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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Nellie asked innocently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you speaking from experience,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do cryptids migrate,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am,” Ira said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the week and weekend came and went without Nellie taking a peek at Rhys’s letters. She did paw through the photo album everyday if only for a minute. She grew familiar with how Rhys changed from chubby cheeked cherub to a square-jawed teen, his flaxen curls darkening to a deep, golden honey wave. The photos with the two brothers together–despite Rhys’s sour expression and Uncle Winston trying hard to hide his annoyances–were some of her favorites due to their similar features. Seeing Uncle Winston and Rhys at thirteen and three was like a preview to what Rhys would look like at thirteen, with lighter, wavier hair. It was a game to try to match the features.

Nathalie and Rhys were obviously much more fond of each other. Nathalie was often hugging him, or feeding him in the earliest photos, or generally doting on him. The smugness on his face in these showed that he was quite spoiled when his sister was involved.

The final picture of Rhys was him in a collared shirt appropriate for church, hair carefully combed. He smiled widely as he showed off a rolled paper that showed he completed Year 11.

She jumped as a soft, firm knock sounded on her door. “Sweetpea, are you ready,” Uncle Winston called. “Nat said we needed to be out the door around now.”

Uncle Winston was bringing her back to school after all the accusations and arguments with the administration. Nathalie was not confident she would remain cool if she saw Miss Campbell or Ms. Pelham, and thought Uncle Winston showing up would be a good show of strength. Nellie was glad for the change in driver; Uncle Winston could not help but make disgruntled comments about all the open spaces and lack of civilization during the short drive. She knew if Nathalie had driven her that she would have asked if she had gone through the letters yet.

Uncle Winston set his keen, blue eyes on the school. His eyebrows lowered. “My god, they don’t hide the fact these public schools are children are prisons, do they? What a dreary, soulless building. How are you expected to nurture your mind with such an uninspired place?” He clapped Nellie on the shoulder. “You report anything of annoyance to me after Nathalie fetches you this afternoon. Understand?”

“You won’t be picking me up,” Nellie asked.

“I want to, lovey, but I must pack,” Uncle Winston said. “I’m supposed to fly back this evening.” He squeezed Nellie’s shoulder, stooping to see her face. “You send me a text if you have any issues after I go. Or if you want to ask about your father, or complain about him, or if you just need to talk about something. Nothing is off-limits. That includes Nathalie. If you need to talk about her, just reach out.”

Nellie had an overwhelming urge to hug him, but thought doing so would make saying goodbye after school less meaningful. She instead nodded, smiling, and climbed from Nathalie’s Crown Victoria. She slung her backpack over one shoulder, turning to face the school. It really was an uninspired building.

She gave Uncle Winston one more small wave before shuffling through the doors, through a blast of sticky, hot air from the heating unit just inside. She unzipped her coat and tried to remember where her locker was, then what the combination was, then where her homeroom was, then where her desk was. She sat with her hands in her lap, holding her silenced phone hidden just under the hem of her tunic-style shirt, with her blue eyes locked on her desk. She held the position for the entire day.

It was too cold to stand among all the other pre-teens to wait for Nathalie, especially with the car not anywhere in sight. She walked down the line of cars towards the edge of the school property, folding her arms tight to hold as much warmth as she could to herself. She shivered, but slowed rather than speed up. There was a young man with a clipboard stopping each car as it entered school grounds.

He looked like a college student except his short, blond hair was combed and in a typical, boring sort of cut that would be suited for boys from the 1950s. The clipboard and haircut would have pegged him as some sort of religious missionary, except that his clothes did not match that profile. From her view, his coat was more of a trench that was some kind of shiny, royal blue.

Nellie hugged herself tighter and ducked her head as she approached, watching from the corners of her eyes as she shuffled passed him–him ignoring her just as much.

“Pardon me, madam,” this young man said in a crystal clear, properly British accent to the car beside them, “do you have time for one question? It would help me enormously with my literature class.” He flashed a smile that could only be described as dazzling. It gained the desired effect of having the car not front up despite the others before it inching along.

Nellie hovered, shivering. She wanted to ask him where he was from without interrupting his homework. A flash from his eyes her way showed he was aware of her unintentional eavesdropping, and seemed annoyed. She re-tightened her coat and rooted to the spot.

“Are you familiar with gryphons, by chance,” he asked, inching nearer to the car as if it would block the question.

“I am,” Nellie blurted out, jumping closer.

There was a pause as the driver glanced from the young man to Nellie, seemingly unsure if the responsible thing to do was drive forward and leave them. A car horn from behind encouraged her to abandon them, leaving the two of them summing each other up.

On closer look, this young man’s coat appeared to be blue leather–not shiny like pleather–and woven with silver threads. There was short, plush, dark fur on the inside collar that suggested the coat was very warm.

The young man eyed her warily, gave a curt nod, and turned to the next car pulling up. “Good afternoon–.”

“Hey,” Nellie said. “I said I knew!”

“Yes, I’m sure a little girl knows all about gryphons,” he said with a clear eye-roll.

“I have a feather,” Nellie said indignantly.

He paused, teetering between continuing trying to engage the next car and turning back to give her a moment of his time. He gave the driver–who had already rolled down her window–an apologetic smile that could make the most cantankerous grandmother coo. He took a step nearer to Nellie, his clear blue eyes looking her up and down.

“You appear chilled,” he commented. “Be quick, for your own sake.”

