Page 19

FOURTEEN

But Walls stayed.

He stood there, his brow furrowed, silent for a whole minute. When he spoke, his voice was as gentle as before he was subjected to Thorn’s tirade. “Thank you for sharing that. I can see how what I said could come off as placing blame, and I’m sorry.”

Thorn didn’t know what to say. Once, after becoming a meal for a thousand mosquitoes while gathering some faces of pigs at the swamps, she had returned home and headed straight for bed.

But Mother wouldn’t stop yakking away about the smallest breakthrough in her Forever True Love potion.

After numerous pleas to leave her be, Thorn snapped and yelled that no one gave a hoot about that potion. Mother didn’t speak to her for a month.

“I’m sorry. You were just doing your job,” Thorn said.

But what she also really meant was Thank you.

She’d never had someone not get mad at her for getting upset before, much less apologize to her for their part in precipitating her outbursts.

And when things felt strange or stressful, she only knew to do one thing. “Tea?”

“Sure, I can stay for a bit.”

Walls placed his medical box on the table and fished out something. He held it toward her like an olive branch. “I keep this on hand for a good dog’s last day. But today it might help a good witch.”

Thorn huffed. She couldn’t believe the audacity of this man to compare her to a dog. She was about to launch into a second tirade when he risked injury by popping a square of the brown bar into her mouth.

“This,” she said, relishing the melting slice of heaven on her tongue, “is food blessed by the spirits.”

“It’s chocolate.” He handed her the rest of the bar.

“I’ve drunk chocolate, but it was nothing compared to this.

” As she puttered about making tea with the electric kettle, Bandit joined her, sitting on the cabinet.

Together, they watched Walls get the fireplace going.

He picked up the box of matches next to the flint box and one of those mysterious little cubes.

She whispered to Bandit, “He must have never started a fire in all his years.”

The time Walls took to light the fire-starter brick and ignite the rest of the kindling was one quarter of the time and physical labor Thorn normally needed to vigorously strike a flint.

Looks like he’s started more fires than you in all your years.

“If you want to keep adding to your years, you’d better shut up,” she hissed.

All his years are probably less than all your years.

Thorn was about to throw another empty threat, but the flickering orange glow of the fire on Walls made him look friendly and safe.

A few minutes later, they were both sitting by the fire, though not next to each other.

She was on the couch and he was on the rocking chair; it was an arm’s length away, but there might as well have been an ocean between them. Bandit the traitor sat on Walls’s lap.

“I’m the one who feeds you meals, you know,” Thorn said, “and cleans your litter box since you can’t go outside until that paw heals.”

His food slays. Bandit had picked up some of the tourists’ modern slang.

“Walls, I hope your cat’s not an ingrate like Bandit,” Thorn said.

“Noodle’s a sweetheart,” Walls said. “The sweetest cat I’ve ever had. In fact, I believe she’s a dog in a cat’s body. I got her, and my three cats before her, through the cosmic cat distribution system.”

“What kind of machine is that?”

“It’s a joke term used to explain how cats seem to appear out of nowhere and make owners of random strangers.

A cat following you home. A kitten in a box on your porch.

A neighborhood cat randomly walking into your house.

Or in Noodle’s case, a cat on the hood of your car.

The term implies it’s all in the universe’s plan, even if it’s just an overpopulation of cats. ”

“Just because cats like to breed, doesn’t mean the cosmic cat distribution system doesn’t exist.”

He pondered that seriously. “True. I’m most thankful for whoever or whatever is responsible for bringing me my first cat.

When I was five, I found him—or he found me—inside our picnic basket.

He was so friendly and well taken care of that we thought he might be a lost pet.

But he wasn’t microchipped, and no one seemed to be looking for him. I adopted him and named him Pirate.”

“Hear that, Bandit? Walls’s cat raided ships.”

Other familiars’ witches don’t get them stranded in another century.

“Pirate was the cat that started me on cats and other animals. And why I became a veterinarian.” Walls pulled up a photo on his cell phone. Pirate was a black cat.

“Turnip!” Thorn said, snatching the phone. “Oh, I thought it was my old cat. What happened to Pirate’s eye?”

“We don’t know. But having only one eye didn’t slow him down one bit. We think he was about seven when we met, and he lived till he was twenty.”

“Not long enough.”

“It never is. Tell me how Turnip got his name?”

“I found him asleep in a basket, too. A basket of turnips I had just dug up. He was a tiny kitten.”

“It’s rare for cats to like vegetables. Pirate did like mashed potatoes. I don’t think we ever tried giving him turnips.”

“Turnip disappeared when he was about five years old.”

“What happened?”

“He was eaten by a black panther in the woods.”

“I’m so sorry, Thorn. That must have been so hard.”

It was, but hearing Walls acknowledge it made her tears well up. She must be feeling exceptionally emotional tonight because she had just been dumped. Then she remembered that Walls had had a bad day, too, judging by what she’d seen at his clinic.

“What about you? How was work?”

“Hard. There’s a strange case with a cat. I can’t figure out what’s wrong. The cat’s physically fine, but he’s acting all spooked. He’s stable now, and our overnight nurse is monitoring him in the clinic.”

“Maybe he’s been hexed.”

Walls pondered this for a bit. “What kind of witch would hex a cat?”

“I was kidding. I’m the only witch in this era. Right, Bandit?” Then Thorn realized she’d been so busy trying to procure a man that she’d completely forgotten about the spying raven Bandit had warned her about.

The cat glanced at his injured foot. I haven’t been allowed to go out investigating, have I?

That raven was probably just a regular old bird. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check. But before she could get to the window, Madam Maude’s voice boomed through the fire. “Good fortune, Thorn Scarhart! And I don’t mean that just as a greeting. We have a miracle! Oh, I see you have company.”

