Page 125 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

That night’s Magic Box performance, the town agreed, was legendary. Equestrian vaulters in sequins charged around the square on snow-white horses. As the vaulters twisted and flipped on the backs of their steeds, trapeze artists emerged from the trees, dancing across the sky on invisible wire. Finally, the pièce de résistance—jugglers appeared onstage and juggled items increasing in shock factor until chainsaws flew through the air. The whole thing absolutely boggled the mind. The consensus was that it was a night of amazement, of awe, of relentless bouts of elation.

The same was true for Talula and Dahlia—but they didn’t see a second’s worth of the show.

As horses thundered, trapeze artists traipsed, and chainsaws roared, Talula and Dahlia were miles away. They spent the night tangled up in each other, tearing off morsels of angel food cake with their fingers, kissing the sweetness of it from each other’s mouths over and over and over again.

30

Friday morning, the day before Samhain, Talula’s phone alarm beeped from Dahlia’s bedside table. She hit the snooze button, and with a sigh, tucked herself back around Dahlia. She’d give herself one snooze to cuddle and replay the last sixteen hours in her mind.

Dahlia wringing pleasure out of Talula against the wall in the hall entryway, before leading a dazed Talula up the stairs and onto her unmade bed.

Talula bracing her hands on Dahlia’s bucking hips, her tongue moving in long, slow strokes.

Dahlia whispering “beautiful, beautiful, beautiful” as her mouth skimmed down Talula’s bare breasts, ribs, the sweet softness of her stomach.

Talula teaching Dahlia how to say “kiss me” in all the languages she could think of. Then, putting it into practice.

Dahlia, naked under the sheets, calling the only pizza place in a twenty-mile radius that would deliver at one in the morning. She kept adding toppings to the order just to watch Talula dissolve into aghast laughter.

Talula, proclaiming it the worst and most expensive and most wonderful pizza she had ever eaten.

Dahlia drawing a bath that smelled like her and asking, “I clearly have no restraint, but can we be girlfriends? And tell people?” Talula, who also had no restraint, screaming, “YES!”

Talula, in a quiet moment, scribbling a message on one of Dahlia’s sticky notes and sending it magically to Simon’s bedroom—I chose my good-looking shepherd. Will be home in the morning.

Now Talula—sleep-deprived, hair matted, teeth aching from too much cake—felt bigger than her body could contain. Like she was a grand house with all the lights on, every window thrown joyously open to let its golden glow spill out.

With a ruthless beep, Talula’s phone alarm went off again. She dragged herself out of bed and began to dress.

“Where are you going?” Dahlia asked sleepily. She tried to swat the jeans out of Talula’s hands. “Stop that, no clothes! My house, my rules.”

There was a pillow crease imprinted on Dahlia’s cheek. Talula kissed the whole crooked line. “Samhain is tomorrow.”

“Will you go with me?”

“I don’t know, that’s moving awfully fast,” Talula teased.

“My god, I hope so,” Dahlia growled, using both hands to pull a laughing Talula back to bed.

A little while later, Talula grabbed her clothes from the floor (again).

“I have to go, beautiful,” Talula said to a much more awake Dahlia. “Samhains don’t set themselves up.”

“Fine.” Dahlia yawned. “Can I come by? Help out?”

“Of course!”

“You won’t get sick of me?” Dahlia asked lightly, but Talula knew better now.

“Never.” Talula twined her fingers with Dahlia’s. “I’ve wasted too much time not doing this sooner. Not being this with you sooner.”

“I know.” Dahlia smirked. “You really should’ve kissed me that day with the rabbit.”

Talula’s jaw dropped. “You knew?”

Dahlia’s eyes glittered mischievously. “I suspected.”

Talula laughed. “You’re so smart, it’s incredibly sexy.”