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 Castle of the Sunbird, September 2005
Where the Fault Lies, Part II, 2006
Mioko Del Mar, 2007?
Mioko, Sept 2002
Fire & Steel, 2005
