Page 35 of Disenchanted

She could have imagined it, but Sage was fairly certain that the air wobbled a little, as though a protective bubble had slipped over the town. Some kind of sensation was stretching its way around the entirety of Port Sylvan. The image of a dust sheet thrown over a precious antique heirloom came to mind, and Sage found justification in imagining it as such. That was how it felt, keeping the town protected from view for a short time, just while she and Casimir came to understand Lilara’s magic a little more. It was for the good of everyone, as well as for research. She rushed to jot down the finer details of the spell in her notebook before she could forget them.

She dotted her sentence extra decisively. That was it—so simple and quick—but she had bought herself crucial time and safety. Magic within Port Sylvan would be fully concealed from anyone outside of it and, crucially, from the coven. Sage had permitted herself a tiny taste of freedom, surrendering an inch of her vice-like control to explore other possibilities and simply see what might be.

An entirely unpermitted giggle of excitement burst from her. She rolled her own eyes at it but returned to the sofa smirking. She hadn’t given it much, but offering her magic just an inch of her heart was proving somewhat agreeable. A surprising and unfamiliar feeling of gentle contentment breathed out of her in a soft sigh. It was peaceful.

Then Mal had a hairball.

Sage’s cat leapt from the sofa in a sudden jerking motion, sending a pile of papers skidding in his wake. And as anyone who has ever witnessed a cat yacking up a hairball can attest, it was quite the mood killer. Sage paused her writing to make sure that her familiar was okay, as his little ginger body jerked into an upwards arch, then down again, followed by a hideous hacking noise that always made her shudder and the arrival of what could only be described as a wet, hairy slug straight onto the living-room floor. His little white boots leapt back from it and he smacked his lips together.

“When you’ve quite finished, Mal,” she muttered to herself, rising from the sofa.

“I’d like to see you do it more gracefully.”

Sage tumbled straight back into the soft seat. The light had almost gone from the handful of melting candles. The fire was beginning to fade. The room was dark and the hour was late. She yanked her glasses away and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Too much coffee.”

She rose again from the sofa and took a few steps towards Mal, giving him a pitying scritch behind the ears before padding over to the kitchen to get a cloth. “My poor boy.” It was probably time to admit defeat. She had encouraged Maggie to go and relax hours ago, so she would quickly clean up, lock the doors and go to bed.

“Oh, well, if you’re going to the fridge…”

Sage’s head spun so quickly that she smacked it on the shelf beside her. “Ow! Blasted…” Stars burst across her vision as she rubbed where it hurt. She peered through the darkness. There it was again. A male voice.

She stiffened. “Who’s there?”

“Maggie put some kippers to the side. I absolutely promise that she said they were for me and categorically not for your breakfast tomorrow.”

Sage shrieked.

“What? Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

Mal had shadowed her to the kitchen, as he did whenever there was a chance that anyone might be willing to feed him.

“And the cream. That’s for me too. Maggie said to tell you that part specifically.”

It couldn’t be. The kitchen was almost pitch-black. Mal looked up at her with wide green eyes that glinted and gave an endearing flick of his tail.

Sage barely dared to breathe. “Mal…?”

The cat simply yawned in response, exposed all of his tiny teeth, then sat on his back legs and curled his tail neatly around his front white paws.

Slowly, Sage lowered herself to his level, crouching as low as she could. She peered at the cat, giving it a moment to see if she really had…if he really had…

Nothing. Mal looked back with only a slow, steady blink. Sage gave a disbelieving laugh at her own stupidity and removed her glasses again. This week was proving challenging in many, many ways. With a sigh of acknowledgement that it really was time to call it a night, she scritched Mal on the head again and got back to her feet. But in the glint of the final candle’s light as she returned to the stairway, her attention was stolen by the chain around her wrist. The string of Lilara’s charms had changed when she left the museum earlier that day. What had previously been a moon with the tiniest silhouette of a cat sat on its crescent—her favourite of the charms—had become a pair of looped hearts, one larger and one much smaller, interlocked. She and Casimir had been speculating on the walk home as to the possible meanings. He had been convinced that it meant some form of ghastly ex-boyfriend was going to turn up, while she had fretted that it would be something in relation to the fate of her two siblings.

But now that she contemplated the charm in a new light, it seemed to suggest an unbreakable bond between one larger and one smaller…She glanced back at Mal and swallowed hard.

“Mal?”

“Yes?”

“Oh no…” Sage flung out an arm, clinging to the banister for support as her legs buckled underneath her.

“Charming,” the cat replied. He gave a long-suffering sigh, and Sage could have sworn that he dilated his pupils right on cue, specifically to look as adorable as possible. “A life of servitude and adoration, and that’s the sort of welcome I get.”

Sage shook her head, spluttering. “Oh, I…Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound…”

Mal sighed again, his tiny body slumping down into a loaf shape, crossing one white paw over the other to rest his head upon them. “No, no. It’s fine. Years of loyalty and companionship, an incomparable familiar affinity, sacred and universe-given in this life and all others to come. But the moment I open my mouth, it’s ‘Get lost, Mal’; ‘Scram, Mal’; ‘I have more important things to think about, Mal.’ ” The ginger cat sighed the most emphatic sigh of all, followed by a pitiful little mew. “I’ll just wither away in the quiet of night. Unappreciated. Unloved. Famished.”