feet. The floor creaked as she tiptoed. The weak light from the wall sconce elongated and twisted her shadows. It felt foreboding making her way to Mrs. Adams’s office even though it was still before curfew.

Morgan was about to knock on the office door. He stopped with his fist raised and looked hauntingly at her.

“Here,” Nellie said, handing him the rip of paper.

He folded it, tucked it into his letter, and knocked.

“Master Morgan. Miss Herle.” Mrs. Adams looked to Nellie’s feet. “Shoes or slippers, Miss Herle. Bare feet outside your room is inappropriate.”

“Sorry,” Nellie mumbled, scrunching her toes.

Mrs. Adams took the letter from Morgan and stared at Nellie expectantly. The poor lighting in the hall deepened the lines and wrinkles on her face giving her a face that looked painted black and white.

“Oh, I don’t have my letter written yet,” Nellie said. “I was just… walking. With Morgan. He’s afraid of the halls at night.”

“I am not,” Morgan protested.

Mrs. Adams seemed to feel his protest was too strong to be genuine, her sharp eyes softening slightly as they passed over him.

“See him back to his room then,” Mrs. Adams said. She went rigid once more. “And don’t forget the rule about bare feet again.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Morgan said once they got back to the second floor.

They stopped outside Morgan’s room. It was at the start of the hall, next to Arden’s room and across from a full bathroom with a claw-foot soaking tub. Nellie had stolen away to that tub twice despite preferring showers to use the fizzy bath bombs.

“I’ve been looking into dragon lore,” Morgan said. He shuffled his feet. “Just in case you got curious.”

Nellie crossed her arms and leaned against his doorway. “I don’t even know where to start all that… I wish Penny stuck around a minute so we could talk.”

“She’s after her own mother; I doubt she’d be much help.”

“But she’s been hunting dragons for who knows how long, so could at least tell us which stories she and Ira have looked into,” Nellie said. She smiled weakly. “Want to have a cousin only day in the library tomorrow?”

Morgan tried to conceal his happiness, but his smile was too wide to pass off as forced or polite.

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

This was mostly a 'get to know' chapter. The kids can write everyday if they want, but letters are handed out once a week and sent out once a week. Mostly because half of them are international, so it's just easier. They all do a phone/video call a week too. They don't have calls and letters on the same day.

I mentioned way, way long ago that Rhys's vows he took when he joined the Order of Ferblanc were similar to the vows monks take. That includes celebacy. Fin's father broke his vow, was reprimaned (he was too new to be demoted), but his broken vow resulted in Fin, so he has to fulfill his duties as a Knight, but also the duties as a father the best he can. Fin knows his father, has a good, respectful relationship with him, but is ultimately being raised by a single mom since his parents aren't allowed to be married.

There was little noise coming from within Rowlett’s Mechanic Shop as the sun waned overhead. The white-washed concrete building stood out among the dusty road before it and the open field of tan, swaying grass behind it. Two barn doors fixed on metal tracks were rolled open at their widest, and just above them were the freshly painted red letters that bore the shop’s name.

Within the shop, rows of shelves, stacks of metal, and parts of every kind lined the walls. Short windows butted against the tall ceiling and lined the back and side walls to let in air and additional light into the room. The occasional metal clang was surpassed only by short bursts of the rhythmic clicking of a ratcheting wrench.

All the while, there was not a single word uttered from the two men working within the shop, building the silent tension between them and thickening the air.

The older man, with his tanned skin contrasted against his short, peppered hair and a dirty white work shirt, was frowning so much the wrinkles of his face were tugged downward. His bushy brows were furrowed over narrow eyes, and the dark brown irises within glanced across the stuffy room at the second man. Despite his short stature, he more than commanded his presence in the room thanks to his wide shoulders.

The younger man was also tan-skinned, but he was tall and thickly built. The hair on his head was black and shaggy, while dark hair ran down his muscular arms and peeked from the top of his own dusty work shirt tucked under a pair of overalls. His youthful face was lightly weathered from spending his teenage years in the shop; but, while he did appear disgruntled, his dark eyes held much less contempt than the man at his back.

“How was your visit with Ms. Stephanie last night?” The older man, at last, broke the weighted silence.

The younger man paused his work as he tightened his grip on his wrench. “It was fine.”

“Y’all datin’ yet?”

Hudson scowled, thankful his face was turned away. “No.”

Timothy straightened his short posture, pressing his hands on the panel of the tractor between them. “What do you mean, ‘no?’ She invited you to–”

“No, Paw,” Hudson shot over his shoulder. “I told you–I ain’t interested in her like that. ‘Sides, she’s real sweet on Adrien–”

“So, you’ve lost another one.” His voice was cool, yet acidic.