“Is this really for a literature class,” Nellie asked. “I can’t think of any story a college kid would study with gryphons heavily featured. Or why a guy that sounds like you would be doing a survey in Lynchburg.”

He allowed the clipboard to swing to his side. There was nothing on it but a blank paper.

“What color is this alleged feather of yours,” he asked.

“White,” Nellie said bluntly. “Flight feather. Seems to glow a bit.”

The edge in him vanished. His shoulders relaxed, and the tightness in his jaw gave way to a relieved smile. His eyes lit with excitement as he scooted another inch forward.

“Where did you find it,” he asked enthusiastically.

“Perenelle!” Nathalie stopped the Crown Victoria with a screech. She eyed the young man carefully, pursing her lips. “Get in the car, please. I want us to have time with Winny before I drive him to the airport.”

“Ah, you’re English,” he said with a large smile. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam. I was talking to your–.”

“Yes, I see you talking to a minor right outside of school grounds,” Nathalie said stiffly.

“He knows something about that gryphon outside our house,” Nellie said, leaning eagerly into the window.

“She was outside your house,” he exclaimed.

“It’s a she,” Nellie bubbled. She bounced against the car. “Can he come over?”

“I don’t wish to impose… but may I,” he asked, rocking slightly as if he too was trying not to bounce about.

The cars stacking up behind began honking. Nathalie hissed something unsavory under her breath. She looked from Nellie to the young man, and put both hands on the wheel.

“Get in the both of you,” she said. “Nellie, you take the back just in case I need to toss this boy through the windbreak.”

Nellie stole glances in the rear view as they made their awkwardly silent drive up and through the school pick-up lane. She tapped her knees, squirming in her seat, and blurted, “Is she your gryphon?”

“Not now, Perenelle,” Nathalie said.

“Perenelle…,” he murmured, just under his breath.

The short drive ended with the Crown Victoria crunching the gravel outside the small house. Ash was howling from his outbuilding, sending the hairs on their arms on end. Nellie jumped from the car, running over to release him.

“Don’t let that dog–,” Nathalie tried to yell just as Nellie opened the door.

Ash bounded out, ran in circles, and bounced towards the woods. He poofed into smoke near the edge of the trees and disappeared.

Uncle Winston was halfway out the front door with a cup of tea in his hand. “He really isn’t a dog, then…. Nat, be a pet and load up my bags.”

“Load your own bags,” Nathalie said crossly. “I’ve enough to handle at the moment.”

The young man climbed from the backseat. His eyes were wide as they focused on where Ash had vanished, but there was no sense of fear or trepidation attached. A slow smile spread across his face. He raked his blond hair up.

“My word,” he said. “What type of animal was that?”

“A smoke wolf,” Nellie said proudly. “He’s an adolescent, and packless, so he lives here now. His name is Ash.” She retrieved her backpack. “What’s your gryphon’s name?”

“In the house, Perenelle Herle,” Nathalie demanded.

The cup shattered on the front steps. Uncle Winston stared, mouth half opened, at the young man, completely oblivious to Nathalie’s angry comments over his recklessness. His reaction had Nellie surveying the young man curiously but all she noticed was that he seemed uncomfortable with the attention, but not surprised by it.

“Will you hush,” Uncle Winston hissed at Nathalie. He stumbled over himself to shake the young man’s hand. “Do come in, sir. Tea? I made her buy some.”

Nellie stepped back to take in the full picture of her successful, proud uncle fussing over this random college student. Nathalie had a clear look of disturbed surprise over her brother’s reaction too.

“Winston… explain,” Nathalie said cautiously.

Uncle Winston scoffed, looking thoroughly scandalized. He gestured to the young man, and said, “This is Ira York! My god, Nathalie, you’ve spent far too long separated from your country.” Uncle Winston then whispered, “You are Ira York, yes?”

“I am,” Ira said wryly, “though I must admit I’m surprised you know that.”

“My brilliant wife is a linguist with a penchant for Yorkish kings,” Uncle Winston said, puffing out his chest. “She, in fact, consulted with the Missing Princes Project.” He waved his arms towards the house. “But, enough chatting out here, sir, you must be cold. Come in, come in. The place is cramped, I’m afraid, but warm enough.”

Her eyes popped at the news a prince was graciously accepting her uncle’s invite into her house. She elbowed Nathalie aside to enter after Uncle Winston, her mouth drooping at all the cardboard boxes, scattered clothes, and stacks of plating on the counters. She threw herself into the kitchen, pulling plates out of sight and vigorously wiping the formica with a sponge.

Nathalie did not look as impressed as she slunk into the house. She moved unpacked clothes off the couch for Ira to sit, but showed no further hospitality.

“Nat, tea,” Uncle Winston hissed.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the time,” Nathalie said. “We’ll have to leave shortly for the airport.” She set her eyes on Ira. “Is there somewhere I can drop you off, Mr. York?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, madam,” Ira said. “I’ll just call a rideshare.”

“I would rather a stranger with a car not drive onto my remote property with my twelve-year-old daughter here,” Nathalie said coolly.

Ira nodded fervently. “Understood.” He rested his hands on his knees, turning to get Nellie in view. “Shall we cut to it, then? May I see this alleged feather?”

Nellie bolted for her room as Uncle Winston questioned the importance of a feather, clearly forgetting the half dozen times Nellie had waved it around his nose trying to explain what she and Ash experienced. She grabbed it from her bureau and swung around into the living room, holding it up in triumph.

Ira stood, his eyes locked on it. He slowly took it from her, a smile spreading across his face. “She was here!” He grabbed Nellie’s shoulders. “Where was this?”

