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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does my mother’s family know about me?

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

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

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

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

Didn’t they want me?

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

“H-hello,” Nellie said.

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

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

The answer was serious.

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

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

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

“Is my uncle named Regere,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

“Winston.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say so,” Ira said.

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

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

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

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

“Er, yes, quite well,” Ira said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are they,” Nellie asked.

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

“Why not both?”

“Cheek,” Ira said. “Which first?”

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

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

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

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

“How do you view it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh… what?”

“Cecily,” Ira exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get back to the car,” he ordered.

Nellie rolled over as Ira jumped up.

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

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

“Nellie, run,” Ira commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

Ira stumbled to the car, cradling his arm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Nellie asked innocently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you speaking from experience,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do cryptids migrate,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am,” Ira said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

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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.