Firebrand Risk
P.Track.13
November 22, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

Out front.

“See you later, Ash,” Nellie murmured.

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

“Nellie, hurry,” Morgan whispered loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” Nellie added.

The driver grumbled and recalculated his GPS.

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

“Your aunt,” Morgan asked.

“Most likely.”

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

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

“Was that all Amias,” she asked.

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

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

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

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

“We just drove through,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are you!?

You lost your summer holiday as well!

I’m calling the police.

I won’t call the police.

I’m worried. Please respond.

She clicked to respond but her fingers did not move.

“Something the matter,” Morgan asked.

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing,” Morgan asked suspiciously.

She typed to Nathalie:

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

“You’re naive,” Morgan scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vibrant, busy, but relaxed.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of things,” Nellie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shepherd mix.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I-I– How are you–?”

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

“Master Morgan,” Amias cried. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit down, Morgan,” Nathalie said.

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

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

Morgan sat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not now, Perenelle,” Nathalie hissed.

“Then when, Aunt Nathalie,” Nellie spat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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She was sure to tuck the phone into her pocket before meeting Mr. Lambert out in the hall. They rode back in silence with a few disgruntled looks from him. She eagerly rushed from the car the moment it was parked, running up the stairs to her room.

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“Concerning,” Mr. Lambert agreed. “Too bad too. She’s such a cash cow. That drug-addled mother of hers will never get custody.”

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“Hey, Brooke!” She waved her phone. “Give me your number!”

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She took pictures of the frozen grasses and their footprints in the snow until she was too cold to sit any longer. She bid Brooke goodbye, and crept back into the house. Her body tensed the moment she walked through the door. The irritated sounds of her foster parents were coming from the living room and kitchen as they yelled conversation at each other.

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She winced as Aaliyah shut her door with a firm snap. She looked at her phone, puzzled why taking pictures of a frozen garden was seen as childish, and headed into her room.

---

The halls were covered in pink, red, and white crepe paper chains and hearts. Penny held her phone to a cluster of ugly cupids, clicking a picture, and hurrying to catch up with Brooke.

Brooke had her bangs clipped out of her face with a small, plastic heart barrette. She was reading her English assignment with giddiness.

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“Hard to improve on an A average,” Penny said.

They stopped as a young man Penny quickly recognized as Mr. McBride rounded the corner. He pulled back to stop from colliding with them.

“Oh, Brooke, I almost knocked you and your friend right over,” he said, beaming at her. He held out his hand to Penny. “Hi. You’re not one of mine. Mr. McBride. Or,” he looked at Brooke, “Tony.”

Brooke bubbled up, holding her English assignment to her chest.

Penny curtly shook Mr. McBride’s hand. “Penny. Nice to meet you, Mr. McBride,” she said formally. She pulled her hand away and looked at Brooke. “Ready to head home?”

“I was hoping Brooke would help me set up for tomorrow,” Mr. McBride said.

“What’s there to set up,” Penny asked. “Don’t you teach English?” She recoiled at Brooke’s glare. “Want extra help?”

“It’s just putting papers on desks,” Mr. McBride said flippantly. “You go on home.”

Reluctantly, she headed out of the school alone. She sent Brooke a message saying they should hang out before dinner as she walked, more to have something to do than to wallow over the unease in her stomach. Mr. McBride seemed nice. Brooke liked him; she was happy around him. Penny couldn’t put her finger on why it bothered her seeing them together.

“Maybe I’m jealous,” she muttered to herself. 

Brooke was her friend. She should be happy that she had an adult in her corner after having no one for so long. Her foster family–the Wilcox–were just as bad as the Lamberts, but with no other children in the home to divert their attention.

“Oh! That’s right!”

Penny turned back and ran for the school. She found herself in the nearly defunct computer lab moments later, typing away in the search bar for St. Brigid’s Home. She was directed to a sterile looking page with smiling kids she had never seen before, case workers in business casual that she never saw, and a director she didn’t know. There were no signs of Sister Mary Agnes, Mother Mary Clare, or any of the other nuns.

She put the number into her phone as she heard people outside in the hall, shut down the computer–unsure if she was allowed on unsupervised–and left.