Said company had spilled a bit of his tea on the floor and looked like he was about to unleash his kickboxing skills on the fire.

But Bandit was still on his lap, and he seemed to remember that he could expect strange things when it came to Thorn.

He gave the fireplace a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Walls, this is Madam Maude.” Thorn gestured.

“And she’s calling from her enchanted fireplace to mine, and across time, it appears.

Madam Maude, wait till I fill you in on what’s been going on.

I have to tell you about zebras! They’re horses with stripes.

They’re kept with a whole host of animals at a place called the zoo. ”

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Madam Maude said, clearly not sharing Thorn’s enthusiasm for fauna. “I’ll summon you another day, Thorn.”

Walls moved Bandit to Thorn’s lap and mopped up the spilled tea with his napkin. “Please, stay and chat. I have to head home anyway. My cat and dog are waiting for me. See you tomorrow, Thorn.”

The moment the door clicked shut, Madam Maude started yelling. “Where have you been? And why didn’t you tell me you found a man? I didn’t need to call in all those favors finding you another one.”

“Walls’s a man, but he’s not my man. I’m afraid you did waste those favors, though. I cannot meet this potential suitor you’ve found.”

“Of course you can. Don’t be discouraged by what happened with the blacksmith. But this time, no potions.” Madam Maude’s voice turned soft. “Promise?”

“You’ve misunderstood. I can’t meet him because I’m trapped in the twenty-first century. I’ve been here for more than a month. Something went awry with my potion.” She neglected to mention which.

“Gadzooks! Why didn’t you summon me earlier?”

“It… didn’t occur to me.” It was true. Living alone in the woods, Thorn was so used to being self-sufficient.

Years ago, she had broken her arm evading the wild boar Bandit had antagonized.

For the next month, rather than asking for help to procure firewood, she had simply existed on fruit and drunk flasks of Sunshine potion to keep herself warm.

She never asked for help for herself unless she was desperate—like when she had begged Madam Maude to matchmake her.

“That’s your problem, Thorn Scarhart. Too unwilling to rely on others. By the way, once you have a husband, you’ll have to rely on him sometimes. Make him feel needed.”

“I’ll remember to ask my future husband to open the jam jar I’m perfectly capable of opening myself.”

“What’s ‘jam’?”

“I mean, I’ll remember to ask my future husband to catch the spider I’m perfectly capable of catching myself.”

“Good. Now, I think I can help you with your predicament. If I recall correctly, a Steal potion can pull things through enchanted fireplaces. But I don’t know if it works through time.

Perhaps I can try bringing you back to my fireplace—no, it’s probably better for me to go to your cottage in my time and attempt to pull future-you back to your fireplace in the seventeenth century.

But let’s test it out first on an object you don’t mind losing. ”

“Actually, I’m staying here for now.”

“Is it because of that man, Walls?” Madam Maude’s voice sounded very hopeful.

Thorn laughed so hard she snorted. “That’s ridiculous. But I like it here. The electrical kettles, the plumbing, the chocolate, the matchsticks! And I am getting close to finding my true love.”

“That quickly?” Madam Maude was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke again, her voice was tinged with reproach. “Thorn, I told you—”

“It’s only a Youth potion that changes my outward appearance.” Thorn conveniently left out the fact that she would certainly use a True Love potion if she could. She changed the subject. “But a couple of months from now, I might have to ask you to use that Steal potion.”

“Have faith in yourself, Thorn. You can find a man there and hold on to him.”

“Thanks, but I’m talking about the seamstress, who’s here as a frog. Before you admonish me, she had it coming, and it’s really her fault that we all ended up here. Anyway, when the Croak potion wears off and she changes back, she’ll probably want to go home to her family.”

“All right, just let me know, then. Now, I believe I heard Walls say his cat and dog were waiting for him at home. No mention of a wife.”

“Did you not hear what I just said about the seamstress?”

Madam Maude waved a dismissive hand. “There’s nothing to be done about that right now. How old is Walls?”

“It’s hard to tell because of his beard. But his older sister, Meg, looks like she’s thirty-five at the oldest. And he’s younger than her.”

Madam Maude sighed. “You should have started your search for a husband years ago. Most of my women clients come to me in their early twenties. A pox on that Thomas boy for breaking your heart so badly you swore off men for twenty years.”

“He didn’t. I was upset when he dumped me, but I got over it not too long after.”

“Then a pox on me for having let you stay in your cottage after your mother died. I should have taken you with me or to the parish.”

“I told you then, I didn’t want to leave. And I was fine on my own.”

“Yes, on your own. That made you too independent. And that’s why you didn’t seriously look for a husband until you were nearly an old prune!”

Thorn prickled with indignance. “Actually, age doesn’t seem to be as big a deal in this century. And neither is having children.”

“Well, I’ll be! Maybe pigs in the twenty-first century really do fly. But if age and progeny aren’t barriers, why is this Walls not a potential match for you?”

Thorn hadn’t even considered it. “Because he’s seen the real Thorn. Every time we’ve met, I’ve just been myself. No potions. Not even a nice courtship dress. No man could be interested in that.”

Just then, her phone chimed. It was a message from Brad.

“What’s that in your hand?” Madam Maude asked.

“A communication device. The man I met earlier abandoned me in the middle of the courtship meeting, but strangely he now has the decency to give me a reason.”

“Which is?”

Thorn stared at the screen. The text font was boxy and impersonal, but it dredged up two memories.

Once, groggy from no sleep, Mother had muttered that the morning Thorn was born, Father took one look at her and walked out of the family home.

He never returned. And when Thorn was nineteen years old, she saw the boy she had been canoodling with canoodling another girl.

Thomas had said, “Thorn, you’re just not for me. ”

brAD: Sorry. You’re not my type.