“What about your next holiday,” Morgan asked.

Nellie was sweeping out Ash’s house while Morgan leaned against the doorway and watched.

They had apologized profusely after their failed attempt to find the Cumberland dragon. Nellie doubted how heartfelt Morgan was, but it was enough to convince his mother when he called her that evening. The following day had been quiet with them closely watched by Nathalie, Uncle Winston, and Amias when they were not shuttered in Nellie’s room.

Amias dropped Morgan off alone on Thursday, saying he needed to confer with the Regere. Morgan could not guess what the talk was about, and was not that interested in speculating on it. He was focused on finding an opening for their next adventure.

“Summer? No way,” Nellie said, shaking her head dismissively. “I’m surely grounded, and there is no way my aunt will let me out of her sight.”

Nathalie was in her workshop, half keeping an eye on them and half needing to get her prep work down for the multiple metal flowers she would be making for people to put in their gardens now that it was obvious the cold was gone. Or what people in Tennessee considered the cold; Nellie still found it a bit chilly.

It felt less weird calling Nathalie her aunt, but she still tried not to use it as a prefix. That did feel weird.

Nellie inched by Morgan with her pile of sheddings. “Besides, I doubt you’ll be out of your mother’s sight once you get home.”

“Ugh, you don’t understand how right you are,” Morgan groaned. He brightened. “What if you visit? Surely there are dragon stories we can look into in Lisbon.”

“But Ira was looking here,” Nellie said.

Morgan scoffed, “I’m sure his highness is pleased to have a moment alone.”

“There’s also the thing about my father not wanting yours near me,” Nellie said.

“Semantics.”

Nellie frowned. “Pretty sure that isn’t how you use that….” She wiped her brow, and leaned on her broom. “Finally! He’s shedding so much right now. Where is he anyway?”

“Ran off after a bird,” Morgan said, shrugging. He was boredly playing a matching game on his phone. “Still say asking for a summer visit is the best move.” He smirked a smirk that she had seen in the mirror countless times. “Unless you want to go the unscheduled route?”

“It worked so well this time,” she said sarcastically.

“Nellie, lovey,” Uncle Winston called from the front steps.

She forced Morgan to take the broom, hurrying towards the house while wiping her sweaty, sore hands on her jeans.

Uncle Winston had his packed duffle by the door. It was decided last night that he would order a rideshare in order to have an adult at the house with the kids; Nathalie being the obvious choice even had Amias been available.

He gave her a firm hug and clapped her shoulders, lightly shaking her back and forth. His expression was strained but not unhappy.

“It’s unfair I ask, but have patience with Nat,” he said. His blue eyes looked over her head, out the door. “And I urge you to be careful. Rhys was distraught, but adamant that this Regere fellow was dangerous. His son is a boy, but still a tread to him.”

“Ira didn’t seem to think my uncle was dangerous,” Nellie said, trying to be assertive but falling short. Morgan did not seem to like his father and it did not help put him in a more pleasant light.

“Be careful, Perenelle,” Uncle Winston repeated more firmly. He looked at his phone. “My car will be along shortly. I’ll meet it at the road to avoid provoking your furry friend.”

Nellie squeezed Uncle Winston. She gulped the lump in her throat, dragging her feet as she followed him from the house. She hung back near Ash’s house, waving as he rounded the curve in the driveway, disappearing.

“It’s nice you have an uncle that likes you,” Morgan said.

“You don’t?”

“My mother has no brothers and her sister is currently unmarried,” Morgan said.

She remembered Uncle Winston mentioning her mother’s older siblings appeared indifferent to the fact that she existed, and were blatant about not wanting to take her in. Morgan must have been blacklisted in the same manner. He had said their shared grandfather did not like him and did not visit; Nellie had been too surprised (and happy) by his appearance to pay it any attention.

“What about our grandmother,” Nellie asked. “Does she like you?”

He stared at her with a mildly disturbed expression. “What an odd thing to ask someone. Completely random.”

“We’re talking about family members not liking or liking us,” Nellie said flatly. She straightened to easier pull her phone from her pocket after a blop sounded. “Amias is heading back. He wants to know if you want anything to eat.”

“Will your aunt be making anything,” Morgan asked.

“Probably not,” Nellie said. “She’s cutting spoons. That’ll keep her busy for the next two hours at least.”

Nellie had Morgan make his opinions known using voice messages to save her from trying to text his complaints over the lack of options. The Wi-Fi was too weak near Ash’s house for a phone call or video call, saving Amias from being harassed.

Ash poofed nearby. He bounded towards them with his feet turning to black smoke and reforming. A dead bird hung from his mouth, and he looked unmistakably proud.

---

Nathalie let them eat their lunch in Nellie’s room. She had a sneaking feeling that Nathalie had warmed to Amias and with her friends lacking to nonexistent, was looking forward to some adult conversation. She was more than happy to let them chat and stay shuttered in her room with her cousin.