Brooke was outside standing by Mr. McBride’s car. She was shyly waving goodbye, her face flushed and elated as a small box of chalky candy hearts was pressed to her chest. His eyes caught Penny’s as he pulled away and she found her insides squirming. She held back rather than catch up with Brooke, and watched her skip away.

A small, blue-white ball of light bobbed in her peripherals. She headed for the woods, stalking after the haunt with her phone at the ready. She switched her gaze from the ball of light to her phone screen as she tripped over logs and fought through branches, irritation seeping in at her inability to get it perfectly on her screen.

There was a squelch and a lurch down as Penny reached a clearing. She found her feet stuck in muck, and wiggling sunk her to her knees.

“Perfect,” she grumbled. She found the will o’ the wisp hovering in small circles just out of reach. She raised her phone, snapped a picture, and gave a snort. “It’s funny to you, isn’t it?”

She fell backwards, pulled herself back, and got her feet out with a wet suction sound. She flipped onto her stomach and dug her hand into each of the holes as they rapidly shrunk, managing to pull her shoes free.

The walk home grew increasingly uncomfortable as the February air froze the wet muck to her legs and arms. Her feet were frozen and ached, having decided to carry her mud-filled shoes. She snuck inside and inched her way up to the bathroom across from her bedroom, cringing at every small noise she made.

She started washing with a loofah, keeping all her clothes on and trying not to get soaked by the shower. She would need to sneak her muddy clothes into the dirty laundry and simply pray that Mrs. Lambert didn’t notice them.

“Penny,” Aaliyah said, banging open the door. Her eyes flashed at the mud coating the bathroom. “Oooh, you’re in trouble.”

“Please, don’t—.”

“Mrs. Lambert! Mrs. Lambert, you should see what Penny did!”

Penny stumbled from the shower-bath, slipping and falling in a heap on her mucky shoes. She scrambled to the door, slamming it in Aaliyah’s face just as heavy steps sounded in the hall. The door was flung into her, cracking across her forehead.

“What is all this,” Mrs. Lambert shrieked.

She felt herself dragged from the bathroom; she flailed and freed herself, and ran on all fours into her room. She threw the door shut and felt the doorknob instinctually for the lock that should have been there while a small memory floated in the back of her mind of the Lamberts lecturing her shortly after she arrived on how they didn’t allow foster kids the ability to lock the doors.

Mrs. Lambert burst through the door. She screamed and ranted as she dragged Penny back to the bathroom. She ordered her to clean and threw down a musty smelling mop.

Aaliyah gave her a gloating smirk before stalking off to her room.

Penny began wiping the floor with shaking hands. Her ears strained for the slightest sounds; Emily returned home and gave her an exasperated glance on her way to her room, Mr. Lambert returned and angry hisses between him and Mrs. Lambert quickly ensued. She had the floor finished before her nerves settled.

She crept back to her room. She moved her desk chair in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop the Lamberts from coming in, but it would be more of a hassle than just walking through the door. She shed her wet, muddy clothes, and changed into Goodwill sweats. Her phone was clutched in her hands.

She listened hard for a second to make sure all was relatively still outside, then hit the contact number for St. Brigid’s.

“Home of Hope,” a woman answered.

“Oh. …Sorry. I thought this was St. Brigid’s Home….”

“It was. Can I help you with anything, young lady?”

“...Why is the name different,” Penny asked uneasily.

“Homes change names from time to time. It’s nothing to worry about,” the woman said. “Are you looking for help? Can I have your name?”

“I’m looking for Sister Mary Agnes. Can–May I speak with her?” There was a pause. “Aisling Fox? Her non-nun name is Aisling Fox.” Her heart was starting to beat rapidly at the increasing tenseness coming from the other end. “Is Mother Mary Clare there?”

“No…. May I ask again who is calling?”

“P-Penny. My name is Penny Fox.” She gave a hearty sniff. “Penrose. They might have me under Penrose Fox. I-I used to live there. Aisling is my aunt.”

“Oh… I see,” the voice said sympathetically. “I’m afraid I don’t have any contact information for anyone from before the changes. You see, Penny, St. Brigid’s Home was found to be in violation. Too much influence from outside of the state.”

Penny was having trouble catching her breath; it coming in short, rapid bursts. “W-when?”

