“What about your next holiday,” Morgan asked.
Nellie was sweeping out Ash’s house while Morgan leaned against the doorway and watched.
They had apologized profusely after their failed attempt to find the Cumberland dragon. Nellie doubted how heartfelt Morgan was, but it was enough to convince his mother when he called her that evening. The following day had been quiet with them closely watched by Nathalie, Uncle Winston, and Amias when they were not shuttered in Nellie’s room.
Amias dropped Morgan off alone on Thursday, saying he needed to confer with the Regere. Morgan could not guess what the talk was about, and was not that interested in speculating on it. He was focused on finding an opening for their next adventure.
“Summer? No way,” Nellie said, shaking her head dismissively. “I’m surely grounded, and there is no way my aunt will let me out of her sight.”
Nathalie was in her workshop, half keeping an eye on them and half needing to get her prep work down for the multiple metal flowers she would be making for people to put in their gardens now that it was obvious the cold was gone. Or what people in Tennessee considered the cold; Nellie still found it a bit chilly.
It felt less weird calling Nathalie her aunt, but she still tried not to use it as a prefix. That did feel weird.
Nellie inched by Morgan with her pile of sheddings. “Besides, I doubt you’ll be out of your mother’s sight once you get home.”
“Ugh, you don’t understand how right you are,” Morgan groaned. He brightened. “What if you visit? Surely there are dragon stories we can look into in Lisbon.”
“But Ira was looking here,” Nellie said.
Morgan scoffed, “I’m sure his highness is pleased to have a moment alone.”
“There’s also the thing about my father not wanting yours near me,” Nellie said.
“Semantics.”
Nellie frowned. “Pretty sure that isn’t how you use that….” She wiped her brow, and leaned on her broom. “Finally! He’s shedding so much right now. Where is he anyway?”
“Ran off after a bird,” Morgan said, shrugging. He was boredly playing a matching game on his phone. “Still say asking for a summer visit is the best move.” He smirked a smirk that she had seen in the mirror countless times. “Unless you want to go the unscheduled route?”
“It worked so well this time,” she said sarcastically.
“Nellie, lovey,” Uncle Winston called from the front steps.
She forced Morgan to take the broom, hurrying towards the house while wiping her sweaty, sore hands on her jeans.
Uncle Winston had his packed duffle by the door. It was decided last night that he would order a rideshare in order to have an adult at the house with the kids; Nathalie being the obvious choice even had Amias been available.
He gave her a firm hug and clapped her shoulders, lightly shaking her back and forth. His expression was strained but not unhappy.
“It’s unfair I ask, but have patience with Nat,” he said. His blue eyes looked over her head, out the door. “And I urge you to be careful. Rhys was distraught, but adamant that this Regere fellow was dangerous. His son is a boy, but still a tread to him.”
“Ira didn’t seem to think my uncle was dangerous,” Nellie said, trying to be assertive but falling short. Morgan did not seem to like his father and it did not help put him in a more pleasant light.
“Be careful, Perenelle,” Uncle Winston repeated more firmly. He looked at his phone. “My car will be along shortly. I’ll meet it at the road to avoid provoking your furry friend.”
Nellie squeezed Uncle Winston. She gulped the lump in her throat, dragging her feet as she followed him from the house. She hung back near Ash’s house, waving as he rounded the curve in the driveway, disappearing.
“It’s nice you have an uncle that likes you,” Morgan said.
“You don’t?”
“My mother has no brothers and her sister is currently unmarried,” Morgan said.
She remembered Uncle Winston mentioning her mother’s older siblings appeared indifferent to the fact that she existed, and were blatant about not wanting to take her in. Morgan must have been blacklisted in the same manner. He had said their shared grandfather did not like him and did not visit; Nellie had been too surprised (and happy) by his appearance to pay it any attention.
“What about our grandmother,” Nellie asked. “Does she like you?”
He stared at her with a mildly disturbed expression. “What an odd thing to ask someone. Completely random.”
“We’re talking about family members not liking or liking us,” Nellie said flatly. She straightened to easier pull her phone from her pocket after a blop sounded. “Amias is heading back. He wants to know if you want anything to eat.”
“Will your aunt be making anything,” Morgan asked.
“Probably not,” Nellie said. “She’s cutting spoons. That’ll keep her busy for the next two hours at least.”
Nellie had Morgan make his opinions known using voice messages to save her from trying to text his complaints over the lack of options. The Wi-Fi was too weak near Ash’s house for a phone call or video call, saving Amias from being harassed.
