The messages to Ira stayed unread for the rest of February. Nellie only sent one more, asking if he was all right, but that too stayed unread. She started to worry as mid-March crept by and took to searching the internet for any signs of Ira York whenever she was able.
“Boo!”
Nellie jumped, nearly dropping her school laptop on the floor. She frowned at Ava as she laughed at her, sinking into the seat next to her and pulling out her sketch pad.
“Mrs. Huffman is going to be angry if she comes in and sees that out,” Ava said. “You know she’s all upset over this AI art stuff.”
“I’ll put it away when she comes in,” Nellie murmured, keeping her eyes on the screen. The bright light mixed with her blue eyes, giving her a glazed look.
Ava pushed her glasses up her nose. “Clayborne York,” she questioned, leaning over to look.
Nellie tilted the screen down to distort the image of the middle-aged man with Ira’s blue eyes. She gave it a second of thought, and readjusted the screen so Ava could see. It was just the two of them in art class, and the other few students that arrived early did not so much as glance at them.
Clayborne York looked like the type of middle-aged dad Nellie would see in a soccer stadium waving a Manchester banner, and that was despite the expensive suit, neatly kept blond hair (starting to look duller with age), and the way he held his broad shoulders. It was something in his smirk, and the twinkle in his eye that gave the fun loving impression. He was more relaxed than Ira typically was, but not completely absent the weight Ira seemed to have during the times he would space out.
“I bet he was cute at our age,” Ava said, grinning widely. “Who is he?”
“Ira’s dad,” Nellie said. “The college guy that was visiting after I moved here.”
“And…?”
“And I haven’t heard from Ira, so was thinking of maybe emailing his dad,” Nellie said. She slowly shut her eyes with a groan. “Oh, wow, that sounded lame outloud.”
Ava frowned, chewing her words before saying them. “Eleven is probably too young for him,” she said tactfully.
“I’m twelve, but it isn’t like that,” Nellie said with a laugh. “He’s a family friend.” She felt that was not enough, and added, “Our fathers were cadets together.”
“Oh, so that’s why,” Ava said with dawning. “We couldn’t figure out why he was visiting after you told us he wasn't a relative. Wait… twelve? Since when?”
“Last Friday,” Nellie said, embarrassed.
Her cheeks reddened the longer Ava stared, clearly aghast that Nellie had kept her birthday quiet. She was saved trying to explain herself by Mrs. Huffman trotting into the room with the class bell on her heels. Nellie quickly put the laptop away. She made an attempt at drawing Cecily–poorly–while Mrs. Huffman droned on about texture.
Nellie had not been able to look at Clayborne York’s profile long enough to find a contact number or email. She would need to resume once he was home, hopefully on the laptop and not on her phone. It would be helpful if she was allowed to bring her school laptop home.
The person who would be able to tell her where Ira was, and convey a message to him, was probably Penny, but Nellie did not know a thing about her other than her first name. And, it was likely a nickname. In retrospect, Penny did not have an English accent like Ira did, but that did not help narrow down her identity.
She lingered in the doorway until the car rider monitor called her. She rushed to the pearlescent sedan with a wave at Emma and Olivia, giving them a small, fake laugh as she climbed in.
“Which ones are those,” Nathalie asked, giving them a wave as they rolled forward. “Shame all your friends were occupied last weekend.” She gave Nellie a strained smile. “Was school any more tolerable today?”
“Normal amount of tolerable,” Nellie murmured. “You haven’t heard from Ira, right?”
“From Mr. York,” Nathalie asked. “No. Not since he flew home. Are you having difficulty reaching him?”
“Yeah,” Nellie said. She dug her fingers into her knees. “I’m starting to worry. Should I call the Order of Ferblanc?”
“I… don’t believe that to be wise,” Nathalie said carefully. “I’m not exactly sure what it is they do, but Mr. York not calling them until the last minute when it came to that… thing, makes me believe they must be extraordinarily busy doing similar heroics.”
“It does seem extreme…,” Nellie said.
