Chapter Four

Chapter Four

A few millennia ago, some mundane warrior had given the excellent advice: know your enemy.

Instinct worked alright with magic, but sometimes, for some spells or enchantments or potions, you really needed to dig in and do your research. That was how you ended up with a potion of protection, instead of something that exploded in your face and melted your skin off.

And I'd seen that happen. Once.

The point was, I needed ideas. And if the frontal assault wasn't going to get me what I wanted, well then, I was just going to have to be a little sneaky about it. And while Lorcan wasn't my enemy, ‘knowing your enemy' or in this case, ‘knowing your spouse' still seemed like really good advice.

Without a single ounce of guilt, I pawed through some of the books that Lorcan kept in his night table, ignoring the dental magazines, and one horrific medical text on teeth that had my mouth puckering like I'd bitten into a lemon.

Hard. Pass.

There were a couple of romance novels (why—I had no clue—maybe they were Lorcan's guilty obsession?), but a courtroom sounded boring and a pirate ship was completely impractical. So, I continued searching. For what? I wasn't exactly sure—just something that might give me a window into his personality and help me uncover something that I hadn't known was there. And while his obvious interest in romance novels was interesting (and maybe slightly alarming), that little tidbit wasn't offering me much.

I pawed through Lorcan's half of the closet, but that didn't yield much—pretty much all his clothes had already been approved by or purchased by me. So, yeah, nothing there. Then I turned on his laptop and checked his browsing history. While that might have sounded like I was invading his personal space (which I supposed I was), I didn't care. Mainly because I knew Lorcan wouldn't care, and furthermore, this was important. I needed intel if I was going to plan a date that would knock his undead socks off.

I flopped back onto the bed and let out a long sigh. All of that time and work and for what? It had all been a bust. I still had plenty of time left before Lorcan came home from work, but I didn't think rifling through his sock drawer was going to net me any better results. I mean, I knew Lorcan—obviously I did. Probably better than anyone else in Haven Hollow knew him. As part of knowing him, I was aware of the things he enjoyed, but somehow I couldn't seem to make that info translate into a killer date—one that would blow him away.

This was ridiculous. I was a witch. I'd barely even been exposed to monogamy until I was over a century old, and suddenly I was trying to put a memorable date together? I could have just brushed the whole thing off. Dismissed it, like any other self-respecting witch would have. What did an anniversary even matter to a man who would live forever?

But… And oh, spell, did it chafe to admit it, but the whole thing had become something of a matter of pride to me now—a challenge I'd laid out for myself. And one I didn't want to lose. I was Wanda Depraysie, for crying out loud. No way was I going to be beaten by something human teenagers did all the time. Ridiculous.

Well, as ridiculous as it might have been, it didn't change the fact that I was fresh out of ideas. Actually, it was more fitting to say an idea hadn't even occurred to me yet. I figured I couldn't claim to be very creative. Right. The sad truth was, I was going to need some advice. Some help.

"Ugh." I dragged myself to my feet and headed for the closet. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

But I was on a time crunch, so best to just get it over with.

***

It was early enough in the evening that the coven house was busy. Not that witches kept terribly diurnal schedules, even when we weren't pretending to be vampires. Regardless, I could hear music coming through the walls, and low voices, laughter, and the murmur of a conversation or a television, or a conversation on a television.

The cup of tea Betanya had pressed into my hands had gone cold a while ago as I fought to spit out exactly what I wanted to ask her. Once I managed, Betanya gave the question some thought, sipping at her own tea in its delicate china cup, patterned with bats.

Betanya was the oldest member of Circle Scapegrace, if I didn't count Lorcan. And for what I was asking, I couldn't count Lorcan, so Betanya it was. She'd been something of a trailblazer for me, as a witch who'd been blooded by a vampire, driven from her coven, and ended up in Haven Hollow.

Of course, things had taken a different turn for Betanya. The vampire who'd tried to turn her, Roscoe, had chased her here, then hunted her relentlessly, trying to finish her transition. She'd been forced to retreat to a magical pocket dimension (called the Veil) in which to hide, but Roscoe had hunted her there, too, and they'd both been trapped there for decades as the world moved on without them. Talk about being dealt a bad hand…

Anyway, Poppy and I had sprung Betanya from the Veil, and then we'd all teamed up to take Roscoe down. Killing the vampire who'd blooded her had turned Betanya back into a witch, removing her Blood Witch power. But she was still powerful, and knowledgeable, and a huge asset to the coven.

Plus, she was a red-headed witch. And they were known for shaking things up.

That red hair was now liberally streaked with gray, but other than a few lines at the edges of her eyes and around her mouth, Betanya didn't look old. Witches tended to age pretty gracefully. Me, I barely looked a day over forty even though I was far older than that.

Betanya hummed, her head tilted to the side as she gazed down into her tea cup, like the answer might be hidden at the bottom.

"A good date…" She smiled and still harbored the expression of surprise that had welled up in her eyes as soon as I'd asked her the idiotic question.

"Can you… keep your voice down?" I asked, glancing around to make sure no one had heard me. While I wasn't a traditional witch in all aspects of the word, I also didn't want my business broadcasted for everyone to hear. It was… well, it was pretty embarrassing, actually.

"Well… I don't know that I'll be able to help you much, Wanda," she answered on a sigh. "You know… it's been a while since I even did such a thing, let alone had any interest in a man. Tell me, are cotillions still a thing? I seem to remember that those were fun, once upon a time."

I blinked, realizing I'd made a mistake. "Uh, no. No, I don't think those are still a thing."

"Shame." Betanya frowned, swirling her tea cup, as she sighed then shook her head. "Well, the last time I was out and about before you and Poppy freed me, I believe roller skating was quite popular. And Discos."

Yes, this had been a mistake. No way was I going roller skating—my behind was for looking fabulous, not for landing on the ground. And Lorcan in skates? Pass. As to a disco? I honestly didn't know which outcome would be worse; if Lorcan hated it, or if he loved it. I could just imagine him wanting to spend every weekend night in bell bottoms and circular glasses jamming out to ABBA.

Egad.

I appreciated Betanya trying, but nothing she'd mentioned was helpful to anyone looking to have fun sometime in the last few decades.

"Oh." Her face brightened. "What about a medical museum?"

"A what?" I frowned.

She nodded, like this was the greatest of all great ideas. "There's one just outside of Portland, and I'm told it's quite accurate. Lorcan might enjoy that. They even have a dental section."

Dental section? Ugh. I'd seen enough of what mundanes had done in the name of medicine through the past century, I didn't need to see it preserved and documented in some stuffy room full of stuffy people. Sorry, Lorcan. Except, I wasn't really sorry. Not only did this date need to be fun for Lorcan, but it needed to be fun for me. And medical stuff?

No, not fun.

Willie-Ray, Betanya's familiar, waddled up to us then. He was a skunk who was dressed in a sleeveless flannel shirt and cut-off jean shorts. He was also possibly the only sensible creature in the entire room, because he shook his head at us like he couldn't believe this was the topic of the hour. Then with a muttered, "summa bitch," he headed for the stairs to the second floor, like he couldn't take another moment of listening to the sputum coming from our mouths.

And honestly, that was fair.