“Last summer. I believe near the end of July. Start of August. Sometime around then.”

Roughly a week after she was sent to the Lamberts. It made sense why none of her letters went answered. It made sense why contact had completely stopped. Aisling was not her legal guardian in any respect. There was no obligation for anyone to let her know where she’d been sent. She may not have even been allowed back to St. Brigid’s, going from her mother’s funeral arrangements right into being cast aside.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you your aunt’s contact, but is there anything else you want?”

“N-no,” Penny choked out. “I-I-I just wanted t-to know why she stopped writing. Bye.”

She held the phone feeling numb. Aisling was gone with no way to find her. No help was coming in her distress with the Lamberts.

She slowly focused from nothing to her muddy clothes. She opened her phone, and a small, sad smile formed as she stared at the picture she had taken of the ball of light.

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

I think Penny's been with the Lamberts for around 5 months in the first part and 6 months in the second. I cannot remember the name of Penny's cellphone. I think it was an early Samsung with one of those edgy teen focused names that they used to do when they had stripped down versions of cellphones for kids. The lime green was the most common one that popped up when I typed the name in to an image search. (LG Rumor, I found it in my search history.) Man, they used to just make things with personally as far back at 2012. This phone could take photos but not videos, and I believe there was no internet access (and data plans, calls, minutes used to be such a big thing).

Appalacia/West Virginia has a whole lore with will o' the wisps too, but they're more commonly/locally called haunts/haints. The blue-white ones are not supposed to be malevolent. They apparently come in green, yellowish like a candle, and red too.

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August 03, 2026
DO.Penny.3

Dear Ashling,

Penny stared at the heading, knowing something wasn't right but not sure what. She always tripped up on the heading.

You haven’t written back yet.

It was redundant. Aisling would know she hadn’t written; she would know months have passed since they saw each other. She had written so many unanswered letters at this point that she didn’t know what to put into one. Her complaints about her foster family and foster siblings were exhausted. It no longer felt safe to write about it, and definitely didn’t feel safe to mention the gnomes in the neighbor’s garden or the giant bird she saw during the last storm with lightning on its wings.

The paper was snatched from before her, jerking her from her wandering thoughts. She leapt up and spun around the chair, grabbing fruitlessly at the page as a taller girl with beaded cornrows waved it overhead.

“Give it back, Aaliyah!”

“Ooo, Ashling! Who's that? Aw, she never writes back? Aww.”

“Give it back!”

Aaliyah crumpled the paper and threw it over Penny’s head. Penny dived for it.

“She doesn't write because she doesn't care, stupid. They're paid to pretend. All case workers are.”

Penny smoothed the paper the best she could, mostly to avoid Aaliyah's hard gaze. “She’s my aunt….”

There was a pause before Aaliyah cackled nastily. She put on a show, doubling over and wiping tears from her eyes.

“That’s worse! She's family and ignoring you!” She huffed for breath. “She doesn't want you, Penny. Stop trying. It's sad.”

Aisling couldn't take her without giving up her vows. She wasn’t sure how it would even work if she did give up her vows. Aisling had no money due to the vow of poverty. Her skills were limited to religious service, outside of magic which she hid. There was no telling what her support was like now that her mother had died. Friends had come to fetch her, but as far as Penny was aware, Aisling and Keena were still strained.

Keena gave her up for a reason, and even now had not tried to reconcile with her.

Penny wandered outside to avoid Aaliyah and change scenery. The trees were still green, but the breeze was decidedly chilly to signal fall coming. She crawled into a gap in the hedge that sat on the property line, flopping on her stomach to watch the neighbor’s garden.

“What are you doing?”

She shimmied out of the bushes, popping up before she was clear. The twigs ripped at her hair and left leaves strewn about. She blinked at the girl standing on the other side of the hedge.

This girl was skinny with lank bangs. She wore a baggy short sleeved shirt over a long sleeved one, and held her elbow as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. They seemed to be about the same age.

“I was hiding from Aaliyah,” Penny said, climbing fully to her feet and plucking leaves from her dark brown hair. “She’s my foster sister.”

“I know her. …She’s mean.” She nodded over her shoulder. “I’m a foster too. With them.”

“Really? Huh. That’s kind of weird the neighbors have a foster kid too.”