The larger of the two outbuilding–the one Nathalie claimed for her studio–had been fully outfitted with electricity. A bathroom was added, raising the amount of the property to two; Nathalie claiming foresight for Nellie’s approaching teen years. Ash’s house was still unfinished. Electricity and water had been added, but it was ripped to the studs and lacked a roof. It was slated to be complete as soon as Nathalie was paid for her recent ballerina statue.
“Can I use the laptop,” Nellie asked, shouldering her bag as she stepped out of the car.
“I suppose so,” Nathalie said. “Don’t lose track of time though, please. I’ll need you to pop dinner into the oven tonight.”
Ash had again destroyed her bedding. She did not bother to scold him, instead sitting on her bed and going into the recent orders tab to place another order for a comforter, pillow, and sheets. He was a wild animal with a supernatural flair. It was more their fault for locking him indoors and they had both come to accept that.
“You’ll be an outdoor dog-thing once your house is done,” Nellie said, patting his head. “I guess I’ve been worrying you’d run off and get hurt. Or just run off in general….” She stroked him, staring at the confirmed order screen unseeingly. “Please don’t run off on me, Ash.”
---
Nellie snapped thin branches, panting, as she tore through the forest. She leapt a fallen tree, twisting to see over her shoulder as much larger sounding branches broke. She tripped, tumbling head over heels through the dead leaves and mud hidden beneath. She stayed perfectly still as all the sounds vanished, waiting.
Black smoke elegantly wafted around her left side, bounced before her, and began to solidify into Ash. He crouched, hackles raised.
“No,” Nellie begged, half-laughing. “You win. You win.” She flopped backwards. “Let me catch my breath.”
Spring Break had started and it brought Nellie an enormous amount of relief to not go to school. A twinge of dread lingered in the depths of her mind, a mental countdown to when she would return to the tedium and mean stares from her teachers.
She climbed to her feet, shaking the leaves from her clothes. “Come on, Ash, let’s get back to the lady,” she said. “It’s got to be near lunch.”
She always referred to Nathalie as ‘the lady’ to Ash. In part, because Nathalie did not like to acknowledge Ash by his name, but also to avoid Nellie needing to definitively put a label on her. It was surprisingly easy to never say the words ‘mom’ or ‘aunt’ in everyday life. She knew it would need to be spoken aloud at some point, but that could wait until she was not enjoying the freedom of traipsing about the woods with her smoke wolf.
It was pleasantly warm, and the bright sun fell into the clearing before the small house causing the black asphalt to deepen. Birds pecked dropped seeds from the made feeders Nathalie had made, hopping along the tar happily.
Something made Nellie slow her casual pace, something that she could not put her finger on that stood out from the cheerful scene. Her shoulders tightened as Ash began growling at her side.
“Ssh, boy, don’t give us away,” she whispered, patting his head. She inched nearer, heart pounding and the hairs on her arm standing erect. “J-just… cover me.”
She stood back from the door, stretching to reach for it but not wanting to get any closer should she need to run away. She cringed as the door let out a slow, sharp squeak.
“Nellie,” Nathalie called, her tone strained. “Do hurry inside before the flies follow. Someone is here to see you.”
Inching into the doorway revealed a man in a tailored suit and a flamboyantly loudly patterned fuschia tie. He reminded her of Vincent Price but if he spent a lot of time in the tropics, his olive skin was either fully natural or the result of long, warm vacations. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties but the only lines she saw were crows feet that crinkled up when he smiled fondly at her.
She smiled nervously, warily eyeing the length of him. There was something about him that she could not figure out, some feeling she could not name. It was not hostile, just not usual.
“My, look at you,” he said, a hint of some accent. “You–.”
Ash snarled, poofed, reformed in front of Nellie, and lunged. He smacked into a barrier, light spreading through the air from his impact. He tossed his head about, growling and ready to spring again.
“Easy there, friend,” said the man, holding his hand before him. He stood like bracing against a wall, his face twisted in concentration. “Would it be inconvenient to put the creature outside?”
Nellie stared, mouth open. She snapped to after a few seconds. “Ash, outside, boy,” she ordered. “It’s okay, boy.” She tilted her head at the man. “He’s a friend.” She firmly urged Ash out the door and shut it to prevent him poofing around her back into the house.