Morgan had demolished his French toast stuffed with ham and melted cheese. He picked at his side of fruit, either his stomach realizing it was stuffed or him being tired from the exhaustive pace he had eaten at.

Nellie was more controlled with her mac’n’cheese. She never had it with chicken in it before, and was having a good time finding pieces of tender chicken in every few bites.

“She sends me sweets and visits much more often than our grandfather,” Morgan said.

“Uh… what?”

“Our grandmother,” Morgan said, a ‘duh’ was implied with his tone. “You asked if she liked me. She does. Or tries to.”

“I asked almost two hours ago,” Nellie said. She poised her fork and stabbed it as if hunting with a harpoon. “What’s she like?”

They spent the next hour exchanging grandparent stories. Morgan had no connection to Rhys’s side, but seemed to enjoy the comparisons between Granddad and Grandfather Agarwal and listened to Nellie describing Nana in polite perplexity. Didi Eileen apparently was more into juice bars and styling her hair to show off how gracefully she was aging than knitting, baking, and making Christmas crackers.

“She sounds oddly glamorous,” Nellie said. She sighed wistfully. “I wonder if my mother is anything like her?” She laughed. “She didn’t pass any glamor to me. Maybe that's nurture, not nature?” She awkwardly moved the last bit of mac’n’cheese around. “Has she ever mentioned me?”

“Of course not,” Morgan said. He must have noticed Nellie’s glumness, because then he hastily added, “Never to me, at least. You know they see me as a child. They never say anything to me.”

She fought the urge to tease him for being younger.

“Ready for the madeleines,” Morgan asked, grabbing the styrofoam box that contained six nutty madeleines.

“Start without me,” Nellie said, setting her fork down. “I’ll need a minute.” 

She crinkled her freckled nose as Morgan shoved a whole one in his mouth. It was weirdly fascinating watching his cheeks get smaller as he chewed.

“You know something,” Nellie said as a thought popped into her head. “I never asked what it is your dad does.” She was unable to get an answer with Morgan’s mouth so full. “I know it’s not anything involving the Order of Ferblanc, because Ira told me the knights were people sensitive to magic but not magic. And that they go around and cancel out mage stuff if it’s too dangerous or something. What was the other one he mentioned?”

She went to the small notepad she kept near her bed–now that it was safe to do so with Ash outside fulltime. She had added notes ever since Ira left, having the suspicion that random scrap paper would not suffice beyond the list of cryptids the old people at the coffee shop had mentioned months ago.

In the first few pages she put the mentioned cryptids, giving each a page to themselves should she need to add more like she had with the white screamer and gryphon (ex: Cecily). The Order of Ferblanc followed, and the page after is where she wrote: Keepers.

“Is the Regere involved with the Keepers. Or Stalkers,” Nellie asked. She frowned. “ Kind of a terrible name. But, Ira said his parents were called Stalkers. Is that how all of you know each other?”

Her cheeks burned as Morgan laughed at her. Everyone seemed to forget that she knew absolutely nothing about any of this four months ago.

“The Regere is the leader of the Auctorita,” Morgan said with an air of superiority.

“I’m sure I’d be so impressed if I knew what that was,” Nellie said dryly.

“For crying out loud, you really are naive,” Morgan said. “Don’t glare at me, Nellie; it’s true. Not your fault.” His eyes shot to her notebook. “Is that all you know? Give it here. I want to see what you’ve been kept in the dark about.”

She begrudgingly handed over her notebook. It did not take Morgan more than a minute to get through it. She felt nervous as a frown overtook his face.

“So… am I on the right track, or…?”

“Think you can get me some milk or something,” Morgan asked. “The madeleines are good, but you can’t eat cakes without a drink.”

That could not be a good sign. She opted not to force him to answer, gathered their used dishes and containers, and eased out of her room. She froze as Nathalie’s and Amias’s low voices leaked out from the living room.

“--brat,” Nathale said. “Forgive the bluntness.”

“Forgiven tenfold,” Amias said. “I was nearly five years sober before he appeared outside the townhouse.”

“I worry his influence on Nellie,” Nathalie said. “Even when Rhys disappeared to join that Order, even with Nellie popping up with stories of fantastical animals, I still felt I could handle things. But now… magic, and dragons, and who knows what else.” Nathalie’s heavy sigh reached the hallway nook where Nellie hovered. “Perhaps I’m losing my grip because our relationship has changed.”

“It is quite a lot,” Amias said. There was a pause. “I do have a thought.”

Nellie internally admonished herself for her timing. Her precarious pile in her hands was tripping too much for her to sit still any longer. She gave the baseboard a tap with her foot to let them know she was coming—the idea being to keep them comfortable so she could attempt to listen in after dropping off the plates—paused, and entered the living room.

She stole looks at the two adults as she poured glasses of milk. They were murmuring pleasantly about nothing important.

“Nellie,” Morgan called, sticking his head out of the door. “What’s keeping you?”

“Enjoying yourselves,” Amias asked.

“We will be,” Morgan said. “I think it’ll be great fun explaining the Auctorita, and all such things. There’s so much she doesn’t know!”

