Jyra frowned, her brow furrowing as she pulled the dusty mason jar out of the worn cardboard box. She rubbed at the murky glass with her t-shirt, grimacing at the gray stain of thick dust and dirt that came away on the thin cotton. She held the jar up to the skylight to get a better look, and her heart sank.
A tiny, shriveled form was curled up inside the jar, its dry skin sunken and coarse. Several scales had flaked off and collected in a pile at the bottom of the jar, preserved only by the tight seal on the jar. The once-purple colors were now muted and pale, and the whole specimen looked like it would crumble into dust should the seal be broken.
Jyra resisted the urge to throw the jar against the wall and watch the thing shatter into a million pieces, more so to avoid damaging the roof than anything. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. What in Merlin's name was Gran doing with a dragon fetus in her attic? Did she even know about it? Maybe someone had stored it up here without her knowledge, like Uncle Nox. Everyone knew he dabbled in trading in the black market, even though no one would admit they knew about it, or ever turn him in.
A closer inspection of the label debunked that theory; Dragon Fetus, approx 300 days gestation, extract. Jul 17, 1924. The label was written in the heavy, careful penmanship that Jyra instantly recognized as Gran's. Jyra groaned and set the jar on the attic floor, coughing as she disturbed a layer of dust. What was Gran thinking? She knew full well that merely possessing a dragon fetus was punishable by imprisonment, and possibly having your magic revoked. Gran was the one who had drilled that into Jyra from the first day she had learned about the medicinal properties of dragon parts. Buying and selling dragon fetuses had been illegal since the 19th century, and possession of one had been illegal since the Dragon Preservation Act of 1892.
Jyra sat back on her heels, studying the dirty old mason jar sitting innocuously on the attic floor. Could she destroy it--say, burn it--and be done with it, and leave the authorities none the wiser? No, they would know if she tried to burn it. The magic released would be the equivalent of a magical atomic bomb. She couldn't turn it in to the DPA, not with Gran's handwriting so clearly on the label. An arrest now, with Gran's health so fragile, would either kill her or leave her an empty shell. She could ask Uncle Nox to get rid of it for her, but that would make her an accomplice in dragon parts trafficking--an offense much worse than mere possession. And, knowing him, Uncle Nox would probably hold it over her head for the rest of her life. No, she had to deal with it herself.
After several agonizing minutes of deliberation, Jyra shoved the jar into the bottom of her box marked "Jyra's stuff" that she had brought up here to lay her claim on the hidden treasures of the attic in the first place. On top of it went the ragged, flameproof cloak that had belonged to her Pop, the baby food jar full of stardust collected from the moors of Scotland during their family vacation in eighth grade, a pink, butterfly-covered diary with a lock where she had written her first spells, and the enchanted hairpin Gran had once worn to a school dance in hopes of getting attention from her crush. A few more useless trinkets went in there to fill the empty space, and then she hefted the box in her arms and headed for the attic stairs. If she couldn't destroy it, couldn't sell it, and couldn't turn it in, then there was only one thing left to do; hide it away somewhere where no one would ever find it again. Even if it meant Gran would never speak to her again.