Ash poofed nearby. He bounded towards them with his feet turning to black smoke and reforming. A dead bird hung from his mouth, and he looked unmistakably proud.
---
Nathalie let them eat their lunch in Nellie’s room. She had a sneaking feeling that Nathalie had warmed to Amias and with her friends lacking to nonexistent, was looking forward to some adult conversation. She was more than happy to let them chat and stay shuttered in her room with her cousin.
Morgan had demolished his French toast stuffed with ham and melted cheese. He picked at his side of fruit, either his stomach realizing it was stuffed or him being tired from the exhaustive pace he had eaten at.
Nellie was more controlled with her mac’n’cheese. She never had it with chicken in it before, and was having a good time finding pieces of tender chicken in every few bites.
“She sends me sweets and visits much more often than our grandfather,” Morgan said.
“Uh… what?”
“Our grandmother,” Morgan said, a ‘duh’ was implied with his tone. “You asked if she liked me. She does. Or tries to.”
“I asked almost two hours ago,” Nellie said. She poised her fork and stabbed it as if hunting with a harpoon. “What’s she like?”
They spent the next hour exchanging grandparent stories. Morgan had no connection to Rhys’s side, but seemed to enjoy the comparisons between Granddad and Grandfather Agarwal and listened to Nellie describing Nana in polite perplexity. Didi Eileen apparently was more into juice bars and styling her hair to show off how gracefully she was aging than knitting, baking, and making Christmas crackers.
“She sounds oddly glamorous,” Nellie said. She sighed wistfully. “I wonder if my mother is anything like her?” She laughed. “She didn’t pass any glamor to me. Maybe that's nurture, not nature?” She awkwardly moved the last bit of mac’n’cheese around. “Has she ever mentioned me?”
“Of course not,” Morgan said. He must have noticed Nellie’s glumness, because then he hastily added, “Never to me, at least. You know they see me as a child. They never say anything to me.”
She fought the urge to tease him for being younger.
“Ready for the madeleines,” Morgan asked, grabbing the styrofoam box that contained six nutty madeleines.
“Start without me,” Nellie said, setting her fork down. “I’ll need a minute.”
She crinkled her freckled nose as Morgan shoved a whole one in his mouth. It was weirdly fascinating watching his cheeks get smaller as he chewed.
“You know something,” Nellie said as a thought popped into her head. “I never asked what it is your dad does.” She was unable to get an answer with Morgan’s mouth so full. “I know it’s not anything involving the Order of Ferblanc, because Ira told me the knights were people sensitive to magic but not magic. And that they go around and cancel out mage stuff if it’s too dangerous or something. What was the other one he mentioned?”
She went to the small notepad she kept near her bed–now that it was safe to do so with Ash outside fulltime. She had added notes ever since Ira left, having the suspicion that random scrap paper would not suffice beyond the list of cryptids the old people at the coffee shop had mentioned months ago.
In the first few pages she put the mentioned cryptids, giving each a page to themselves should she need to add more like she had with the white screamer and gryphon (ex: Cecily). The Order of Ferblanc followed, and the page after is where she wrote: Keepers.
“Is the Regere involved with the Keepers. Or Stalkers,” Nellie asked. She frowned. “ Kind of a terrible name. But, Ira said his parents were called Stalkers. Is that how all of you know each other?”
Her cheeks burned as Morgan laughed at her. Everyone seemed to forget that she knew absolutely nothing about any of this four months ago.
“The Regere is the leader of the Auctorita,” Morgan said with an air of superiority.
“I’m sure I’d be so impressed if I knew what that was,” Nellie said dryly.
“For crying out loud, you really are naive,” Morgan said. “Don’t glare at me, Nellie; it’s true. Not your fault.” His eyes shot to her notebook. “Is that all you know? Give it here. I want to see what you’ve been kept in the dark about.”
She begrudgingly handed over her notebook. It did not take Morgan more than a minute to get through it. She felt nervous as a frown overtook his face.
“So… am I on the right track, or…?”
“Think you can get me some milk or something,” Morgan asked. “The madeleines are good, but you can’t eat cakes without a drink.”
That could not be a good sign. She opted not to force him to answer, gathered their used dishes and containers, and eased out of her room. She froze as Nathalie’s and Amias’s low voices leaked out from the living room.
“--brat,” Nathale said. “Forgive the bluntness.”
“Forgiven tenfold,” Amias said. “I was nearly five years sober before he appeared outside the townhouse.”
