In which Angeline has an older cousin and learns magic is more real than she thought

"'Ello, you must be Angie," a rather portly man said with a pronounced British accent, smiling as Angeline opened the door.

"Angeline," the girl said. "And who are you?"

"Tch, what a brat," someone said. "Ow!"

"Mind your manners, Corbin," a woman said. "It was gracious of Aunt Marie to invite us here for the summer."

Angeline looked around the stout man in the doorway to see the others. One was a petite, regal looking woman who smiled kindly - and yet a tad condescendingly - at Angeline, her black hair pulled into a severe braid. Next to her stood a boy who was tall and lean, a scowl contorting his otherwise handsome face. His hair, the same jet as his mother's, hung in his eyes as he glared at Angeline.

Not once during her examination did Angeline's face shift from apathy.

"My name is Dorian Greyheart," the man said, causing his chins to wobble. "This is my wife, Geniveve, and our son, Corbin. Did Aunt Marie not mention we were coming to stay?"

"I dare say she did not," Angeline said. "Please, wait here."

"Certainly," Mr. Greyheart said. Angeline closed the door before him, then turned and walked up the uneven steps, across the narrow hallway, up a second flight of spiral steps, and into her aunt's room.

"Aunt Marinthana," Angeline said. The old woman sniffed, then shifted to look at her niece.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, smiling.

"Is there anyone coming to stay with us?" Angeline asked. Aunt Marinthana looked confused for only a moment before she sighed, putting a hand to her head.

"I am sorry dear, it slipped away from me," she said. "Your cousins, Dorian, and his family, are coming to stay with us, yes. I take it they have arrived?"

"Yes, ma'am," Angeline said. "Shall I show them to the guest rooms?"

"Yes dear, that would be wonderful," Aunt Marinthana said. Angeline nodded, giving a small curtsey before turning out of the room. She walked back down the two flights of stairs, then fully opened the door. The Greyhearts turned towards her expectantly. She curtseyed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Greyheart," she said. "Please follow me."

It did not take long for the Greyhearts to settle in. Mister and Missus Greyheart wondered after the state of the house, as well as the health of Aunt Marinthana. Mrs. Greyheart marveled at Angeline's self sufficiency and pretty manners, insisting upon taking over the cooking and cleaning duties. She spoke with the boy who delivered groceries every week, changing the order to what supplies she needed to cook formal meals for everyone. Angeline resisted, attempting to retain what chores she had become accustomed to, but Mrs. Greyheart would have none of it, telling the girl to consider it a vacation and to enjoy the summer outside. Eventually, Angeline relented, finding she did enjoy being able to talk and explore with Rochester longer than she had before, as well as more time to read with Aunt Marinthana.

Mr. Greyheart, on the other hand, took it upon himself to begin repairing the house as best he knew how. For his girth, he did surprisingly good work. Every evening that Angeline returned from gallivanting in the woods, the house looked better and better.

It was her cousin, Roger Corbin Greyheart that was the trouble.

The boy was five years her senior, and it appeared he viewed his time at Aunt Marinthana's house as a punishment. For the first week or so, he remained brooding in his room, refusing to come down even for meals. Angeline viewed this as folly, but when he began emerging from him room, she began to wish he hadn't.

He spent his time finding things to complain about; the lack of technology, the heat, how old the house was, the way the place smelled, and so on. At first, his complaints were contained to when Angeline was present in the house, which was not fairly often. He also seemed to take a perverse interest in his cousin; wondering around her room, asking how she managed to live out in the middle of nowhere without any friends or anything to do. To which she replied promptly.

"I have everything I need here; now if you please, I must ask you to kindly allow me to finish… brushing my hair."

"Your hair's in a braid."

"I know."

Not too long after that conversation, Corbin began following Angeline into the woods. He continued asking questions, about what she did out there, if she's seen wolves, if she knew how to hunt, how she could stand being somewhere so dull. Usually, Angeline was able to subtly loose her cousin, by taking less clear paths and climbing trees until he passed. She voiced her frustrations at the situation to Rochester as they escaladed.

"He simply refuses to accept that someone could be happy reading and journeying through the woods," she said, leaning against Rochester's side. Her brother snorted.

"He sounds like he is one who could never be happy no matter how much he had," he said. Angeline sighed.

"I do not know about that; he's simply exhausting to deal with," she said. "And he keeps asking me why I wear this 'old garbage', and why I speak strangely, and just one thing after another. It is driving me absolutely batty!"

"I would rather like to meet this Corbin," Rochester said, stretching his neck out lazily. "He sounds good for you."

"Good for me? In what manner is he good for me?" Angeline asked.