Amias and Nathalie both turned shades of gray.

Nellie went back to her room, pleased with their reactions. She settled on her bed, criss-crossing her legs, and leaning towards Morgan with anticipation.

“Where to start…,” Morgan mused. His brows knitted. “Perhaps with the question; have you ever heard the phrase ‘protector of the realm’?”

“Um, sure,” Nellie said uncertainly. “It’s part of a Game of Thrones meme with long titles. I wasn’t allowed to watch it for obvious reasons, but I did hear it ended horribly.”

“A meme,” Morgan groaned. He drew in a breath. “It’s taken from history. They were seen as the first and last defence of the realm.”

“Which was… the kingdom, right?”

“Yes… and more,” Morgan said. “The Lord Protector had deep ties with the House of York, becoming one and the same with the ruling king at times. In the Medieval Ages, the Lord Protector used his power to influence Rome to put more resources into their demonologists which led to the creation of the Order of Ferblanc. At the same time, he recruited very specific peoples–magically sensitive, good with creatures types–to be keepers and stalkers on the lands.”

“So, Ira’s ancient family created the Order of Ferblanc, the Keepers, and…?”

“And, as a result, the creatures, monsters, and magic became things of folklore,” Morgan said. “But, not for real. Now, we refer to this world hidden in the world as the Realm, and both factors still practice as they did ages ago.” He grinned impishly. “Oh, and we still have a Lord Protector, but right now we just call him King Clayborne York.”

She choked on the milk she was sipping.

“Ira’s a prince,” she wheezed.

“Of course,” Morgan said. “Why else would I call him ‘his highness’ all the time?”

Her head was spinning.

“The Actorita was created as a sort of bridge between the Realm and the rest of the world,” Morgan said, reveling in her surprise. “The Regere–my father– and the King have to work together, but which one has real power gets contested. Which makes things between us awkward.”

“Are you a prince too,” Nellie asked weakly.

Morgan’s smirk twitched. “No,” he said coolly. “I’m just Morgan.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “Is there more?”

His smirk returned, but a soft knock on the door interrupted them.

Nathalie was at the forefront with Amias hoving over her shoulder in the cramped space between the two bedroom doors. The sight of both of them, their expressions strained into mixtures of happy, authoritative, and calm, put Nellie on edge.

“We’ve been talking,” Nathalie said, “and since tomorrow is the last weekday of your holiday, perhaps we should go away.”

“I’m not grounded anymore,” Nellie asked.

Nathalie’s eyes flickered pleadingly to Amias.

“I thought a properly chaperoned dragon hunt,” he said. “Let the two of you have a last hurrah before you go back to your studies, and Master Morgan faces the wrath of his mother.”

Nellie blinked in surprise. She looked at each of them, not seeing anything to indicate Amias or Nathalie were lying, and feeling her excitement build as Morgan’s own exuberance bubbled to the surface.

They were off to find the Cumberland dragon.

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

Happy Thanksgiving! I didn't have time to read through it, but since I can't see how posting an article via my phone would work, I wanted this out now. I think I'll schedule it and see if I can edit it after I land. Phone editing should work, if needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evelyn nodded simply, a distracted smile on her face.

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

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

“Oh, wait–”

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

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

William then took the vase and handed it to Wildfire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No peaches?” Wildfire asked.

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

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

“Bitter cold.”

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

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

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

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

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

”Beg pardon?”

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

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

“Firewood?”

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

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

“You’ve got firewood?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her brows furrowed with apprehension. “Me?”

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged and pocketed his now-empty hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiled hesitantly. “Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve branded it??”

“Not yet,” she frowned at his insistence.

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

She perked up. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her lips tugged. “Am I in it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She took in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

Thomas shrugged as one corner of his lips tugged askew.

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

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

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

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

She glanced aside, almost embarrassed. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold up.”

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

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

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

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

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

Thomas paused again. “Hold up.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yer welcome, ma’am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Westfall is pleased to call her one of our own.

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out front.

“See you later, Ash,” Nellie murmured.

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

“Nellie, hurry,” Morgan whispered loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” Nellie added.

The driver grumbled and recalculated his GPS.

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

“Your aunt,” Morgan asked.

“Most likely.”

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

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

“Was that all Amias,” she asked.

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

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

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

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

“We just drove through,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are you!?

You lost your summer holiday as well!

I’m calling the police.

I won’t call the police.

I’m worried. Please respond.

She clicked to respond but her fingers did not move.

“Something the matter,” Morgan asked.

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing,” Morgan asked suspiciously.

She typed to Nathalie:

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

“You’re naive,” Morgan scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vibrant, busy, but relaxed.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of things,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shepherd mix.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I-I– How are you–?”

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

“Master Morgan,” Amias cried. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit down, Morgan,” Nathalie said.

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

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

Morgan sat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not now, Perenelle,” Nathalie hissed.

“Then when, Aunt Nathalie,” Nellie spat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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