“Friend,” he said, amused. He sat on the worn soft looking completely out of place, crossing his legs to reveal his socks matched his tie. “Perhaps when you’ve grown, but for now I’ll have to be content with godfather.”
“G-godfather,” Nellie stammered. She turned to Nathalie. “I have a godfather?”
“Godfather,” Nathalie cried at nearly the same time. “What on earth–? Is my brother a Catholic? Oh, I knew that group was some sort of cult!”
“Dear woman, calm yourself,” the man said, although he looked highly entertained. “The Order of Ferblanc is no cult, though it pains me to admit that. Perhaps they went through periods of cultishness, but that could be my distaste wanting more than anything.” He raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Or are you accusing his most recent association?”
“No,” Nellie said firmly, holding her hands at each of the adults like forcing them apart. “No, no, no! I don’t care about if my father is a Catholic or a cultist or former cultist or whatever. …Well, I do, but not right this second.” She pointed at the man. “Name. Please.”
His lip curled. He stood, and gave a sweeping bow. “Amias Baig.”
“And you’re a witch,” Nellie asked, trying to sound nonchalant despite her heart beating from her chest.
“Witch,” Amias said, scandalized.
“Wait, no, not a witch,” Nellie said. “What was it Ira called you guys…?”
“Mage.” Amias sat again, knitting his fingers on his knee. “Ah, yes, so the little prince truly was here. Oh, how his father fretted.” He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Sent inquires to us asking after him and everything. Poor child. Such a tight leash.”
Ira had been delayed by the white screamer and Cecily running off. It did not strike Nellie as unusual that his father would worry, especially since he was surely informed why his son was roaming about. Amias did not seem concerned about Ira. He could know where he was and why he was not looking at his messages. He could know about her parents, what happened to her mother and where her father disappeared to.
Nellie–and the adults–jumped as Ash let out a long, discontented howl right outside the door. She moved to let him in before recoiling, shooting a look at Amias.
“Ash doesn’t like you,” she stated.
“Naturally,” he said, nodding. “We magic types put animals on edge by default. It’s a dangerous thing, magic, and in some ways unnatural.” He laughed lightly. “Unless you are of the natural type yourself, but those are few and far.”
“Magic is… that weirdness I’m getting off you,” Nellie asked.
“Rudely stated, but yes,” Amias said. He lifted his eyes to Nathalie. “And you feel nothing, correct?”
“Confusion and mild anger,” Nathalie said wryly. “Are you staying long enough for refreshment, Mr. Baig, or do you need to be on your way?”
“Oh my, I like you,” Amias said coolly. “Tea. Preferably black. And, if you have a cake, I’ll take a bite.” He twisted to put Nellie more squarely in sight and Nathalie further from it. He gave her a sad smile. “You were so young last I saw you. When word reached the Regere of where you were, I leapt at the chance to see you.”
“The Regere,” Nathalie asked, stepping next to Nellie and putting a hand on her shoulder.
“My uncle,” Nellie murmured. “The one… Rhys didn’t want near me.”
Nathalie paled, she inadvertently painfully digging her fingers into Nellie’s shoulder. “Wh-what? But, how?”
“The Order of Ferblanc,” Nellie said, staring at the grain in the floor. “I gave my name when I called. They must've recognized it. Ira did.”
Nathalie released Nellie, stepping away to pace. She covered her mouth in horror, her brow furrowed.
“So… about that tea,” Amias asked. He tensed as Nathalie glared at him. “Water is also perfectly fine.”
Nathalie held her glare for a few seconds before snatching her phone up off the table. She stormed into her room, slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls. It was no great leap to think she was calling Uncle Winston as some form of reinforcement.
Amias stood and walked up to her. He put his hands on her shoulder before thinking better and raising them off so that they hovered inches above. He gave a snort, shaking his head with a smile.
“Suppose going right for a hug is too forward given that I’m a stranger now,” Amias said. His smile grew more fond. “You look a good deal like Brue. Have her freckles. Her smile, from the little I saw of it.”
“I,” she swallowed, “look like her?”
