Page 25 of Disenchanted

“See what?” Sage shook out her curls and marched on towards the museum door.

By late afternoon, the school trip was going surprisingly well. As hoped, the new exhibition and all of its fairy-tale wonder managed to interest even those with the shortest of attention spans—for at least twenty minutes, anyway. Their young guests were certainly chaotic, but not quite touching “feral,” which felt like a win, and Sage and Casimir had somehow managed to shepherd the swarm of six-year-olds from the local infant school into a semi-controlled environment full of activities they’d thrown together.

There was, of course, a dress-up station, essential to any good museum, with capes, crowns, wings and masks for their charges to become their favourite fairy-tale characters. Sage couldn’t help but snort as she glanced across the room and was met by the sight of Casimir, nobly wearing a flower crown and waving around a stuffed unicorn that one little girl had selected as a perfect steed for him.

Sage had decided that it was probably for the best that she didn’t get involved in the costumes, the wand-making or the potion-brewing. They all felt a little too high-risk, considering recent circumstances. Instead, she’d spent most of the afternoon safely hunched in a miniature plastic chair, helping the quieter children to write their own endings to classic fairy tales. They had introduced the task with the solemn promise that the town remembered all the stories that were written within its boundaries.

“Most stuffy archivists deny it, of course, but not us. If you suspect that magic might have been at play today, do check your pockets on the way out. Perhaps you’re one of the lucky ones,” Casimir told a few of them after inconspicuously slipping chocolate coins into all of their coat pockets to be discovered later.

Sage should have known that everything was running far, far too smoothly. If she’d had a moment to consider it properly, she would have realized that the lull itself was strange. It was the most peace she’d experienced in weeks. The bouquet of flowers on the front desk hadn’t so much as given her a second glance. The electrics were all playing ball. There wasn’t a single rogue cat, bat or rat to speak of. And not one of the artefacts made any mysterious movements, moans or mumbles as she passed by. It was nothing short of a miracle. Sage was rather pleased.

That was until, with just fifteen minutes to go, the two teachers, Mrs. Gregory and Miss Mellor, began the long process of putting on coats and gathering up backpacks when Sage spotted something rather odd.

The child next to her, a round-faced little thing with cherub-like cheeks and a perpetually runny nose, pushed his bowl-cut hair away from his ears. And it grew. The ear. Just the top of it and only an inch or two.

Sage leaned backwards on her chair’s rear legs to peer around the other kids and take a subtle closer look. Her mouth fell open. Yes, it was undeniable. In a matter of seconds, the top of the little boy’s ear had sprouted into a long point, followed closely by the other ear, in an extremely fairy-like fashion.

Across the small table from her, she heard a flutter. It sounded as though a hummingbird had flown into the hall or the pages of a book were being flipped through quickly—almost silent but flittering at super-speed. A small girl with her hair in puffs, who had been particularly engrossed in writing her story, scratched absently at the top of her back with a pencil. Sage’s hand flew to her mouth, knocking over an entire pot of crayons as she registered a faint glimmer behind the girl. An iridescent flutter. A pair of laced, rainbow-tinted…Well, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say—

“Miss Hemlock, can I borrow you for a moment, please?”

“What is it, Mr. Everald?” Sage replied with a strained yelp. “I’m not sure I can leave the story table at this exact moment. I have a bit of a conundrum, to say the very least.”

“Oh, I think you will very much want to leave the story table, Miss Hemlock, when I tell you the reason for joining me,” Casimir said through a fixed stiff grin. From the dress-up corner, he jolted his head towards a little boy at his side who was wearing a dragon mask and sitting cross-legged against the cushions. The boy gave a sudden hiccup and…

“Ah, yes. I think I see the problem,” Sage said calmly, rising to her feet before bolting over to Casimir.

“Miss Hemlock, wonderful.” He smiled. They both looked out onto the scene with feverish, frozen grins. “Now, far be it from me to ask inane questions, but do you have any bright ideas as to why this little boy keeps levitating before my very eyes?”

“I can’t say I do, Mr. Everald. That really is most peculiar,” Sage replied, rocking back on her heels with a maniacal smile. If she let it drop, she feared she might scream. “And, equally fascinating, there appears to be some kind of elfin or perhaps fairy transformation occurring with the kiddywinks at the story-time table. Isn’t that a fun development just before home time?”

There was no mistaking it. Sage’s eyes shot back to the little girl, who was also now rising higher and higher as a pair of fairy wings fluttered behind her. Two children in their care now floating several inches above where they were supposed to be. They were both seemingly unaware of their change in state, and the other children seemed entirely unbothered, but Sage suddenly felt as though she might expire.

“Oh, goody. That’s just what I wanted to happen with the little tykes this afternoon,” Casimir said, nodding, pushing back his hair rather frantically. A bead of sweat appeared at his temple.

“Quite.” Sage smiled through gritted teeth.

There was another hiccup from the next boy, who was wearing a cardboard knight’s helmet that was far too big for his head. Seconds later, rainbow wings sprouted and began to tug him off the floor. He didn’t even flinch and continued vigorously bashing a foam sword at the book box.

Another high-pitched hiccup came from the wand station. Then another, combined with a sneeze from the colouring corner and one more from somewhere near the coat hooks.

“You’re the smart one around here. With a particular set of special skills for these sorts of circumstances,” Casimir said. “I’m assuming you know exactly what we do next in this extremely normal, unconcerning situation?”

“Me? I thought we’d established long ago that any matters regarding the general public were down to you?”

“Normally, yes, but I would say that perhaps this particular plot twist calls for…you know…a little of the M-word?” Casimir nodded with wide, open eyes.

That was enough to bring Sage firmly back down to earth. Her smile dropped. “No,” she hissed.

Casimir stared at her, stunned, then craned his neck towards the teachers at the front of the museum. “I don’t think they’ve noticed anything yet. Mrs. Gregory has gone to speak to the bus driver, and some little angel has had a nosebleed, which is keeping Miss Mellor occupied. We can only hope he’s not floating away from the paper towels. We’ve got a matter of minutes to get this under control.”

“Oh, I am all ears as to how you plan on solving this one,” Sage whispered.

“Don’t mention ears,” Casimir hissed back before pulling himself together. “Okay, gang, do you know what would be such a fun way to finish our adventure today?” Casimir said, raising his voice to call the children over to the corner. “If we all sat on the carpet—very, very firmly on the carpet—and had one last story together.” He flung out his left arm to tug the boy knight back down to earth by his jumper while his right extended to push down the shoulder of a little girl at his side who was quickly heading towards the ceiling.

Sage did a quick count. A grand total of nine…ten…eleven children were officially airborne and flapping around the museum, some more in control of their newly grown wings than others. The rainbow wings were as thin as flower petals and shimmering with iridescence. They caught the spotlights in pinks, blues and yellows and sent the finest dusting of glitter over everything below.

Casimir groaned. “Not on my cashmere…” He tugged an impressive four school jumpers back to the carpet and stretched for a fifth, who was beginning to show signs of hovering. “Miss Hemlock, any assistance when you’ve finished having a nervous breakdown would be much appreciated.”