Hudson shut his eyes and attempted to redirect his mounting anger in a deep breath.

The silence returned, and the two continued their work. Timothy was still clanking around in the tractor’s chassis, while Hudson remained near the motor to check for loose nuts.

“I'm startin' to wonder if it's the clutch goin’ out.” The older man scratched his chin. His eyes darted to his son when there was no response. “Hudson!”

The younger mechanic jumped and straightened up. “Oh,” he blurted, looked at the wrench in his hand, and returned his gaze to the tractor motor. “The struts?”

“The clutch! Pay attention, son; your head’s in the clouds today!”

He grunted and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Paw.”

“Henry can’t get any work done without his tractor, so we need to get it fixed!”

“Yes, sir–here, lemme check it.”

The two men switched places, the older supervising the younger to ensure he was performing his duties properly. Sure enough, Hudson went straight to the gear box to inspect the inner workings.

Unfortunately, despite his son’s accurate work,Timothy’s frown only lengthened as he stood idly by. “What about Lillith? You two’ve always been close. She’d make a fine wife.”

The wrench nearly slipped from Hudson’s hand as he turned to face his father. “Paw, you know I don’t see her that way.”

“Then maybe you ought’a start!” He snapped.

Hudson froze, his expression a mixture of outrage and shock.

The older man thrust out his hands. “Don’t look at me like that! I don’t know how you’re expectin’ to continue on our legacy if you don’t quit dilly-dallyin’ an’ get married!”

The younger man averted his eyes. “Paw, maybe I’m just not–”

“I’m not gettin’ any younger, you know–and neither are you!” He interrupted. “One of these days this shop is gonna be yours, and how are you gonna pass it on if you ain’t got kids to pass it on to??”

“It’ll get passed on to someone else in town, just like how Grandpa took it over from the Romano’s–”

“Who else in this town would take it over? Everybody else’s kids are following their parents’ trades.”

“I don’t know; but I’ll figure somethin’ out by then!”

“‘By then,’” Timothy repeated mockingly. “So, you’ll pass on your problem to somebody else’s family?“

Hudson scooted closer to his father. “Is it so hard for you to think I wouldn’t follow exactly in your footsteps? That I wouldn’t check off all the boxes you think I oughta check?“ He shook his head as if perplexed, “I am not you!“

Timothy’s initial surprise from Hudson’s outburst had faded into a caustic sneer. “Boy, is that abundantly clear.“

The son winced, his eyes piercing into the floor.

“I guess I’d better accept that our line will end with you!!”

The wrench clattered on the floor. “Is that really all I am to you?“ The young man stepped forward, seething. “Just a–a person to fill a hole??”

Timothy did not speak as a mixture of outrage and regret smouldered on his face.

Hudson grimaced and walked out of the shop.

–

“And, this is why in Romans…” 

William’s practice sermon was cut short as a figure stepped into the open doorway of the chapel. He set down his Bible onto the podium, recognizing the tall, bulky silhouette. “Hudson.”

The man in question said nothing as he stepped inside and started up the aisle. He passed the rows of wooden pews neatly lined within the small chapel’s white-paneled walls and thin stained glass windows. His form hunched further the closer he got to William until he slowed to a stop at the front pew.

William frowned, noticing Hudson’s haggard expression. He also quietly slipped out from behind the podium and gestured to the pew beside them.

Hudson slipped onto the wooden bench, hot tears already stinging his eyes long before William had begun to speak.

“Another disagreement?” He asked gently.

“My life is a disagreement,” the man muttered caustically.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Paw would.”

William frowned and leaned on his thighs to match Hudson’s slouched back. “You know, despite everything he says, he cares about you. Ah,” he held up one of his hands when Hudson’s head darted in his direction to retaliate. “Just listen to me for a moment.”

He grimaced and drooped back forward.

“You know as well as I do your father has become very shop-oriented these days. He lives and breathes that shop, and he’s always concerned about its future. So, at times, he may see you as a part of that shop too.”

“A part that needs replacin’,” he scowled.

“A part that he wants to hone and protect.”

Hudson’s dark eyes slowly slid to William’s pale blue.

“He wants to make sure you are all set to continue his work; whether that’s training you in all he knows, or making sure you have a future in place.”

“But his future ain’t gonna happen,” Hudson scowled. “He wants me to ‘hurry up and get married’–but to who??” He huffed in annoyance. “The girls in this town are great an’ all, but… I don’t see any of ‘em as romantic partners. An’ most of ‘em already have their eyes on someone else anyway–or they’re too young to be courtin’ a lug like me…”

William remained still as Hudson worked through his thoughts.

“Is there somethin’ wrong with me?” He turned his head toward the older man ever so slightly, tears again stinging the corners of his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” William asserted.