“Just beyond the woodline,” Nellie said. “Ash ran off, I went after him, and he must’ve startled her, because next I knew, I was tossed by this great gust of wind and this feather was there.”

“When was this?”

“Um… about five days ago,” Nellie said. Her heart was beating with excitement. “She is yours then? What’s her name?”

“Cecily, but to say she’s mine is a stretch,” Ira said. “She’s like your shadow wolf; not a pet but not some random creature.” His handsome face clouded in a frown. “Five days…. I was hoping it was more recent.”

Old Mrs. Thronebery’s claim of a gryphon–or her description which Nellie took as a gryphon–behind her house just went from completely possible to absolute. Her feather was more than proof; Ira was saying it was his specific gryphon’s feather.

Ira took a breath, exhaling the disappointment off his face and replacing it with a placid smile. “Thank you for giving me some idea of where she was… Nellie, was it? Or, is that too informal,” Ira said. “I can call you Perenelle or Miss….” His face scrunched in thought. “Sorry, Herle, was it?”

“Unfortunately,” Nellie groaned. “Nellie is fine, your, um, lordship?”

“Ira, please,” he said, his mouth curling. He twisted his hands together. “This is… an odd question, but do you have any relation to Commander Rhys Herle?” He turned to Uncle Winston. “There is a strong resemblance once I look at you properly.”

“Commander,” Uncle Winston exclaimed. “Rhys is a commander of something? Nathalie, did he tell you this?”

Nathalie stumbled over her words as she tried to cope with the revelation that Ira knew her brother and remember what he had written about in his letters. Uncle Winston did not help by peppering more questions on top. The timer on his phone indicating they needed to get on the road to the airport sounded shrilly, causing both adults to leap up. There was more scrambling to get the car packed with Nathalie stopping several times to say something to Ira, change her mind, and scurry off.

Nellie was a ball of excitement and a deep pit of anxiety as she watched out the window. Uncle Winston was in the car, peevishly flapping his arms at Nathalie as she wavered near the car, ready to head back indoors. Her gestures towards the house were clear enough.

“She doesn’t want to leave you alone with me,” Ira commented, watching the same scene. “I am a stranger. Perfectly reasonable reaction for a mother to have.”

“She’s not my mother,” Nellie murmured. “I have a feeling you already knew that.”

Ira shrugged. “Families have complexities,” he said. “As for what I know–.”

“Hold that thought,” Nellie said, leaping to her feet. “Don’t go anywhere.” She bolted into her room, grabbed the box of Rhys’s letters, and jumped in a seat beside Ira on the couch. She pulled a fistful out and began to leaf through them. “To make sure you aren’t making things up for whatever reason, what is my mother’s name? Wait one second… here we go!”

The realization that she was now holding her father’s handwriting slammed down on her. She adjusted her old on the lined paper, making it more gentle as if the page was delicate and not simply ripped from a generic spiraled notebook. Rhys wrote in script, which was more difficult to read, but the neatness of his penmanship helped keep most of the words distinguishable.

Rhys apologized for the long gap in letters, the reason being he left his position with the Order of Ferblanc and was offered a new one. Settling in took longer than he expected,and his confidence about this new job was not high. This was in part due to the liaison he must work with being too carefree and a tad airheaded; her role was clearly nepotism being that she was the boss’s big sister.

“Brunhilde…,” Nellie said.

“It has an ‘ah’ sound on the end, but, she was usually called Brue,” Ira said. He smiled sadly. “Liked to tack an ‘e’ on the end for femininity.”

They jumped as the front door was thrown open with a bang. Ash charged in, half knocking Nathalie over as she clung to the handle to stay upright.

“I must leave now or Winny could miss his flight,” she stated. She drew in a breath. “Perenelle, keep that creature inside until I return.”

Nathalie was gone before Nellie could thank her or question her. She stared at her mother’s name in her father’s hand, a queasiness settling in the pit of her stomach. She set the page back in the box.

Ira was holding his hand out to Ash who was stretching to sniff it without getting any closer.

“I must smell of Cecily even now,” Ira mused. “I’m sorry she spooked you.”

“He honestly probably was trying to eat her, so…,” Nellie trailed off. “I can make you tea now if you’d like.” She stood to turn on the kettle as Ira nodded. She searched the fridge, tossing a bit of leftover steak on the floor for Ash. “Are you hungry? We have… ham steak? And… there must be some sort of vegetable in here somewhere….”

“The tea is fine,” Ira said. He gently pat Ash on the head. “Well, aren’t you soft!”

Nellie set the coffee mug full of hot water and a teabag in front of Ira. “You know both my parents then,” she asked.

“Knew is perhaps too strong,” Ira said. “I met them several times while I was a boy. Commander Herle worked closely with my parents before and after he gained that rank.” He smiled warmly. “I’ve met you too before; I’d thought Perenelle sounded familiar. It’s not common enough for me to hear it often.”

“We-we’ve met,” Nellie said, blinking in disbelief.

“Twice,” Ira said. “You may’ve been under a year for both, or a year for the second. Being all of ten, I did not exactly find you interesting. Our interactions were nothing other than me politely saying hello while your parents acted as if you could respond.”

She was presented with someone that knew her real mother, her father, and presumably what it was Rhys had left home for. He may even have insight on why Rhys left her with Nathalie, at what it was that happened to her mother for him to abandon her. It was too much too fast.

“What happened with Cecily,” Nellie asked.