“This whole cul-de-sac has them. I think they all went into it together for extra support or something. Or….” She stared down at her toes. “I’m Brooke, by the way.”

“Penny.”

“I know,” Brooke said, kicking at the ground. “I’ve been watching you. Not in a creepy way! I… I wanted to make sure you weren’t like Aaliyah before talking to you.”

She studied this shy, semi-awkward girl in front of her. Her clothes were clearly worn hand-me-downs just like hers. She had this forlorn air to her than had Penny giving her a sympathetic smile. She had benefited from having Aisling in her corner, having shelter at St. Brigid’s. Brooke was probably bounced around far more than she was.

“Want to start eating lunch together at school,” Penny asked. “People avoid me. Maybe because I’m still too new. Or because Aaliyah.”

“Sure,” Brooke said. A smile fought onto her gaunt face. “Want to… hang out now?”

---

Gaining a friend her age helped Penny not ruminate over Aisling’s lack of communication. Having one person turned into having a small group; the kids that were seen as weird or outsiders, but all were just creative in some way.

Penny shuffled through the slush with Brooke at her side. They mentioned annoying things that teachers did at school that day. They shared no classes so the teacher stories were always something new while also being the same.

They were almost to their houses when Aaliyah knocked hard into Penny. She skidded and fell into the slush. Brooke shrunk away, offering no help. Penny went to snap at her, but she already stormed off into the house.

“She looked upset,” Brooke said meekly.

“Probably picked on someone she shouldn’t’ve,” Penny growled. She shook slush from her backpack. “I better go change before the Lamberts see. Catch you tomorrow.”

She managed to get upstairs without being spotted. She was just pulling on a pair of large, worn sweats when her door opened with no warning. She yanked her pants up as she stood, heart pounding, facing a middle-aged woman with long, fake nails and an elaborate perm.

“Why are you changing,” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Aali—I fell,” Penny said. “Slipped.”

“And now I have extra laundry to do.” Mrs. Lambert glowered. “Dinner in forty. Be downstairs to set the table in thirty.”

She flinched as the door slammed shut. She took a few breaths before sinking back onto her bed. She pulled out a sheet of paper and pen from her damp back pack.

Dear Aisling,

I learned how to spell your name. My friend Brooke told me. I told you about Brooke in my last letter, just in case you forgot.

She stared at the page. Her eyes stung.

You still haven't written back, so I don’t know if you even know I made a friend. I have a couple. It helps a little. My foster family is

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. She crumpled the paper and left the room.

Dinner was one of the casseroles from a box that Mrs. Lambert resorted to every other night. The biological family—Mr. And Mrs. Lambert and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Emily—all rattled away at each other while Penny and Aaliyah sat in silence, picking at their food.

“Oh, Aaliyah, remind me to lend you that new sweater for the Christmas potluck,” Emily said. “It’ll be cute over that dress.”

“How thoughtful,” Mrs. Lambert said through gritted teeth.

“Is the Catholic church nearby,” Penny asked. She looked away from the others as they met her with various glares and confused looks. “I was thinking… maybe I’d go for Christmas Eve….”

“I’m not a taxi,” Mrs. Lambert said. “You go to our church when under our roof.”

Penny wanted to burst out about how they didn’t like their church; they constantly complained and gossiped about others in the congregation. They made a show of dragging all of them to service on Sunday, elbowing them to sing loudly. They made loud comments of their contributions and charity whenever someone from the congregation was within earshot. That was all it was: show.

She nodded subservantly, eyes fixed on her plate.

“We do the potluck at our church,” Emily said. “It’s our tradition.” She turned to Aaliyah. “It’s crazy to think this is your second one. The fifteenth marks a whole year since you came.”

Aaliyah’s jaw tightened. She gave a small nod and forced food into her mouth to avoid answering Emily’s perplexed stare.

“Oh, before I forget again; that Ms. Beaucourt called my office,” Mr. Lambert said, shooting Penny an accusatory glare.

“Of course she did,” Mrs. Lambert said, rolling her eyes. “She’s been pestering me to get this one–” pointing her fork at Penny “–a phone. I told her I’d look into it, and I’ve been dodging her calls since.”

“I thought they were supposed to have a phone,” Emily said. “Aaliyah has a phone. An iPhone, right?”

