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From Janet’s face, it was clear that she did not get it.

Nor did she get that only seasoned witches could eviscerate without injury.

That power was a coveted side effect of decades of brewing a myriad of potions, years of magic being infused into a witch’s hands like moisturizer.

Thorn wanted to tell Janet all this, but she sensed it wasn’t the right time.

When she wasn’t too exhausted or preoccupied, she was successful at playing by the rules of polite society.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or how Thorn got you to take her place.

But as far as I know, the Historical Society hired only one actor—Thorn Scarhart.

And you are not what the tourists want. I’ve received similar feedback from all of today’s sessions, including complaints of the lemonade being too sweet.

Please bring the cranky old witch back.”

“But this potion lasts a week.”

Janet narrowed her eyes at Thorn. “I’m being serious. Snap out of character.”

“Fine, I can make an antidote. I’ll just take another dose of Youth potion right before my dates.”

“Sure. An antidote. You go ahead and do that now.” Janet clearly didn’t know whether to be afraid or to admire Thorn’s commitment to the role as Thorn tossed ingredients into a cauldron.

Lily, who had stayed behind after the tour, put on the electric kettle. “What will you wear to your date?”

“She doesn’t have a date.” Janet took a seat at the table. “She scared the heck out of that dick-pic man.”

“There are other men,” Thorn said, dropping a handful of dog hair into the brew. She had collected a drawerful from the park, when she’d come across a dog walker brushing a very furry husky. “Last I checked, I still have forty-one matches on Darling.”

Janet leaned back. “Are you new to online dating? People—especially men—tend to swipe right in excess. If you throw enough spaghetti at the wall, some of it will stick.”

“What a waste. Milling grain into flour to make pasta is a lot of work.”

“Janet’s right,” Lily said, preparing the cups. “In this era, you get spaghetti for cheap at the stores. Likewise, all it takes to say yes on a dating app is a swipe of the finger.”

“Oh.” Thorn felt silly for being elated that all those men had swiped right on her. Her despair was so evident on her face that Janet turned into a cheerleader.

“But you can do it! You might just have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.”

Thorn felt too old to be a prince’s bride, and the only thing she’d find from kissing frogs would be a bad case of the boils.

“I found my boyfriend after two years of online dating,” Janet said. “That’s two years of mind games, playing hard to get, terrible dates, and heartbreak.”

“I have less than two months.”

“Why such a deadline?”

“I turn forty.”

“Wow, that’s old—” Janet immediately clamped her lips together. She gulped as Thorn squinted at her. “I mean, forty is the new twenty! Well, good luck, then. I have to go.”

“Wait,” Thorn shouted as Janet rushed out the door. “But it took you two years only because you didn’t have potions! I do! I do!”

But as she watched Janet’s retreating back, Thorn started to doubt her own argument. She flopped down onto the couch and sunk into the cushion and self-pity. Lily was quiet, too, offering no reassurances that forty was indeed the new twenty.

The brew bubbled away. The trees outside rustled. The frog ribbited. Then the kettle came to a boil.

“Well, then,” Lily finally said, tipping the kettle into only two cups. The shroud of steam rising in front of her face made her seem like the kind, ethereal wood nymphs from the stories Rose used to tell Thorn. “Let’s get you ready for more heartbreak.”

Over tea, Lily taught Thorn a little more about online dating.

Thorn thought it was nice, almost like having a sister again.

Except Lily’s cynical outlook toward love was the opposite of Rose’s.

Rose, too, had wanted Mother to perfect the Forever True Love potion so they could be a normal happy family again.

Soon, Thorn was ready to try her luck with another match: Mark. Forty-three years old. Firefighter. World traveler.

MARK: Hi, beautiful!

THORN: Hi, handsome!

MARK: So, what do you do?

THORN: I’m a witch.

MARK: Ha, I’m afraid. Do you turn bad dates into frogs? What do you really do?

THORN: I’m really a witch.

In the seventeenth century, Thorn had known not to volunteer that she was a witch because of people’s apprehension to the occupation, but in this new era, she’d been told magic was cool.

THORN: You there?

THORN: Hello?

Mark didn’t reply, nor did he unmatch her. Thus, Thorn learned firsthand that the modern term “ghosting” had nothing to do with death, other than the demise of self-esteem.

“You can’t tell people you’re a witch,” Lily said. “It’s not an actual job.”

“Has outright lying become acceptable?” Not that Thorn was opposed to lying. She just preferred to prepare her lies in advance. Thinking on her feet was not her forte.

“Not really. But people now make up pompous-sounding job titles. Sanitation engineers are actually trash collectors. Account managers are salesmen.”

Thorn brainstormed euphemisms for her job. Her options were: occultist, necromancer, potion master, and organ harvester.

Lily vetoed all of them. Unlike the other tourists who only played along about Thorn being a witch, she seemed to actually believe it. “Let’s go with ‘self-employed.’?”

Thorn turned to the next man. Brad. Forty-five years old. Marketing manager. No interest in being a dad except a cat dad.

She was particularly attracted to the last attribute, to the idea of having another person to both spoil and be tortured by Bandit. Since she had no time—and no patience—for the mind games and the playing-hard-to-get Janet mentioned, she did it her way.

THORN: Would you like to meet up?

“You’re very straightforward. Impressive. Now let’s get you ready.” Lily walked over to the wardrobe and found nine copies of the same dress Thorn already had on. “Maybe we can accessorize.”

“I have a hat, and a necklace of boar teeth,” Thorn offered.

“Your brew has come to a boil. Go take care of it. I’ve got this.”

Purple fumes were indeed billowing out of the cauldron, so Thorn hurried over to take it off the fire. As she portioned out the antidote into vials, Lily evaluated Thorn’s wardrobe.

“Something to show that you have a waist,” Lily said.

“My feet look a little bigger than yours, but we can stuff tissues into the ends. Geez, why are all the stockings striped? Ah, here’s a set in black.

” A while later, she looped her own chain belt around Thorn’s middle.

Then she placed her nude heels at Thorn’s feet.

Thorn eyeballed the height of the heels. “If I trip in those, all my bones will break.”

“Throughout history, people have suffered for fashion. And love.”

“I’ll put them on just before the date—if I even get a date. For now, the antidote.” Thorn was about to tip the vial into her mouth when Brad’s reply came in.

brAD: How about tonight?

Thorn stuffed the vial into her pocket. “This can wait until tomorrow.”

At that moment, Bandit’s head poked out from under the bed.

“Bandit,” Thorn said. “You’re going to have a daddy!”

He slunk back underneath.