“She was spooked,” Ira said, frowning. His blue eyes wandered off. “There was this… scream.” He shuttered. “Yes, spooked. She’d never bolted like that. I was shed off, and I’ve been searching ever since.”

“You ride her,” Nellie said, bouncing in her seat.

“On occasion,” Ira said. “She isn’t fond of it, and it isn’t comfortable for either of us.” He made a face as he sipped his tea, swallowing it roughly, and setting it down with a degree of politeness. “I’ve never been to America. I wasn’t sure what manner of creatures to expect. Clearly, Cecily was out of her depths as well.”

Nellie draped her arm around Ash’s neck as he nosed his way over, eyeing Ira’s tea as if he too was unsure of the taste. She had no experiences outside of Florida–none that she remembered–so it never crossed her mind how the creatures in the Americas would differ from those in Europe, or other places. The European cryptids, those from overseas, had much more lore and stories written about them. Hundreds of years worth, with decades of more recent accounts. That was undoubtedly helpful for gaining some grasp of what you would be coming face to face with.

The elderly people at the coffee shop had a few funny stories of experiences they had heard, or their own encounters, but the majority of stories had been terrifying. Ira’s reaction to saying the word scream, Cecily’s reaction to bolt and still be on the lam a week or so later, gave Nellie the impression they would have had a much worse experience had they stuck around longer.

“Is that what you do,” Nellie asked, “travel around and find these cryptids with your own cryptid friend?” She smirked at Ash. “Is that a career path?”

“Not exactly to answer both questions,” Ira said, laughing. “Creatures are drawn to me, and I them to a certain degree.”

“I can relate.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” Ira said, reaching over to rub Ash’s ears. “It’s an inherited trait. Both my parents had it. My mother more towards creatures; my father more towards… other. For lack of a proper descriptor.” His eyebrows knit in though. “Maybe describing it as a sensitivity is more accurate….”

“I’m told my father had this oddness, and I’m thinking that’s why Ash is sitting here,” Nellie said.

“Commander Herle absolutely had the sensitivity,” Ira said resolutely. “His towards the other, not so much creatures. They tie together, mind you, so they aren’t so separate.” He reached for his tea but recoiled as he recalled the taste of it. “Perhaps magic is a better word than blandly saying other?”

Nellie’s blue eyes sparkled. “Magic is real!”

“Of course,” Ira said. He picked up Cecily’s feather from the table. “This is proof enough.”

“Rhys was a witch,” Nellie breathed, and hastily corrected, “I mean warlock.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Am I a witch?”

“My guess is no, and we typically referred to magical people as mages unless otherwise specialized,” Ira said, looking thoroughly amused. “Commander Herle wasn’t a mage. He was the exact opposite as a member of the Order of Ferblanc. Ah, I suppose that’s a new term for you too?”

There was so much to ask. Nellie picked through what Ira told her about Cecily, magic, the sensitivities, and looked to the box of letters. There could be more information in there, perhaps Rhys tried explaining about this Order of Ferblanc to Nathalie. He could have written about magic or fantastic cryptids that he encountered. Ira’s parents both had this oddity, and maybe her mother had that too.

The shrill ring of her phone sounded from her bedroom. She murmured a half apology and she clamoured around Ash to get to her room. It was unsurprising to see it was Nathalie calling, a bit surprising to have her shouting concern before Nellie could say hello.

‘I’ve texted you hundreds! Are you all right?’

Nellie winced at the thirty-five unopened texts from Nathalie and five from Uncle Winston–he clearly not as concerned and having been cut off from continuing with the airplane taking off.

“I’m fine,” Nellie said. “I left my phone in my room. I didn’t hear the texts. Did Uncle Winston get through–?”

‘Is he still there?’

“Ira, yeah, he is,” Nellie said. “Ash is watching him. Why? Should I have him leave?”

The pause on the other end was long enough that Nellie pulled the phone back to check the call was still connected.

‘I want to ask about Rhys myself. Check that he isn’t a vegetarian or anything. I’ll be home in ninety minutes.’

“Okay, I’ll ask him to stay for dinner,” Nellie said. “Drive safe. Love… you. Bye.”

‘...Love–’

Nellie hung up. She quickled set her phone to silent, considered it, and changed it to vibrate. She strolled out into the living room where Ira was allowing Ash to snuffle all over his intricate coat.

“You’re not a vegetarian, right,” Nellie asked. “I think dinner is ham.”

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

I did not expect Ira to show up so soon. But then again, this is the fifth chapter and if Nellie wasn't going to sit there and put pieces together via Rhys's letters (which would've been going nowhere honestly without someone more in the know) then Ira was needed. He probably would've turned up next chapter looking for Cecliy anyway.

I wanted to keep Uncle Winston around longer, but that would've had him derailing things to pry about Ira's family. The more unimportant part of it, because he does have the important part (the 'other' sensitivity). Uncle Winston was originally supposed to tell Nellie about the Order of Ferblanc. Not what it is, because he doesn't know, but to make the cheeky comments about how Nellie is obviously not studying properly because if she did then she'd know Ferblanc = fer-blanc = tinplate = tin. And make more cheeky comments about Rhys running off to be a tin soldier. But, since that was all he would've done I figured I can always make that a text exchange if I really want it in there. Nellie didn't give back the photoalbum and Winston did tell her to keep in touch, so there's room for it.

And Ira is the best person to introduce "sensitivity", or the oddness, because he's got it coming from both parents. (Spoiler-ish, Nellie doesn't, not really.) I thought about having this continue and having Nathalie ask about Rhys, but I wasn't sure how long that was going to get, and I need a minute to try to explain what the heck is going on, lol. I know it in my head, but the right wording is not coming to me.

