Page 49 of Disenchanted

Sage leaned closer, felt a tiny hitch in her breath. Casimir noticed it too, jaw tightening as though bracing himself.

Laurel’s loud balloon pop of a laugh burst in the distance and snatched Sage’s attention. The bonfire beamed like a beacon, and she could see both Laurel and Robin silhouetted in front, gradually stumbling back towards them, waving with arms full of toys, prizes and brown bottles of apple cider.

Sage shook her head, mind fuzzy with hazy memories. All part of the spell, she supposed ruefully.

“This nonsense is doing awful things to you,” she said with a shaky laugh, leaning back against the railing. “Do you use these lines on all the fair maidens, Prince Charming?”

Casimir cleared his throat. “Only the ones who could put me in a jar.” He looked away, out from the gazebo and across the celebrations.

She found herself studying his profile. “Classically handsome,” someone at university had called him once, which she’d forced herself to scoff at when she told him. The sloped nose, the clear-cut jaw, the unfairly long dark lashes. So familiar that she could have drawn his exactness with a sparkler in the night sky. How had she, an archive-dwelling gremlin, ended up with a best friend who not only looked like that but who loved to let her know that he thought she was rather brilliant? It was obscene. An unexpected giggle burst out of her. He turned back.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Sage spluttered a laugh again, her whole body slumping with relief now that the strange moment had passed. “I’m glad you’re here, I suppose. Even if the handsome prince thing is turning you into a cheeseball.”

Casimir faltered, evidently questioning the possibility himself. He always trusted Sage’s conclusions above his own. “You think it’s affecting me that deeply?”

“Of course! You’re not calling me ‘beautiful’ off your own bat, are you?” Sage said, drumming her fingers on the white railing. “It’s the character talking.”

“I’ve always called you beautiful,” he said, frowning at that.

It was true; he had. Even when she looked like a hideous crone emerging from the depths of her cave after centuries of a cursed existence—otherwise known as when she finally completed a paper or even just a good book. He noticed when she changed things about her appearance and complimented her for it. He noted when she wore his favourite green blouse and spotted when she did anything different with her hair, which was not often, but still. He always called her beautiful.

She looked back out towards her brother and sister, who were still making their way across the crowded green. He often called Laurel pretty too, Sage reasoned with herself.

“Don’t worry,” Sage said, determined to strangle the strange conversation. She patted his hand on the railing in an awkward sort of way. “We’ll have this solved soon and get you back to your normal, marginally less alluring self.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw his expression falter slightly, a little twinge of something flashing across his face. His princely charm soon returned with a smirk. “You know, I’m very disappointed that my personal favourite fairy tale doesn’t seem to have been on Lilara’s radar. It would have been a lot more fun than this one.”

“And what’s that?”

“The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

The little flame extinguished in a flash as Sage smacked him on the shoulder. As he laughed his smooth, deep laugh full of mischief, he threw a relaxed arm around her to drag her back into his warmth. Sage bit down firmly on her lower lip to control her own grin.

The honey-gold harvest moon was the brightest, widest lantern she’d ever seen.

It was a reluctant thought, but a giddy one that kept returning. This sort of magic was welcome here.

20

Moonlight

It wasn’t strictly protocol to bring artefacts home from the museum. But then again, it wasn’t strictly protocol for them to be responsible for a spell that held the entire town in its palm either, so Sage had decided that Lilara’s grimoire was a worthy exception to the rules. She had slipped it into her bag after work that day.

“Are you sure you won’t eat something proper, madam? I hate to think of you having such a sorry excuse for a meal.” Maggie looked personally affronted by the haphazard snack plate that Sage had thrown together. “Let me at least get you a bit of bread and butter. Maybe some chutney to liven things up a bit.”

The food sat ignored at the end of her bed while Sage pored over numerous notes scattered haphazardly across the bedspread. The grimoire was wide open in the middle of it all and, of course, still entirely blank after almost a whole week spent coaxing it back to life.

“Not now, Maggs,” Sage said, scowling at the disruption, then caught herself. She removed her glasses, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just need to focus.”

“On the hocus-pocus!” Maggie said cheerfully, then deflated slightly when she received no appreciation from her friend. “As you wish, Sage,” Maggie said, the tone of sadness in her voice even wispier than usual. It made Sage feel absolutely terrible.

“Actually, Maggs, I wouldn’t say no to something involving gravy, to be honest. Maybe it’ll lift my spirits. I’ll come and join you shortly,” Sage said, offering in compromise, which earned a much more satisfied response from the ghost, who floated off merrily back to the kitchen.

Sage had spent the night reading until her vision blurred and her head ached, trying to decide whether her previous annotations around the spell, the element of danger and uncertainty that it had first struck her with, could still be applied alongside the joyful way that it had left her feeling more recently. Could such a combination exist comfortably? Was there such a thing as a malevolent good? And more importantly, what was to come next at the hands of the mirror charm, which was still stubbornly refusing to manifest?

Sage’s eyes fell back to Lilara’s grimoire. Another spell of her own had been tempting her all evening, and her fingertips tingled at the call. Conjuring the flame had felt so good. Perhaps just one more piece of witchery for the sake of a neatly structured and satisfying investigation…