“I’d say you have a good mix, but I can see her in you, yes,” Amias said. He clapped her shoulders and returned to the couch, squirming about with a disgusted look. “My, this thing is tattered.” His warm, brown eyes wandered the floor, ceiling, and walls of the old, cramped house. “Well….” He allowed his words to trail into obscurity.
“Did you train with the Order of Ferblanc,” Nellie asked. “Is that how you and my father–?”
She abruptly stopped at Amias’s roar of laughter. Her face burned with embarrassment, her mind churning backwards to discover where she went wrong. She giggled nervously, grasping.
“N-no, that wasn’t right,” she said. “You don’t seem to like them.”
“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Amias said, wiping a tear from his eye with his finger. “Oh, how I needed that! Oh, my, come here.”
Nellie sat on the coffee table across from Amias. She took his hand as he offered it, still feeling embarrassed as he gave it a squeeze. His grip was strong, warm, and his hands soft as if he had never done any manual labor or even roughhousing. There was the smallest tingle on her skin where his skin touched, like the lingering effects of putting her hand under a tap that was too hot.
“Firstly, my connection to you comes from Brue more than it does Rhys,” Amias said. “Your father and I were amiable, but your mother and I were the best of friends.” His lip curled. “Rhys was too serious.” He patted her hand. “The Order of Ferblanc are the opposite to mages. They’re sensitive to magic but contain a sort of nullifying element in their person. They supposedly exist to combat when people misuse magic.”
“Did my mother have that type of sensitivity and… power, I guess for lack of a word,” Nellie asked.
“Oh no,” Amias said bluntly. “No, no, Brue was completely desensitized to magic. Hadn’t the faintest I was a mage, but completely unperturbed when she saw me do magic.” He laughed. “You’d have thought she witnessed me fold a duvet. Just a mild ‘oh, neat’. I was more surprised over her lack of surprise.”
Rhys had described Brue as flippant and airheaded in the first letters that mentioned her. Nellie had not thought much on it, perhaps because of how rigid Rhys came through in his letters, but having no strong reaction to witnessing magic was a point to her father’s assessment.
“Of course, once I was made aware that she was the Regere’s sister, it all made sense,” Amias said.
“Made sense… that she had her job,” Nellie asked unsurely.
“Made sense that she was desensitized and unfazed by magic,” Amias said, eyeing her carefully. “My lamb, has no one plainly stated to you that the Regere is a mage?”
“He is,” Nellie blurted. “I’m part magic!”
“It doesn’t exactly work that way…,” Amias said, amusement once more returning to his face. “Related to magic, perhaps, as in the same way you are related to him.” He chuckled. “Sounds like the little prince didn’t deem to mention it.”
Ira only mentioned the Regere was powerful. There was no actual reason he needed to mention that her uncle had magic.
“He did mention something else,” Nellie said, straightening. She set her gaze on Amias. “He said my mother was a dragon.”
Amias’s face flinched. “Did he?”
Nathalie emerged from her room in a whirl, causing Nellie to jump to her feet and Amias to straighten. She clutched her phone, putting a hand on her hip, and chewing the words popping into her head. She heaved in a breath and let loose a long, loud exhale.
“Mr. Baig, we should talk,” Nathalie said, her tone clear she was not requesting. “Nellie, please go see to that animal. He was clawing outside my window.”
“One moment, my dear,” Amias said, rising. He looked down at Nellie intently. “We will talk about it. Allow me to set your aunt’s mind at ease. She deserves as much.”
Nellie and Nathalie both avoided looking at the other. It was the first time someone had used ‘aunt’ with them together. Nellie gave a curt nod, and hastened outside before Nathalie could reassure or condemn the term. She shushed Ash, locking her arm around his thick, furry neck to comfort him and keep him still, hunkering beneath the living room windows.
There was a long stretch of silence before Nathalie broke in, asking, “Is my little brother a Catholic?”
“Seems an odd thing to fixate on,” Amias answered.
“You think so,” Nathalie asked scathingly. “I think it’s the perfect representation of how little I know about my brother. Of how much of his life he decided not to divulge.”
