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Thorn was silent. Sure, her customers would be inconvenienced by not being able to get Hiccup Stop or Bunions Bloom potions, but the only thing they’d be worried about was the black panther, who they would assume had devoured Thorn and then roamed out of the forest. Nevertheless, their lives would go on as usual, sans minor hexes and aids.

Madam Maude might worry, but she might also be a little relieved that she no longer had to scour the earth for a suitable man for Thorn.

The only person who might have actually missed Thorn was Rose, but Rose was long gone.

As for Bandit, he was now rubbing himself against the couch.

Much as he wouldn’t admit it, he was content to be wherever Thorn was.

The one who would suffer the most if Thorn couldn’t get them all back to the seventeenth century would be Penny-Pincher.

She had family and friends who were probably searching for her right now.

It didn’t matter if Thorn left or stayed.

How is she making tea with the armor helmet? Bandit asked, sharpening his claws on the back of the couch. And they put modern plumbing in the kitchen, too!

As Thorn watched Meg make tea, her eyes grew bigger and bigger. Before they popped out of their sockets, she sat up. “I’m staying. In this era. And in this house.”

Meg turned, confused at Thorn’s sudden resoluteness.

“Those irritating tourists thought I was an actor. And they loved me. I will bring in more tourists. In return, I get to stay here, and one day a week, the tourists can trespass and watch me play witch.”

Meg tapped her fingers on the table. “Hmm… The tourists were very enthusiastic about your appearance. It would be rather kitschy, like a horror house, but maybe this is the thing that could save the cottage and its history. Five days a week.”

“Two, but no talking to the witch. Only quiet observation.”

Meg punched numbers into her calculator app. As the treasurer of the Historical Society, she knew what she would need to convince the rest of the board members. “Four days, mostly quiet observation, and the society will cover all your basic necessities and give you a cut of the profits.”

Thorn put on her hat. “I’m Thorn Scarhart, twenty-first-century witch.”

Looks the same as the seventeenth-century version.

Meg placed the steaming cup of tea on the table. “I’ll arrange for groceries to be delivered here tomorrow. And I have to get a scratching post for your cat. But can I ask what made you decide to stay?”

“In the twenty-first century, I can make a cup of tea almost instantaneously.” She strode over to the cabinet and pointed. “I’ll have to study this new-and-improved armor helmet that boils water quickly, and without fire.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but she didn’t want a practical stranger to pity her for having no one who missed her in her own time.

Meg burst into laughter. “That’s an electric kettle.”

“An apt name for such a thrilling invention. I might just like this century after all.” Even if it had its challenges, adapting to a new era would be exciting. And besides, all these modern distractions would provide a nice little break from searching for a husband.

Thorn was ready to turn back to her cup of tea. But as she marched back toward the table, she slipped and fell on her butt in a cold puddle.

Meg gasped. Instead of helping Thorn up, she ran toward the bathroom, which seemed to be the source of the puddle. “You have to turn off the water!”

Thorn saw Bandit’s eyes glinting. “Wait!”

But it was too late. Meg opened the door to find the bathtub overflowing, a cat darting past her and into the bathroom, and a frog leaping toward her out of the bathroom. She screamed, and then she was also lying in the puddle.

Croak, frog!

Penny-Pincher seemed to have learned who was friend and foe, and she leaped toward Thorn, who immediately stashed the frog back in her pocket.

Bandit hopped onto the rocking chair as if that was where he had meant to go in the first place and licked his wet paws as if he hadn’t just been bested by a frog again.

“Meg, could you also arrange the delivery of a cat-proof container of some sort? For the frog.”

“Will do,” Meg moaned. She hadn’t even tried to get up. “And I’d better give you a cell phone and teach you how to call me if you have any questions or emergencies.”

“Hold on, Meg. Let me help you.” Just as Thorn stood from the puddle, the door swung open.

“Meg, here are the things you—” The man at the door didn’t finish his sentence. He dropped the two bags in his hands and zoomed toward Meg. He scooped her up into his arms, not even caring that she was dripping wet.

“Are you all right, honey?” the chivalrous man asked, his voice filled with tender worry. He set her down carefully on the couch, turned off the bathroom tap, then went and pulled out a towel from one of the bags he’d brought and wrapped it around her.

As Thorn watched the man caring for Meg, she felt a pang of longing. She found herself eager to get a husband and slip on a puddle. As it turned out, potions could take the witch out of the past, but they couldn’t take the past out of the witch. She still wanted so badly to be loved.

“A bit sore, but I’ll be fine, darling.” Meg sat up and started rummaging around in the bags. “Thorn, this is my husband, Greg. Here are some fresh linens for the bed. Ah, and these are instant noodles and microwavable rice—I’ll show you how to use these things.”

But there was really only one thing Thorn wanted to know. “Where did you find your husband?”

Meg and Greg stared at her with amusement. As if recalling the moment fate brought them together, he put an arm around her.

She melted into him and said, “Online dating.”