The earthy scent of leather filled her senses when she sat down in Theodora’s plush, creamy desk chair.

The office her grandparents shared was the most somber room in Saint Tourre. The thick dark wood of the desks matched the deep coloring of the walls. So much of the house was bright and homey, Estella never understood why they left this room so depressing.

On the corner of the desk sat a simple two-tiered file organizer. The top was labeled ‘εισερχόμενος’ incoming and the bottom was ‘εξερχόμενος’ outgoing. The lower tier is where she placed the signed petition.

She felt a low pulling of the air and then it was gone.

No time to lose now, Estella picked up the rotary phone on her grandmother’s desk and dialed.

Like a theater actor dons a costume, she too prepared for a performance. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure who Estella de Saint Tourre was supposed to be. Estella de Luca was easier, she was a young lady, a student of magic and the humanities. But Estella de Saint Tourre? Sure, she knew how to manage the house but to actually be the representative of it? That was never expected of her beyond putting on a good public face. Was she cool and professional like Theodora? Casual and disarming like Jacques? Quiet but straight-forward like Matthieu?

The family downstairs needed help. Maybe that is where Estella de Saint Tourre would start. She was a helper.

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“You’ve reached the English Council, this is Patricia. How may I help you?”

The world is filled with helpers.

___

Estella was on the phone with Italy when the dining room bell rang. Her brows furrowed when she saw the time. The family spent an hour and a half eating, why the rush?

Thankfully, she had already secured the Italian Councils support—Estella had guessed correctly, relationships with humans were too close to the chest for the witches to give up ground to the Commission. Each phone call took an inordinate amount of time, however, as the councilors wanted to impart knowledge on Estella de Saint Tourre, new to the mantle. She knew most of them personally, having met them at her home during the few occasions her grandparents held gatherings.

The German Councilor, a lovely, frumpy woman, described her as a duckling finally getting its feathers.

The French were unfazed.

The Italian Councilor, an older, pot bellied man if she remembered correctly, was currently warning off of Machiavelli.

The English Councilor was the most helpful. Marie Ricker was an old family friend, born into the friendship as her mother before her was. It was why Estella called her first.

After confirming Estella’s alone state, Marie went into full guidance mode, advising her on the best order of phone calls: “You must call Germany next. Even if Herr Becker does not consider himself one of them any longer, the German Council will still to assent their authority. Especially after what happened with the werewolf.”

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Estella hung up on the Italian Councilor. There was still much to be done, and a lot of waiting too for the Commission’s response. She had phone calls to make, arguments in favor to write and rewrite and rewrite. She had bureaucrats to navigate who simultaneously valued her family’s position in supernatural society as important advocates for transparency between the Commission and Witches but who would also infringe on her family’s position in a heartbeat if it meant getting the power for themselves.

In other words, Estella couldn’t accept too much help from any quarter.

She stood up from the deep mahogany desk with a groan before pasting what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face.

To the Archives.

___

While Annette looked nervous to touch any of the older documents, Hannah slowly turned them in wonder. Eva quickly settled in with a piece of paper and an eraserless pencil and John looked right at home next to her.

Oliver flitted between his sister and her girlfriend, encouraging them with his own progress and reference materials. It reminded Estella of Jacques, who seemed to always be over her shoulder providing support. Oliver looked at her and smiled. Whatever emotions were on her face must have alarmed him because his eyebrows knitted together and his smile dropped, opening to speak to her, to reach out.

She turned sharply to John, “You seem quite comfortable with legal documents. Were you a barrister previously?”

“A notary.”

She smiled, despite herself. “Then many of the sources will be familiar to you.” She addressed Eva, “And you seem acquainted as well?”

Eva smiled up at her, enthusiasm shining through her eyes, “I’ve studied a bit of paleography. Mostly to read this one’s—” she poked her husband with a pencil, “hand writing.”

Estella didn’t stay much longer to overlook their progress. John and Eva knew enough to not require more help and Oliver seated himself between Annette and Hannah to encourage them as needed.

Oliver’s eyes locked onto her as she made her departure, promising to return later and that there were snacks in the kitchen for them all.

She returned to the oppressive office to make more calls: Poland, Morocco, Turkey, Romania, Belgium—she couldn’t forget the Belgians. Now she left voice messages, ensuring an avalanche of morning calls in her near future.

The sun was down now, stars dotted the sky across its blanket of deep blues, purples, and blacks. Movement on the line where the tree meets the stars caught her attention. Estella left her spot at the desk and stepped closer to the window, her forehead hovering just above the glass.

The motion along the horizon didn’t stop, it kept going like a train with intentionally flat, alternating wheels. It would disappear only to circle back moments later.

Vague memories from her childhood in America flashed across her vision. Ghoulish horsemen, processions of the dead, offerings for peace, the meanings of which hung just beyond her comprehension. She remembered her grandparents very clearly, but that clarity morphed as time passed. She could recall their faces, but the edges blurred now. Their voices, but their specific tenor only came with certain words, like ‘I love you.’ She knew what they smelled like, but the crispness of the scent no longer clung to the belongings she brought with her. The most poignant memory, the one that felt still so sharp, was the love they felt for her. But there was another emotion that dominated their household, the undercut every step.

Fear.

Watching the procession pass across the horizon again, goosebumps rose on her flesh. Estella roughly dragged the heavy curtains across the windows, encompassing her in total darkness. Not that it mattered much anymore, her eyes changed years ago, a mess that was. Jacques fretted over her endlessly during those days.

Back at the Archives she found the family still working though the two young women appeared more settled than before.

Eva noticed her in the doorway, “Ah Miss de Luca, hello. Will you be joining us now? Oliver tells us that you’re quite the researcher.”

Oliver, who had been looking at Estella since she entered the room, turned his eyes to the table.

She smiled at him, “He’s being kind. Anyone can appear impressive when the observer is new to the experience.”

Eva’s head cocked at her statement but for the life of her, Estella wasn’t sure what was interesting about it. She cleared her throat, “But no, I’ve to ask Hannah if she would like some dinner.”

Hannah said she would and they arranged for her to come down to the kitchen in an hour to eat. Since this meal would not be fit for vampire consumption, they would take it informally at the kitchen table where Estella and Oliver shared a light meal.