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TWENTY-FIVE

Her sister was here. In the present.

“Thorn? Are you okay?” Meg asked, pulling out a chair for Thorn. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

She was in shock. The sister Thorn had grieved for thirty years could still be alive.

Walls was five when Turnip became Pirate. He was now thirty-five. Thirty years had passed here just as they had for Thorn in the seventeenth century. If Rose was still alive, she’d be forty.

Thorn typed “Rose Scarhart” into her phone. “I’ll look for her online.”

But there was nothing.

Meg searched on Snapster and other social media platforms. But even modern technology couldn’t locate anyone with that name.

“Maybe she never got on social media. I’ll try the old-fashioned method.” Thorn placed a basin of water on the table and sat down before it. She swirled a braid of dehydrated crane of bill and tail of horse while chanting, “Take flight and be my eyes to see Rose Scarhart.”

Slowly, the silver bottom of the basin became occluded as the water turned a myriad of colors. They swirled about, arranging themselves like a puzzle, and shaped themselves into the blurry silhouette of a person.

“Is it her?” Meg leaned over to peer into the basin.

The blurry silhouette had something in her hand. A small rectangular thing emanating light.

“A cell phone,” Thorn said. “She’s still alive.”

Thorn thought that this discovery would bring her untold happiness. But there was an unexpected ache in her chest and a throbbing in her head. She broke out in a cold sweat. And when the watery vision remained a fuzzy shape, she felt a strange relief.

Thorn dismissed it as nerves at meeting the sister she thought was long dead. She ignored her intuition and grabbed a kitchen knife, then held the tip of her finger against the knife. Next to her, Meg grimaced, but she remained silent.

“Take this blood and be my eyes to see the one who shares it, my sister, Rose Scarhart.”

As three drops of Thorn’s blood dripped into the basin, the hazy figure in the water became clearer. A woman with brown hair and green eyes.

Thorn swept the basin off the table. It felt like someone had just driven a knife through her heart.

“Did you see her?” Meg asked, staring at the rather large puddle on the floor.

Thorn nodded. “It’s been years, but it’s her. Rose.”

Meg’s eyes flitted between the toppled basin and Thorn, who looked ill. “That’s good news, right?”

Thorn nodded.

Meg wasn’t convinced. “Do you not want to see your sister?”

“It’s just distressing to learn someone you’ve been mourning for thirty years is still alive.” But Thorn knew that wasn’t the entire reason. There was still something important hidden behind the locked doors of her memory.

“That’s understandable. Once you meet her, you can ask her how or why she time-traveled. Can you contact her?”

“I could try summoning her through the fireplace. If she’s made an enchanted fireplace of her own, she’d hear my call.”

Meg stared at Thorn in anticipation, but Thorn didn’t move from the table.

“I’d prefer to do that in private.”

“Right! Of course. I have to go pick up Charlie now, anyway,” Meg said. “Good luck, Thorn.”

Once alone in the house, Thorn cleaned up the toppled basin but made no move toward the fireplace. Her gut told her not to make contact with Rose until the antidote to the Liar Liar potion took effect.

And there was really nothing she could do to rush that.

But she didn’t want to sit here with a racing heart and clammy hands.

So she made tea. Four cups later and still feeling like she was about to crawl out of her skin, she utilized the other thing that usually quieted the buzzing in her mind—magic.

She turned her attention to her New-and-Improved True Love potion, making doubly sure this time that she used only a single pinch of salt.

As she was just ladling out the potion into the last vial, there came two knocks on the door.

For a second, she thought it might be Rose, and fear struck her. But why did the thought of reuniting with her sister terrify her? But, of course, it wouldn’t be Rose at the door—there was no way for her to know Thorn was in the twenty-first century.

Suddenly, through the cat door, the wrinkly beast with the punched-in face burst in. He scurried right toward Thorn. Luckily, before the pug got anywhere close to her ankles, he was pulled back by his leash, then slowly reeled back out.

“Stop that, Nugget!” a man’s voice on the other side of the door said.

Thorn waited for Nugget to skip back out before opening the door.

At the other end of the leash was Pug Man.

“Are the cats stuck in the tree again?” Dread rose up in Thorn. Was Lily up to something in the park again?

