She narrowed her eyes. “So? Doctors can have fun. It’s not just ghouls.”
“Nice pun,” he grumbled.
Her eyes widened. “Oh! Ghouls just want to have fun. That is witty.”
“Droll.”
“Okay, so nice, unboxed wine.”
“Well, we have an extensive wine cellar and I know how to pair wine with food.” He took a deep breath. “I just want tonight to be perfect.”
Margaid reached out and squeezed his hand. “It will be. Just be yourself and don’t threaten to sack her village and carry her off, unless she’s into that kind of thing. I think you’ll be okay. You’re a nice ghoul. It’ll all work out.”
“Thanks.” Magnus picked up his coffee and took a sip. Margaid’s advice was sound and sensible. All he had to do was be himself, but it was easier to do that behind a keyboard sometimes, rather than face-to-face, especially after he blew it so spectacularly last time. So yeah, Margaid was probably right. If only he could convince himself of that.
This was possibly his only chance at forever and happily ever after because he couldn’t picture himself with anyone else.
Chapter
Eleven
Oh my Hecate. I have nothing to wear.
That was Mercedes’ first thought as she rummaged through her closet, which used to be Finn’s closet because Pearl’s closet still had a lot of her clothes. Mercedes couldn’t wear anything of Pearl’s because, one, the colors did not flatter her, and two, they were not even remotely the same build.
Mercedes liked her clothing well enough and even found the dress she wore to their first disastrous date in Tallowfield, but it wasn’t right. Everything had to be fresh.
As for the rest of her clothes, none of them were right.
With a sigh of annoyance, she closed her closet, grabbed her jacket and purse, and left for downtown. When she moved to Harmony Glen, she noticed a thrift store called Nifty Thrifty. Maybe they would have something.
That was the first place she went, and even though it was a great store, nothing there spoke to her. And as she wandered downtown, pondering her conundrum, she found herself on Second Street, where the door of a very rundown building burst open, the scent of fresh laundry hitting her.
“Hey!”
Mercedes looked up to see a voluptuous woman dressed in denim, sneakers, and a red polka-dot kerchief that wrapped up her vibrant pink hair. Red lips and black, catlike eyeliner completed the look.
“Hey,” Mercedes responded, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one else was there and that she was alone.
“You need to come in here,” the woman said vehemently.
“What? I don’t?—”
“In here. Now.” The woman reached out and grabbed her arm, tugging Mercedes into the building.
“What is going on?” Mercedes asked in confusion. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she realized she was in the laundromat. It was completely decked out like a retro fifties’ diner. Checkerboard floors, neon signs, a jukebox. The laundry carts were chrome and shiny and the machines were turquoise.
“Sorry, I’m Mona,” the woman said. “I own The Clothes Spin.”
“Oh. You’re a witch?”
Mona grinned and crossed her arms. “Indeed. As are you.”
Mercedes nodded. “Not a very good one.”
Mona shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
The sound of a bucket clanging caught her attention and she saw a mop cleaning the floor, by itself, just like in animated movies she’d seen as a kid.