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"Penelope," Dotty said when their first was born. "For my mother."

Frank remembered the kind, confused woman who had greeted him when he had exited the cupboards, never to see his home again, casting suspicious, worried glances at her husband the whole time, who had died not long after. She hadn't been happy since her husband had begun to carry on his father's work of the cupboards, Dotty had told him.

"Penelope," Frank agreed.


"Henrietta," Dotty suggested when their second was born. "For the boy."

The boy, Henry, who had materialized in the Badon Hill cupboard one day, an infant with lungs that belied his small size. They had wanted to keep him, but Dotty's petty, shallow sister-"Don't be so spiteful, Frank." "You told me that yourself, Dotty,-" and her husband had claimed him instead.

Like Frank, this boy was lost from his own world, given a home in this one, which was now to be his. Perhaps he would be safer here, away from the dangers of where he had come from. Or perhaps his family was still searching for him, their lost child.

Or both. Or neither.

Unlike Frank, this boy would have no memories of where he had come from. A curse, or a blessing.

Lost boys, both of them.

"Henrietta," Frank agreed.


"Anastasia," Frank proposed when their third was born. "For my mother."

He had not seen his mother since he was a lad of fifteen. He did not even know if she lived or died. Things had been peaceful when he had left, but whispers from Endor had reached his father's ears, which was why he had been sent after Eli FitzFaeren in the first place.

His mother, who could heal or uproot with a touch, who had magic to rival even his father's and youngest brother's, whom Dotty had never met. Whom his children would never meet.

"Anastasia," Dotty agreed.