Page 58 of Disenchanted

She blinked hard, disoriented. The landscape had changed.

The dell that she and Casimir frequented so often was normally cradled in the heart of Port Sylvan, the grassy hollow dipping softly in a precious space held between the town’s hands. The trees up top usually leaned over the dell in an enveloping bow, as though keeping it a secret only for those who knew of its whereabouts. They were sparse enough for dapples of sunlight to drop patches of gold over the grass and pathways that wound through. The dusting of wildflowers could be spotted from a mile away, and tufts of thick, fluffy moss lined the bridge’s brickwork. There were always dogs to be greeted, birds to be watched, picnics to be envious of. It was an alcove of slowness and rest to Sage—soft and lush and changing with the seasons, meant for brisk snowy walks in winter, spotting the first flowers in spring, quiet sun-drenched contemplation in summer and the purr of lulling raindrops against an anorak in autumn.

But that familiar dell was not the sight that greeted her.

Instead, there stood a forest.

Strangely, the first thing that came to mind was a circus tent: huge, imposing and appearing from nowhere overnight. The thick forest was like a purpose-built structure, fixed and rising and solid. Dark and richly coloured, with a wall of pine trees knitted and knotted from branch to root, pressed so densely together that a shout on one side would have struggled to make it to the other.

And the rose gardens, growing increasingly wild each day since the spell began, had started to spread through the entire town. Their stems were popping up everywhere. It wasn’t entirely beautiful anymore, almost too wild. They trailed both sides to border the forest in a definitive dark red line.

Sage did a double take, then risked a hesitant run a few yards closer to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks. But it was real. Trunks gnarly, branches impossibly high, a canopy that blocked out the light and plunged everything beneath into darkness. The air around the forest carried neither the birdsong nor the breeze that normally felt so light and airy there, replaced by only the occasional groan of wood as trees shifted under their own vast weight.

“Specs, will you please slow down, just for one minute? I’m not caffeinated enough for this,” Casimir groaned, and shoved his hair back.

Sage fell backwards against him willingly, unable to find words to answer. Instead, she simply lifted an arm and pointed at the forest.

“Ah.” Casimir’s mouth turned into a tight straight line. “I know I’m not the most observant, but I’m fairly sure that wasn’t there yesterday. Or was it?” He scratched his head, doubting himself. His eyes glazed over for a moment. “A new feature to the realm…”

Sage silently shook her head, gathering the courage to ask the question. “Do you think…Do you think Robin’s in there?”

Casimir’s arm tightened around her front, as though he were trying to protect her from her own fears.

“The woodsman in the woods, I suppose it stands to reason,” he pondered. “But he’s a big boy, isn’t he? He’ll be fine; he’s not scared of the dark. We’ll see him later at the Dap to ask him all about it, okay? He’s probably doing something impressive and philanthropic with the opportunity anyway. Building a tree mansion for orphans or befriending some wise community-led beavers.”

But Sage’s heart was beating more quickly by the second. She did her best to try to steady her pulse, but looking at her fear head-on for what it could be, for what it might turn into…

“He’s my little brother. I have to make sure he’s all right.”

“Specs, did something happen that I don’t know about?” Casimir spun her around to face him properly. He rested soothing hands on her shoulders, and the concern on his face felt like honey to her stinging, dry throat. “I know you took the book home. I know you’ve been investigating it without me. Tell me what you found, Specs. We do this together, okay?”

“I…” Sage was so close to telling him. She wanted to. She wanted to see the look on his face that always came when he was listening carefully to her, weighing up her theories, asking the right questions that she hadn’t quite approached herself yet.

But this time it was different. He could not possibly understand this, and a big part of her didn’t want him to discover the horrible, shameful truth. She had grown accustomed to his endless pride in her.

“I’m not putting any more of this on your shoulders,” she said firmly.

It earned a long-suffering sigh back. “If you won’t let me save the world with you, then at least let me treat you to breakfast,” he pleaded.

Sage turned to look over her shoulder in the direction of Robin’s house, the roads towards her old family home entirely eclipsed by the forest.

Casimir tried again. “He said the girls are with their mum today, so he’s probably at home, enjoying some off-dad-duty time.”

Sage nodded uncertainly. “That’s true. We might even bump into him somewhere.”

“If not, then I vow, upon my honour, to see you safely through whatever frightful dark forest lies in your perilous path, okay?” he said, squeezing her as he turned her towards the café.

Casimir, although extra dramatic in his choice of words today, was probably right. Robin was a grown man. He had always been so steady and solid and safe. She could trust that he would remain so for a fraction longer. It was nothing but her own skittish paranoia at work.

24

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One

Sage and Casimir reached the Hedgehog House after an uncharacteristically quiet walk. No jibes flew between them; there was no heated debate, no excitable chatter of discovery or thoughtful questioning to note for later. Both were silent with their own thoughts, wrestling with those that should be shared and those that required private investigation instead. Casimir knew she was holding something back, and while Sage wasn’t ready to confess, it felt wrong to be hiding anything from him.

Casimir pushed open the coffee shop door to the tinkle of the brass bell, and the familiar wall of warmth and chatter flooded out towards them. They joined the queue at the counter, unwrapping their scarves and unbuttoning their coats. Heat blared, condensation bloomed in each windowpane, and a strong earthy coffee scent flooded the whole café with bitterness. For a brief moment, Sage registered a twinge of relief; some normality had at least remained here, if nowhere else.

“Oh, you’ve got to be…Well, the ominous forest was somewhat of a giveaway, but, yes, I suspect events have taken a decidedly less than cheerful turn,” Casimir said. He looked aghast, and Sage soon saw why when the crowd parted a little and they approached the till.