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FIVE

“Not another step, mad warlock!”

“Excuse me?” The man’s legs were so long that it took him only three strides to reach Thorn.

Mad scientist , Pumpkin and Pepper chimed in at the same time.

Thorn studied the man’s shoes: brown leather, slim and pointy, though not pointy enough for any self-respecting warlock. And his beard was impressive, but nowhere as long as an esteemed warlock’s, either. Still, perhaps this was the new look for modern magic.

“You perform experiments on cats. What, are you testing out spells and potions? You should know they don’t usually work the same way on different kinds of creatures.”

For a few seconds, the mad warlock didn’t say anything. But he didn’t seem confused, either. It was as if he were genuinely considering her words. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m here to check on the trap.”

“Leave Bandit alone.” She stepped in the mad warlock’s way but underestimated the length of his stride. The rim of her hat collided with his chest and was pushed upward, and she found herself staring up at him.

The mad warlock took a step back. He scanned her from the bent tip of her hat to the perfect curls of her shoes. His brown eyes beneath dark brows didn’t belay any derision or disgust. “Is that your cat?”

I am her overlord . Bandit licked his lips. There wasn’t a morsel left in the can.

“My familiar,” Thorn said.

“I apologize. I catch stray cats for our town’s trap, neuter, and release program. I would have found out that he—Bandit—wasn’t a stray as long as he’s microchipped.”

If Thorn had a penny for every confounding thing said to her today, she would be so rich she wouldn’t need to sell potions at the Sunday markets.

Although, to be honest, she’d probably still set up shop, because one of the best parts of magic was to share it.

Besides, being around people once a week was good for her. “Just let Bandit go.”

Without missing a beat, the mad warlock opened the trap. Bandit slowly sauntered out as if he hadn’t needed rescuing.

Thorn scooped him up and hurried off. But she had no idea where to hurry off to.

Though the view was blocked by a smattering of trees, she could see that the town had moved much closer to her cottage.

Except it wasn’t the town but a city. In her time and town, the tallest building was the three-story cathedral.

Now, there was no trace of its spire. And in this town were enormous glass structures that seemed to touch the clouds.

Her forehead beaded with cold sweat. The heady sense of achievement from being the first witch to concoct a Time Travel potion was quickly being replaced by an anxious, out-of-place feeling.

Witch, ask the mad warlock for more of that delicious food.

At least Bandit hadn’t changed, even if everything else had. She hugged him a little closer and marched toward the front of the cottage.

Witch, I’m not dough to be kneaded , he growled, but he didn’t squirm out of her embrace.

“We have more important things to figure out than food. We’ve traveled at least three hundred years. Whoever said witches don’t do math?”

The mad warlock watched as Thorn stalked out of his sight. After a few more seconds of silence, he said, “Hmm.” And that was all.

Pumpkin tucked his legs in and folded himself into a pumpkin loaf. The top of the mad scientist’s head looks like a good place to sleep.

Pepper yawned. Those waves do look soft and snuggly.

The mad warlock looked up at the cats.

Think he can understand us? Warlocks are witches, too, right?

Let’s find out. Hey, warlock, gimme food.

Oh my claws, Pepper! He’s taking out a can of the good stuff from his pocket!

He’s opening it! My belly is rumbling.

He’s just going to set it in the trap.

No, he’s dumping it out onto the pavement. And he’s picking up the empty trap—hey, Pumpkin! Leave some for me!

The mad warlock left the two cats to wolf down the cat food. As he walked toward the town, the empty trap dangling in one hand, he did not notice Thorn’s hat poking out of the bushes in front of Covenstead.

But she was watching him. The calm, assured way he moved slowed down her ragged breathing, and the even, soft tip-tap of his footsteps muffled the clamor in her mind. “Mad warlock,” she found herself whispering.

Then she took a deep breath and hatched a plan.

“The witch was a hoot. We’ll tell our friends,” Cat Paws said as he waved goodbye to Meg.

The tour of Covenstead had lasted all of half an hour, which was honestly a stretch, as the house was tiny. But Meg had to make it good value for money.

Once the tourists were well on their way, Meg disappeared back into the house.

A moment later, she returned to the tiny porch, locking the door behind her.

