Watching me.
I follow his eyes as they skitter to the hospital sliding doors behind me, a question on his pale brow.
Chapter Nineteen
SATURDAY, MAY 14
38 DAYS UNTIL THE SUMMER SOLSTICE
Honey’s Helpful Hint, from
Honey Frost’s Southern Cookbook for Recipes Gone Wrong:
There are three rules on a first date:
1. Make your date cook. You’ll learn everything you need to know.
2. If you have to cook, stick with the basics. A phenomenal mac and cheese is better than a bad boeuf bourguignon.
3. Don’t fall too early.
You’re not wearing overalls, are you?”
The Governess and I are staring at my makeshift rack of clothes.
Unfortunately, the internet does not know what to wear todinner with a Warlockwhen all you have in your closet are aprons, athleisure, clogs, and a single scrunchy. Prep a five-course meal solo? That I can do. Get ready for a dinner-maybe-date with a man in his own home? Impossible.
Ms. Zeen took one glance at me through my open door and promptly inserted herself into the situation. I think I’m grateful. For now.
“In my defense, I didn’t expect to need anythingotherthan overalls.”
She sighs, clutching an invisible set of pearls like a rural coastal granny. “I might have something you could work with.”
I hold back a shimmy of triumph. I knew she must be hiding something other than cardigan sets in her closet. “I’ll come, too.”
“Let’s get a few things clear as moonshine, dear.”
“I didn’t have you as a moonshine girl.”
She frowns. Not a joke girl, either, then. “One. I think this dinner is one of the top-ten worst ideas Mr. Knight has ever had.”
“For curiosity’s sake, am I more in the one-to-five or the five-to-ten range—”
“Two. I am only helping because Lazlo is excited, and the boy needs something to keep him entertained.” She points a tastefully nude, manicured finger at me. “Three. No one goes in my room. Ever. In fact, everyone should make it a general rule to stick to theirown individual rooms.” Her eyes narrow.
Please. No one needs to worry. The last time I put a single toe inside the Warlock’s bedroom, I was picked up and removed like a disobedient traffic cone. “Hiding bodies in your lair, Ms. Zeen?”
The older woman pats her French roll even though there’s not a hair out of place and she knows it. “If tonight jeopardizes your arrangement with the Warlock regarding his health,you’llbe the next body.” She turns on a kitten heel. “Stay here.”
She’s gone just long enough for me to get panicky. What if tonightdoesend in disaster? The Warlock is my employer. Maybe he only asked me to dinner to be friendly and this is all a ploy to lodge his gardening fork prongs into my softhearted sympathy.A ruse to capture naïve young women. Classic fairy-tale monster. Hide your soul!
Though, if anyone seems like a true beast from a storybook, it’s Oris Webb, watching me yesterday at the hospital. I choose to push that memoryfaraway tonight.
The Governess returns just before I start spiraling. She holds up a dress the exact shade of pink rock salt.
“I wasn’t aware this color was in your vocabulary,” I say, earning another scowl. But with a closer look, I see it’s not a dress at all. It’s a seventies-ish satin nightgown, sleeveless, freed from its housecoat. It looks like it’s never been worn. “This is too nice. I can’t wear it.”
“Take it and let this be the end of it. The color suits your angel food cake complexion.”