“The Order of Ferblanc has ties to Catholicism from what I understand,” Amias said. “They originally were the exorcism and demonology arm back in the Dark Ages, but split away the more the religion turned towards souls, the afterlife, and politics. Is that satisfactory enough?”
Nellie could hear the floorboards squeaking as they shifted. The squeak retreated, signaling to her that Nathalie was moving towards the kitchen. She would not be able to eavesdrop on what Nathalie asked.
“Crawlspace,” Nellie muttered. “Stay here, Ash.”
She army-crawled under the house, hissing over her shoulder at Ash to be quiet and stay put. She pushed the large, plastic tubs of junk out of her way the best she could.
“Rhys told our older brother that this… Regere is dangerous,” Nathalie said. “He was very clear that he have nothing to do with Nellie. Am I going to need to pack up and move now that he knows where she is, or is he content to respect Rhys’s wishes and leave her be?”
“The Regere is a complicated man,” Amias said. “At the moment, he expresses no want to interfere with Perenelle, but he does have a desire to meet her at the same time.”
“Is he dangerous,” Nathalie asked again, more firmly.
“Extremely,” Amias said. “His amount of power makes him so by default. Would he harm Perenelle is what you wish to ask. No. He would not.” There was a long pause. “Not intentionally. May I vent just a moment?”
“I suppose so…,” Nathalie said unsurely.
“I’m angry with Brecken over Brue,” Amias said. “But, I am removed enough from the family aspect to understand he is not fully at fault.” He cleared his throat. “More to the point we need to discuss, Perenelle isn’t a normal child. If–.”
“Of course she’s normal,” Nathalie snapped.
“No, she’s not,” Amias said. “That animal outside is proof enough without her confirming she senses my magic.”
Nellie tensed as the floor creaked over her head. She tried not to imagine Amias or Nathalie suddenly falling through, telling herself that the floor held so far and it was still strong. She did start to shuffle back towards the exit though. She could hear Ash still snuffling at the opening, scratching at the ground to widen it to enter himself.
She pulled out from under the house, pushing Ash back to climb to her feet. She smooshed his face, ruffling his head, and trotted off towards his house. She ushered him inside just as the front door opened.
“Nellie,” Nathalie called. “Oh, good, you’re shutting him away. Keep him in for now, please, and come….” Nathalie scowled, putting her hands on her hips as she looked Nellie up and down as she approached the house. “You’re filthy!”
“We were roughhousing,” Nellie lied.
“Well, come say goodbye to Mr. Baig before you wash up,” Nathalie said. “We’ll go out for lunch.”
“He can’t leave,” Nellie said. “He promised we’d talk!”
“And so we shall, my lamb,” Amias said, coming to the door. He smiled down at her. “I was informed you’re on break from school. Your aunt has agreed we can meet for lunch tomorrow.” His eyes darted to Nathalie. “So long as she chaperones.”
“Okay… as long as we can talk,” Nellie said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow… um… Mr. Baig.”
He regarded her with amusement, but did not urge her to call him anything else. He gave a nod to Nathalie–recieving one in return–and walked off the steps. He looked odd in his fine suit walking up the driveway. He followed the curve through the woods, walking out of sight.
“Sorry he kept calling you my…,” Nellie trailed away, looking down at her soiled shoes.
Nathalie clasped her arm around Nellie’s muddy and cobwebbed shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “Come get washed up.”
----------------------------------
I just put Nellie's birthday as March 15th so it was right in the middle of the month. Which is what I did with Rook, so they have the same birthday, I guess, lol.
Spring Break for what would be Nellie's school zone started April 1st in 2024. I wanted so badly to put in an April Fool reference, but Amias wouldn't know/celebrate/acknowledge that day, neither would Nathalie, and neither would Nellie both because she was raised by Nathalie and because the kids now don't seem to participate after age 8.
"Forgotten" Gemini Initial Sketch, unknown
Protection, 2013/4?
The Panic in Me, 2014
Ian Sticky Note Art, 2015?
Sparrow Sticky Note Art, 2015?
Cinder Sketch, 2015
The Outlier Awakens, 2020
