Page 50 of Disenchanted

It was a spell that she had become aware of several years ago, thanks to a newspaper clipping about a reported warlock who had tried to use magic to reveal a secret inheritance. His sister had received hers, but his portion remained missing. As it transpired, it was just that his parents thought he was a twit who’d waste it all away, but he’d left the words of the incantation scribbled on a napkin at work, which raised suspicions of the occult.

With a deep breath, Sage cast the revelation spell to uncover hidden secrets of a page.

“Ostendo Fateor Occultus.”

A sprinkle of stars and then…

Nothing.

Dejected, she slumped back against the pillows propped up on her headboard. She kicked the book away to the very end of the bed.

“Isn’t that a priceless historical artefact that proves the very existence of magic itself?” Mal leapt up onto the bedcovers to join Sage with an inquisitive chirp.

“And a fat lot of good it’s proving to be,” she said, sulking.

“In that case…” Mal took it upon himself to walk straight on top of the open book and settled himself into his favourite loaf shape upon the pages. “I shall sit on it.”

“Be my guest.” Sage leaned her head back and closed her eyes in defeated silence. Half the reason she had kept herself so busy for the past twenty-four hours was to avoid thinking too much about the moment yesterday evening with Casimir. He had seemed completely untroubled by…whatever it was that had sparked between them in the gazebo, babbling so incessantly and effusively all day that he had given her a headache. So she had followed his lead and plodded through business as usual.

But as soon as she allowed her eyes to close and her research to pause, the questions came flooding back. Uncertainty and confusion, but a quiet thrill too. What would have happened if Laurel and Robin hadn’t appeared until five minutes later?

Sage groaned and thumped her pillow, then threw an arm over her eyes.

“Cat got your tongue?” Mal asked, looking at her with distinct scepticism.

“What does it all mean, Mal?”

“Who says it has to mean anything? Not everything has a worthwhile explanation in my experience, especially the big universe-shifting things that we can’t plan for.”

Sage peeked one eye open. “Do cats experience a lot of those?”

“Any time you force me into that carrier box, for example. There’s never good reason for that,” Mal replied, earning a laugh. “I would imagine that the wise, selfless witch you’ve admired for so long is simply trying to remind you that magic really can be something kind. Isn’t it plausible that she doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes she did?”

Sage made some sort of deeply frustrated, garbled roar of exasperation. “I know she’s trying to tell me more. I just need to figure out how to speak to her again. Or with her. Or…through her. Whatever it was last time.”

Mal’s whiskers twitched. “And your revelation incantation couldn’t shed any light?”

Sage shook her head, then sat bolt upright. “Light?”

She lunged forwards across the bed and yanked the book towards her, cat still balanced on top of it.

“What on earth do you think you’re…? Allow me some dignity, woman,” Mal said, outraged.

She lifted him by the stomach and placed him back onto the duvet. “Sorry, Mal. But you just gave me an idea.”

“I wish I hadn’t. I was perfectly comfortable there.”

Sage bolted across to the bay window of her bedroom. She did her best to angle the open pages towards the few faint silvery beams that were making their way through the clouds.

Mal peered over with a disgruntled “hrmph” of a meow. “What are you even…?”

“When I triggered the spell the first time, it was nighttime. The moon was so bright.”

“Yes, the moon does tend to show itself at nighttime, Sage. Even that idiot cat Bilbo next door knows that much,” Mal said, unimpressed.

“The book was resting on the front desk, and I remember noting how perfectly the pages were catching the beam of—”

“Moonlight?” Mal interjected. “Wow, I can’t believe I figured that out for you. I really am the most brilliant cat of recent times. Maybe ever.”