The distraction Winston would've been going off on is the whole Yorkish Kings and medival monarchy stuff. The Lost Princes Project is a real thing (I'm listing to it now, really interesting) and was a research project following the Search for Richard Project that rediscovered the remains of Richard III, the last Yorkish King before the French took over with the Tudor line. I randomly stumbled upon a movie about that project some months ago, and it was so interesting that I meant to download the audiobook, but then saw they recently completely the Lost Princes Project and downloded that one instead. All a very long way to put that Ira York is connected to the lineage of Yorkish Kings. The surname is a coincidence. I thought it sounded noble. I laughed so hard when I realized Richard III and the two princes were considered Yorkish.

And final note, half for my reference, what Cecily (named both for a Yorkish queen and one of Richard III's nieces) and Ira ran into was a White Bluff Screamer. It was one of the creatures Nellie writes down after talking with the old people in chapter 2. The lore of them is horrific, and it does make me wonder how dark some parts of this will be with all the different creatures and lore involved.

The bedroom was slowly coming together. Moving boxes still cluttered the hardwood floor, but all except two were now opened and half emptied. Nellie’s efforts to unpack were interrupted by once again digging out the shoe box of photos from beneath the storage area under the house. She lounged against her turquoise beanbag, thumbing the worn edges of the picture of the family of three in front of the Eiffel Tower.

She had not asked Nathalie much more after their trip into Murfreesboro. She focused on getting Ash set up in his outbuilding, and then Nathalie had been busy with the internet installer. She spent the following day attempting to set up her room while being sucked into her phone for hours at a time, seeking out everything on smoke wolves and regular wolves she could. Nathalie had spent most of that day on the laptop, checking bank statements and making calls to check where her welding equipment was since she hired movers specifically for that. With a full day and a half of not talking–other than standard questions regarding food or where boxes were–it seemed too bulky and awkward to randomly bring up her father. That went double–triple–for anything about her mother.

“Nellie,” Nathalie hissed urgently, sticking her head in the room while covering her phone with her hand. “Text Winny and tell him I’m stuck on hold. I’ll call him back.” She straightened. “Yes, I’m still here. I just gave you the shipping number. Oh, blast, give me a moment to fetch it. Again.”

Nellie set aside the photo to grab her phone from the nightstand. She went into her messaging app to her contacts, scrolling down to Winston Herle- uncle. She typed:

She’s on hold with some moving people.

Her fingers barely left her phone when it buzzed. She paused before turning the screen up to read the reply:

Pinched family album from Nana and Granddad. Cheers, Winston.

She smirked at his sign-off. He was stubborn about signing text messages like letters. It drove Nathalie up the wall, and she suspected that was one reason he stuck to the habit so fervently.

She typed back:

Did the album scream when you pinched it?

The response was instant:

Cheeky. Cheers, Winston.

She set her phone aside and dragged herself into the living room, her body heavy from the prolonged lounging. Nathalie was still pacing in aggravation, seething as she waited. Nellie went to rummage through the fridge. She peeked to make sure Nathalie was still distracted before pulling out one of the marinating chicken breasts. She rinsed it and wrapped it in a paper towel, stealing away outside.

Ash bounded out as soon as the door was opened. He poofed into thick, black smoke, sailed a foot over Nellie's head, and reformed behind her.

“Snuck you some chicken,” Nellie said, half whispering. She tossed it away and sank to the frozen ground, pressing her back to the outbuilding. “As far as I can guess, you’re just shy of one. You’re too lanky to be any older. Unless smoke wolves are lankier than regular wolves….” She giggled at Ash stalking and lunging at the chicken breast. “Definitely not an adult.”

“Nellie,” Nathalie called, poking her head outside. “Clean out that outbuilding, please. I’m sure that animal has messed all over it. Hello, yes? I just gave you the order number!”

Ash had not messed all over it, but kept everything contained in a neat corner away from his towels and food dish. She had read about wolves being tidy. She was glad he at least shared that with his regular counterparts. She finished her cleaning by shaking out his towels and throwing them in a pile that hopefully was fluffy. It would have been nice if they got him a bed.

“Ash,” Nellie called, heading outdoors. “Ash, back inside.” She caught sight of the tip of his tail disappearing through the trees. “Ash!”

She rushed after him. She no sooner entered the woods when she heard Ash snarl and a sound like a roar and screech responded. A mighty gust of wind crashed into her, knocking her off balance. She fell on the hard ground, instinctively curling and covering her head with her arms. 

A quiet fell across the woods. Nellie stayed in her huddled position as the stillness stretched out, shaking from whatever it was that just happened as well as from the January cold. She lifted her head as Ash nudged her with his cold, wet nose. He was ginger with his front, right paw.

The woods were littered with branches as if a twister had gone through. The trunks looked steady, but there were two that had deep grooves like claw marks raked down them. Between those two trees was a white feather that appeared to glow in the watery, weak sunlight. It was the length of Nellie’s entire arm.

“Nellie,” Nathalie called out. “Perenelle!”

Nellie grabbed the feather in her scramble up. She patted Ash on the head and urged him to follow. She could feel she'd been bruised by branches falling across her as she trotted from the woods, Ash trailing her with small, pitiful whimpers.

Nathalie hurried outside, barefoot, to meet her. She threw her arms around her, pulling her into a crushing hug. She just as quickly held her at arms length to look her over.

