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TEN

Finding a substitute for a soul wasn’t as straightforward as Thorn had hoped. Changing one ingredient in a recipe was often like following a trail of crumbs that led over a cliff. She would have to tweak the rest of the recipe for her Youth potion, too.

“So it’s like a drug interaction,” Walls said the next afternoon, when he came to change Bandit’s dressing.

“Sometimes a drug is unsuitable for an animal because of another drug it’s taking.

When I look for an alternate medication, there might not be an easy substitute, so we need a whole different regimen of drugs. ”

“Cutting a tiny slice of your soul would be so much easier,” Thorn grumbled as she tore herself away from the spell book she’d been glued to the whole morning.

She plopped down on the couch next to Bandit, who was already lying on his side with his bandaged foot sticking out.

“But I can see why the side effect of a little temporary confusion might be problematic while you’re saving animals. ”

“Thank you for your understanding.” Walls chuckled and handed her a tube packet of cat bribe. “This is my cat’s favorite, chicken-and-salmon mousse.”

Thorn tore open the packet and held it toward Bandit. “You’d sell all my recipes for a tube of this, wouldn’t you?”

Nom nom nom.

“Lemonade, Walls?” She grabbed a goblet from the fridge. “I set this aside for you from the batch I made for the tourists earlier.”

“Thank you.” He packed everything back into his medical box before taking a sip.

She couldn’t help laugh. “Is it too sour? Your face just scrunched up like Bandit’s butthole.”

He gulped down the rest of the drink. “It’s supposed to be sour. And I’ve inspected that butt. It’s a healthy one.”

“From now on, I’ll save some lemonade for you.”

In the end, it took Thorn a week to come up with an alternative to soul-stealing. Twenty-five ingredient changes, deletions, and additions later, she had a recipe for the modern Youth potion.

Over the years, there’d been times when she’d gotten lonely, like when she saw couples in town, or came home to an empty house, or had fallen ill.

But in the past, such thoughts wouldn’t linger for long at all, because there was always wood to chop, a fire to start, water to boil, dust to dust. On top of those chores, there were recipes to develop, ingredients to gather, potion orders to brew, summoning and scrying skills to practice.

She’d been happy with that life, and it was busy enough without adding the ups and downs of a romance to it.

She was rubbish at multitasking, and besides, it wasn’t like men were throwing themselves at her.

Nor had she met a man she’d fancied. She always figured that she’d find someone in the future.

But then, before she knew it, she was mere months away from forty.

Studying her new recipe for a modern Youth potion again, her heart sank.

Most of the items on the list couldn’t be found in the park.

For a moment, it crossed her mind to just locate another virile man whose soul was available to steal.

But sooner or later, she had to learn to adapt to this new era.

In frustration, she tore the list of ingredients out of her spell book.

“How disappointing,” a tourist said loudly. “The witch just sits there all day looking hangry. There’s no magic.”

Today’s tour guide marched over to the table and looked down his nose at Thorn. “We had similar feedback this morning. How about opening some drawers and pretending to look into them?”

“I gave them their bat-wing juice, didn’t I?” Thorn surveyed the ingredients she had. Sadly, there wasn’t enough for even a harmless but crowd-pleasing Slug Vomit potion.

Even though it wasn’t crooked, the tour guide straightened his name tag.

PAYTON JULES

HISTORICAL SOCIETY SECRETARY

COVENSTEAD TOUR GUIDE

He was technically Thorn’s superior. Too bad Meg had decided against trying to convince the Historical Society of Thorn’s qualifications in potions and curses. If Payton knew that Thorn was capable of shrinking his kidneys into prunes, he might at least say please .

He had the gall to sigh with impatience. “How about waving your wand randomly? You need to give them a show.”

Thorn could randomly wave the wand right into his eyes. That would also grant his wish to give the tourists a show.

Luckily for Payton, Walls was at that moment in his once-a-day position in front of Bandit and the couch.

Ordinarily, if he happened to drop by during a tour, he wouldn’t interact with the tourists aside from small talk with a few who recognized him as their pets’ vet. But today, he addressed everyone.

“Look. The witch’s familiar is in his full glory.”

The tourists oohed and aahed over the sight of Bandit in a black cloak. Even Payton left Thorn alone to go take some pictures.

Walls left the snap-happy crowd to stand next to Thorn. Together, they watched Bandit just lying there, squinting and licking the last remnants of the lickable treats off his lips.

“Why am I not surprised that traitor let you dress him up?” she asked. “But thank you. You might have just saved Payton’s life.”

He smiled. “It’s not purely altruistic. I’d really like for you to find an alternative to stealing my soul.

But what Bandit is wearing isn’t just a cute cloak.

His wound looks a little red and swollen today.

I put a soft plastic cone on him—I inverted it, but it should still work in preventing him from chewing off the bandage and licking his wound. ”

“But that’s how animals heal themselves.”

“That’s why animals in the seventeenth century didn’t live as long as they do in this one.” He handed her a bottle of pills. “Here’s a week’s worth of twenty-first-century medication to prevent Bandit’s foot from getting infected.”

“Looks like modern animal medicine is as amazing as modern animal treats. Too bad the modern availability of potion ingredients isn’t so amazing.” She dropped her head onto the table.

“Modern animal medicine doesn’t have all the answers. Sometimes there are pets in my clinic that I can’t help despite my best efforts.”

“I’m sorry. That must be really hard.” She sat back up, a torn piece of paper stuck to her forehead. This was probably the closest she’d ever get to wearing a wedding veil. She was about to remove the paper when she heard a scraping sound. Walls’s fuzzy silhouette took a seat next to her.

He leaned in close. She identified his fragrance—clean and fresh, similar to the laundry detergent Meg had given her. For the first time, Thorn agreed with everyone who believed a round table should be surrounded by more than one chair.

Gently, he removed the veil. For the next half a minute, he studied the list while she busied herself being mortified by the circular patch of forehead oil that had rendered a part of the paper translucent.

Then he looked up and locked eyes with her. “I can help solve your problem.”