As she climbed into her car in the driveway, she didn’t notice the witch in the bushes.

And driving away, she didn’t hear Thorn say, “Hats off to whichever witch managed to incorporate the magic of a broom with a carriage.”

Let’s go home. Bandit hopped out of her lap and out of the bushes.

Thorn didn’t follow. She wanted to be doubly sure that the coast was clear.

He parked himself on the porch and stretched out.

For the next few hours, he only moved to follow the warm rays of the sun inching across the porch.

Joggers passing by the cottage became fewer and fewer.

Suddenly, even though she hadn’t seen the linkboy going around with his fire torch, the street lighting came on.

She guessed that it must have been done magically, though Pumpkin and Pepper had said witches were rare in this century.

A while later, the park was deserted. Once the last jogger huffed away, Thorn shot to her feet, then immediately doubled over as lightning bolts struck her back and knees.

She was reminded that being old meant that she had to live like she was being stalked by a predator: no sudden movements.

And her body had certainly not forgotten how she had recently defied the laws of geriatrics to save her teacup and the New-and-Improved True Love potion, which she was relieved hadn’t made her fall in love with Cat Paws.

Since Meg had locked the front door, Thorn shuffled toward the side of the house. The kitchen window was shut. “Let’s hope modern people are as prone as I am to procrastination when it comes to window security.”

Pumpkin and Pepper seemed like spies .

Sometimes witches sent their familiars to keep tabs on other witches and their proprietary potions.

“Those cats have never even met a witch, and shush. They might hear you.”

They’ve scampered off. Probably to report to their witches.

“It would be nice to make some modern witch friends.” She tugged on the shutters, and they swung open easily.

With her hat under her arm, she hoisted herself up and dove in, almost cracking her skull on an invisible barrier, which resulted in a loud yelp.

As she massaged her pulsing forehead, she realized it was actually a piece of glass, which now had radiating cracks in it.

With the touch of a curious finger, she turned the single piece into a million pieces.

Bandit leaped onto her shoulder. Witch, there were glass windows in the seventeenth century.

“Only the colorful ones at the cathedral. And Father Jorrison thinks he’ll spontaneously combust if I so much as look at him. I’m not accustomed to glass in windows.” She kicked the remaining shards of glass off the bottom of the panel and climbed in.

It was dark, but it was easy for her to find her way around since she knew the tiny cottage like the back of her hand.

As Meg the tour guide had said, everything that could be saved had been preserved.

The layout of the cottage had certainly remained the same as it had been in the seventeenth century.

Once her hat was perched on the broom by the door, she set about lighting the house.

She felt around on the mantel, where she found her trusty flint box, but now there were two other little boxes, one containing matchsticks and the other containing some sort of white cubes. She grabbed the flint box.

While searching for her oil lamp, Thorn smacked her shin into a low table. “Bugs and boils! Why on earth would anyone make a table this height?”

Rubbing her shin, she grabbed the wall to steady herself and accidentally flipped on a switch. Yellow light filled the house. She flicked the switch over and over. “This must be the same magic as the street candles.”

It’s very convenient. Bandit was curled up on a rocking chair by the fireplace.

“Modern people are strange. An unstable chair?”

It’s quite nice.

Once all the light switches had been tested, Thorn was ready for the next phase of her plan: go back to her own time.

The simplest thing to do was to concoct another batch of Time Travel potion by starting with the New-and-Improved True Love potion.

Of course, it all hinged on the hope that she still had her magic, that the reason she could no longer fly had nothing to do with the loss of her intrinsic powers and all to do with time leaching out the enchantment on her broom.

Ignoring all the pessimistic thoughts that clawed at her, she began to gather the ingredients from the drawers.

But she was out of the first ingredient, a sprig of wart of spider.

She was out of the second ingredient, beard of goat, too.

And the third… and the fourth. After another five minutes of frantically yanking the tiny drawers open, she flopped to the ground in defeat.

All three hundred drawers—empty. “A pox on the Historical Society!”

As if he was the one who’d just been cursed, Bandit hopped off the chair and scampered under the bed, hissing all the way. A spy!

She looked around for another cat, or a raven.

The corner of the ceiling!