“Are you hurt? Nellie, what was that?” Nathalie picked twigs out of her auburn waves. “Goodness, you are a mess!”

Nellie held up the feather. “Look at what whatever it was left!” She leaned away to put an arm around Ash, adding, “Can Ash sleep inside tonight? Look at his poor foot!”

Nathalie let out a long, exhausted sigh, rubbing her forehead. That was all Nellie needed to push Ash into the house in front of her, both of them barreling by Nathalie. Ash bounded into the bedroom, leaping upon Nellie’s bed with no whine or whimper. Nellie dropped onto her beanbag and grabbed her phone. She set the feather at her feet, and leaned back to capture as much of the feather in frame as possible to image search it. She narrowed her eyes, smirking.

“Well, I know it isn’t a swan feather,” Nellie said. “Not unless it was a mutant. …Oh, that would be horrifying! Imagine a fancy, white goose the size of a small car getting angry with you!” She looked at Ash. “Have you ever seen a goose?”

Nathalie stuck her head around the door. “I’d rather that animal did not sleep in here tonight, Nellie. I’m supposed to fetch your uncle from the airport tonight.”

“But it’s so cold out there,” Nellie protested. “And he’s hurt. And there’s a… a winged thing out there.”

“He can stay inside for now, but not for the night,” Nathalie said.

“Can I buy him a bed?”

Nathalie pursed her lips as she mentally weighed her options. “He can have a bed, but he needs to be outside tonight regardless of the bed arriving or not.”

Nellie squealed and jumped up, hugging Nathalie. “Thank you, thank you! Ash, come thank….” She stepped back, pulling at the split ends in a lock of hair. She tensed as Nathalie petted her head.

“I’m going to try clearing up the front room,” Nathalie said, her tone trying to sound cheerful. “Please don’t spend more than eighty dollars on the bed. I’d ask for much less knowing he'll just shred the thing, but I saw the prices at the store.”

“Can I use the laptop,” Nellie asked.

“Suppose so,” Nathalie said. “Just keep my tabs open. I’m planning a sculpture and don’t want to go looking for the references again.”

It was quick work to buy Ash a bed with the filters for size, rating, and price in place. Snooping on Nathalie’s references to gauge what she was planning to create–a ballerina, the pose not yet narrowed down–took even less time. Nellie moved her beanbag so she could lean against her bed, to have Ash behind her head.

“Mrs. Throneberry did say she saw a big cat-eagle thing a few days ago,” Nellie said, half to Ash and half out loud to the room. “That sounded like a gryphon to me, but she said it had white wings but wasn’t white…. No way they live here, right, boy?” She leaned her head back to look at the smoke wolf. “But you’re supposed to be further east too. Still… she was weird with how she described it….”

It would not be right to assume Mrs. Throneberry made up the story or mis-saw something innocuous just to join in the folktale conversation at the coffee shop, but people were prone to embellishing the smallest things or outright lying to contribute to these sorts of stories. Nellie understood that too well; no one ever believed her. She ran her finger down the spine of the feather, then input: griffin. After too many pictures of random people and poorly drawn cartoons, she retyped: gryphon. The images more or less showed the creatures as solid colors, nothing like the white-winged and black-headed animal described to her. She moved the cursor away from the Images tab to the All tab, now faced with stone statuettes, faded stone tablets, and links to random mythology pages, descriptions, and schools via their mascot–those respelling it ‘griffin’.

“The website previews all say the same thing,” Nellie said to Ash. “It’s like they copy pasted from each other. Isn’t that plagiarism?”

She chose three near the top. Sure enough, they offered the same information with slight differences. The last had a written description of a gryphon much more detailed: black eagle head, red chest, tawny lion body (sometimes spotted), white wings. She stared at the white feather. A smile spread across her face.

---

A clatter of a kicked box, a stumble of something–someone–heavy knocking into a wall, and the house seeming to shake with that fall all jolted Nellie awake. Her heart pounded frantically as her ears strained for more information. 

“Winston,” Nathalie hissed. “Careful! You'll wake Nellie!”

Nellie reached for her phone, squinting into the bright screen. It was 1:46. Nathalie had left around when she was falling asleep four hours earlier. She rolled over, taking a long breath to calm the adrenaline spike as Nathalie and Uncle Winston whispered a half-argument over time differences and messy houses.

It was odd she had such a strong reaction to Uncle Winston stumbling over a box. The commotion was enough to wake anyone, but her dose of adrenaline was overkill, especially now that Ash lived on the property. There was a vagueness in her mind as if she had been watching something, dreaming of something, that was exciting. Trying to pick up where she left off caused a swooping in her stomach, both of nerves and joy. She could nearly see the vast sky and mountains as she shut her eyes.

“Nat,” Uncle Winston called. Nellie’s eyes flew open. “Nat!”

“Winston,” Nathalie snapped, her bedroom door creaking as she yanked it open. “Hush!”

“Do you have a spare adaptor,” Uncle Winston asked, barely lowering his voice. “I can’t seem to find–.”

“Go to sleep,” Nathalie said.

“Sleep? Are you mad?” Winston chuckled. “It’s near eight AM.”

Nellie rolled over again. She leaned up to fluff her pillow, flopping upon it with a sigh. She stared at the white feather that looked more than ever to be glowing as it latched onto and sent back every scrap of light in the dark room. The mountains, swooping excitement, and touch of nerves made more sense to her now. She tried to recapture the dream a few minutes longer before giving up and dragging herself from her room.

