NORA

Nora doesn’t waste a second. She dives into the water. Lache is already working her way back to the surface, but Cel is panicking. She’s unleashed her grip on Lache’s hand, but now she’s flailing aimlessly and trying to scream underwater. Nora snags her by the arm and, rather than fight her way up, drags them to the shallow end of the pool. She yanks Cel above the water and onto the concrete, then crawls up onto her knees and starts slapping Cel on the back.

Cel heaves up a few mouthfuls of water, then starts vomiting all over the concrete.

“Disgusting,” Lache says with such vitriol that Nora jerks her chin up in shock. Lache sits on the edge of the pool holding her hand to her chest. Every bit of her is soaked, but Nora suspects some of the water on her face to be tears. Even from ten paces away, she can see the angry red imprint of teeth peeking through Lache’s fingers.

“Lache, are you okay?” asks Atro as he stumbles to his knees beside her.

Lache holds out her hand for his inspection. He gingerly grabs her fingers and lets out a gasp . “You’re...burned?”

Lache’s clever eyes flick up to meet Nora’s, accusatory. Knowing.

On instinct, Nora puts her back to the rich girl and helps Cel sit up. There’s sick on both of their knees, but Nora ignores it. She’s seen worse. Cel is panting and shaking, and when she finally deigns to meet Nora’s gaze, even the dark shadows concealing her irises cannot hide the fury blazing in them.

Nora swallows dryly and goes about the task of picking Cel’s wet hair off of her face.

Cel allows it, but Nora can tell by the way she keeps baring her teeth that she’d happily bite Nora if she had the energy.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Nora whispers, and Cel manages to go a shade paler.

A voice booms through the cave, startling them both. “What in Styx is going on here?” Leopold storms over to his children, his face blotching red when Lache gets up to grimly present her hand for his inspection. Atro sticks to her side like a burr, but his eyes follow Cel. His face is so blank that Nora can’t decide what he’s thinking, whether he’s angry on his sister’s behalf or something else. Bristling, she tugs Cel to her feet and curls an arm around her shoulders. Despite her apparent anger, Cel leans against her heavily.

That’s when she realizes that Uncle Arthur has entered the room.

Nora nearly folds into herself when he frowns at her and strolls over calmly. Without a word, he picks Cel up and lets her bury her face against his shoulder. Nora doesn’t dare seek comfort by leaning against him as she might any other time.

She stands alone.

“So it’s true,” Leopold grunts, releasing Lache’s hand so she can curl it against her chest again. He turns and crosses his arms, staring Uncle Arthur down. “It’s a burn. There is no blood.”

Uncle Arthur nods very slightly. “She is as I am.”

“My children will know the truth,” Leopold says, pulling said children closer to him. “After this fiasco, they deserve to. Besides, they are my heirs as she is yours.”

“They should get used to each other,” Uncle Arthur agrees, setting down a reluctant Cel and spinning her around by the shoulders. With her hair dripping wet and an intense scowl on her face, she reminds Nora of a wet cat.

Leopold focuses on Cel when he speaks. “Your father is starting up a business. We will be business partners from here on out, which mean you children must get used to each other.”

“Business partners of a sort,” Uncle Arthur says a mite sharply. “I am starting up a syndicate. It requires my associates to know my origins.”

Cel looks back up over her shoulder, her brow furrowed. “Daddy?”

“Cel and I are firecores,” Uncle Arthur announces without fanafre, making Nora tense. Cel’s eyes widen and she whips her head back toward the others. Lache’ and Atro’s mouths fall open. “It is a secret.” It’s Uncle Arthur’s turn to level Leopold’s children with a firm glare. “Do not tell anyone.”

“Firecores?” Lache spits the word, her nose crinkling. “But firecores are monsters!”

“Lache,” Leopold snaps, making her flinch.

“Treat people the way you want to be treated,” Cel says with such seriousness that Leopold gives her a strange look.

It’s a lesson Uncle Arthur often repeats, though in varied ways. We are only monsters to those who provoke us into being monstrous.

“I’ll tell you both more about the business later,” Uncle Arthur says, directing his words to Cel and Nora. He tugs Cel back so she’ll lean against his front, but she’s squirmy with nerves. He does not attempt to touch Nora, who barely withholds a shudder of fear.

He’s mad at me.

“Now, what happened here?” Leopold demands. “Why is my daughter injured?”

Nora, being the oldest, decides to explain. “Cel tried to show Lache a lizard, but Lache slapped it out of her hand. Cel got mad and bit her, so I shoved them into the pool to split them up.”

“You shoved them into the pool,” Uncle Arthur repeats in the flattest tone she’s ever heard from him, and Nora can practically hear the underlying accusation.

You know she’s scared of water, but you pushed her in a pool.

Nora clenches her jaw and doesn’t look at him. “Yes, Uncle. I did. I saw that Cel was burning Lache, and she wouldn’t let go, so...I pushed them in. I jumped in right after.”

A pause. “Well done.”

Nora whips her head toward him in shock. “...Uncle?”

He meets her gaze and gives her a small nod. “You did what you were supposed to. It is Cel who needs to think before she acts.”

Oh no, Nora thinks as Cel goes still as a statue.

“Apologize,” Uncle Arthur says sternly.

Nora knows he’s not talking to her, and she can see the same understanding on Lache’s face. The rich little brat smirks at Cel, waiting.

Cel mumbles something, and Uncle Arthur nudges her.

“Do better,” he tells her.

“Apologies!” Cel snaps without any actual remorse.

We do not use the word ‘sorry’, Teacher had told Nora once. It can be taken two different ways. If you tell someone you’re sorry, they will pity you for your pettiness. We are not to be pitied, Nora. ‘Apologies’ sounds less pathetic. Use that at least.

As Lache’s smirk falters, Nora thinks that ‘apologies’ can have double-meanings, too.

Uncle Arthur sighs. “Good enough for now. Leopold, we’ll be going.”

“I’ll call my servant to see you out,” Leopold says, reaching for a handbell on a nearby table.

“Oh no,” Uncle Arthur says, shooting Leopold a smile that is anything but friendly, “if that idiot so much as speaks in my presence, I’ll barbecue the bastard. Tell your help to mind himself around my children.”

“If he’s offended you…”

“Forget it, Leopold.” Uncle Arthur frowns when Cel refuses to be picked up again. When Nora catches a glimpse of her face, Cel looks on the verge of tears. “I need to get this one home.”

Nora’s surprised when Cel grabs her by the hand and drags her toward the exit. Uncle Arthur spouts one more word of farewell to the Vonadieus and follows them out.