Page 22 of Disenchanted

Even the dust motes paused in the air for a moment before her hair tumbled back to her shoulders and the bow at the collar of her blouse flopped back against her chest.

“Did it work?” she whispered to herself.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered footsteps approaching, followed by the high-pitched whistling of her colleague. Casimir strolled back in.

“Sorry, I may or may not have dozed off there. What did I miss?”

10

A Sweet Surprise

Sage awoke to a rattling tea tray being placed on her bedside table accompanied by a cheery sing-song of “Wakey wakey!” Maggie was gliding between the curtains, throwing them open and fluttering a feather duster over the rail as she went. Sage shielded her bleary eyes from the light that poured in and said something muffled and grumpy into the top of her duvet.

“What was that, Treasure?”

“I said, ‘Five more minutes.’ ”

“Certainly! Although it’s not like you to slumber so late, Sage. There’s breakfast waiting for you. I can pop it in the warmer, should you desire.”

“Late? What time is it?” Sage said, her sleepy brain slowly registering Maggie’s confusion. The housekeeper’s pale figure rippled in the daylight by the doorframe. Daylight? Already?

“A quarter past nine, madam. I did presume you’d enjoyed rather a tipple too many at the public house with your brother and sister. And that’s to say naught of the dreadful influence exerted by our dear Mr. Everald.”

“Nine?” Sage threw her legs out of bed and rushed to grab her dressing gown to throw over her pyjamas but stumbled. She clutched at her head. A hangover? It certainly felt like one, but she could hardly blame that when she’d only had coffee at the pub. Maybe her blood sugar was low. Maybe she was dehydrated. Maybe she’d been reading without the right glasses again.

Or maybe it was the after-effects of whatever it was that she’d invoked last night at the museum.

Sage could recall only one other time in her life when she’d felt quite so under the weather: when her magic had first come in at age fifteen. The after-effects of her first sloppy but delightful experiments with magic back then had been exhausting, completely draining. Of course, what happened to her parents so soon afterwards had meant that annoying headaches and magical exhaustion were quickly the least of her problems when she found…When she discovered them. Her current headache was suddenly compounded by grim memories. Laurel’s quiet, confused mumbling. The weight of her own legs and the strangle of her school tie. A shove of her brother to stay in the living room, to turn up the television. Sage shook away the blurry memories. There wasn’t time to dwell on them.

A bolt of magic crackled at her fingertips to win back her attention with an important, taunting message: It had not gone anywhere. It had not been banished.

Sage’s heart sank. She had really dared to think that she had found the answer.

“Can you grab me some painkillers, please, Maggs? And thank you for breakfast, but I’m late. I’ll have to wrap up some toast and be on my way.”

“As you wish.” Maggie gave Sage a polite, confused nod and closed the door behind her. “Oh!” She returned, slinking her ghostly form straight back through the closed door. “And you have a guest waiting in the living room, madam— Sage.”

Sage sighed. “When did he get here?”

“A quarter of an hour ago.”

Sage nodded reluctantly. She normally beat Casimir to the museum by at least a couple of hours. He lived on the outskirts of Port Sylvan, while Sage’s cottage was only a few rows from the town centre.

She dressed quickly, fumbling with her favourite pair of wide-leg brown trousers and shoving a cream floppy-collared blouse into the waistband. She twirled her hair up into a claw clip, or as closely as her curls would permit, and pinched her freckled cheeks to try to coax some colour into them. She certainly looked a little peaky. An alarming vitamin D deficiency was one of the perils of spending the majority of her life in libraries, to be sure, but this was pale even for her. She studiously ignored the faint tremor that was lingering in her hands.

Last night, she had hastily shut the book away in the archive, burying it underneath a bundle of old town deeds before they left. Her intrigue to explore it further felt bright, but it burned side by side with the visceral dread that the vague incantation had left behind. Casimir hadn’t noticed any kind of disturbance, red-wine-snoring his way through the whole affair. She had yet to decide whether she should tell him that she had even managed to open the book or leave the whole thing alone until October was well and truly over. At least then her own magic would be less unpredictable, the coven less likely to seek her out, and she would be safe to investigate thoroughly and accurately without threats of their intervention.

Then again, the answers had to be within it. Her curiosity was desperate to uncover more, the book that potentially held the truth around Lilara’s banished magic. But the possibility that she had inadvertently spoken a proper spell last night and invited magic into her life so boldly for the first time in almost fifteen years filled Sage with a dreadful, queasy anxiety. October was specifically not to involve any major magic; there was no greater risk of attracting the coven’s attention. If she had accidentally triggered some kind of unknown spell, a fairly impactful one, judging by its display, then no good could come of it. It was everything she had worked so determinedly to avoid. If the coven were to—

“Specs? What exactly are you doing up there? Don’t make me come and fireman-lift you out of that bed, because I won’t be gentle about it.” Casimir’s shout from the bottom of the stairs pulled Sage back to the present.

She tugged down the sleeves of her shirt, pushed up her glasses and headed downstairs. He would want answers, but she wasn’t sure which version to give him just yet.

Sage was greeted by a familiar sight between the dark wooden banisters. Casimir lolled back, eyes closed, in the striped armchair by the fireside, feet up on the crimson velvet footstool while Mal was curled up on his lap. Sage was struck by a ripple of calmness at the sight of her best friend and familiar together. She had long ago come to terms with the fact that Cas and Mal were the soulmates and she was the third wheel, but when everything else felt strange and unnerving, that sight alone was enough to ease her.

“About time too,” Casimir called, golden wavy curls sprawled over the top of the armchair. “I was worried about you, recent events in mind. Thought you may appreciate a handsome protector for your walk to work.”

“Let me know if you see one,” Sage said, rolling her eyes. “I…Well, I overslept, believe it or not.” She noted the confusion in her own voice.