There was a reading lamp plugged in and resting on the floor next to the couch. It gave off a warm glow that fought against the harsh brightness of a sleek laptop set on the coffee table. Uncle Winston’s pale face was washed in the cool light, darkening the lines on his face into a dramatic mask.

His blue eyes shot up from the phone in his hands at the floor boards creaking. “Nellie, lovey,” he said happily, climbing out from the sagging sofa. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her too tight. “Did we wake you? Of course we did, what am I saying. Far too young to be sneaking out.” He thumped her back and dropped onto the couch again. “Not that you have anywhere to run off to in this god’s forsaken place.”

She half cringed and half smiled. Nathalie talked positively of Shelbyville and Lynchburg whenever they were with each other, and she tried to do the same, but they were both starting to feel how different it was from Sunrise. She settled on the couch next to Uncle Winston, yawning hugely, and held her tongue on what thoughts she could add to his comment.

Uncle Winston was once more absorbed by his phone. The light was not as bright as the laptop, but enough to blend his light colored eyes with the glow. It lightened the silver streaking from his temples, and lit up the other grays peppering his black hair. He was the only member of the family–beside herself–to not be blond.

“Nathalie refused to let me on the Wi-Fi and the reception is dreadful,” Uncle Winston said. “Would you have the password? I wanted to check in with Margo before I started work.”

Nellie typed the password into the laptop and then the phone. It was the faster option.

“Cheers,” Uncle Winston said. He eagerly watched the phone attempting to connect. “Oh, I should do the video so she can see you! It’s been ages.”

“It was last week,” Nellie said, giggling.

“Blast,” Uncle Winston said as the call failed. “She must be in the shower already. Ah well, I’ll text her to let her know your mother didn’t crash into a deer after picking me up.”

She shifted uncomfortably as the phone made audible key-clacking sounds. Uncle Winston was so nonchalant, acting and speaking normally despite him having dropped everything and flown across the Atlantic because she now knew Nathalie was not her mother.

“Still find it all overwhelming,” Uncle Winston said without looking away from his screen, him now on the laptop. She nodded and opened her mouth to confirm her meek nod in case he did not see it. “It’s all right to let it be overwhelming, Nellie, dearie.” His keen eyes flashed towards her. “Just do not allow it to consume you. Much too young to have something as silly as parentage weigh you down.” He set his sights again on his work. “Do you wish me to refer to Nathalie as your aunt from now on?”

“I don’t know,” Nellie mumbled.

“All in due time,” Uncle Winston said. He clacked away at the keyboard. “She tells me you have a dog now. I highly doubt you call him ‘that thing’.”

“Ash,” Nellie said. “And he’s not really a dog.”

“Naturally, but I’ll always refer to him as such,” Uncle Winston said. He groaned at the screen. “That absolute muppet of an assistant cited the wrong file. Pardon me, sweetpea.” He struggled out of the dip in the sofa, snatching his phone up. “I stashed the photo album in my briefcase. Just mind you don’t spill any of my files.”

Uncle Winston stood at a loss in the small house before deciding the few steps into the kitchen was private enough.

It was creeping towards 3:00AM, so Nellie decided to return to her room to give Uncle Winston space to do his work. She rummaged through his briefcase for the album, finding it easily by the worn, leather cover among the paper files. There were bits of gold still in the indented lettering that read; Photo Album. She hugged it to her chest as she slunk back into her room.

The first and only photograph on the first page was of her grandparents nearly unrecognizable in their young age in a grainy, worn black and white wedding photo. The typical stiff, grim expressions common in old photographs were only half present with the pair clearly trying not to laugh. The next few pages showed them either together in well-known European places, or singular in them–usually her grandfather in front of the landmark and her grandmother smiling over a plate of food. She skipped through the next few pages that showed her grandmother growing larger and larger with Uncle Winston, then of Uncle Winston as a newborn–the majority of those him being asleep, the rare awake ones blurred with movement of some sort. She slowed when the cycle repeated over with Nathalie, then took pauses as individual pictures of Uncle Winston and Nathalie grew together. Nana was added back in, now growing larger for the last time.

Nellie stopped with her fingers poised to flip the page to the newborn photograph she knew would be next. She never thought much about Rhys before, but now it was different. She exhaled a long, slow breath, and turned the page.

There was not much difference between Rhys’s baby pictures and those of Uncle Winston and Nathalie; the quality was better, her grandparents older, and there being individual pictures of him with his siblings being the key changes. He was bald for most–as was Nathalie–with the baldness giving way to flaxen curls–unlike Nathalie whose hair was straight. She pulled at a lock of wavy, auburn hair.

The childhood pictures were many and varied with the vast majority being candid shots someone, likely Granddad, took when the three kids were not looking at the camera at all. Half of those Rhys was crying early on and grumpy later on, the displeasure seeming to come from something to do with Uncle Winston.

She dozed off at some point, because next she knew Nathalie was yelling for her to wake up, eat, and attend to her creature. Ash's eerie howls echoed as a backtrack.

Nathalie and Uncle Winston were sniping at each other over a plate of half-burnt toast. The fragments she heard sounded like whatever it was had to do with the time differences and Uncle Winton’s troubles hearing Aunt Margaret, so Nellie grabbed her coat and headed outside.

Ash did not bound out as he did yesterday. He nosed about and took careful steps, eyeing the woods with his bright red eyes.

“Little wary after that gryphon, huh, boy,” Nellie said, patting his head. “You know I’m on your side, but I can’t help thinking you may’ve deserved getting tossed.”

