Page 133 of The Blue Moon Café & 24-Hour Occult Emporium

“How do you know that?” Simon asked gently.

“There was a poster board—”

“You said there were many poster boards.”

“And she doesn’t want to talk about her new book idea with me,” Talula reminded him.

“Maybe because it’s personal, or maybe because she’s thrown so many plots at you, she wants this one to be meaningful,” Simon replied, still patient. “Talula, based on everything you’ve told me, I have no reason to think she’s going to go public with our secrets or is working for those despicable hunters. And after all, hasn’t Dahlia done enough to deserve the benefit of the doubt?”

Talula sat down at the kitchen table. She took deep breaths, considering. Yes. The answer was yes, of course Dahlia deserved that much at least. Even more ashamed, Talula rubbed a hand over her face. “I…I was just so sure I’d screwed up by trusting her. Because I always screw up.”

“Maybe because there’s a part of you that doubted you could really have something good in your life?” Simon offered. “Someone good, who saw you as you’ve always dreamed of being seen?”

For the second time that day, Talula felt torn open. Around her, the house walls turned a deep, bruised blue.

“Ah, there it is.” Simon gave her a bitter smile. “That’s a story I know a little too well. Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day.”

“So.” Talula let out a breath. “Either Dahlia is an exploitative menace or I just ran out on my dream girl because of my deepest insecurities. Again.”

“I believe it’s the latter, fair pupil.”

“Fuck.” Talula let her head thwack down on the kitchen counter.

“Indeed.”

“Now what do I do?”

“Now you make me breakfast. Then, we do all the things we need to do to make this day a success.” Simon hopped back up onto his favorite stool. “Then, you’ll beg forgiveness from your paramour. But right now, it’s time for Samhain.”

The empty fairgrounds filled steadily, the smell of deep-fried carnival food perfuming the air as the noise rose from a buzz to a palpable, comfortable hum. The first Samhain music performers, a New Agey band/coven, crooned out Gaia’s blessings into the morning. A few clouds drifted across a gorgeous October sky as the sun beamed down. A breeze rustled loose hay and autumn leaves along the grounds, chilling the morning enough for a hot cup of pumpkin-spiced something. Despite Talula’s unresolved romantic crisis, it was the perfect day for Samhain.

Before she opened the café, Talula sent a weighty text message to Dahlia—I’m sorry I ran out, but I think we should talk. For the next few hours, she guided guest after guest to the Volta while Simon handed out magical “return ticket” medallions he’d found in Sara’s stash. But Talula noticed a new trend in the Volta reservation schedule. There were large gaps of time when they had absolutely no reservations, as well as plenty of rescheduling requests.

“My kids don’t want to miss the pumpkin chainsaw carving contest,” Yuki, a kitsune and longtime Samhain-goer, explained as Talula rebooked her for later. “There’s too many amazing things at the festival this year, nobody wants to see Grandma.”

“I’m so sorry!” Talula said, hoping she hadn’t accidentally planted the seed for Grandma Kawamoto’s vengeance (nobody wanted that).

“Don’t apologize. We’re happy to be here.” Yuki patted Talula’s hand affectionately. “But maybe next year, extend the Volta’s hours? Or make Samhain a two-day event? We want to enjoy the festival as much as we can.”

Before Talula could respond, Simon galloped through the front door of the café, followed by the kitsune’s children, Ren and Himari. “Talula! Sara’s alright! A little birdie just told me your mother is on her way.”

Talula’s head spun. She braced herself on the café counter. “Mom’s coming home?”

A flood of soul-deep relief swept through Talula. She’d been so worried about her mother. The last time she’d seen her, Sara was in a cage, about to be hunted for sport. Now, after so much had happened—the magic cookbook, Dahlia, the town hall, Dahlia, the festival, Dahlia—her mom was coming home, safe and sound. An errant thought broke her reverie. She turned to Simon. “But wait, how did she send the message?”

Simon blinked up at her. “I just told you. A little birdie.”

“What?”

“Your mother speaks bird,” Simon reminded her. “She sent one to deliver the message. Sara’s fine, just a bit tired. She’ll be here in a few days.”

“What about the other magical beings Orion Hunts had caught?”

“They’re alright. Every one of them.” Simon smiled at her. “Your mother just dropped them off at a Council safehouse.”

Talula stared in disbelief. Mhairi. The goldhorn. The kelpies. The wildlings. They were all going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay. Talula wiped away sudden tears with the back of her sleeve.

“Oh no, why are you leaking again?” Simon cried, distressed.