Page 11 of Disenchanted

Sage bolted outside while trying her level best to keep a comforting hand wrapped around the hedgehog and simultaneously not impale herself on its prickly armour. She heard Bridgey call after her. Sage picked up the pace. Magic crackled across her palms and sent a threatening shiver down her spine. There was more to come. She needed to get away from everyone before it happened again.

Sage couldn’t recall when the bright morning had seen the clouds come in, but the sky had darkened to moody grey. A misty storm rolled in over the town, thick rain beginning to pepper the ground in heavy droplets, and then, without warning, a crack of lightning struck the boat-shaped weather vane atop the Lyceum spire. The arrow spun frantically on its axis.

Sage swallowed down a stressed sob. It was getting angrier.

“Blasted, blasted, blasted magic…”

If it was firing out unexpectedly after a mere caffeine boost, who knew what else it was capable of today? She cursed the conspiratorial clouds and kept her chin pressed to her chest, determined not to make eye contact with any passers-by. She yanked her coat over her head to hide from the downpour, shuffling through the mist and rain, hunching and walking awkwardly to make sure the hedgehog wasn’t bumping around too much. She must have looked like the town’s old crone, giving the typical silhouette of a wicked witch against a crackling, thundery sky. Her magic had a twisted sense of humour.

Her heart was racing, adrenaline beating at her bones. “Come on, come on…” Sage muttered to herself, willing her legs to move faster. After hotfooting it across the cobblestones, past the train station, the Founders’ Fountain and the dell, she finally saw the museum. The hanging dark green sign, foiled in gold and mounted above the door, was spotted with fat droplets of rain and was swinging against the wild weather. Beneath another crack of lightning, Sage shoved her key into the lock and jiggled the door handle in the precise way that it required, before stumbling over the threshold and slamming it firmly behind her. She rested against the door and took a deep rattling breath of relief within the confines of the place she felt safest.

Immediately, her crazed magic calmed.

Even against the quaint backdrop of Port Sylvan, the heritage museum was a strange little place, which no one could quite believe still existed. Somehow, it just about managed to remain open, against all odds. Sage and Casimir did what they could to keep it going, endlessly overworked, but extra ideas like the walking tours were necessary for much-needed additional revenue. At least the steady stream of tourists could be trusted to pay a visit, tempted in by the building’s beauty. The pointed overhanging gables, tall chimneys and leafy pattern beneath the slate roof found themselves framed in pink blossom during the spring or gorgeous golden foliage when autumn began to glow like a lantern in Port Sylvan. Like the rest of the town, the museum was something straight out of a storybook.

Sage scooped the hedgehog out of her pocket and examined it more closely, nose to snout. The treacherous creature may have threatened to expose her to a town full of non-wicchefolk, but it really was rather cute.

“There you are,” Casimir said. “I bought you the last croissant, before you accuse me of— What on earth is that?”

He stumbled out of the archive and into the foyer and froze in his tracks at the sight of Sage with her new friend. He removed his reading glasses and folded them over his pocket, as though he couldn’t quite get an accurate focus on the matter.

“A hedgehog,” Sage said.

“I see. And what exactly are you doing with a hedgehog, Specs?”

“Thought I’d take it for a walk.”

“Wouldn’t think he’s too thrilled about that. You should probably have left it alone.”

“Do you think?” Sage asked innocently, her voice an octave higher than usual.

“I’d say so. Unless, of course, you’re lying,” Casimir said, stepping closer, “and have in fact gone and transformed one of our dear neighbours into a woodland creature. But you’d never do such a thing, would you?”

Besides her siblings, the one person in Port Sylvan (of this physical, non-spectral plane, at least) who knew Sage’s well-guarded witch-shaped secret was, unfortunately, Casimir Everald.

“Incorrect,” Sage said, giving a grumpy sniff before adding, “It is in fact a transfiguration, not a transformation. And it’s not a neighbour.”

“Oh, but this is a result of your magic,” Casimir said smugly.

Sage noticed in her periphery that as her frustration at being called out rose, so did her hair. Her ginger spiral ringlets were getting tighter and tighter, curlier and curlier. She could always rely on Casimir’s lack of tact to make her curls spring.

“Funnily enough, I did not purposefully plan to begin my day with a hedgehog residing in my coat pocket, Casimir. It’s almost like a damn spell went awry for the fifty millionth time of late. Could have hit and hurt any number of unsuspecting folks in the café, but mercifully, I only find myself with a ceramic hedgehog brought to life, albeit also potentially a coffee shop full of witnesses to him removing his flat cap before he went on his merry way.”

Casimir’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Vividus Animo, hey?” He sounded impressed. “I thought it was just the occasional candle flickering, your socks changing colour, the local rats following you from the sewers like some kind of haunted Pied Piper?”

“That was one time, and you’ll never let me forget it, will you? Anyway, things may have…escalated of late,” she said reluctantly. She dared to make a moment of eye contact, but his affectionate eye-roll fired her up again. “I can’t help it!”

Casimir stroked the hedgehog on the nose. “Bridgey is going to be furious when she notices he’s gone. She loves those things.”

Sage addressed the hedgehog directly. “There go my perfect hazelnut lattes, all thanks to you.”

It gave a little grunt back.

“Now, you’ll transform back to your previous state come midnight, as far as our Vividus Animo evidence extends, so I suppose you can just sort of…explore the place. I think I have some of Mal’s cat food in the back, should you get peckish. Do ceramic ornaments get peckish?”

Sage had a habit of attracting animals wherever she went at the best of times. On the rare occasions she was forced to attend a social event against her will, she could almost always locate the nearest cat within seconds of arriving. She would then spend the majority of the evening enjoying their company alone until it was time to leave.

She placed the hedgehog down onto the carpet and watched with intrigue as he began to explore the new terrain of the museum. It really was an extraordinary spell, she had to admit. But her mind raced with the possibilities of what else could have happened. Someone could have been seriously hurt by the bolt; it could have exploded the whole place. Her entire life could have come to a standstill again.