Page 19 of The Teacup Dragon Sanctuary

Iris waved her hand dismissively. Of course she didn’t deal with details like that. ‘Young Sebastian has care of it in the emporium I believe. It is Art’s book so it should be kept in Art’s shop, after all. Seb will be able to get any equipment you might need as well. If he doesn’t have it in stock he’ll order it in, but that place is such a jumble I’m sure he’ll have whatever you want. You can use one of the sitting rooms on the second floor if you like. As a laboratory. Unless anything is likely to blow up? Would one of the stables suit better?’

Portia rolled her eyes. Teasing. The family had excelled at it once upon a time. She had forgotten what it was like. Milo took things as seriously as she did and they rarely worked with anyone else. Some of her students might try, but she generally shut that down right away. Too many things could go wrong if the work was not taken seriously. It was one of the things she had liked about Felicity Montague.

‘Nothing is going to blow up, Iris.’

‘Oh, that’s good. Excellent. It’ll give you something else to focus on rather than haunting the hallway for the post. Poor Harry will get ideas, you know? You’re always there waiting for him.’

She had been waiting for news from the Academy. Or at least an update from Milo. There had been nothing at all for over a week and it was beginning to grate. They must have had their meeting by now, surely? And here, exiled on Starling Island, she was going to be the very last person to find out. She wouldn’t be surprised if the whole island knew before she did.

‘I’m waiting for a letter from the Academy. It’s important.’

Iris reached over and patted her hand. ‘It will come when it’s ready, Portia dear. No amount of fretting is going to change that. And one way or the other, whatever the outcome, we’re all here for you.’

All? Her siblings were noticeably absent.

Noah cleared his throat and pushed his chair back from the table. He’d finished eating and here they were again talking about things guaranteed to make him feel like an outsider. ‘If you will excuse me, ladies, I have some dragons to attend.’

He fled before the talk got even more personal and embarrassing, as he usually did. Portia tried to keep her voice low, but she was sure he’d still be able to hear them.

‘Iris, you’ve got to stop dragging him into family matters. You’re putting him in an awkward position. You do know that, don’t you? He isn’t actually your nephew or great-nephew. He’s an employee and you’re making him feel uncomfortable.’

‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ she said, pushing her soup bowl away. She had only eaten half of it and Portia frowned. She had an appetite like a bird and getting her to finish a meal was becoming increasingly difficult. ‘He’s a charming young man, and he is very good at his job. I want him to feel at home here. Otherwise, he’ll hare off the first chance he gets. It’s not like I can pay him a fortune. You should be more concerned with keeping him here, you know? Since I’m not supposed to be doing anything any more.’

So that was what this was about.

Portia softened her tone. ‘Just until you’re feeling better.’

Iris struggled out of her chair. ‘I’m going to have an afternoon nap. Like an old person.’

Fine, Portia thought, giving up. Let her sulk.

Jade gave a little trill of dismay and flew to Iris’s shoulder, nuzzling into her neck in that way she did to show concern and affection until Portia’s great-aunt stopped. She stroked the little dragon, fussing over her tenderly.

‘Why don’t you spend the afternoon in the orangery instead?’ Portia asked. ‘With the dragons? You can keep an eye on them. You’ll enjoy that.’

That wouldn’t do her any harm. And Portia needed to go and visit the emporium, and Seb.

She wasn’t really looking forward to that. At least someone would be enjoying themselves.

* * *

Starling’s Magical Emporium squatted halfway up the main street of the town, a sprawling building that was more than half a maze, entered by an unprepossessing doorway down three uneven steps. Portia had no idea how big it actually was. Perhaps no one did. Uncle Art maybe, wherever he had vanished off to. One day, Seb had told her, he had turned up to work there only to find that their eccentric uncle had gone and Seb had run the place ever since. Art had always been like that, Iris had said about her youngest nephew, as if taking off in the night on whatever adventure or other had claimed his attention this time was the most normal thing in the world. He hadn’t even had the good grace to take his belligerent pet raven with him. Portia often sympathised with her father, Edward, the reliable, stable member of the family, the one who kept everything going even when faced with a brother like Art and an aunt like Iris. Her grandfather, Iris’s brother Prospero, had been a prominent chancellor of the Academy, the very picture of respectability and poise, a favourite of the king, and her father had stepped effortlessly into his shoes. Well, until it had all gone wrong anyway.

But the rest of the family?

It was as if, with all the stability and respectability Edward Starling had embodied, chaos had to find a way out in his sibling. Was that the case with her generation as well? August was oblivious, and simply didn’t care what anyone thought. He had no interest in the magic which Portia was sure would dance at his fingertips if he chose to wield it. Ophelia didn’t have a magical bone in her body. And Seb… well, Seb was pure unadulterated chaos, in every single way.

Which left her to be the sensible one. The rock at the heart of the family. The face they showed the world. She was the one blessed with magic, ambition and ability combined. And maybe, just maybe, she had thought she could be their way back into the wider world and good society.

Or at least that had been her plan. Now… now she didn’t know what the future held for her.

With that sobering thought, she stopped at the entrance to the emporium, steeled herself and drew in a deep breath before pushing open the heavy black door. She had to duck a little to enter, the granite lintel above it notorious among islanders for handing out liberal concussions to the unwary. Overhead a bell rang as she entered, drawing attention to new business, or warning Seb that someone was here so he could hide himself away even more completely if the mood took him. Which he would choose on any given day was anyone’s guess.

‘You know how he is,’ Ophelia had said as if that explained everything. She said that about all the family.

August had just shrugged. ‘Seb does his own thing. He always has. You should respect that.’

As if she was the difficult one.