Thorn pushed the shelving ladder to the corner and climbed up. “It looks like half a crystal ball.”

How do you see the future—or anything —in half a black crystal ball?

“There’s a bright green dot in the middle.” She made her way down. “It’s probably another silly twenty-first-century invention. Like that unsteady chair.”

Bandit came out of hiding and strode across the room. He leaped onto the low cabinet, a seventeenth-century original, pressed against the wall. Or this box next to the armor helmet.

“What do knights have to do with witches?” She joined Bandit and opened the box. “There are tiny pouches in here. Ooh, that fragrance. Looks like tea still exists in the twenty-first century!”

Your priorities are questionable.

“Bandit Scarhart, you’re the one who got us into this mess.” She opened the cabinet and found plates, mugs, and silver goblets that were not hers.

You were the one who screwed up the potion.

“If you hadn’t been chasing Penny-Pincher, I wouldn’t have accidentally drunk the screwed-up potion.”

Bandit’s ears perked up. By the way, where is that frog?

“Don’t even think about it. She’s in my pocket, safe and sound.” But she was not safe and sound. When Thorn fished out the frog, she looked like she had croaked. Eyes closed. Legs limp. Skin dry.

“She’s dehydrated!” Thorn scurried around trying to find some water. With none in the house, she rushed to the door. Her key didn’t work. It took her a bit of pounding and pulling and cursing before she unlatched the lock. But then she remembered Meg said the well had been sealed.

Shame I didn’t get to hunt it.

“Modern plumbing!” Thorn dashed off to the bathroom. “What did that tour guide say earlier about filling up the tub? To turn the tap? What on earth is a tap?”

She guessed the tap was the metal thing attached to the modern bathing tub, but it took a bit of pounding and pulling and cursing before it turned on. And it took a bit of hand-wringing before the frog’s legs twitched.

And finally: “Ribbit.”

“Thank the blood and bones. Stay in the tub, Penny-Pincher. I don’t know how time-traveling forward three centuries counts toward your ninety days of frog life. For now, I need to figure out how to defend my house against more tourists and get us back home to our time. But first, tea.”

Under the bath tap, she filled her kettle and made sure to close the bathroom door behind her before Bandit could get in.

Sooner or later, that frog will be mine.

“Instead of frog, how about a bit of milk?” There were a few small cartons sitting next to the tea. She used her teeth to tear the corner of a carton off and poured the milk onto a plate, then slid it across the floor toward Bandit.

Does the milkman finally deliver to the forest?

“That’s not even the most amazing thing. The writing on this box says that unopened, the milk lasts a whole year. I’d love to see these magic cows.”

Bandit replied with several loud slurps.

With the overlord pacified, Thorn set about lighting the fireplace. A hot cup of tea would help her clear her head and come up with a solution to the problem of being in the future in a house that no longer belonged to her.

“Modern tea smells heavenly,” she marveled as she poured the boiling water out of her favorite kettle and into her favorite cup. “And these little packets of tea leaves are very convenient.”

That rocking chair didn’t look safe for consuming scalding beverages. She settled for the Historical Society’s velvet couch. As she sank into it, she moaned in relief. “This furniture maker must have gotten his skills by selling his soul.”

The warmth of the cup soothed her. The aroma of the tea comforted. The well-practiced motion of bringing cup to lips reassured.

While she was usually up for adventures and new vistas, that was only with the knowledge that she could always come back to her home and her routines at the end of the day.

Like the way she and Rose used to travel deep into the forest and beyond to collect ingredients for Mother’s potions.

When they came home, sore and weary, they would curl up in bed with hot cups of tea.

On rare occasions, Mother would even reward them with a roll of butter-stuffed bread to share.

Rose would always let Thorn have more of the decadent filling.

Thorn took one sip of her tea. Very soon, she’d be ready to tackle the twenty-first century.

Then red and blue lights blazed in through the window.

Thorned pushed up the glass pane of the window above her bed and leaned out.

“There’s another horseless carriage stopped just outside.

This one has such bright, colorful candles on its roof.

And what does that say?” There was a word painted on the carriage’s side in big bold letters, but she couldn’t read it from here.

Bandit leaped out through the window and sauntered toward the car. A few seconds later, he returned.

What does “police” mean?