She hurried through the chores of feeding, cleaning, and breaking the ice layer on his water bucket, her shivering growing more pronounced. She wrestled Ash back inside with promises to let him out again after her own breakfast, and bolted indoors.

“Nellie,” Uncle Winton said in a scandalized tone, “are you aware this woman starts her day with coffee and not tea?”

“For goodness sake, Winny, you make the same complaint each visit, as far between as they are,” Nathalie said.

“You’ve set our parents half in the grave with your American habits,” Uncle Winston said. “I do hope you’ve thought on what investments to make.”

A thought popped into Nellie’s head as she reached for the toast. “Am I American,” she asked. She dropped her gaze at the adults’ surprised looks at the abrupt question.

“You are,” Nathalie said slowly. She looked to her brother. “She is, right, Winny? Or was it more complicated?”

“No, no, she is,” Uncle Winston said. “The complication was due to not having her mother’s input.” His face scrunched in disgust as he took a sip of coffee. “You think your father’s side is complex, Nellie, dearie, it’s nothing compared to the other half.” He added a disgusted noise to go with his next sip of coffee. “Honestly, Nat, this is pure torture.”

“I told you I have milk and sugar, you eejit,” Nathalie said, her lighthearted manner slightly forced. She ripped the milk from the fridge and heavily plopped the sugar canister on the counter. “I’ll be back in a moment. You two talk.”

Nellie squirmed in her chair as Nathalie disappeared into her room. The subject of her mother had finally been broached, clearly drawing a line between Nathalie and her role in Nellie’s life. She had not wanted to upset Nathalie.

“She’s fine, lovey,” Uncle Winston said, eyeing her from over his cup. “She’s the adult. You needn’t worry yourself.” He rolled his coffee in his mouth, shrugging at the adjusted taste. “Now, you being American. Yes. It took a bit of doing to find it out, Rhys was already gone and no help, but from my understanding, your mother was born of an American mother so was considered American despite being born and raised in England. It made things a fraction easier with Nathalie wanting to settle herself in the yeehaw country.”

“Was I not born here,” Nellie asked.

“Oh no, you were born overseas somewhere,” Uncle Winston said. “The copy of your birth certificate is in my study safe, and I cannot say where off the top of my head. Not England, that much I remember. Killed Granddad and Nana, poor dears, but they really did bring it upon themselves sending Nathalie and Rhys to foreign schools.” He scoffed. “I mean, honestly, what did they expect? They weren’t old enough to resist the warmth and sunshine like a proper Brit.”

“You have my birth certificate,” Nellie asked.

“Nathalie has the original, and I a copy,” Uncle Winston said. “Or both are copies. Rhys didn’t know where Nat was, or how to get you to her, or something of that nature, so first brought you to me.” He waved flippantly, sipping from his cup. “He was mad. Kept going in circles about your mother. Can’t say as to what about her, mind you.”

“Something terrible happened to her,” Nathalie said, quietly re-entering from her bedroom with an old shoebox. “He tried to explain it, but it didn’t make sense, as if he wasn’t sure of it either.” She set the box in front of Nellie. “He wrote me quite often after he left home. He only stopped shortly before showing up at Winny’s.”

Uncle Winston’s face strained in a tired, sad smile. “Rhys and I were not as close as I would’ve liked. A decade apart will do that, I suppose. He always just annoyed me, trying to tag along and mimic me, and….” He took a breath. “And I missed him greatly once he left.”

Nellie stared at the daunting old box before her. Her father’s thoughts were inside in his own writing. She had grown to not think of her father, to have no questions of him, and now he was shoved beneath her nose. She leaned away.

“It’s all right, Nellie,” Nathalie said softly. “You keep the box. It’s there if you ever want it.”

“You removed anything unsuitable, I should hope,” Uncle Winston said.

Nathalie rolled her eyes. “Winston, honestly,” she sighed. “He wasn’t off partying.”

Nellie picked at the soft corners of the shoebox. “So… because something happened to my…” she looked away from Nathalie, “is why I’m with you. What about her family? Didn’t they know about me?”

“Her family is dangerous,” Uncle Winston said bluntly. “Rhys was quite clear to not allow them near you. An uncle in particular.” He glared into his empty coffee cup. “Whatever it was that happened to your mother was his fault. Are you sure you have no tea in the cupboard?”

She allowed Nathalie and Uncle Winston’s talk about tea and shopping trips wash over her. She inched the box near, running her fingers on the edge of the lid. Her mouth was dry. She stood, and left the box.

“Think I’ll dress and take Ash for a walk in the woods,” she announced, and hurried to her room.

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I 100% based Nathalie's phone frustrations off that interaction I had with ADP awhile back when trying to get all the 401k stuff finazlied. Annoyances can be useful, lol. I'm liking the switch from hair stylist to welder with Nathalie too, since I can write down whatever ideas I had/have for future reference. I would like to try to make something else someday.

And enter Uncle Winston! He was not orignially supposed to be more than a name to fill out Nathalie and Rhys's family, but then I decided he should be useful. That was one reason I went with lawyer so that the legal bits of moving a toddler between countries with people not her parents could make more sense. Nellie doesn't see her family in person a lot, but she does keep in contact as much as a 12yo would, so there is a relationship with each member (less with Winston's kids because of age differences).

The set up is taking longer than I thought it would, but this was always planned as a serise with each book being shorter (compared to other things I write) so maybe most of this one is just set up. I don't know. It's a rough draft.