“I worry his influence on Nellie,” Nathalie said. “Even when Rhys disappeared to join that Order, even with Nellie popping up with stories of fantastical animals, I still felt I could handle things. But now… magic, and dragons, and who knows what else.” Nathalie’s heavy sigh reached the hallway nook where Nellie hovered. “Perhaps I’m losing my grip because our relationship has changed.”
“It is quite a lot,” Amias said. There was a pause. “I do have a thought.”
Nellie internally admonished herself for her timing. Her precarious pile in her hands was tripping too much for her to sit still any longer. She gave the baseboard a tap with her foot to let them know she was coming—the idea being to keep them comfortable so she could attempt to listen in after dropping off the plates—paused, and entered the living room.
She stole looks at the two adults as she poured glasses of milk. They were murmuring pleasantly about nothing important.
“Nellie,” Morgan called, sticking his head out of the door. “What’s keeping you?”
“Enjoying yourselves,” Amias asked.
“We will be,” Morgan said. “I think it’ll be great fun explaining the Auctorita, and all such things. There’s so much she doesn’t know!”
Amias and Nathalie both turned shades of gray.
Nellie went back to her room, pleased with their reactions. She settled on her bed, criss-crossing her legs, and leaning towards Morgan with anticipation.
“Where to start…,” Morgan mused. His brows knitted. “Perhaps with the question; have you ever heard the phrase ‘protector of the realm’?”
“Um, sure,” Nellie said uncertainly. “It’s part of a Game of Thrones meme with long titles. I wasn’t allowed to watch it for obvious reasons, but I did hear it ended horribly.”
“A meme,” Morgan groaned. He drew in a breath. “It’s taken from history. They were seen as the first and last defence of the realm.”
“Which was… the kingdom, right?”
“Yes… and more,” Morgan said. “The Lord Protector had deep ties with the House of York, becoming one and the same with the ruling king at times. In the Medieval Ages, the Lord Protector used his power to influence Rome to put more resources into their demonologists which led to the creation of the Order of Ferblanc. At the same time, he recruited very specific peoples–magically sensitive, good with creatures types–to be keepers and stalkers on the lands.”
“So, Ira’s ancient family created the Order of Ferblanc, the Keepers, and…?”
“And, as a result, the creatures, monsters, and magic became things of folklore,” Morgan said. “But, not for real. Now, we refer to this world hidden in the world as the Realm, and both factors still practice as they did ages ago.” He grinned impishly. “Oh, and we still have a Lord Protector, but right now we just call him King Clayborne York.”
She choked on the milk she was sipping.
“Ira’s a prince,” she wheezed.
“Of course,” Morgan said. “Why else would I call him ‘his highness’ all the time?”
Her head was spinning.
“The Actorita was created as a sort of bridge between the Realm and the rest of the world,” Morgan said, reveling in her surprise. “The Regere–my father– and the King have to work together, but which one has real power gets contested. Which makes things between us awkward.”
“Are you a prince too,” Nellie asked weakly.
Morgan’s smirk twitched. “No,” he said coolly. “I’m just Morgan.”
“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “Is there more?”
His smirk returned, but a soft knock on the door interrupted them.
Nathalie was at the forefront with Amias hoving over her shoulder in the cramped space between the two bedroom doors. The sight of both of them, their expressions strained into mixtures of happy, authoritative, and calm, put Nellie on edge.
“We’ve been talking,” Nathalie said, “and since tomorrow is the last weekday of your holiday, perhaps we should go away.”
“I’m not grounded anymore,” Nellie asked.
Nathalie’s eyes flickered pleadingly to Amias.
“I thought a properly chaperoned dragon hunt,” he said. “Let the two of you have a last hurrah before you go back to your studies, and Master Morgan faces the wrath of his mother.”
Nellie blinked in surprise. She looked at each of them, not seeing anything to indicate Amias or Nathalie were lying, and feeling her excitement build as Morgan’s own exuberance bubbled to the surface.
They were off to find the Cumberland dragon.
-----------------------------------
Happy Thanksgiving! I didn't have time to read through it, but since I can't see how posting an article via my phone would work, I wanted this out now. I think I'll schedule it and see if I can edit it after I land. Phone editing should work, if needed.
A Tier half-transformed as a dracleon back in 2005.
Coronation, 2009
I have made at least 2 attempts at drawing the Alan Parsons Project song "Snake Eyes"... this is one from 2011...
...And this one from 2013. I like aspects of both; maybe the layout of this one but mixed with the realism of the other? I need to study my cobra anatomy if I'm going to try again, hah.
Twila Sketch, unknown
And here's just an Ace with epic scarf. I just really like scarves. This was dated 2014!
Train in the Distance, 2014?
Ava Harley, 2016