“Then why can’t I…” A tear fell from his eye and he opted to leave the sentence unfinished as he wilted in his seat.

“If I may attempt to stand in your father’s shoes,” the preacher continued carefully, “I think his biggest concern is not you, or your actions, as much as it is his sense of control.”

The mechanic’s eyes lost their focus.

“Timothy prides himself on being able to fix anything that comes in the shop. He has full control over his tools and his work. But, he does not have control over you–and that’s a struggle for him as much as it is for you. So, while I will admit he could use so much more patience and kindness in this matter,” William set his hand on Hudson’s knee, “I do believe all of this is him trying to make sure you are okay.”

Hudson rolled his head backward against the pew. “‘Cept he doe’n’t have any patience or kindness–none whatsoever!” He huffed in distress. “He just–he can’t understand that I’m diff’rent than he is! He can’t understand how I can look at somethin’ another way! And he’s never understood it!” He gnashed his teeth. “Gosh, William–if this is really how he’s tryin’ to help me, he’s doin’ the complete opposite!”

William watched Hudson’s expression scrunch and turn away.

“He makes me feel useless.” His words moaned into the empty chapel.

The preacher allowed the silence to return before continuing. “I’m sorry, Hudson.”

“Just ‘cause I don’t wanna court nobody here… just ‘cause I don’t have a way to start a family…”

“You never know what will happen,” he tried.

“There ain’t no one left!” Hudson darted his head back to face him, tears again running down his cheeks.

William bit his lip. With each generation, Westfall’s inhabitants were slowly dwindling. Children were not being born in numbers they used to, leaving a shallow pool of young men and women to choose from. And there was an even greater chance this generation would bear even fewer children.

Hudson sighed, heavily wiping his face in his hand. “I’m sorry,” he admitted through his fingers.

“Don’t be; I know this is very hard on you.”

“I’d like to think things’ll work out. I keep prayin’ every day that they do. But Paw… he’s never gonna be happy.” He let his broad hands fall to his lap. “Not if it i’n’t how he wants it.”

“Then, what you need to focus on is how to make you happy,” he pointed a finger at Hudson’s chest. “You can’t control what other people will think, but you can control what you think.”

Hudson’s eyes were still focused on where William’s finger had pointed.

“I want you to try to look for peace where you are.”

“That’s not gonna be easy when there’s not peace in the shop,” he frowned.

“That will be the biggest struggle; yes,” William returned his hand to Hudson’s leg. “But you can find peace knowing you are doing everything the best you can.”

The mechanic was beginning to tremble again. “But, am I?”

“What do you mean?”

He squashed his lips into a frown and shook his head. “Do you think I should just... marry Lillith??“

William blinked and tried to stifle his smile. “I’d certainly ask her first.“

Hudson’s face turned to him, and his expression hesitant.

William’s smile warmed and he patted his leg. “Hudson, I would only do that if you want to. Don’t let someone else push you into something you don’t feel is right.”

The young man huffed a sigh and leaned over his knees. “My momma would’ve understood.”

Another pang tugged at William Bauer’s heart. It had been a little over ten years since Josephine Rowlett died from complications in childbirth. It ripped a gaping hole in the Rowlett family and was only the beginning of the great divide between father and son. Josephine had always acted as their bridge; without her, Timothy no longer knew how to cope with a son who was so much like her.

“She would have,” he admitted softly. “And I hope–and I will pray– that one day, your father will too.”

The chapel again fell into silence as Hudson wrestled with his thoughts and William sat by his side. It had not been the first meeting to discuss Hudson’s feelings of inadequacy under Timothy’s watch, and he knew it would not be the last. 

William could only hope that his words were true: one day, the great divide would be mended.

-----

Part 2 of Worthless/Useless is now Hudson's struggle with marriage expectations. In as much as Westfall does not have arranged marriage, the marriage pool is so small at this point, it ironically almost ends up that way. Anyone eligible has probably already had their eyes on someone else as they've grown up, and Hudson just hasn't been looking at anyone else that way. I understand because I was the same way 😅

Unfortunately this frustrates Timothy who can't relate/understand why Hudson doesn't. William was a close friend of Timothy (before Josie's death shuttered him away from everyone) so he also understands Tim's mindset, but he can absolutely see how this frustrates Hudson. It's very much a mess, just like Gemini and her family. Also, these shorts take place when both Hudson and Gemini are 21 years old.

But, spoiler alert, although you may already guess, things finally begin to mend between Hudson and Timothy in the main story - not just because Hudson finally finds a girlfriend, but also because certain circumstances (and people) get Timothy really thinking about everything and realizing how harsh he was. He, at least, is given a chance to make things right :)