“No, thank goodness.” He allowed Nugget to sniff the curled tips of Thorn’s shoes. The pug’s little nose boops made Thorn smile. “Actually, I wanted to see you again.”

“The tour starts back up next week. Bookings on the web.”

“I’d love to do the tour sometime, but actually I meant outside of the tour. You’re Thorn, right? I got your name from the Covenstead website.”

“I only play witch in my own house. No horror houses.”

He laughed. “I was thinking a date.”

“Oh.”

“You were so amazing that day, climbing up the tree and rescuing those cats.”

“Oh.”

“My name’s Andy.”

“Oh.” Thorn wasn’t sure she could stop calling him Pug Man in her head, even though he looked nothing like a pug. If dogs looked like their owners, Pug Man would have a happy-go-lucky golden retriever. “Do you know someone named Lily?”

He looked confused. “No. Why?”

“Then yes, we can go on a date. But first, would you like to come in for some lemonade?” If this man was already interested in her, the New-and-Improved True Love potion she’d just completed would make that last forever.

Plus, the tartness of lemonade would be perfect to hide the bitterness of the potion.

“I’d love to,” Andy said.

As Thorn poured the lemonade, Andy was busy corralling his pug, who was running amok around the cottage.

That distracted him from seeing her add five vials of the New-and-Improved True Love potion to the pitcher.

She added two extra scoops of sugar to make sure Pug Man Andy didn’t taste anything amiss.

Is that a dog or a walking cinnamon roll? Bandit said from his perch on the mantel. He watched Nugget snort all around the house.

Thorn poured the lemonade into a silver goblet. “Be nice, Bandit.”

Nope. Bandit leaped off the fireplace and disappeared out the cat door before Nugget could even snort a “woof.”

Andy was oblivious to Thorn’s lemonade scheme. “Nugget’s usually good with cats, but he hasn’t really had his walk today, so he’s being insufferable. How about we go for a walk first?”

“How about lemonade first?” Thorn set the pitcher and goblet down on the table.

“Let’s have it afterward,” Andy said. “It will taste so good after a walk in this heat.”

Just then, her phone chimed.

WALLS: Thorn, you home? Can I come over?

She immediately typed, YESSSS! PLEASE COME OVER NOW! Luckily, good sense returned to her before she pressed send. She shouldn’t be this excited about seeing Walls. Andy was right in front of her and had expressed concrete interest in her. She composed a more appropriate response.

THORN: What’s up?

But despite her brain telling her that she shouldn’t, her heart still hoped that Walls would reply with Let’s get coffee.

WALLS: Toffee and Tux’s owner came back around and dropped off a gift basket. For healing his cats. It’s yours.

She slapped her own forehead for her wishful thinking. She’d almost given up a date with her potential husband for a man who only saw her as the weird witch who worked for his sister, or, at best, as a certified-platonic friend.

THORN: Sure. I’m going out on a date, so just let yourself in with the key under the doormat.

Andy is the one , Thorn repeated in her mind as they walked through the park.

“Thorn?” Andy asked.

“Sorry. You were saying something about Nugget?”

“You seem… far away.”

“I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“A walk is good for clearing the mind. Think away.” He smiled. After that, he didn’t force a conversation. He let her walk mostly in silence while he talked to Nugget or made remarks about the silly things the dog did—barking at a plastic bag, chasing a leaf, rolling in the grass.

He’s the one , Thorn told herself again. He seemed genuinely nice—he would make a very pleasant husband. She imagined coming home to the faceless man of her dreams. She tried to superimpose Andy’s face onto that blank canvas, but it kept evaporating off.

Adding details might help. She tried one last time.

In her mind, she was coming home. She opened the cottage door to see the faceless man inside, standing by the cauldron with his back to her. Bandit was peeking out from the man’s arms. The man turned around, and when he saw her, his face crinkled into a familiar, winsome smile.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Thorn yelled. She shook her head, hoping to knock that dreamy picture out of her mind. But Walls turning around and smiling at her played over and over like a video on loop.

Andy, who was standing a few feet ahead of her, turned. “Are you all right?”

Thorn stayed where she was. “I’m not.”

He stepped toward her. “Should we head back to your cottage?”

“I’m sorry, Andy. You can’t have the lemonade.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m trying to cut back on sugar.”

“No. I mean, I can’t go out with you.”

Andy was surprised. “But then, why did you agree to a date?”