"He teaches you patience," Rochester said. Angeline snorted.

"I highly doubt that," she said. Rochester would have smiled, had his maw been made for it. As it were, the discussion was brought to an abrupt close.

"Bloody hell!" Rochester's and Angeline's heads snapped in the direction of the exclamation. Corbin stood on higher ground, looking down at them with a face of horror.

"Is that him?" Rochester asked.

"Yes," Angeline said, half jumping to her feet. She wasn't entirely certain what bothered her, but the way Corbin pulled something out of his pocket made her nervous.

"G-get away from that thing!" he yelled, pointing the object at Rochester. Angeline squinted, then scoffed.

"That thing is my brother," she said, crossing her arms. "And it is generally considered rude to point, even with sticks."

"What in the blazes are you talking about? That thing is a… a bloody dragon!" Corbin said, stabbing the air with his short, thin stick. Angeline sighed.

"Will you please put that stick away? Have you deluded yourself into thinking it is a wand or something?" she asked. Corbin gave his cousin one of the most disbelieving looks the girl could ever recall having seen. It did, at least, cause him to still.

"De… deluded myself?" he sputtered. "It is a wand."

"That is preposterous," Angeline said. "Magic isn't real."

"Are you effing kidding me?" Corbin said, slowly lowering his wand as he stared at the thirteen year old. "You have a bloody dragon standing behind you, and you doubt the existence of magic?"

"I do not doubt that magic exists," Angeline said, letting her arms drop as she strode towards her cousin. "It is not real."

"Bloody hell, you're serious, aren't you?" Corbin asked, letting his arm finally drop as Angeline stood before him, crossing her arms again.

"She's never anything but, I assure you," Rochester said, and Angeline felt it was answer enough. After a few minutes of silence, Corbin sighed and turned around, putting his wand away as he retreated. And that, Angeline had assumed, was the end of that.

Until Corbin returned approximately half an hour later with his father.

"Incarcerous!" Mr. Greyheart yelled. Ropes appeared out of thin air to wrap around Rochester, binding him. The dragon, in response, stared.

"I am not amused," he said. Angeline stood.

"Nor am I," she said. She turned to glare icily up the ridge. "Mr. Greyheart, what foolery is this?"

"Foolery?" Mr. Greyheart asked, keeping his wand trained on Rochester. He was bug eyed, and had turned red, rather resembling a tomato. Corbin, standing next to him, snorted and rolled his eyes. "Child, step away from there, it's dangerous!"

"Dangerous? Preposterous," Angeline said. Corbin stepped around to look at his father.

"I told you, Da, she thinks of the bugger as her brother," he said. Mr. Greyheart frowned.

"What the devil are you on about?" he asked. "That beast is-"

"This," Angeline said, walking crisply up to them. "Is my brother, Rochester. And I would appreciate if you were to end this… this trick you are using against him."

"Trick? Dear girl, I assure you this is no trick," Mr. Greyheart said. Angeline snorted.

"Are you honestly trying insinuate that this is magic?" she asked, waving her hand in the direction of Rochester. Mr. Greyheart blinked at her, then looked to his son.

"Is she serious?" he asked. Angeline stopped before them, crossing her arms in what was becoming a familiar gesture of annoyance.

"As the plague," she said.

"As serious as you are, I really do not think this is a trick, sister," Rochester said. Angeline whirled on him.

"What do you mean? This cannot possibly be real," she said.

"It feels real enough," Rochester said. "Come, have a feel for yourself."

"Preposterous," Angeline said, walking back down the slope. She wrapped a hand around a rope circling Rochester's snout. She gave it a tug. When that failed to change anything, she tugged harder, then grabbed the rope with both hands, pulling.

"My God…" Mr. Greyheart said, wand arm falling. Angeline ceased her struggle, turning to glare up at him and her equally boggle eyed cousin.

"Sir, I must insist that you release my brother at once," she said. Mr. Greyheart simply stared. Angeline sighed in exasperation. "Mr. Greyheart."

"Oh… yes… yes, yes certainly," he said. With a wave of his wand, the spell was broken. Mr. Greyheart and Corbin flinched when Rochester stood, but settled when the dragon merely shifted positions.

"Thank you, that was extremely uncomfortable," Rochester said.

"Not to mention rude," Angeline said. Mr. Grey heart's legs failed him then, and he collapsed to the ground with a dull thump.

"You… you can talk to dragons," he said in awe. Angeline blinked, then looked from Mr. Greyheart's face to Corbin's and back again, her pretentious sneer dropping as she did.

"What?" she asked. "You cannot?"