Page 30 of Disenchanted

Casimir grimaced. “Forever and everywhere? That sounds…rather bad. And also, rather personal.”

Sage agreed; it was a painful coincidence. A witch who had spent her entire life doing her level best to outrun magic at all costs, working until she was exhausted to make sure that she was always three steps ahead in her understanding and knowledge to guarantee that she never hurt anyone again, and was apparently still doomed to be plagued by it forever and everywhere.

A tense silence hung over the archive. Casimir was the one to break it. “I’m just going to say it. Not to sound all mushy or anything, Specs, but do you think this was…meant for you to find? That perhaps Lilara could have left her magic lying in wait in the hopes that someone might love it better than she did?” He removed his glasses and slotted them over the top of his undone shirt. “It all feels rather fateful, don’t you think?”

Sage bit down on her lower lip painfully. She absolutely would not cry. She never, ever cried. “Do not try to turn this into some kind of evidence for your endless argument about my magic being ‘meant for me.’ ” She threw in some air quotes to drive home the ridiculousness.

“But, Specs…”

Sage flicked the tape recorder back on. “Eleven forty-eight p.m. It stands to reason that since her departure from the town, the magic of Lilara Mournfell has been…contained. On opening the book, said essence of magic has been released and now resides freely about Port Sylvan once more.”

“Using Hemlock as some kind of…channelling object or conductor,” Casimir added.

“And given the fairy-tale theme that seems to be unfolding, as frivolous and silly as it may appear, we propose that the quaint nature of the town, the surroundings of the exhibition and my own history of supernatural academia have contributed to the results.”

“Fairy tales are at play. Hence the gingerbread house, winged children and so on,” Casimir said.

“Quite.”

Another reeling pause. But Sage saw it: the familiar expression that appeared on his face with the arrival of an exciting new thought. The two deep lines that furrowed between his brows, the way his eyes pinched the slightest fraction as the dots began to connect and ignite his motivation. Casimir lurched over the tape recorder between them and snatched keenly at her wrist.

“Hey! Casimir, what on earth…?”

“Give it here, Specs.”

He shoved back her sleeve and held up the bracelet under the desk lamp.

“The star. The house. The wings…Sage, this is the storyline!”

He was right. The pattern of the spell. The first tiny star had been the start of it all, cracking open the lock and unleashing Lilara’s magic. The miniature house, with its chipped silver chimney, could represent her home, Sage supposed. Then the little wings that she had assumed were a butterfly…They might indeed be those of a fairy. But as the hours had unfolded in the archive, they had completely missed the moment that the fourth charm along had transformed too.

“Next is…a leaf?” She held it carefully between her thumb and forefinger, turning the charm this way and that for a better look. It was a very small silver leaf, with impressive detail in its shape, veins and stalk.

They shared identical puzzled expressions.

“Mutant caterpillars, do you suppose?”

“What sort of fairy tale contains mutant caterpillars, Casimir? Strike that,” she told the tape recorder. “If this becomes our academic legacy one day, I want no mention of mutant caterpillars.”

“Well, I don’t know!” He gestured dramatically. “Some kind of tree, perhaps. Or the woods? There’re always woods in fairy tales, so that’s not a bad guess. Forest dwellers or tree bogs?”

“What on earth is a tree bog? I’m going to need you to stop hypothesizing immediately,” Sage said. She switched off the tape recorder and sighed. “Does this mean we have”—she counted along the bracelet—“nine more incidents to somehow keep under control? Nine!”

A total of twelve, like a clock. A countdown to midnight, so to speak. Suitably fairy tale. The thought made her stomach plummet.

Casimir nodded uncertainly. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into his forearm for comfort. He didn’t say a word, but his fingers squeezed gently.

“This is everything I absolutely and categorically cannot allow, Cas. That’s nine huge risks. Nine highly likely chances that my magic and Lilara’s magic might hurt someone or that the coven will be alerted to my existence.”

“I know.”

“October was supposed to be calm and quiet and as unmagical as I could possibly make it.”

“I know that too.”

“It was always going to be a challenge to keep it contained, but this is…I can’t…” Her mind was racing away from her again.

“We’ll manage. We always do.”