Page 10 of Disenchanted

“I’m glad of it. Only, I thought I heard you talking to someone. Pardon me, madam.”

Sage slipped on her dressing gown and opened the door to find Maggie leaning her ear against the wood as she held a tea tray stacked high with glistening buttered crumpets, a cup of tea the perfect shade of fawn brown and a generous bowl full of autumn fruit that gleamed like rubies and garnets. Sage reached for a crumpet and took a bite. Immediately, the melted butter soothed her sharpest edges.

“Not someone, Maggs. Something. I was just telling my magic that it needs to wind its neck in today. Otherwise, we’re going to have a problem,” she said sternly.

Maggie’s brows shot up. “Causing you grief through the night again? You should have woken me.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Sage said, flapping the mere idea away. “Leave it with me; I have it under control.”

The answer was a reflex, given whenever she showed the slightest crack that a rare someone was astute enough to notice. But as she whirled like a tempest back to her room, a thick twist of dark burgundy roses and emerald vines appearing from nowhere to weave their way around the banister as she passed, Sage wasn’t so sure she believed it herself.

Her magic was answering something. Or calling out. Whether it could be blamed on the October air or whether it was something more, one thing was indisputable: It was desperate to escape.

Twenty minutes later, steam billowed from the brass spout behind the counter at the Hedgehog House. The coffee machine whistled loudly, whipping up warm milk to pour over treacly espresso. Sage, through bleary eyes and a mop of hair that was already fighting back against her attempts to control it, swore she’d never seen such a beautiful sight as the café owner, Bridgey Potts, secured the lid and handed over the cup with a knowing smile.

“Hazelnut, of course. It’s on me—for bringing the outsiders past the stall yesterday and making me a few sales. Always appreciate it, Flower.”

Sage mumbled something that she hoped conveyed thanks to the Hedgehog House barista. It would be at least three hot sips until words started to form properly. Bridgey’s accent was so thick that even the other locals struggled to understand her sometimes, but Sage had just about mastered it, thanks to daily (often multiple) stops for caffeine.

“Late night, was it, ey love?”

“Something like that. Our new exhibition is finally opening this week, so there’s a lot to finalize. Before I knew it, the night had run away with me while I was reading.”

“Not like you,” Bridgey replied with mock surprise, then chuckled, her ruddy round face shining. Motherly and gentle, but with an absolutely filthy laugh, she had been the town’s official supplier of cups of tea and coffee for as long as Sage could remember. Her wispy cropped curls were somehow reminiscent of an actual hedgehog, and she always wore a knitted shawl around her shoulders. “Can’t wait to see it all come together. Got my ticket, haven’t I? I’d offer you a croissant to perk you up, but Cas came in ten minutes ago and took the lot.”

Sage’s face dropped. “Of course he did.”

No croissants and aching shoulders…Unscheduled levitation was no good for her back. She glanced around the bustling coffee shop and contemplated whether she could get away with stealing ten minutes for herself. First on her agenda was to unpack that final delivery for the exhibition, but such a terrible morning called for burrowing herself into her chunky scarf and getting lost in her own thoughts for a while on one of the comfy gingham seats nestled in the corner. The Hedgehog House felt foggy and soothing, with its warm lighting and cloudy condensation covering lattice windows. Overgrown ivy climbed the walls outside and a bizarre collection of trinkets climbed them within. The busy shelves were a jumble of Bridgey’s teapots, postcards, candlesticks, knick-knacks, treasures, ceramic ornaments…Mostly, they were hedgehogs. A lot of hedgehogs.

“Make yourself at home, Flower. You look done in. I’ll bring you a flapjack instead,” Bridgey said, seeming to read her mind. In her sleepy stupor, Sage made her way to a table that was hidden nicely behind a coat rack and did not invite conversation. She sipped through a sigh, and as her eyes closed, she swore she could feel the caffeine connecting neurons and pathways as it slipped through her bloodstream. It promptly got to work, lacing her nerves back together one by one, and soon a sense of life began to spark at her fingertips. Everything would be fine. Maybe she could handle whatever else the day threw at her after all. Pinpricks of warmth at her fingers tingled so contentedly she had to flex her hands around the hot cup.

Sage bolted upright, suddenly awake. That wasn’t caffeine.

That was magic.

The sensations of the two were often interchangeable. She’d made journal entries on the topic, interested in the connections between witchery and non-wicche comparatives. But her concentration had slipped as she’d dozed. The control was gone. And this was not just a pesky, unspecific pop of magic either. This was an incoming incantation.

“No…No, no, no…”

Without warning, a shock of crimson magic jolted from her left palm like a sneeze, so sudden and static that the hot cup slipped from her hand and spilled over the table. Sage flew back in her chair, and the sparks of the spell rebounded straight off the windowpane to her right, travelled in a frantic zigzag and headed straight back towards her. Sage ducked just in time but immediately wished that she’d taken the brunt herself. She watched in horror as the escaped spell shot directly into a life-size ornament of a hedgehog leaning against a tree stump, wearing a very twee flat cap and smoking a pipe.

Seconds later, the once-ceramic-now-very-much-alive hedgehog shook off the cap, spat out the pipe and gave itself a thorough shakedown.

Sage gasped and lurched up from her chair. She recognized the accidental spell. “Vividus Animo…Of all the…Why must you…? Blasted, blasted, blasted magic.”

The hedgehog began to shuffle along the shelf, delighted with its new lease of life, and proceeded to bump into every precious ornament along the way. A trail of china rattled noisily and dangerously close to the edge. A couple of heads turned towards the racket. Sage bolted to catch the trinkets, one after another, then froze as she spotted Bridgey finishing her conversation and picking up a flapjack. Sage rushed to replace everything that had tumbled, then carefully scooped up the hedgehog to avoid any further damage. She glanced around the coat rack with wide eyes. What did one do with an accidentally enchanted spiny mammal of the subfamily Erinaceinae? She certainly didn’t have the practical experience to just fire off an “undo” spell, and it was too unreliable, too risky, and the karma would almost certainly make matters ten times worse…

Without much of a choice, Sage placed the creature gently but hastily into her coat pocket. She tried to see reason through blind panic. The place was a hubbub of chatter, takeaway orders now bustling in the morning rush, and the coat rack had been a fortunate shield. But still, had anyone seen the overt display of magic? She had to get outside. She had to catch her breath.

“Excuse me. Pardon me. If I could just…” Sage said as she began to shuffle her way out towards the door.

“On your way already, Flower?” Bridgey called, waving the flapjack at her.

“Can’t stop, Bridge!” she shouted back from the doorway. A very tiny wet nose gave a snuffle against her palm, followed by a sharp nip. Sage tried not to shriek. “Yeeeoow…you know how new exhibition weeks are.”

“Ey, you’re sure? Thought I saw something back there. Is that lamp on the blink again?”

“No trouble here, no trouble at all! Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be seeing you!”