“Yep,” Aaliyah mumbled sulkily.

“Aaliyah had hers when she arrived,” Mrs. Lambert said. “And, she’s older than Penny. I just think smaller children with phones is ridiculous.”

“Isn’t it so they can call their case worker whenever they want,” Emily asked.

“The house phone works for that,” Mrs. Lambert said. “Those smartphones are rife with unsavory types trying to take advantage.” She stabbed her food. “Don’t you think it’s enough I worry about you with one?” She quickly added as Emily opened her mouth, “And Aaliyah? No. You girls are older. You have better understanding. And I still worry.”

“Don’t fluster your mother,” Mr. Lambert said. “I’ll talk to Ms. Beaucourt tomorrow. Tell her the fears more firmly.” He scoffed. “Besides, how are we supposed to afford that?”

“They are expensive…,” Emily trailed off.

The stipend the Lamberts received each month would have more than covered it. Penny was already wearing Goodwill clothes, or Emily’s hand-me-downs she was handed from the source herself before Mrs. Lambert could donate them away. All her school supplies had come from Dollar Tree, and Mrs. Lambert spent hardly anything on snacks. Penny wasn’t sure the exact amount a foster parent received each month, but with Aaliyah receiving the same treatment, she suspected there was a great deal of money left each month. She also suspected the new TV was paid for by that stipend.

She readied for bed after dinner, and found herself at her desk with the unfinished letter. She recrumpled it and dropped it in the wire wastebasket. She flopped onto her bed and stared up at the darkening ceiling.

Murmurs from Aaliyah’s room indicated Emily and she were talking. They spoke a bit almost every night, usually peppered with giggles, but this had an extra hushness to it. She heard something about pictures and a boy sharing them, but not enough to put the pieces together.

She wondered if Aisling had any pictures of her family, specifically of her mother. She never thought to ask before, and now with nearly six months of silence it seemed impossible she would get the chance to ask her.

She jumped out of bed, ripped a page from her spiral notebook, and sat at her desk.

Dear Aisling,

I want to see family pictures. I know that’s allowed, so you wouldn’t have thrown them out. I don’t think you would throw them out even if you really, really hated my mom. Does writing any of this matter? You haven’t written back. The Lamberts are mean. You and Mother Mary Clare said I had a home there. Doesn’t seem like it.

Penny, your niece

P.S. The garden next door has a gnome. I forgot what they eat so I just watch it sometimes.

Penny squinted at the letter in the weak light. She dropped it back on the desk and climbed back into bed. It felt like she only just shut her eyes when the daily hammering on her door jerked her upright.

“Breakfast,” Mrs. Lambert yelled through the door.

She was sure to dress before going down or else invoke an extra dose of wrath for not being prepared. Aaliyah was in a better mood, which meant she took more cereal than she could eat to deprive Penny of a full bowl.

School was wired with it being a Friday and a week before the winter holidays. No one had any amount of concentration, and the teachers were a mixed bag of aggravated and apathetic at the fractured attention. Penny stared at the clocks most lessons, with only diverting to staring out the widows in the few classes she sat next to one. Her green eyes tracked a small, blue-white ball of light bobbing near the woods bordering the school grounds.

She waited outside the school for Brooke. The throngs of kids thinned; Aaliyah stalked by with a toss of her beaded braids as a jeer of “ooh la la” followed from a group of boys. Penny leaned to stare down the long, main corridor to check for her friend.

Brooke was hovering by her locker near the end of the hall. She was chatting animatedly, smiling up at a young man she’d previously pointed out as her English teacher. Penny tightened her grips on her backpack straps as she watched his hand clap Brooke’s shoulder, run down her arm, and back up before he departed. She straightened and pretended not to have seen anything, smiling as Brooke joined her outside.

“Sorry,” Brooke said. “Mr. McBride wanted to talk about my poem.”

“Good news,” Penny asked.

“An A with a revision,” Brooke said proudly.

Penny hummed, her eyes now watching the treeline as they passed. There was no sign of the will o’ the wisp. She felt a twinge of disappointment.

“Something up?”

“Not really… Just thinking.” She turned her gaze to her worn, slush-dampened shoes. “This is totally random, but… do you believe in magic?”

“Of course not,” Brooke said with a slightly disgusted snort. She looked at Penny from under her limp bangs. “Wait, do you?” Penny shrugged. “Isn’t that kind of babyish?”

“I guess,” Penny murmured. “Maybe I want to believe…? Like, maybe it’d just be more interesting if will o’ the wisps, or gnomes, or unicorns lived in the woods too. You know?”

“The monsters would have to exist too, and a big no thanks to that,” Brooke said.

“Well, a dragon would be a lot cooler than bad foster parents,” Penny joked. Brooke’s mouth twitched but a smile failed to form. “Nevermind. I was just daydreaming while I was waiting.” She bounced towards her house, stopping and spinning back to Brooke. “One more week and then no school! Catch you tomorrow, Brooke!”

She rushed off with her fake enthusiasm, but didn’t fail to catch that Brooke hung around outside looking forlorn and lank. Penny watched her shuffle off through the wavy glass of the front door.

“You!” Penny jumped as Mrs. Lambert stormed towards her with a crumpled paper in her hand. “Mean! I’m mean! You ungrateful brat! Upstairs. No dinner. Now!”

She dodged around the furious woman, racing up the stairs. She stopped outside her door, spinning to address the stare she felt.

Aaliyah stood in her own doorway, shaking her head and looking at Penny as if she was a particularly stupid creature. Penny narrowed her eyes and slammed her door shut.

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

For the other kids' names, I go check what was popular in that area or for that demographic in approximate birth year range. I'm not sure I have much else to add, lol. I've been really tired so my brain isn't functioning right. This one took longer than the others because I was trying to figure out the pacing. Penny's with the Lamberts for a bit, so I was torn on everything in this one and it's just really long, or split in into two or three chapters. Right now, it's the two or three.

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More Sketchbook Musings: Echoes of Aravast

In this edition of fun things from the physical archives - Echoes of Aravast and related sketches!

"Forgotten" Gemini Initial Sketch, unknown

This was early on when I got the idea of a "survivor Gemini" that may actually escape the Gemini Archives. She already has her sonic blade, her dog tag (back when that was an idea) and a surprisingly similar outfit (The two-toned hair was me trying on a wig over my existing hair and thinking it looked awesome lol).

 

Protection, 2013/4?

Ian was a new character in the Gemini Archives, and he quickly decided he was coming over to the new story with Gemini. I liked the initial story/plot I had going for Echoes of Aravast, but I was struggling to write it. All it took was changing Gemini's power and throwing her into one more Gemini Archive to spark the Westfall thread...

Ian ended up staying pretty similar to his current Aravasti variant - he was a Lux who could create light shields - only in Echoes of Aravast, he was born on Barea with Aravasti genetics and discovered his power by accident - like Ace would later. Actually, The Outlier takes the basic plot of Echoes, so I still got to have it to some extent :)

 

The Panic in Me, 2014

I have a digital drawing on this one, but since it's from a storyline that didn't make it, I removed it from my website 🤷 These 2 were going to have a very slow burn relationship that only showed where it ended up in a flash forward at the very end. At least their devotion to each other still made the final cut ;) The title/mood is from a song from The Road to El Dorado by Elton John. Great song.

 

Ian Sticky Note Art, 2015?

I found a couple of these colorful sticky note drawings! Not bad for pen on a 3"x3" sticky note!

 

Sparrow Sticky Note Art, 2015?

Sparrow and Gabriel were actually going to be in Echoe of Aravast... but alas, they just get to stay my token dancers :)

 

Cinder Sketch, 2015

So... yeah.

One of the ideas for Echoes was Ian accidentally getting sent in to Barea's past where he's in this weird feudal variant where humans and creatures work codependently (Narnia? lol). Ian ends up paired with Cinder the pied crow and they both serve a knight as his armor bearer and squire. Gemini eventually figures out how to get to where she sent him, and he's years older and embittered, but also stronger because of his experience. Cinder was kind of a comic relief, wise-cracking bird... but he was the first to be cut along with the rest of the rest of the talking animals.

 

The Outlier Awakens, 2020

A neat drawing of Ace when his Aravasti powers awaken underwater. The body proportions are kinda wonky, but those hands 👌 This would be a nice one to redo one day!

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